Chapter 5
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In the 1910s, ordinary citizens involved in the independence movement could hardly afford to live comfortably.
Even if the character was meant to be naive, Hye-young’s acting didn’t give off the impression of someone from a poor family.
“……”
Lowering her body, Da-eun squatted near the hearth and glanced furtively toward the back of the store as if acting out a scene.
From her slumped shoulders and hesitant gaze, you could imagine what the protagonist, Lee Seon, must have been feeling in that moment.
Lee Seon knew. She knew exactly what crisis her country was facing.
She knew about her parents secretly collecting funds for the independence movement and how dire their household situation was. Yet, her hunger made it impossible to resist the food in front of her. Da-eun smacked her lips.
Biting down hard on her lip, she slowly reached out and grabbed a piece of rice cake. The nutty aroma made her gulp before she stuffed it into her mouth.
“You little brat!”
Watching Da-eun’s performance, Hye-young shouted in alarm, then struck her back harshly and yanked her up by the arm.
“Ah! M-Mom!”
Da-eun’s expression showed both guilt for being caught and regret for secretly eating the rice cake.
“Your daughter’s starving—how can you be stingy with a little food?”
Da-eun’s trembling lips jutted out in a childish pout. Playing Lee Seon’s mother, Hye-young bit her lip, her voice boiling over with barely contained anger.
“You’re seventeen! How can you still be so thoughtless?”
But what was that anger really directed toward? Da-eun’s eyelids quivered as she answered back, voice trembling with sorrow.
“It’s not like I ate that much!”
It was a voice angry not at others, but at herself for knowing better and still being weak. The sorrow wasn’t only Lee Seon’s.
“Isn’t surviving more important than anything else?”
What came out wasn’t just a line—it was Da-eun’s own cry. She looked straight at Hye-young.
We’ve practiced scenes like this so many times. I really cared about you.
Lee Seon must have felt the same pain. Her parents loved her, but there was always something more important than her. No wonder she’d felt so hurt, so small.
“Why is it always someone else first? Does independence feed us?!”
Then, as if to defy her mother, she snatched up another rice cake and shoved it into her mouth.
Da-eun’s performance—her eyes full of resentment and yearning for parental affection, yet also disgust at her own childishness—made Hye-young stumble over her lines.
“Y-You little brat!”
Her vision went white; she couldn’t even read the words on the script. Her eyes darted across the page, but she couldn’t say the next line.
Flustered, Hye-young swatted Da-eun’s back two, three more times.
“Ow! M-Mom, wait, wait! Cough—your daughter’s choking, okay?”
Da-eun’s childish voice sounded both innocent and pitiful, enough to make one’s chest tighten.
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It had been just a short performance, but no one could have imagined that the atmosphere of the 1910s could be felt in a modern audition hall.
“Yes. That’s enough.”
Director Sa Mi-hyun announced the end of the audition, and Writer Ham Jun-seok let out a low sigh.
Seeing that their expressions weren’t good, Hye-young’s face brightened a little.
Da-eun bowed politely, her expression complicated.
She had done her best. She didn’t regret her character analysis or her acting choices.
But since she remembered the original version of Secret Letter (밀서) that had been released before her regression, she had to admit—her interpretation might not be what the director and writer wanted.
“Good work, everyone. We’ll be in touch by the end of the day.”
A staff member guided Da-eun and Hye-young out of the audition room. As soon as they left, the director and writer exchanged glances and immediately began an intense discussion.
Outside, Hye-young called out to Da-eun.
“Hey, Kang Da-eun.”
Da-eun looked at Hye-young’s gracefully raised lips and replied, “What?”
“When we were in school…”
Hye-young looked at her quietly, sighed, and continued.
“Even when our grades were ranked, we could still call each other friends.”
Tilting her head slightly, Hye-young stared at Da-eun, her gaze full of tangled emotions.
“But it’s different out here in the real world.”
Clear jealousy and resentment showed on her face—expressions she couldn’t see back when Hye-young was still scarred and burned.
Back then, Hye-young had seen Da-eun’s own disfigured face and felt both pity and anger. Even if it had all been acting.
