It all happened in an instant.
Jiyeon’s accidental headbutt to Seoyeon, followed by her improvised line, left everyone stunned.
"Was that line in the script?"
"No, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t."
"Then... all of that was ad-lib?"
The staff exchanged whispers, glancing at each other.
And they had reason to be confused. Jiyeon’s stumble and headbutt had already rendered the scene an NG.
The original script hadn’t accounted for any such event.
Yet somehow, Jiyeon’s improvised line had lightened the tense atmosphere, turning the heated scene into something more dynamic and fluid.
It was exactly the kind of intervention Yeon Seonye, caught between the two opposing forces of Yuina and Michiko, might have made.
What added to the confusion was that Jiyeon didn’t stop at one improvised line.
"You’ve always been a pain, you wretched woman. Stay back, my lady. I’ll handle this myself!"
With those words, Jiyeon grabbed Yuina’s hair and dragged her down, rolling across the ground with her.
As they tumbled, Jiyeon leaned close to Seoyeon, whispering softly into her ear.
Despite the chaos, the moment was so seamless and natural that it felt as if it had been part of the script all along.
Even Director Baek Min, who knew the script inside and out, reflexively checked his copy.
The ad-libbed lines and actions fit the scene so perfectly that they seemed like they had been there all along.
"She’s got great instincts."
Baek Min lowered his hand, which he had raised to call NG, and turned his attention to Jiyeon with newfound appreciation.
To be honest, Baek Min had never held Jiyeon in the same regard as Seoyeon or Seohui when it came to acting ability.
Jiyeon wasn’t bad—not at all.
She was solid, competent, and certainly better than many of her peers. But for Baek Min, better than average wasn’t enough.
"But in the audition, she was a perfect match for Yeon Seonye."
Jiyeon’s understated performance had the sincerity and subtlety that embodied the character.
Her naturally gentle aura added depth to Seonye’s quieter moments, making her a compelling fit.
What truly stood out now, however, was Jiyeon’s quick thinking.
While both Seohui and Seoyeon were momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected turn of events, Jiyeon’s improvised lines grounded the chaos and redirected the scene back on track.
From the moment she stumbled, every word and action from Jiyeon had been completely ad-libbed.
"Are you insane? Do you want to get us all killed? Broad daylight, and you’re starting fights like this! Why not announce to everyone that I’m hiding you?"
Yeon Seonye, in the context of the story, hadn’t yet been exposed as Yuina’s hidden pawn.
Michiko might have suspected, but it wasn’t confirmed.
But Yuina’s earlier lines—and the emotional weight Seoyeon had infused them with—had suddenly shifted the dynamic.
When Yuina had spat, "You have everything," her gaze had lingered on Seonye.
That small, unscripted gesture had added layers of complexity to the scene.
Seonye, now fully immersed, seized the moment.
In response to Yuina’s look, Jiyeon leaned in again, headbutting her with exaggerated force.
The two rolled away, creating enough space for Seonye to stand and wipe the blood from her forehead with her sleeve.
"Look at this! My lady, your lovely dress is completely ruined!"
"S-Seonye, you’re bleeding!"
"Yes, I know! Ow, that really hurts. What’s with your hard head? Wait a second."
Seonye casually wiped her forehead again and extended a hand to Michiko.
"Come on, my lady, take my hand."
"W-What?"
"Are you just going to sit there? Look at all these gawkers. Do you want to keep fighting with everyone watching? Oh, now you’re glaring at me. Hurry up and grab my hand, will you?"
Jiyeon’s tone was frantic yet commanding, perfectly embodying the character’s desperation.
Michiko hesitated, glancing between Seonye’s outstretched hand and Yuina, who looked on with a mixture of confusion and irritation.
Finally, Michiko smirked and let out a small laugh.
"Fine. Let’s go, Seonye."
Taking Seonye’s hand, Michiko stood, and the two darted into the crowd.
As they ran hand in hand, a shared laugh escaped them.
The sight of the two fleeing together, smiling despite the chaos, drew the cameras’ focus.
Several cameramen instinctively followed them, while others remained fixed on Yuina, who stood silently watching.
Yuina’s lips curled into a faint smile as she watched them disappear.
"What a ridiculous scene this has turned into."
The extras around her looked genuinely stunned, their expressions less like acting and more like authentic reactions.
