"Cut! That’s a wrap!"

The term “one-take” was only something Ha-eun had heard of before, but now, the crew on set witnessed it firsthand.

‘I knew she felt different from other child actors,’ thought Ha Yoon-sung, who had just finished a scene with Ha-eun. He revised his opinion of her entirely.

Even for a child who won awards with her debut film, a hiatus could often dull their skills. Yet Ha-eun transformed into the young Han Yoo-hwa without a hint of hesitation in front of numerous cameras, flawlessly delivering her lines with no mistakes.

Even in areas beyond dialogue, there was nothing to criticize. Her performance resembled Yoo Sung-ah’s portrayal from earlier, making it easy for viewers to believe that Ha-eun’s Han Yoo-hwa would grow into Sung-ah’s character in the future. Ha-eun’s expressions and gestures radiated a familiar confidence that Yoon-sung recognized well.

Though he’d seen child actors mimic adult expressions, gestures, and voices before, it was his first time encountering one who could even capture the same emotional depth as an adult.

‘Come to think of it, she did mention spending her hiatus studying acting.’

Remembering their brief conversation during the audition, Yoon-sung approached Ha-eun.

“Hey, Ha-eun. To celebrate your first successful scene, how about we take a photo together—” Yoon-sung, viewing her as a “hard-working genius” and a worthwhile connection, thought of posting the picture on social media. However...

“...Huh? Where did she go?”

In just the short time he looked away, Ha-eun had vanished. Thirty minutes later, Yoon-sung heard from a staff member that she had left with her manager.

“Ha-eun? I saw her heading to the parking lot with her manager,” the staff member replied.

“What? Already? Does she have another schedule?”

“It’s almost 9 PM, Yoon-sung. Kids like her start getting sleepy around this time,” the staff member joked.

“Oh, so you’re calling me old?”

“Not at all! If you’re old, then I must be a ghost with nothing but bones left.”

In the end, Yoon-sung had to postpone his social media post with Ha-eun. However, contrary to the assumption that she had gone home, Ha-eun was, in fact, at a nearby cafe, sitting with her manager, Joo Jung-yoon, and the journalist, Huh Joo-eun.

“Order whatever you like. I can afford it,” Ha-eun said.

“…People don’t usually say that at a cafe, do they?”

“Anyway, think of it as my thank-you for accepting the interview.”

A short while later, the interview that Huh Joo-eun had eagerly anticipated began.

"So, since *The Neighbor Uncle*, you haven’t taken on any projects. What have you been up to in the meantime?"

“I’ve been going to school,” Ha-eun replied.

“Anything else?”

“Exercise? Or academy classes?”

“No big trips with your family? Or anything special like that?”

“Not really…,” she answered.

Each of Ha-eun’s responses was similarly straightforward.

“I heard that Min Da-yeon also competed for the role of young Han Yoo-hwa. What do you think set your performance apart from hers?”

“Well, Da-yeon… I mean, Min Da-yeon was also fantastic. I don’t think I particularly outshone her,” Ha-eun replied, sincere as always.

In short, her answers, while typical for someone her age, lacked the kind of unique flair or detail Joo-eun had hoped for.

‘Where’s the girl who left reporters speechless with her eloquence?’

Joo-eun’s enthusiasm deflated like a balloon. Yet Ha-eun, understanding what Joo-eun wanted, made an offer.

“Ms. Reporter, could we do another interview a few months from now?” she asked.

“I’d be delighted. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there.”

Ha-eun promised that by the time her carefully crafted scenes aired on TV, she’d give Joo-eun an interview that would meet her expectations.

Of course, Joo-eun had no idea what scene Ha-eun was referring to. For now, she simply made a mental note to save an article draft about Ha-eun.

A few months later…

“...I humbly pray with this sinful body. Please… remain in peace.”

That one scene featuring Ha-eun aired and became a decisive moment, skyrocketing the ratings of *My Love From the Stars*.

“Why is it harder to get an interview with a twelve-year-old than to pull a star from the sky?”

“Joo-eun, don’t you have more material on Lee Ha-eun?”

Only then did Joo-eun realize just how valuable the promise from Ha-eun at that cafe had truly been.

---

“Hey, Sung-ah, just curious… are you hiding a secret daughter or something?”

“Hmm, up until recently, I didn’t have one, but now it kind of feels like I do.”

It was a lighthearted joke, yet Yoo Sung-ah and her manager couldn’t take their eyes off Ha-eun from afar because her acting resembled Sung-ah’s so closely.

Of course, it wasn’t that Ha-eun looked exactly like a younger version of Sung-ah, as she wasn’t actually her daughter. But her expressions, mannerisms, and even the underlying emotions in her performance were a perfect echo of Sung-ah’s portrayal of Han Yoo-hwa.

It was only natural that Sung-ah, the person most familiar with her own acting, would recognize these similarities immediately.

"My manager knows, too. To my mom, I’m not just ‘daughter Han Yoo-hwa.’ I’m ‘income-bringing daughter Han Yoo-hwa.’"

‘Guess it’s true what they say—kids these days are scary,’ Sung-ah’s manager thought.

Sung-ah’s portrayal of Han Yoo-hwa was that of a person driven by self-assured pride. Her confidence and ego were sky-high, nearly unbreakable. Yet, hidden behind that radiance was a strained family dynamic. Yoo-hwa’s refusal to rely on anyone extended even to her own family.

This distrust would naturally be present in young Han Yoo-hwa as well. Seeing Ha-eun embody her younger self so well, Sung-ah couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and understanding.

Normally, it would be unfair to compare a child actor’s performance to that of a top star like Sung-ah. After all, child actors lack the experience, vocal control, and range of expression that adult actors possess, and usually receive more leniency on set.

In particular, when child actors play the younger versions of adult characters, some compromises are typically made. Most productions don’t expect flawless accuracy in these portrayals, often settling for just a passing resemblance.

Yet with Ha-eun, no such concessions were necessary. Her portrayal required no special consideration for her age—she simply was young Han Yoo-hwa.

"...Maybe it would have been better if I’d been born in an orphanage," Ha-eun muttered in character, her face displaying frustration as she practiced a line about her character’s parents, who only sought her financial support while offering her nothing in return.

Watching her work through these emotions alone in front of the mirror, Sung-ah thought she was looking at her own younger self.

Han Yoo-hwa was a girl who, despite her brilliance, felt utterly isolated—a bright but lonely star. Ha-eun perfectly conveyed this complex blend of emotions.

“Cut! Excellent work, Ha-eun. Keep this up, and you’ll be set,” the director praised.

“Thank you,” Ha-eun replied, bowing politely.

As she turned to head back to her manager, Yoo Sung-ah stopped her.

“Ha-eun, do you have a moment?”

With her commanding presence, Sung-ah asked to discuss the upcoming scenes with her. Ha-eun briefly wondered what would happen if she outright declined, but she quickly decided otherwise.

After all, in terms of experience and status, Sung-ah was a major senior to her.

‘...I’ll save this story for a broadcast someday.’

Embracing the opportunity, Ha-eun mentally added her interaction with Yoo Sung-ah to her list of stories.