Cold Water, Broken Glass
Ga-yoon gripped the front door of the set and waited for the director's cue, winding her emotions up to a fever pitch. No—winding them down, rather.
She softened the outer corners of her eyes and the line of her mouth, let the tension bleed out of her shoulders—and then tipped her chin up just enough to look arrogant instead.
The villainess she was playing, Na Yu-ju, was a chaebol heiress steeped in aristocratic snobbery—a bigot who wrapped herself in counterfeit kindness toward anyone she deemed her lesser while radiating boundless superiority. Which was, of course, precisely why the back of her head—the one that insignificant little female lead had struck—ached this much.
"Cue!"
The director's signal fell, and Ga-yoon stepped into the house with her spine straight. In that instant her gaze sank into shadow, as though she had submerged wholly into the role. And the evil spirit coiled about her neck rippled black with rapture.
Creeeak— thunk!
The housekeeper, mid-tidy in the kitchen, came out to greet her, wiping her hands dry on her apron. "Oh, you're home?"
The young miss of the house, who would ordinarily have swept on inside with nothing more than a bob of her chin, stopped short this time—unlike any other day—and let a faint frown gather between her brows as her eyes settled on the housekeeper.
It was a direction straight from the script. And yet the bit actress playing the housekeeper felt her lips go dry with nerves as she watched her sidelong. Had this actress always been this real? The character hadn't changed all that much from before, and yet—how to put it—even that quiet, level stare carried a contempt underneath that pricked at her skin like needles.
Short and glacial, as if choking her anger down, Yu-ju opened her mouth. "Water. Bring it to me. Cold."
"Aigoo. Y-yes, miss."
Restless in that bristling air, the housekeeper's heart pounded the way it had when her parents had thundered at her as a child. The feeling came unbidden: displease this woman in anything, and the consequences would be severe.
"H-here..."
Feeling her way across thin ice, she crept close and offered the glass of water in both hands. Yu-ju glanced at it—then turned her gaze dead ahead.
What sat bolt upright in the seat of honor in that living room, spine ruler-straight, was Na Yu-ju herself. For the first time, the bit actress forgot the camera was there.
"..."
Yu-ju did not deign to give the housekeeper so much as a glance. She only touched the side table—tap—unhurried. The message was plain: even her fingertips wanted nothing to do with it, so set it down and go.
Gulp.
Anxious not to stir her temper, the housekeeper set the glass on the side table without a sound, retreated a step, two—then turned and headed for the kitchen.
That was when Yu-ju's laugh—a thin, incredulous huff—drifted quietly through the living room.
"Ha...!"
Gooseflesh rising up her nape, the housekeeper came back to her. "Is something the matter...?"
Tak—!
Yu-ju set down the glass she had barely touched to her lips, tetchy as anything. Her face was blank, and yet her irritation showed itself with nothing left to hide behind.
"Drink it."
Hesitant though she was, drink it she must. That was the script. And yet, somehow, she didn't want to—Yu-ju's gaze was so murderous that the glass might as well have held poison.
One more breath and the take would have been ruined.
Splash—!
As though even that heartbeat of hesitation had offended her, Yu-ju snatched up the glass and flung its contents into the housekeeper's face.
"Eek!"
The bit actress's senses snapped wide awake—and her breath jammed in her throat.
Rising from the sofa with maddening slowness, Yu-ju rapped the side table with the glass still in her hand. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound dropped at even intervals, winding the tension tighter.
"Is it cold?"
Back on script. Wiping the water from her face again and again, the bit actress flinched and stumbled back a step. The gaze bearing down on her from her full height was glacial.
She stood motionless, expressionless—and still the dread mounted that one careless instant would bring those fangs down, and the wound would be fatal.
So thoroughly terror-stricken that the tactful offer—I'll bring you another glass—died before it reached her tongue, the bit actress answered as though hounded. "Y-yes, ma'am..."
It was a line blurted in a panic, script forgotten, simply crushed beneath her scene partner's presence—and by sheer luck, it was the right answer.
The bloodlessness of Yu-ju's face hardened colder still. The bit actress could do nothing about her chattering jaw.
Tap...
The tapping of glass on table—the sound that had carried on and on—stopped.
A suffocating silence followed.
Then, in a flash, Yu-ju's hand rose, and she hurled the glass in her grip down onto the living room table with all her strength.
Crash—!
The glass burst to pieces, shards scattering every which way. Unable to cage her fury, Yu-ju swept her hair back with a hand trembling violently. And then—
"Ha!"
—a tiny scornful laugh slipped out,
"Hahahaha!"
—and she erupted into shrieking laughter, clutching her belly, folding clean over at the waist.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
It was the moment the villainess shed her mantle of mercy and bared the nature she had kept hidden beneath it. A figure soaked through and through with madness. Not one soul on set could draw an easy breath.
