TLIS 13

Chapter 13

The staff member’s face twisted in displeasure, but Hye-young just smiled brightly and made excuses.

“Come on, Director, you didn’t even call me first. I always went before her! And if you go first, people forget you easily…”

“Ms. Noh Hye-young, are you forfeiting?”

Hearing the director’s voice, Hye-young froze. Director Shin had stepped out into the hallway, standing at an angle as he spoke to her.

“An acting performance that’s forgettable in the beginning will be just as forgettable at the end.”

“……”

Hye-young’s expression faltered for a split second, and an awkward laugh slipped out.

Whether he noticed or not, Director Shin continued calmly,

“If you’re forfeiting, we’ll have Kang Da-eun come in—”

“I’ll do it! I said I’ll go first!”

Forcing a smile, Hye-young entered the audition room.

Click.

The door closed, leaving Da-eun alone in the empty corridor.

How long would the audition take? When she practiced at home, it took at least thirty minutes to get through the performance and evaluation.

In the quiet hallway, she focused, faintly hearing Hye-young’s voice muffled beyond the door.

She wondered what kind of performance Hye-young had prepared—too bad she couldn’t hear properly.

“Well, I should practice my own.”

Closing her eyes, Da-eun rehearsed her lines silently in her head. It didn’t matter what Hye-young had prepared—what mattered was showing her own performance to the fullest.

“Alright. Good work.”

Writer Kim Hee-sook maintained a neutral face, nodding slightly.

“Thank you!”

After finishing her performance and the short Q&A, Hye-young bowed politely. Having made a fuss about her order earlier, she now carefully watched the director’s face.

“You may leave.”

His tone gave nothing away—neither favor nor disapproval. Hye-young hesitated, bowed again.

“I look forward to working with you.”

Even as she exited, she kept glancing at Director Shin and Writer Kim, gauging their reactions.

As soon as she was gone, Director Shin, who had been checking the notes he’d taken throughout the audition, asked,

“What did you think?”

“Well, not bad.”

“So not good, either.”

Writer Kim laughed lightly, not denying it.

“For a newcomer, she was experienced. Her emotional shifts and expression were fine. But somehow… I couldn’t immerse myself.”

“That can be fixed with direction,” Shin countered immediately.

With the right set, props, and camera composition, she could draw viewers in naturally. Hye-young’s acting was solid enough to work on screen.

“That’s true.”

It was difficult to immerse oneself in such a bare audition room anyway—both for actor and viewer.

“It’s rare to get top-tier actors for every project, Kim. With this schedule, we’d be lucky to have someone of her level.”

“She seemed quite ambitious, though…”

“That can be a strength.”

Accepting his gentle admonition to be content, Writer Kim flipped her notes and said,

“Bring in Kang Da-eun.”

Hye-young wasn’t bad—but since there were only two candidates, they might as well see both.

They didn’t have time to hold more auditions. Maybe it was her own perfectionism talking, but even if both main and supporting roles were newcomers, she still wanted the lead to be the better one.

A staff member called Da-eun in. She walked calmly and bowed.

“Hello. I’m Kang Da-eun.”

Confident for a rookie, Writer Kim thought.

She’d seen her before in a meeting, but somehow Da-eun looked more striking today. Kim glanced at the profile photo—then at Hye-young’s photo on the next page.

They did look similar—height, features, even hair.

If she had to describe it, Hye-young was a flashy beauty, while Da-eun was elegant and refined. Most of all, her eyes—there was depth in them.

Hye-young had the fiery energy of a bold newcomer. Da-eun’s gaze, on the other hand, carried a weight that felt… extraordinary.

“Let’s skip the small talk and start with your scene.”

Interesting. Those eyes had the quiet intensity of a hidden master.

Why hadn’t she noticed before? Maybe she’d been too biased, thinking Da-eun was just another BM Company pick. The chaos after the original lead dropped out hadn’t helped either.

“Yes. I’ll start from outside the door.”

Hye-young had simply started near the door earlier. Was Da-eun being overly dramatic, or would her performance justify it? They’d see.

The director and writer nodded. Da-eun stepped out.

After a beat, the door swung open.

But Da-eun wasn’t immediately visible—only a gust of air drifted in.

What’s this? Then, awkwardly, she appeared.

Standing hesitantly at the doorway, her face reflected awe and curiosity, like someone entering a luxurious mansion for the first time.

The staff member assigned to read the opposite lines belatedly recited his cue.

