Episode 142: Pleasant Misjudgment (1)
When there’s a lot to do, time tends to fly by.
In that sense, this past week felt like it passed at the speed of light.
“Are you really tired?”
Zia asked while popping a bite-sized cube of watermelon into my mouth.
The sweetness that spread across my tongue—mixed with the juice and her gentle question—brought an irresistible smile to my lips. Zia smiled back at me.
There was just a hint of pity in her smiling face.
‘Well… she can’t help it.’
She’s the only one who’s seen me this week—cutting into even my sleep time—while no one else could.
Pulling off massive amounts of work in a short period is something I’m used to, but the fatigue that builds up in the body is a different story.
At this level, it’s just slightly sunken eyes—nothing I can’t endure—but the problem is that the person looking at me is Zia.
No matter how much I try to hide it, I can’t escape eyes that see straight through me.
No helping it.
Honestly, the fact that I’m this exhausted is entirely my own doing, no matter who says otherwise.
Arrangement?
Finished ages ago.
Adapting Shooting Star—optimized note by note with my own voice layered in—to five girls wasn’t easy by any means.
But whining over something like that after sixteen years of experience would be ridiculous.
The rap part I added to highlight Kim Soo-jin’s charm—I did get Sally’s help with that.
Thanks to the time Sally saved me, I was able to lend a hand in finalizing the choreography. As a result, Team Y started full practice on Shooting Star the day before yesterday.
Training has been the same.
I have to adjust direction every day based on how things are changing, but it’s not to the point where I’m dragging work home.
‘Above all… there was that pleasant misjudgment.’
So then why am I this tired?
It’s because of the bundle of papers in my hand.
“If you were going to get this tired, you should’ve just said no.”
“Ahh.”
Pretending not to notice how the pity in her voice was slowly turning into guilt, I opened my mouth and made a small sound. Another cube of watermelon dropped in.
The sweet juice spread through my mouth again as I recalled the title written on the cover of the papers I was holding.
[1 Hit Lover]
A familiar name.
The exact same title as the script Zia had barely put down these past few weeks.
Only, what I’m holding is quite different from Zia’s script.
It’s much thinner compared to hers, and the pages are almost untouched—practically brand new.
That makes sense, because
‘This script was prepared for me.’
Before regression, the only “acting” I ever did was appearing wordlessly in music videos.
So why, at such an important time, did I end up receiving a script like this?
It all started three days ago, when Lee Ah-jeong came to see me and threw out one line without any preamble.
“Yujin-ssi. Want to do a cameo?”
It was so out of left field that I don’t remember the exact wording, but it was something like that.
Naturally, just hearing that much, I was planning to refuse.
‘A cameo?’
A quick, passing cameo—I might be able to manage somehow, but why bother?
But Lee Ah-jeong didn’t wait for my refusal and added a little more explanation.
“There’s that drama Zia’s in, right? They need a cameo who can sing well.”
The moment Zia’s name came up in her explanation, it had more than enough power to make me pause the refusal that had already reached the tip of my tongue.
Of course, even that wasn’t quite enough to convince me to accept.
Unfortunately for me, Lee Ah-jeong’s explanation didn’t end there.
“Zia’s reputation on set is really good. They say she gets along well with Si-yeon, and above all, the writer really likes her. What was it again? Something like… she perfectly embodies the character the writer had in mind?”
Well, yeah—that tracks.
I can’t exactly judge her acting ability myself, but setting that aside, Zia is the kind of rookie it’s impossible not to like.
A newbie who shows up to the set even on days she doesn’t have scenes, just to watch the seniors act and learn whatever she can?
Unless someone’s heart is seriously twisted, very few people would find that annoying.
And if she’s actually good at acting on top of that—what more is there to say?
So yeah.
That was more than enough reason for the writer to like her.
And apparently, because of that, they needed someone who could sing for a certain cameo role.
Which is how I ended up with this script in my hands.
I stared down at the thin bundle again.
Honestly… I had no intention of doing this.
