"A great tree can be identified from its very first leaves."

This was what a judge had told a young, nervous Kang Sun-woo, fresh to Seoul and attending his very first talent audition. Now, having grown into one of the top actors in the country, Kang Sun-woo found himself recalling those words as he watched Ha-eun handle the reporters with a maturity and poise beyond her years.

When the reporter tried to bait her with a calculated question, she didn’t flinch or stumble. Instead, she responded calmly, with words that not only deflected the question but also left no room for further speculation.

The finesse she displayed wasn't simply talent—it was something more refined, something close to instinct.

Kang Sun-woo knew Ha-eun was special; he’d seen her perform time and again while filming *The Man Next Door*. He had marveled at her ability to embody a role so naturally. Still, he had assumed it was limited to the world within the camera’s frame. He’d met child actors with striking looks, those who had an early understanding of expressing emotion, and those who had an innate aura that attracted attention.

But after today, he understood: Ha-eun was in a category of her own. She wielded her presence like a seasoned performer, neutralizing the reporter’s question with a quiet smile and a well-chosen response that clearly showed she saw through the attempted trap.

“Thank you for your hard work, Ha-eun,” he said after the conference ended.

“…You too, Kang Sun-woo-nim,” she replied, adding an honorific.

Sun-woo noticed that since returning to the waiting room, Ha-eun had suddenly started addressing him with more formality. She’d always called him “Sun-woo ajusshi” (uncle) before, but now she seemed hesitant to speak to him so casually.

After she continued to politely insist on calling him “Kang Sun-woo-nim” instead of “ajusshi,” Sun-woo decided to ask her mother.

“Ms. Song, did I… do something to make Ha-eun uncomfortable?”

Song Na-yeon shook her head, looking equally puzzled. “I don’t think so. She’s only had good things to say about you.”

Neither Sun-woo nor Ha-eun’s mother realized that Ha-eun was intimidated, not by him, but by his fame. Feeling slightly disappointed, Sun-woo couldn’t help but wish they’d be as close as they had been while filming.

But the press conference had wrapped up successfully, despite the reporters' attempts at manipulation, and he likely wouldn’t see Ha-eun much now that the project was over.

“Well, it’s dinner time,” he announced. “Let’s go out to celebrate, Ha-eun.”

“Dinner? A party?” she asked, looking surprised.

“Yep! When we finish a big event like this, we all go out together and eat something good,” he explained.

Since Ha-eun hadn’t eaten anything substantial besides the cakes in the waiting room, Sun-woo had made a reservation at a traditional Korean restaurant. Her mother joined them, and the rest of the main cast and crew soon gathered to celebrate the end of filming.

The only concern Sun-woo had about this particular restaurant was the menu. He had chosen a high-end Korean spot specializing in traditional dishes, but he couldn’t imagine Ha-eun would enjoy many of the items on offer.

‘She’ll probably just eat the mini beef patties,’ he thought, glancing at the menu. There wasn’t even the standard tonkatsu that kids often liked at traditional places.

The food arrived, and people started eating, but he couldn’t help but steal glances at Ha-eun, worried that she might not like the grown-up flavors.

"Would you like more side dishes? They can bring refills if you need them,” he asked.

“Really? Okay, thank you,” she replied.

Ha-eun surprised him again. She wasn’t only eating the mini beef patties but also reaching eagerly for the pickled perilla leaves, spinach, cucumber kimchi, lotus roots, and even the marinated eggplant.

“Ha-eun, you don’t have to eat that if you don’t want to…” he trailed off, thinking maybe she was forcing herself.

But Ha-eun looked at him with confusion before smiling. She genuinely enjoyed it, her expression free of any reluctance.

Sun-woo watched her munch on spring vegetables and side dishes with a dexterity and appetite that would put most adults to shame.

By the end of dinner, he found himself chuckling, watching Ha-eun expertly handle even the trickier dishes like abalone, which she scooped and ate without hesitation. Her actions shattered his expectations of what children liked or disliked.

‘Is even this a talent of hers?’

Dinner concluded, and although everyone else continued to a bar for drinks, Sun-woo bid Ha-eun goodbye.

---

*Click. Click-click.*

“Hmm…”

It was about two months since *The Man Next Door* had been released. Like with the *Matchstick* music video, Ha-eun spent her time browsing the internet, curious to see what people were saying about her performance.

However, since she was still far too young to watch the movie herself, she could only read the comments and blogs about her role. As a result, while she gathered that people were impressed with her acting, she couldn’t quite grasp the full impact of her performance.

The adults around her—her mother, her teachers—had seen the film and praised her, but in vague terms. She wanted to know more about specific scenes and emotions she’d portrayed, but she felt too shy to press them for details.

<*The Man Next Door* Hits #1 for Fifth Week in a Row!>
<*The Man Next Door* Surpasses 5 Million Tickets Sold!>

‘That’s a relief.’

Reading these headlines, she could tell that the movie was doing as well as she remembered. She’d once worried that her casting might negatively impact the film’s success compared to what she knew of the original version, but the numbers seemed to align with her recollections.

Ultimately, though, she reminded herself that *The Man Next Door* was a project that was now behind her.

“Mom, I’m heading out with Jung-yoon unnie for a bit!” she called.

Her next priority wasn’t related to her acting career but rather the upcoming “Autumn Sports Day” at kindergarten. She went to the nearby open field with her manager, Joo Jung-yoon, to practice.

Having trained regularly for quite some time, Ha-eun was the ace of her class, Dalnim-ban, and she was set to play a key role in multiple events.

“Ready… Go!” Jung-yoon called, stopwatch in hand.

Ha-eun dashed across the open field in a straight line. Although the distance wasn’t exactly 50 meters, she clocked in at 9.11 seconds, a time that would be impressive even for an upper-elementary boy.

Not satisfied with her first time, Ha-eun ran a few more sprints until she finally broke into the eight-second range.

“You’re the final runner for your relay, right?” Jung-yoon asked.

“Yes,” Ha-eun nodded.

“Then unless you’re way behind when you start, I think your team’s going to win for sure,” Jung-yoon said with a grin.

Ha-eun took it as a simple compliment. Given her frail health in her past life, she still found it difficult to gauge her own physical capabilities.

But she was determined to give her best, especially for her classmates who had placed their faith in her as their final relay runner. There wasn’t a single grain of sand in her mind that even considered taking it easy.