Wound tight by that endless laughter, the bit actress let her guard slip for a moment—
Smack—!
—and Yu-ju, as though she had been waiting for exactly that, swung her hand across the housekeeper's cheek.
"...!"
The slight body was driven by the tremendous force and crumpled onto the sofa across the room. The bit actress curled in on herself, quaking with shock.
It didn't hurt nearly as much as she had braced for. Just as they had rehearsed, Jung Ga-yoon had hollowed her palm to cushion the blow and swung the slap more for sound than for contact. And still the goosebumps would not settle—not when that performance handled a person's emotions and the fraying thread of their nerves like clay, to be kneaded at will.
"UAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
Yu-ju, who had been laughing herself breathless, now howled in earnest, straining until the cords stood out on her throat. Startled out of her wits, the bit actress clutched her cheek and floundered on the sofa, unable even to escape it.
"Haa..."
Through her tangled hair, Yu-ju's sigh warmed the air.
"What a tragic heroine you are. Hm?"
The sneer in her voice, the gaze flung far past the room—there was no mistaking whom Yu-ju was really addressing: the female lead, Lee Ha-yeon.
"How can you people be so unfailingly the same? How do you manage to be that blind to your own station?"
The face that had loosed its fury like a round of gunfire settled back into calm.
"..."
Yu-ju, who had been looking at the housekeeper—so frail, so powerless—as though projecting Lee Ha-yeon onto her, began to walk, unhurried.
"Climb without even knowing your place..." Her chin lifted high once more, and in the look she cast down, a fishy smile surfaced. "...and you get stepped on. That's all."
Cold as frost, she brushed past the housekeeper—and just like that, Yu-ju swept regally out of frame.
A brief silence, and then—
"Cut!"
The director's voice rang across the set.
The moment she was clear of frame, Ga-yoon scurried straight to the bit actress.
"Oh no—! I'm so sorry!"
She eased the woman up from where she'd slumped over the sofa and wiped the water from her face with her own sleeve.
This was an actress old enough to be her mother. Yes, she'd flipped the switch the moment she heard the cue and given the scene everything she had—but sorry was sorry. All she'd needed was to keep that cheek-slapping take from running twice, three times over.
Worried she had overdone it, she fussed over the older woman, combing her face for any sign of real injury.
"Aigoo, I'm fine. I'm fine."
The bit actress waved off Ga-yoon's worry. Minji, who had been watching, was already there with a towel she'd snatched up, and even draped a blanket over the woman's shoulders.
Ga-yoon helped the bit actress to her feet, half-carrying her, and walked her to the monitoring table. "Director, I'm sorry. Could we pause for just a moment before we go on...?"
She had gone under too deep. Even she was a little rattled—it almost felt as though she had never once acted with that kind of immersion.
"Ah—hold on. Footage first."
The director's expression sat somewhere between pleased and displeased. But the longer the playback ran, the more satisfaction spread across his face.
The take had landed well. The bit actress looked satisfied too; smiling, she patted the back of Ga-yoon's hand.
"Good. Good. Okay."
Clap, clap, clap. Dry applause—but unmistakably approval.
"Okay, that's a wrap on the wide. We'll grab just the close-up from the side, then move on."
While the footage was reviewed, the cameraman shot the insert of the shattered glass, and the crew reset the set for the side-angle take.
"Wow. Jung Ga-yoon, that was good. Really good."
Arms crossed, eyes gleaming like a man who had uncovered a raw gem, the director turned to look at her.
"Truly excellent."
It wasn't as if she had never heard praise before. But never once had anyone commended her with eyes this moved—lit up with genuine feeling by her acting itself.
"Thank you."
With the ad-lib behind her, the worry that had stiffened Ga-yoon's lips finally melted away.
"Alright—side angle, let's go!"
The director's bark and two sharp claps cleared the air, and the crew snapped back to their marks in flawless unison.
The plan was to pick up the side shot from the top, with Yu-ju's entrance through the front door. Standing before the set, Ga-yoon stole a light touch to the hollow above her collarbone. She had played it as real as she knew how.
She wondered how much time she'd gained.
But there was no time to check.
"The Terms of Inheritance, Episode 11, Scene 21, front-door side shot. Ready."
"Cue!"
Ga-yoon drew a slow, deep breath, closed her eyes—and opened them, sinking under the role's skin once more.
At that very moment, High-Top Entertainment.
"What on earth did you do? How did my daughter's face end up in this state?!"
Geum Sa-ra, CEO of High-Top Entertainment, took one look at Baek Ga-yoon's savaged face, recoiled with a horrified cry, and rushed to her daughter's side.