But the moment I heard it was for Zia’s drama—and that it would help her—I couldn’t bring myself to refuse outright.
And then, after reading the script…
I realized I’d made a very pleasant misjudgment.
This wasn’t just some meaningless cameo.
The role was small, yes—but the song they wanted me to perform in that scene was far from trivial.
And more importantly…
It was a chance to stand on the same set as Zia, even if just for a moment.
So I said yes.
And now here I am—exhausted from simultaneously wrapping up Team Y’s preparations while memorizing lines and melody for this cameo shoot that’s coming up soon.
Zia fed me another piece of watermelon and spoke softly.
“You really didn’t have to do it if it was going to be this hard, you know.”
I chewed slowly, then smiled.
“But I wanted to.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“I wanted to be there with you—even just for a little while.”
Zia’s face flushed a faint red.
She muttered something under her breath, then leaned in and rested her forehead against my shoulder.
“…Idiot.”
Her voice was small, but warm.
I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her a little closer.
Yeah.
This exhaustion?
Totally worth it.
“So that’s why they want to add a short scene with Zia in the ending part.”
I had been quietly listening to Lee Ah-jeong while she praised Zia, but as her explanation continued a little further, my resolve to refuse only grew firmer.
‘If I go in there, what kind of nuisance would I cause?’
Even someone like me who’s never acted knows how precious a single scene is to a rookie actor.
And this isn’t just any scene—the writer liked Zia so much they decided to add something that didn’t exist before?
No matter how short, the impact of that wouldn’t be small at all.
‘And it’s in the ending, too?’
That would make it the final image of Zia that the drama leaves with the audience.
I couldn’t possibly let Zia’s face end up as some infamous bad-acting meme circulating as a gif.
Unfortunately, that firm decision never made it out of my mouth.
Because the words that came out of Lee Ah-jeong’s mouth shook that resolve to its core.
“I skimmed the added script first… and there’s a bit of a love-line implication, you know?”
Looking back now, it’s clear her voice had been dripping with mischievous teasing.
But at the time, sitting in front of her, I was too mentally scrambled to catch it,
‘Love… line…?’
More than anything, those four syllables hit the back of my head with devastating force.
‘Of course I was mentally prepared.’
As long as Zia keeps pursuing acting, romance is practically unavoidable in K-dramas—sooner or later it was bound to happen.
It was just that there was a slight temperature difference between accepting it intellectually and feeling it in my heart.
And I was the one who realized a little too late that Lee Ah-jeong is not the type to miss that kind of opening.
“The guy shows interest in Yoo Hye-young first. You don’t really need to act—just show how much you like Zia as is. So even if you’re not confident in acting, something like that should be fine, right? If it really doesn’t work, we can look for someone else.”
There’s no need to recall exactly how the words that slipped out of my mouth changed.
The added scene script I’m holding in my hand explains it more than enough.
‘Is this self-inflicted disaster or what?’
Lee Ah-jeong said I probably didn’t need to practice much, but how could that be?
Even so, I can’t exactly practice this in front of the kids—so the places I read it are either in the car while Su-hyuk drives or at home with Zia.
Well… it’s tiring, but not bad.
“If you’re that worried, I’ll help you practice more.”
“Again?”
“Practice makes perfect, you know.”
She says it like she’s fed up, shaking her head dramatically—but the fact that Zia is genuinely enjoying “acting” together with me blows all the fatigue away.
I scoot closer to the spot she made for me and share the script I’m holding.
Of course, Zia also received the added script, but this is exactly what makes it nice.
‘Come to think of it…’
Lee Ah-jeong’s eye for things really is impressive.
Honestly, looking at the script like this, I feel like I might actually be able to act somewhat human.
The fact that I can clearly feel Zia enjoying it fuels my motivation too, but
‘Top-class idol, huh.’
How did she manage to bring me a role I couldn’t possibly misunderstand?
‘I mean… Lee Ah-jeong isn’t a regressor too, is she?’
If we’re talking purely skill and talent, it’s possible to wonder—but no way.