It was no surprise. None of this—neither the dialogue nor the choreography—had been in the script.
Well, perhaps it was, but certainly not like this.
"What are you staring at?"
Yuina’s sharp gaze swept over the crowd, sending the extras scattering in a hurry.
Left alone, Yuina bent down to pick up her fallen gombangdae.
She glanced briefly in the direction where Seonye and Michiko had disappeared, then turned her back to the camera.
Her retreating figure, quiet and forlorn, stood in stark contrast to the joyful escape of the other two.
As the camera captured the bittersweet conclusion, the scene came to an end.
+++++
When all was said and done, the scene’s outcome aligned with the original script.
Michiko, disheveled and battered, was led away by Yeon Seonye, while Yuina looked on with a complex expression.
But there were critical deviations: Michiko and Seonye running hand in hand with playful laughter, and Yuina’s final, enigmatic line.
These weren’t in the script—they were entirely new interpretations.
"Was all of Yeon Seonye’s dialogue ad-libbed?"
"Are you serious? I thought it was scripted—it felt so natural. That stumble wasn’t acting, right? She actually fell, didn’t she?"
"I thought it was a mistake too, but then..."
The staff exchanged murmurs, trying to process what had just unfolded.
Jiyeon’s stumble, which should have been an NG, had completely derailed the scene.
The original plan hadn’t accounted for anything like this.
Yet Jiyeon’s improvised lines had diffused the tension and shifted the tone of the confrontation.
It was precisely the kind of action Yeon Seonye, caught between Michiko and Yuina, might have taken.
And rather than feeling like an intrusion, her unexpected move brought the scene back into balance.
"Even if all of Yeon Seonye’s lines were improvised, the way the other two reacted was impressive."
"They even adjusted their delivery to subtly match the new direction."
Thanks to Jiyeon’s quick thinking and the adaptability of Seoyeon and Seohui, the scene flowed naturally.
The deviations and additions created something fresh, elevating the moment into a standout sequence.
"Wow, this turned out amazing. Look at this."
The cinematographer beamed, replaying the shot of Michiko and Seonye running together.
"This looks incredible."
"There’s no music, but it feels like there is. It’s so romantic."
"Right? This really works as a romance subplot."
The staff was overwhelmingly positive, marveling at the final cut.
Even the actors, reviewing the footage, were taken aback by how well it had come together.
But not everyone was at ease.
"I—I’m so sorry. I strayed so far from the script..."
Jiyeon approached Director Baek Min hesitantly, apologizing with her head bowed.
Her forehead was bandaged—a visible reminder of the headbutt she’d delivered to Seoyeon.
Curiously, while Seoyeon, who had been headbutted twice, was completely unscathed, Jiyeon had been the one to end up injured.
"That girl’s annoyingly durable."
Still, Jiyeon wasn’t particularly concerned about her minor injury.
Her primary worry was whether Baek Min would accept or reject her unscripted performance.
"What if he asks us to reshoot?"
Jiyeon had gone off-script, deviating from the intended tone and style of the scene.
Regardless of how well the improvisation had worked, taking creative liberties without consulting the director was a mistake.
No matter how good the result, a director’s vision should never be undermined.
Baek Min, noticing Jiyeon’s unease, appeared to ponder the situation for a moment.
The staff, previously enthusiastic, now held their breaths.
"You don’t think he’ll ask for a reshoot, do you?"
"Knowing Director Baek Min, he probably will. He’s not the type to compromise."
"But this scene is too good to lose..."
The atmosphere grew tense as everyone anxiously awaited Baek Min’s decision.
Sensing the charged mood, Baek Min chuckled dryly.
"What kind of impression do you all have of me? We’re not reshooting. The scene is fantastic."
A wave of relief swept through the set as Baek Min continued.
"Honestly, I must’ve shouted NG a hundred times in my head. But no—this is right. The scene works. Though, let’s be clear..."
He placed a hand on Jiyeon’s shoulder and offered her a small smile.
"What happened here started as an accident. But you recovered well, bringing the script back on track. I’ll let it slide this time."
The original intent had been for a heavier, more emotionally charged moment.
A culmination of excess emotion, pushed to its limits.
But while the intensity had softened, the scene gained something in return—a natural, understated complexity.
Yuina’s subdued emotions, conveyed through Seoyeon’s nuanced performance, had been particularly striking.