“Hey, come in!”

“Yes.”

Da-eun flinched slightly, stepping inside.

“I told you not to use honorifics.”

Even though the staffer’s reading was flat, Da-eun didn’t break character.

“Oh… right.”

Her tone carried the strange blend of awkwardness and warmth one might feel meeting a long-lost twin.

Yet beneath that, her tightened jaw, flushed cheeks, and forced smile revealed shame and the sting of social disparity.

Writer Kim, eyes gleaming, unconsciously took over the lines from the staff. She was too curious to see what came next.

“This is the living room. Over there’s the kitchen, and that way’s the bathroom.”

The staffer, realizing she was ad-libbing, fell silent.

As Kim spoke, Da-eun’s gaze moved as if she could actually see her twin guiding her, her small steps perfectly natural.

“I use this room. You can take that one.”

Her expression brightened seeing what must’ve been her sister’s room—but stiffened when she turned to her own.

It was the pantry.

Quickly composing herself, Da-eun pretended to set down her bag—though in reality, she wasn’t holding one. Her movements were so natural it fooled everyone watching.

Click, click.

Writer Kim absently pressed her pen and continued.

“You know you’ll be doing all the housework, right? Laundry room’s next to the kitchen, cleaning tools are in the closet.”

Emotion crept into her voice without her realizing it.

“The maid had to go since I’m pregnant and tired all the time. Don’t let Mom and Dad hear anything about this, okay? You can handle it, right?”

The words were those of a spoiled rich girl—condescending, careless.

Da-eun’s character stood silently, her empty eyes betraying the sting. Slowly, mechanically, she turned, forcing a smile.

“Sure.”

The smile was flawless—but the jealousy and humiliation bleeding through it were so palpable the whole room held its breath.

Writer Kim, nearly whispering, read the next line.

“Ugh, I’m sleepy. Ever since I got pregnant, I can’t stay awake. I’ll nap—look around and do your chores.”

Da-eun nodded faintly, then bit her lip.

“Oh, and close the door. I hate noise.”

At the blatant dismissal, Da-eun’s expression cracked. Kim dropped her pen.

“…Okay.”

Forcing a smile, Da-eun shut the door—and her face went cold. Standing motionless, she slowly began to move, looking around.

She explored the “house,” navigating the imaginary layout exactly as before—kitchen, refrigerator, cupboards, laundry room, cleaning closet.

Her gestures were so fluid, so convincing, that the bare audition room felt like a real mansion.

Finally, she stood where the entire home was in view and murmured weakly,

“Nice place.”

So different from her own life—barely scraping by in New York with a scholarship.

A wave of emptiness washed over her.

“If only I’d been the one who went with them back then instead of Nari…”

The envy twisting into dangerous longing—the process was laid bare in her eyes as she took in the “house.”

“……”

The greed and unease radiating from Da-eun’s performance made Writer Kim swallow hard.

Earlier, Hye-young had cried at this part.

Her interpretation—anger, shame, and jealousy toward her twin—hadn’t been bad.

But this?

“Excellent,” Kim murmured, nodding unconsciously. She looked at the director, who seemed equally spellbound.

“Mm.”

In the later part of the script, the twins’ roles would literally switch.

The poor sister would steal the rich one’s life—a story of ambition turning dark.

And Da-eun’s performance made that transformation believable.

The depth of her interpretation in such a short scene was astonishing.

“Call Ms. Noh Hye-young back in,” said Director Shin.

The staff brought her in.

Hye-young looked puzzled by how short Da-eun’s audition had been, her face glowing with anticipation.

She probably thought Da-eun had messed up and her own chances had just improved.

But then—

“We’ll cast Kang Da-eun as the lead,” the director said bluntly.

Hye-young’s face froze in disbelief.

“Thank you!”

Da-eun bowed deeply. Writer Kim stood, smiling as she approached her.

“No—thank you. That was better than I imagined. I’m looking forward to working together.”

Director Shin also stood and offered his hand.

“I heard good things from Director Sa Mi-hyun, but you exceeded expectations. Let’s make something great together.”

His rough hand clasped Da-eun’s firmly, and he and Writer Kim left the room.

Was it really decided that quickly?

Hye-young just stared blankly at Da-eun’s smiling face, her own flushed with anger.

The director and writer were already chatting and laughing among themselves as they walked out.

Unable to contain herself, Hye-young ran after them and shouted sharply,

“Director! Wait a moment, please!”