Lee Jiyeon felt an unusual burden while working on Kyungsung Lady. It wasn’t the film’s genre, nor was it the pressure of being one of the leads.
The truth was simpler: working alongside Ju Seoyeon made her uneasy.
"Aren’t you two on good terms?"
This was the question Jo Seohui often asked, especially when Jiyeon approached her for advice during audition prep. Even after landing the role, Jiyeon frequently sought Seohui’s input, much to her occasional annoyance.
"Getting along is one thing."
"What does that even mean?"
"Hey, Jo Seohui, do you even have many friends?"
Seohui could only sigh at Jiyeon’s reaction. The truth was, she didn’t have many peers she considered friends.
Most of her "friends" were industry connections—a wide network, yes, but not true companionship. This was the reality of growing up in an environment where trust was scarce, surrounded by heirs of conglomerate families and the ever-present fear of leaked personal information.
Interestingly, the few people Seohui treated without sharp edges were those she met through Seoyeon—like Park Jungwoo or Lee Jiyeon.
To Seohui, Jiyeon’s defensive demeanor felt odd, almost as if she were putting up walls unnecessarily.
"You’re worried about disappointing her, aren’t you?"
Jiyeon didn’t deny it. Of course, Seoyeon had already seen her acting, especially in her earlier works that aired on cable dramas. They had even casually discussed them, mentioning strengths and weaknesses.
But performing on television and acting directly alongside Seoyeon were entirely different.
This was Jiyeon’s first time witnessing Seoyeon’s full intensity on set, her dedication palpable during every take.
While Jiyeon thought she had gotten used to it during the filming of Kyungsung Lady, there were moments that shattered that illusion.
"You’re planning to die, aren’t you?"
Yuina’s voice, cold and cutting, echoed through the scene.
The commanding presence she had exuded all along felt magnified to an uncontainable level.
"Why? Weren’t you satisfied? You had everything."
With Michiko pinned against the wall, Yuina’s crimson eyes burned with intensity. Her grip tightened, half choking Michiko as she forced the words out.
"Oh, I see. The things I so desperately wanted were meaningless to you? So even after having everything, you still weren’t satisfied? Did you think that nothing left in your hands mattered anymore?"
Yuina’s lines came in a torrent, each one laced with raw emotion. They weren’t just words from the script; they were an expression of her internal chaos.
She wasn’t merely reacting to Michiko’s suicidal intentions.
She was grappling with herself—her own confusion, anger, and unresolved emotions.
"You’ve always been like this."
Yuina’s voice dropped, the tone now resembling a growl.
"Always making decisions on your own terms."
Seoyeon, as Yuina, had struggled to understand these layers of the character.
It wasn’t just about love, though that was certainly part of it. Yuina was inherently contradictory in her actions.
She sent Yeon Seonye to kill Michiko but then tried to stop Michiko’s suicide.
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She sought to manipulate Seonye, yet she grew attached to her.
She knew Gotō Isamu was exploiting her but continued pretending otherwise.
These contradictions puzzled Seoyeon, who approached emotions as direct and instinctive:
Happiness is happiness, and sadness is sadness.
Most of Yuina’s actions were driven by love, an emotion Seoyeon found the hardest to relate to.
"Isn’t love supposed to be a positive feeling?"
That was her assumption until Yeohee had offered a different perspective.
"Not necessarily."
"Really?"
"Most people don’t live as carefree as I do."
Love, especially when burdened with regrets, can weigh people down.
Holding onto those feelings is a difficult choice.
"The Yuina you described is full of attachment."
Yuina’s love wasn’t just attachment—it was the source of her desires and frustrations. As a nineteen-year-old, still emotionally vulnerable, her environment amplified her inner turmoil.
"It’s not that Yuina’s actions are inherently evil; her circumstances just didn’t allow her to act differently."
Yuina was both an antagonist and a victim.
Reflecting on these insights, Seoyeon had revisited many works she’d seen before. Viewing them through this new lens, she noticed details she had missed.
"I see it now."
It helped her rethink her own lingering regrets and brought her closer to Yuina’s complex mindset.
When the camera rolled, it all clicked.