As Baek Min finished, Lee Sangsoo approached, speaking with a playful tone.
"Ah, young actors these days are remarkable, aren’t they? Thinking back to when I was their age, it’s impressive."
Sangsoo’s interjection seemed aimed at easing the lingering tension.
"Indeed. It’s fascinating how each of them brings their own distinct flavor."
Baek Min nodded.
While Seoyeon’s acting had been the centerpiece of the scene, Jiyeon and Seohui’s contributions had elevated it further.
Seoyeon’s final line as Yuina—"What a ridiculous scene this has turned into."
It perfectly encapsulated the complexity of the moment.
Baek Min turned to Jiyeon with a smile.
"You and Seoyeon have been friends for a long time, haven’t you?"
"Huh? Oh, yes. We’ve known each other since kindergarten."
This content is taken from freёwebnovel.com.
"I thought so."
"...What?"
"Oh, nothing."
Baek Min chuckled.
Just as Seoyeon had anticipated Jiyeon’s improvisation, Jiyeon had instinctively trusted that Seoyeon would adapt and support her.
Their chemistry as longtime friends was evident.
"That’s why, when Michiko and Seonye ran hand in hand, it felt so genuine."
There was complexity in Yuina’s gaze as she watched them leave.
Among the layered emotions, one stood out—sharp and pointed jealousy.
Baek Min loved that detail. It was the perfect finishing touch.
+++++
"Pure Ramiel,"
That was the phrase that came to Seoyeon’s mind as she watched Jiyeon running alongside Jo Seohui during the scene.
Unintentionally, she overlapped Jiyeon with the 3D avatar of Ramiel in her head.
It sounded like a bizarre comparison, but she couldn’t help it.
After all, Jiyeon’s portrayal of Yeon Seonye was rooted in the same instincts and improvisational skills that defined Ramiel’s performances.
"Jiyeon really has a knack for handling situations," Seoyeon mused.
This was something she had known even in her previous life.
One of the most critical skills for any virtual YouTuber—or any streamer, really—was adaptability.
Live broadcasts often came with unexpected hiccups, and Ramiel, a top talent from the “Seven Live” VTuber group, was no stranger to such moments.
Her immense popularity ensured she was frequently at the center of all sorts of incidents, but Ramiel had a remarkable talent for navigating them with wit and grace.
Seoyeon realized that this improvisational brilliance also shone through in Jiyeon’s ad-libs during the filming.
The day after the shoot, Seoyeon glanced at Jiyeon, who sat next to her looking unusually cheerful.
It was rare for Jiyeon to seem this excited, as their usual school routine often involved Seoyeon going to Jiyeon’s classroom rather than the other way around.
Today, however, Jiyeon had come to find her first.
"Ju Seoyeon, why do you keep looking at me like that?"
"It’s nothing."
"Nothing? Your expression says otherwise."
Jiyeon pouted in mock annoyance, completely unaware that Seoyeon’s thoughts were linked to Ramiel.
Of course, even Jiyeon wouldn’t guess that connection.
Seoyeon wasn’t truly upset.
She was just teasing, but she quickly dropped the act.
Switching to a more serious tone, Seoyeon asked, "What kind of flowers should we bring when visiting someone sick? Lilies?"
"Do you want her to think you’re wishing her death?" Jiyeon replied, laughing dryly.
The two of them were on their way to visit Jo Seohui at her house.
"We went a bit too hard on her," Seoyeon admitted.
"‘We’? You mean you threw her too hard."
Seoyeon awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck. "It wasn’t on purpose."
It had just been part of the scene.
Besides, Seohui was sturdy enough to handle a bit of rough treatment—normally.
Though yesterday’s scuffle had been a little more intense than usual, Seohui had seemed fine until the adrenaline wore off after the shoot.
When it did, she had practically collapsed.
As the unwitting "culprit," Seoyeon felt obligated to visit and check on her.
"Her house is massive," Jiyeon muttered as they stood before the gates. "If we ring the bell, someone’s bound to come out, right?"
Without hesitation, Jiyeon pressed the intercom button. "Ding-dong, ding-dong."
They expected the housekeeper from their previous visit to answer.
Instead, a middle-aged man opened the door.
Jiyeon blinked, trying to place him, while Seoyeon froze on the spot.
Her sharp memory immediately identified him.
"The chairman of NewLike Group."
In other words, Jo Seohui’s father.