“Between you and me… who do you think will get the part?”
Da-eun honestly wondered that too. Before her regression, she hadn’t even been given a chance.
No one could know. Maybe Hye-young would reclaim the role, or maybe, with Da-eun now auditioning, things would turn out differently this time.
The two women simply stared at each other, measuring one another in silence.
It was Hye-young who left first—without a word, without looking back. She just walked away until she vanished from Da-eun’s sight.
Only three years had passed, but the street in front of the arts university felt like she’d returned after ten.
Stepping off the bus, Da-eun walked with a strange mix of nostalgia and wonder.
Not far from the bustling area near the university was the apartment she used to live in.
Passing through the crowded streets full of students on break, she turned into a quiet alley where a familiar building came into view.
A café and convenience store occupied the first floor, and above them were residential officetels.
Her parents had been living in New York for years due to work. Since entering the arts high school, Da-eun had stayed in the dorms, so that arrangement had been possible.
Back then, in that same building, she had tried to end her life countless times because of her burn scars. After graduation, she’d lived three years with Hye-young in the one-room apartment that had saved her life.
That’s why—
“I thought I really knew Noh Hye-young.”
Da-eun touched her sun-warmed cheek and sighed.
Should she stop by the café for a cold drink before heading in? She hesitated, staring at the shimmering heat rising from the asphalt.
Her chest suddenly felt tight. The wavering air looked and sounded too much like leaking gas—shhhhhh.
Biting her lip, Da-eun forced herself to walk into the café.
Ding-dong.
The small bell rang, and the murmur of people filled her ears.
It seemed there was a birthday party—five or six students wearing cone hats were lighting candles on a cake near the entrance.
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!”
Hearing their cheerful voices and feeling the cool air conditioning, Da-eun’s mood eased a little. She stepped up to the counter to order when—
Pop!
A small sound. She thought it was a birthday popper, but her body reacted on its own.
“Ah—!”
Her legs gave out, and she dropped to the floor, touching her face.
Beeeep—
A high-pitched ringing filled her ears. The barista hurried around the counter, saying something, but Da-eun couldn’t make out the words.
She couldn’t breathe.
It had only been two days. She’d escaped the gas accident, but not the fear. The memories buried in her mind from before the regression surfaced again.
“N-No…”
With the explosion came that searing heat, the delayed wave of pain, the feeling of her skin melting away—it all flooded back.
Her eyes registered that she was inside the same café, but her mind refused to accept it.
While people panicked around her, a tall man pushed through the crowd and approached.
“Kang Da-eun.”
He sat behind her, pulled her into his arms, lifted her chin, and rested her head on his shoulder to help her straighten up. Then, speaking softly near her ear, he said,
“Look. Where are you right now?”
Her unfocused eyes shifted slightly.
Yoon Joo-hyuk. It was him again.
Hadn’t he helped her just two days ago, too?
“It’s okay. Breathe slowly. Deep breaths.”
Da-eun tried to steady her ragged breathing, but it wasn’t easy.
Then the worried barista ducked back behind the counter and returned holding something.
“Would this help, maybe?”
“Thank you.”
Joo-hyuk accepted it for her—it was a thin paper bag, the kind used to pack cookies.
He gently held it over Da-eun’s nose and mouth. The faint scent of paper filled her lungs.
“Exhale… now inhale again.”
Slowly, guided by his calm voice, she tried several times until her breathing began to steady. After a few more repetitions, Joo-hyuk set the bag aside.
“You’re doing great. Just keep breathing.”
Her breathing finally returned to normal, but her body still felt weak. Leaning against him with all her weight, she couldn’t even bring herself to say she was okay.
“You should rest a bit before you go.”
“…Okay.”
When he helped her stand by holding her shoulders, she felt herself being lifted effortlessly. Only then did the surrounding onlookers disperse.
He sat her down on a soft sofa by the window, thanked the staff at the counter, and returned.
“Feeling any better?”
Joo-hyuk sat beside her, shielding her from the curious stares around them.
“Thank you… How did you… end up here?”
Da-eun accepted the cold drink he handed her, still bewildered.
How was it that every time she was in trouble—he was there?