Yuina’s lines in the script had been written differently.
She was meant to sneer at Michiko, mocking her.
"You idiot, you have everything, and yet you still want to die? How stupid."
That was the original tone—a mix of sarcasm and disdain.
But Seoyeon’s interpretation was different.
Anger and frustration replaced sarcasm. The emotions were similar, but the delivery shifted entirely.
Seeing Jo Seohui’s portrayal of Michiko, Seoyeon couldn’t help but deviate from the script.
Yuina wasn’t just mocking Michiko—she was furious.
Furious at Michiko’s decision, furious at herself, and furious at the deep connection they once shared.
Yuina and Michiko’s relationship wasn’t prominently explored in the script, but the depth was implied. Seoyeon believed their bond had been profound, perhaps even close enough to call each other friends.
If Yuina was as deeply attached as her character suggested, she would never forget their shared past.
"If I encountered my mother from a past life and saw her unhappy, wouldn’t I also be angry?"
Even if Yuina didn’t fully understand her rage, it was there.
And it was Jo Seohui’s expression that triggered it.
Her face, as Michiko, mirrored a look Seoyeon knew all too well—the sorrowful expression her mother from her past life had worn countless times.
Perhaps that was why Seoyeon’s immersion into Yuina happened so effortlessly.
The atmosphere on set was tense as everyone held their breath. Director Baek Min raised his hand momentarily, then lowered it again.
The performance had deviated from the script and its intended emotional flow.
Normally, he disliked when actors strayed from his vision.
"How many times has this happened now?"
But this wasn’t the first exception during the making of this film.
It started with Lee Sangsoo’s improvisation and continued through Seoyeon’s portrayal of Yuina.
And now, once again, the unexpected had occurred.
It wasn’t just Seoyeon.
Jo Seohui, playing Michiko, also displayed a fiery intensity in her eyes, something not originally intended for the character.
It wasn’t what the script called for.
But it wasn’t an incorrect interpretation either.
"Yuina and Michiko share a history."
That much was in the script, though it didn’t specify the depth of their bond.
The subtext suggested they might have been friends once, and considering the film’s genre, their relationship likely ran deeper.
Baek Min himself had envisioned it that way to some extent.
"This wasn’t what I planned, but..."
Seoyeon’s strength as an actress lay in her ability to convey deep emotions.
Her talent for method acting was evident even from her child actor days.
This skill had shone in The Chaser, though she hadn’t taken on similar roles since then.
Yet here, in this moment as Yuina, Seoyeon was fully immersed—more so than ever before.
This level of intensity naturally provoked an equally strong response from Jo Seohui.
"What do you know about me?"
Michiko’s sharp voice sliced through the air as she grabbed Yuina’s hair with both hands, yanking it forcefully.
The previously composed and elegant Michiko now glared, her trembling voice betraying her anger.
"You’re ridiculous, Yuina. You always wanted to kill me, didn’t you? Then you should be happy. I’m giving you back everything I took from you!"
Yuina’s crimson eyes blazed as she hissed through clenched teeth:
"You’ve always been like this. Overthinking everything, acting like you’re the most miserable person in the world."
"You’re arrogant, Michiko. You’ve had everything, yet you act like you’ve lost it all. I can’t stand it."
"Everything?" Michiko spat, her voice rising. "What have I had? Nothing I wanted. It was all my parents’ desires, all yours and your parents’ ambitions!"
As Michiko shouted, she yanked Yuina’s hair even harder, her fury escalating.
"You’ve never lost anything, Amamabi Michiko," Yuina snarled.
Her grip on Michiko’s collar tightened as she suddenly shoved her into a nearby stall, sending Michiko sprawling.
The physical struggle escalated rapidly.
The staff stood frozen in shock at the intensity of their performance.
"Isn’t Yuina way too strong?"
"This doesn’t look like an even fight at all."
The script described a desperate, chaotic fight between the two women, pulling each other’s hair and clawing at each other.
But what was unfolding looked like a one-sided confrontation, with Michiko being overpowered.
Yet somehow, this imbalance felt fitting for the volatile atmosphere surrounding Yuina.
Michiko’s indignant glare from the ground only added to the scene’s impact.
