Chapter 14
When Director Shin and Writer Kim turned back, Hye-young spoke again, sounding wronged.
“Can’t you give me one more chance? I worked really hard to prepare, and I just can’t accept this.”
“……”
“And you know, right? Who it was that introduced me here.”
She must’ve thought that was her trump card, but Director Shin didn’t even flinch.
“I understand how disappointed you must feel, but Kang Da-eun simply fits the role better. You know how important the character Nari is, don’t you?”
Hye-young looked ready to shout in protest, but when Director Shin’s face hardened, she bit her lip and swallowed her anger.
Taking it as the reckless spirit of a rookie, the director sighed and offered her some advice in a gentler tone.
“Hye-young. Working alongside a colleague who has qualities you don’t—that’s a rare and valuable experience. It’ll help you a lot in your acting career.”
As if there was nothing more to say, Director Shin and Writer Kim left. Hye-young clenched her trembling hands into fists.
Even if she had come through President Hong’s introduction, she couldn’t make a scene here now that she was officially part of the drama.
With fury on her face, Hye-young went looking for Da-eun.
“Hey, Kang Da-eun.”
She grabbed Da-eun’s arm as she was heading toward the elevator and yanked her back.
“You’re really lucky, aren’t you? Everything just falls into your lap so easily.”
Hye-young’s sharp eyes glared at her, clearly determined to dismiss Da-eun’s effort as mere luck.
Da-eun, who had been quietly studying her, finally spoke.
“Well. Maybe they just liked my interpretation better.”
If you’re going to call it luck, Da-eun thought, then what were you so afraid of in your past life that made you do what you did? She recalled the last words Hye-young had said before she died.
“That drama, Secret Letter… I wanted that role. But I didn’t think I could win against you.”
“It’s unfortunate for you, but what can I do? I’ve won again this time.”
Da-eun smiled softly and stepped into the elevator.
Through the closing doors, Hye-young’s eyes twisted with resentment.
Da-eun had won this round, but there was no guarantee she could keep winning forever. Once the drama aired, the public’s judgment would be unpredictable.
All she could do was practice—again and again.
She would pour everything into her craft so she’d have no regrets later.
As Da-eun left the audition hall, only one thing filled her mind: the work itself.
“Congratulations, Miss Kang!”
When her manager Ha-jeong told her the news that she’d been confirmed as the lead, she beamed with joy.
Adjusting Da-eun’s upcoming schedule accordingly, Ha-jeong added another bit of news.
“Oh, and they asked if you could attend the Secret Letter press screening.”
A press screening was an event to show the movie to critics and journalists for promotion.
“Of course! I’d love to attend.”
Even though her part was only a brief cameo of about ten minutes, being invited was an honor. Da-eun’s face lit up.
Renowned senior actors would all be there—Lee Ju-ran, Kwon Min-goo, Oh Dan-hyung, Park Sung-pil, Kim Ae-sook, and even Kim Bo-hee, who played her mother.
Just thinking about seeing the seniors she admired made Da-eun’s eyes sparkle.
“Oh, right. Ms. Moon asked if you’ve picked your next project yet.”
At that, Da-eun clapped her hands, immediately thinking of the one she had in mind.
“I want to audition for Jackpot.”
Jackpot was a crime-action movie, and the role she was eyeing was Si-ho, a thief known for her wire-action scenes.
Before her regression, Da-eun had worked as a stuntwoman, performing countless wire and action scenes. She felt confident she could pull it off.
“Got it. I’ll let you know once the Jackpot audition schedule is out.”
Ha-jeong turned her focus back to driving, while Da-eun pulled the script of Surely, We from her bag.
Sunlight streaming through the car window made the script seem to glow.
She traced her fingers over the title.
Her first drama. Her first leading role.
It was a chance that had fallen into her lap unexpectedly—but she was determined to make it count.
After all, how often does life give you the chance to go back in time and start over?
She’d give her all to every single project.
Da-eun reopened the already-worn script and didn’t let her concentration waver for a single moment until she arrived home.
From the very start, Secret Letter had drawn public attention.
Entertainment reporter Joo Han-seob had been looking forward to this day for ages—he was a fan of the lead actress, Lee Ju-ran.
“Hello, everyone! I’m Park Yu-rim, your host for today’s press screening. Please take your seats.”
It was about to begin.
People who had been standing or chatting started to sit down one by one. The lights over the audience dimmed, and the host continued.
“We’d like to invite Director Sa Mi-hyun and the cast of Secret Letter to the front for a brief introduction.”
