From the day I started doing things independently at six until now, many things have changed in my life. But one thing has remained constant.

It’s my commitment to a structured, disciplined lifestyle.

“Mom, it’s 7 a.m. now, so I’m going to go exercise.”
“Okay~.”

Simply put, I go to bed at the same time every night and wake up at the same time every morning. In a more formal way, you could say I live my life according to a pre-planned schedule.

And it seems to work well. Even the common flu, which most people catch at least once, hasn’t touched me.

According to a famous doctor on TV, a regular lifestyle pattern greatly helps with health and conditioning. Added to that, the small exercises I do have started to give me the faint outlines of abs.

The same goes for my singing lessons with Double Lee and the acting academy I joined when I started elementary school. Every week, on the same days and at the same times, I head to Double Lee’s studio or the acting academy for lessons. The only thing that bothers me a bit is…

“Hello, my name is Lee Ha-eun. I’ll be joining the acting class from today—”
“Hah, like there’s anyone here who doesn’t know your name.”
‘…Is that an insult or a compliment?’

The other child actors from Luna Entertainment didn’t seem to like me very much.

There had already been a few times when I overheard them gossiping about me behind my back. But no matter how I thought about it, I couldn’t recall doing anything that would make them dislike me.

When I asked Min Da-yeon, the only person around me who understood this kind of thing, she replied, “They’re jealous, obviously. Didn’t the CEO take you personally to the *Man Next Door* audition?”
“What about it?”
“Ugh… Do you really not get it, or are you just pretending? It’s clear the CEO favors you. They don’t show that kind of kindness to just anyone. Of course those kids wouldn’t like you.”

Apparently, the other child actors saw me as a “newcomer” who was receiving special treatment from CEO Jeong Do-cheol shortly after joining Luna Entertainment.

Honestly, it felt a bit unfair. For the *Man Next Door* audition, I hadn’t even wanted to go—it was already decided. I was just told to audition, so I did, and I put in my best effort, as always.

“…Do you think it’ll make me look even worse if I say that out loud?”
“Do you even need to ask, you dummy?”

For now, getting close to them seemed impossible, so I decided to focus only on the lessons at the acting academy.

After finishing the lesson, I’d go home and prepare for the *My Love from the Star* child actress audition scheduled in a few days.

I also watched “Squirrel’s” broadcast in the evenings before bed whenever I could.

Why? Because…

**Broadcasting Host**
Squirrel (0ekfkawl0)

**Manager**
D.A. (eldkdlqslek123)

‘…How did this even happen?’

One day, Squirrel suddenly promoted me to a broadcast manager.

Of course, Squirrel’s channel was big enough to have other managers, but I didn’t have the confidence to manage the chat like the other managers.

So, on the day I was promoted, I asked to be returned to a regular viewer.

“Hmm, but you’re like my anchor, you know? I don’t want to forget the times when it was just you and me talking, so I gave you the manager role.”
<D.A.: You’re already working hard enough….>
“Anyway, you don’t have to do any chat management like the others. I just feel more at ease seeing your username.”

In the end, she refused my request. Apparently, she saw my username as a sort of good luck charm.

While I couldn’t join every stream Squirrel started, I felt I had to be there during the times I usually watched.

It was reassuring to know Squirrel had some interest in me. Since I hadn’t given up on my dream of becoming a VTuber, maintaining a good relationship with Squirrel seemed wise… even if this wasn’t exactly how I planned for her to remember my username.

There wasn’t a problem with it, per se. Watching Squirrel’s broadcasts for inspiration on what kind of streamer I wanted to be someday didn’t seem like a bad idea, either.

So, I dedicated a notebook to jotting down observations on Squirrel’s streams. I noted the energy levels she used in different situations and how she handled troublesome viewers.

Without a doubt, there weren’t many streamers more popular than Squirrel these days. Most of my classmates talked about her broadcasts, confirming that this was indeed her peak.

And given that the character I’d be auditioning for in *My Love from the Star* had a similar cheerful energy and occasional clumsiness, studying Squirrel’s mannerisms seemed like a useful exercise.

‘Hmm, Ha-eun, you’re very good at mature acting, but acting like a child feels a bit unnatural,’ one of my acting instructors had remarked.

Due to my mature mind in contrast to my small body, I’d instinctively rejected childish behavior. But I knew I needed to learn to portray a believable child.

People cast child actors for roles requiring childlike qualities. This wasn’t always the case, but for the *My Love from the Star* audition, it would matter.

“Okay, let’s hide ten loaves of bread here. I’ll come back in the last two minutes of the game—”

- ? What’s that green thing behind you?
- Squirrel, behind you! Look behind!!
- Why is that thing glowing?
- Creeper inbound = Squirrel’s loss guaranteed.
- Thirty minutes of hard work gone in one second.

“Huh? Where’s the Creeper—? Oh, no, no, no!! Not my bread!!”

And so, today as well, I watched Squirrel lose all her items in a split second. Just like the time I’d studied Kim Min-jun’s every move.

---

“Da-yeon, could you watch my acting for a bit?”
“…Hey, Ha-eun, we’re competitors, remember?”
“Well, then I’ll watch your acting, too.”

Ha-eun’s innocent smile, as if to say, “Fair enough, right?” rendered Min Da-yeon speechless.

Ha-eun’s pure, straightforward attitude caused Da-yeon’s blood pressure to rise ever so slightly.

**“My lord, please slow down a bit. With these short steps of mine, it’s hard to keep up with your swift strides.”**

Thus began Ha-eun’s performance. Whatever else one could say about Ha-eun, Da-yeon had long acknowledged her acting skills.

She decided to watch, secretly hoping for a mistake so she could tease Ha-eun.

But as always…

**“But… isn’t this place noisier than I expected? Are markets always so bustling?”**

From start to finish, there was no slip-up in Ha-eun’s lines. Da-yeon watched with folded arms, glaring at her.

“How was it?”
“…You sounded like a little brat trying to act noble.”
“Huh? But isn’t that what *Han Yoo-hwa* is supposed to be—”
“Quiet! Anyway, now it’s your turn to watch me. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Da-yeon then recited the lines Ha-eun had just performed with an exaggerated tone, adding more expressive gestures than Ha-eun had used.

Ha-eun’s response was pure admiration, like that of a beginner watching a veteran.

It made sense. Unlike Ha-eun, who had spent a long time in “preparation,” Da-yeon had been actively working in movies and dramas, so it was natural for Ha-eun to be impressed.

Her eye contact was so realistic, as if a nobleman really was standing in front of her. She tried to walk faster but stumbled slightly, adding a believable touch.

Everything was calculated to intimidate Ha-eun, drawing from Da-yeon’s deep analysis of the *My Love from the Star* script.

However, when the day of the audition finally arrived…

-Stumble.

**“Ah, my lord!”**

Seeing Ha-eun perfectly replicate her careful, faltering steps, Da-yeon finally realized her mistake.

‘That… that annoying brat!’

In the end, Da-yeon had inadvertently given Ha-eun a personal acting lesson.

It was a harsh lesson in the price of letting her pride get the best of her.