Director Baek Min raised and lowered his hand repeatedly, debating whether to call "cut."
"Their immersion is at its peak."
Especially Jo Seohui.
She lunged at Yuina again, and this time, Yuina reciprocated, dragging Michiko down with her as they tumbled to the ground.
The two rolled across the street, their struggle drawing attention from the extras playing passersby. The actors portraying the crowd reacted naturally, clustering around the commotion.
"This is the first time I’ve seen Seohui immerse herself so deeply in a role."
Baek Min had insisted on casting Jo Seohui as Michiko for Kyungsung Lady because he believed she was a perfect fit for the character.
Much like Michiko, Seohui had lost her mother at a young age and had spent much of her life chasing her shadow.
Michiko, too, lived in the shadow of her parents and their ambitions.
Both were heiresses from powerful families, and both had strained relationships with their fathers.
These shared experiences allowed Seohui to embody Michiko so thoroughly that she was no longer acting—she was Michiko.
The crew watched in stunned silence, captivated by the synergy between the two actresses.
Some were on the edge of their seats, thrilled by the intensity.
Others looked nervous, fearing an accident.
As for Baek Min, he raised his hand again, still hesitating.
The problem wasn’t their performances—they were extraordinary.
But the scene wasn’t just about Yuina and Michiko.
The fight was supposed to be interrupted by Yeon Seonye, the protagonist, who now stood frozen, watching the chaos unfold with a bewildered expression.
Was this acting?
Or was Lee Jiyeon genuinely caught off guard?
Either way, it felt natural.
But Seonye couldn’t just stand by.
Someone had to break up the fight.
"Stop this right now—ugh!"
Seonye finally stepped between them, but her foot caught on something, and she tripped.
In an instant, she fell forward, crashing directly into Yuina’s face.
Half of it was honestly accidental.
Yuina and Michiko were writhing on the ground, locked in an intense brawl. Jiyeon, watching Seoyeon and Seohui’s incredible performance, couldn’t muster the courage to deliver her lines and step between them.
From a young age, Seoyeon had always been a benchmark for Jiyeon—a standard she couldn’t help but measure herself against. Ever since their childhood days of playing the prince and princess, Jiyeon had dreamed of performing at that level.
"I want to be like Jo Seohui—bold enough to act alongside you without hesitation."
And Jo Seohui could do it. That much was clear even now.
This was the most immersed Jiyeon had ever seen Seohui in a role.
Granted, the fact that it was during a physical fight scene made it somewhat ironic, but still.
Regardless, Jiyeon found it nearly impossible to insert herself between the two actresses.
It felt like she was stepping into a real battle between Michiko and Yuina.
Even though she was technically the protagonist, all the staff’s attention was on Seoyeon and Seohui.
The audience would likely feel the same.
In this moment, Jiyeon was nothing more than an extra blending into the crowd.
"If this continues, it’ll be an NG."
Realizing this, Jiyeon felt a chill run down her spine.
The two actresses were delivering performances of a lifetime.
If she messed up her lines or her timing, they would have to start over.
Could they replicate the same raw intensity again?
She doubted it.
And so, desperation took hold.
In her rush to act, Jiyeon’s foot got tangled beneath her, and she stumbled forward—falling face-first into Yuina.
"Yeon Seonye, you?!"
Yuina clutched her face, rolling onto the ground, her hands covering her nose.
Her eyes, visible between her fingers, darted toward Jiyeon, as if questioning whether this was part of the performance.
The chaos escalated in an instant.
Yeon Seonye’s sudden move wasn’t in the script.
Even Jo Seohui stared at Jiyeon in disbelief.
Surely, she thought, that wasn’t acting.
But Jiyeon, who had accidentally headbutted Seoyeon’s face, found herself oddly calm.
"Thank goodness it’s Ju Seoyeon I hit."
She knew Seoyeon was the kind of person who wouldn’t get hurt even if she rammed her head into her a dozen times.
And so, in the midst of everyone’s confusion, Jiyeon decided to capitalize on the situation.
"Don’t you dare bully her, you wretched woman!"
The already chaotic scene devolved into pure pandemonium.
But in the best way possible.