As Director Sa and lead actress Lee Ju-ran rose from the front row, Joo Han-seob felt his heart flutter.
Lee Ju-ran was one of the few actresses in Korea who had both striking looks and exceptional acting skills.
Alongside her were Kwon Min-goo, Oh Dan-hyung, Park Sung-pil, Kim Ae-sook, and Kim Bo-hee—each standing in turn.
And then, following their gestures, a young rookie actress stepped forward.
She immediately caught the reporter’s eye.
Her fresh, unspoiled appearance and slightly flushed cheeks from nervousness were charming, and the audience’s attention naturally gravitated toward her.
“Please introduce yourselves.”
Who’s that?
Starting with Director Sa, the mic was passed down as each actor briefly introduced themselves and shared a short comment. Then—
“Hello, I’m Kang Da-eun! I hope you’ll enjoy the film.”
With her greeting, the room erupted in applause. Watching the young actress’ wide-eyed surprise at the loud clapping, the senior actors and staff smiled quietly here and there.
Kang Da-eun, huh. I wonder what role she plays. Joo Han-seob’s curiosity deepened.
“Director Sa, could you please tell us a bit about the film?”
“Yes. Secret Letter is…”
Even as he listened to the director’s explanation, the reporter’s eyes alternated between Lee Ju-ran and Kang Da-eun.
They looked strangely alike—was she playing Lee Ju-ran’s younger counterpart?
He’d heard that filming had been delayed because they hadn’t found the right child actress for Lee Ju-ran’s role. Rumor had it that Director Sa was very particular.
Hmm. Stroking his chin, Joo Han-seob studied Da-eun.
Appearance and presence—check. Acting ability… we’ll see.
“Thank you for the explanation. Director and actors, please return to your seats.”
We’ll find out once the movie starts, he thought.
The brief introductions ended, the room darkened, and soon the distributor’s and studio’s logos appeared.
Then came the sound of someone’s breathing in the darkness, followed by strong, hurried footsteps—opening the prologue of the film.
Moving stealthily down an empty path was Lee Ju-ran’s character, Kim I-seon. The reporter’s face brightened at the long-awaited appearance.
A dark, moonless night.
Though she appeared alone, I-seon commanded the screen with palpable tension. She pulled out a small canteen to moisten her lips; close to her chest was a letter bound carefully for the provisional government.
As she resumed moving, the camera tilted up toward the sky—
Secret Letter
The film’s title filled the screen in elegant calligraphy.
This is going to be a hit, Joo Han-seob thought, swallowing unconsciously as he focused on the movie.
With a caption reading Ten years earlier, the scene shifted to a bustling, noisy street filled with wind and chatter.
“Fresh rice cakes here! Just steamed—come have a taste!”
Steam rose from a shop where actress Kim Bo-hee, playing I-seon’s mother, placed a tray of rice cakes on the stand.
The busy marketplace passed by in an instant.
Later that night, in a cramped room, I-seon’s mother whispered tensely,
“So? What did those damned Japs say?”
“Shh. You’ll wake Seon.”
Perhaps realizing her whisper was still too loud, I-seon’s father pressed a thick envelope between his hands.
It was money saved from selling rice cakes—scrimping and sacrificing even his daughter’s share of food.
“There are people overseas… This will help them.”
There were those abroad fighting for Korea’s independence. To support them, no sacrifice was too great.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I-seon’s mother grasped her husband’s hand over the envelope.
“I know. It’s for tomorrow.”
They had to free themselves from Japanese rule soon—but that path was steep. The close-up of their clasped hands brimmed with desperation.
Then the camera panned to young I-seon, lying with her back to her parents.
“……!”
The child actress—Kang Da-eun—appeared on screen, and the moment was breathtakingly powerful.
Though her eyes were closed as if asleep, her faintly trembling eyelids and tightly set lips were stiff with tension.
Even while understanding her parents’ righteousness, her performance conveyed the instinctive fear of the danger surrounding them—it was moving in its quiet realism.
As the scene faded out, the camera revealed the furnace behind the rice-cake shop.
“Ah, I’m hungry.”
In the young I-seon’s innocent voice, Da-eun’s resemblance to Lee Ju-ran was uncanny—the blinking of her eyes, her gaze, even her tone.
She had clearly studied and analyzed the role in detail, ensuring that audiences could naturally connect the child I-seon to the adult one played by Lee Ju-ran.
Though just a child, Da-eun’s portrayal of I-seon—naïve yet patriotic—was impressive. Reporter Joo Han-seob watched, completely absorbed, without blinking once.