If she were, she wouldn’t have doubted Soyoung or Chaekyung’s abilities.
Well… that just makes Lee Ah-jeong even more impressive.
***
Our acting practice didn’t last very long.
Because there was one far more important schedule.
It was monitoring the first broadcast of Project Trinity.
Episode 1 opened with the sight of an antique door engraved with the Project Trinity logo slowly swinging open.
“Wow… how does the suit look that good on you?”
“Really? That much?”
Zia marveled at me appearing from the darkness between the doors, dressed in a sharp suit.
Her admiration made me feel oddly shy, so I muttered that—and her eyes narrowed slightly.
The look clearly said “I’m watching, don’t interrupt,” so I quickly shut my mouth.
After that, one by one, the other four producers appeared.
“Heh…”
If I had to interpret that little exclamation, it would probably be something like ‘My Yujin is standing among those incredible people…’
Her mouth stayed firmly closed, but she couldn’t hide the way her shoulders lifted or her chin rose proudly.
When I saw that, Zia let out a soft chuckle.
But that only lasted a moment.
At the scenes that followed, Zia furrowed her brow slightly.
“Ugh… those people are kind of awful.”
Ryu Je-hoon’s editing had turned the conversation with Isabella, M2K, and Kim Gun into what looked like brilliant ice-breaking banter, but Zia—who’s quite sensitive to malice—immediately picked up on the mockery the three of them directed toward me.
“That old guy is actually better.”
She seemed to prefer Heo Yul-bok, who’d been portrayed as the villain who ruined what otherwise looked like a warm, friendly chat.
Of course, that alone wasn’t enough to lift Zia’s already soured mood, but I stayed silent and just chuckled quietly to myself.
Then the auction began.
“600 points.”
“650 points.”
“700 points.”
“720 points.”
“740 points.”
“760.”
It became painfully clear that the real villain wasn’t Heo Yul-bok—it was me.
The relentless, no-breathing-room rally shattered their masks completely, and
“Ahaha! Of course! There’s no way Han Yujin would just take it lying down!”
—I already knew Zia would burst out laughing like that.
“That’s right. That’s exactly the man I chose.”
Even as M2K and Isabella—knowing full well I was deliberately wrecking everything—were forced to play along, Zia clutched her stomach and doubled over laughing. Eventually she reached over, stroked my head, and let me know her mood had mostly recovered.
With her gentle touch melting away the last of the tension, Zia watched the member auction with a much lighter heart—until she suddenly pointed at the TV screen.
“Hey! That… what’s that…?”
It was Soyoung’s turn.
“That kid… isn’t that the one I saw back then? Why is she D-Class? Huh?”
First, the shock that Soyoung was placed in D-Class.
And second, the fact that even I had let her pass by without picking her.
“She must’ve felt so left out…”
Zia’s voice turned a little sullen as she empathized with Soyoung’s feelings.
I share almost everything with Zia, but I hadn’t told her about the auction because it would’ve been a spoiler—so the shock seemed to hit her even harder.
“It was all part of the plan. The kids knew too.”
“Still…”
“I ended up taking her anyway.”
“Really? Then that’s a relief… But seriously, why was she D-Class? She looks like she’d be good at singing. Hmm… maybe she was just nervous…?”
In the end I had to spoil it after all, but it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Zia muttered that to herself.
I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at her evaluation.
Soyoung’s introduction video had already played.
Right now, probably the only person besides me who could look at the current Soyoung and say “she looks like she’d be good at singing” was Zia.
‘As expected…’
Was she saying that because I was the one who picked her up?
Or had Zia somehow seen the talent in Soyoung that even Seo Yoon-je had missed?
My head told me it was the former, but my heart leaned heavily toward the latter.
Because Zia was the woman who had once looked at me and predicted I’d win a Grammy.
If it was Zia, she might very well have seen it.
That Baek Soyoung was the very embodiment of the “pleasant misjudgment” that had completely overturned the plan I’d originally set for Project Trinity.