Hobbyist VTuber-Chapter 246

At the end of the day, Yoo Sung-jae’s cameo filming lasted the entire day.

That was because every single one of his scenes as Seo Do-yoon was scheduled to be shot in one go.

“Ugh... at this rate, isn’t this more of a supporting role than a cameo? Shouldn’t I be getting paid more?”

“Hmm, I don’t know about your paycheck, Sung-jae, but I can offer you a coffee.”

When Ha-eun handed him a coffee, Yoo Sung-jae accepted it without complaint.

He took a sip, intending to chat lightly about the day’s filming—

—when suddenly.

-♪

-♪

-♪

-♪

“Oh, hold on.”

Just as he was about to speak, Ha-eun’s phone rang.

She reached into her pocket and pulled it out.

Yoo Sung-jae didn’t think much of it.

Whatever the call was, it wasn’t important enough to stop her from answering.

Besides, from the corner of his eye, he could see Kang Sun-woo watching them from a distance.

So, he decided to act as usual.

Just a friendly acquaintance.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Even if his own emotions were uncertain, he had no intention of making Ha-eun uncomfortable.

Scandals would be troublesome for both of them.

But then—

“Oh, Da-yeon? What’s up?”

The moment the name left her lips, he tensed slightly.

A familiar name.

And for some reason, he already had a feeling why Da-yeon was calling.

*#@%!#%$@%@$#@*

“You’re asking if I’m with Sung-jae? Of course I am, we were filming together.”

*@#%#@%@#$@#%!*

“...What do you mean, ‘stay at least ten meters away from him’? Did he catch a cold or something?”

The muffled voice on the other end made him chuckle dryly.

Women’s intuition was terrifying.

Not long after, he casually told Ha-eun that he was heading out.

It wasn’t just that he wanted to avoid giving Da-yeon anything to complain about—

He also felt that staying near Ha-eun any longer might make things even more complicated for himself.

“My manager’s calling for me. I should get going.”

“Oh, okay. Get home safe. ...Oh, and thanks for today, Sung-jae.”

“...Yeah.”

And with that, Yoo Sung-jae disappeared into the distance.

Afterward, Ha-eun lifted her phone again and asked Da-yeon—

“Is there some secret I don’t know about? Or are you planning a surprise party for me?”

[It’s... it’s nothing like that.]

“Then why are you acting weird?”

[Oh, the show’s about to start. Gotta go.]

-Click.

“...Hmm.”

If Da-yeon wasn’t being suspicious, then the sky wasn’t blue.

So, naturally, the very next day at Narae Arts High, Ha-eun confronted her about Yoo Sung-jae.

“He keeps trying to steal you from me. You’re mine.”

“...Am I an object?”

“Anyway.”

The response was nothing short of childish.

Apparently, Da-yeon simply did not like Ha-eun getting too close to Yoo Sung-jae.

Even though Ha-eun spent way more time with her.

“You know, this is kind of rude to Sung-jae too.”

“Why are you taking his side?”

“It’s not about sides—”

“Pick. Me or Yoo Sung-jae.”

“...Are you serious right now?”

In the end, Ha-eun could only shake her head in exasperation.

Being friends with Yoo Sung-jae didn’t mean she was losing Da-yeon, so what was the big deal?

...Unless?

“Wait. Da-yeon... do you like Sung-jae?”

“What— what?”

“If that’s the case, you don’t have to worry. I don’t have any feelings for him. Seriously.”

“Oh, thank g— NO! I don’t like him! Why would I ever like him?!”

The sheer horror on Da-yeon’s face was so genuine that Ha-eun tilted her head in confusion.

If she wasn’t interested in Yoo Sung-jae, then what was this about?

“There’s nothing. Nothing! You dense idiot!”

“Why are you yelling at me?”

“Agh, this is frustrating.”

Watching Da-yeon bang her fists against her own chest, Ha-eun decided to let it go.

Da-yeon probably had her own reasons.

But not even a week later, Ha-eun ended up spending a lot of time with Da-yeon again.

The reason?

“Hello. I’m Lee Ha-eun, playing Yoo Ye-rim.”

Filming for Parasite Family had officially begun.

Since she was cast as one of the leads—just like Da-yeon—she had to attend the script reading.

And so, in front of a gathering of actors and staff, she calmly introduced herself.

All eyes turned to her.

‘There’s never been a case like this before.’

‘Does she just have an eye for good projects? Or is she the one making them successful?’

Thanks to God and the Goblin blowing up, Ha-eun was once again the center of attention.

Not just from the production staff, but from her fellow actors.

It had only been two years since the child prodigy of The Moonlight That Parts the Clouds made her comeback.

And in that short time—

She had single-handedly revived KBC’s drama department, set new records for cable dramas, and—

After a decade-long absence from the film industry—

She had immediately become a million-ticket-selling actress through Veterans.

Most of all, she was personally cast by Parasite Family’s director, Sung Chan-wook.

“I’m looking forward to it. Please take care of me, Ha-eun.”

“Yes.”

Even after the director’s brief comment, murmurs about her didn’t subside.

The fact that Yoo Ye-rim—the role Ha-eun was playing—was almost a villain had something to do with it.

‘She was terrifying in Veterans.’

‘I didn’t think she could pull off villains too.’

Yoo Ye-rim was the protagonist of Parasite Family—

But she wasn’t a hero.

She was what you’d call an antagonistic protagonist.

‘I wonder how she’ll play this.’

‘I’m curious to see her approach.’

‘Wasn’t the God and the Goblin heroine kind of similar?’

Yoo Ye-rim was the poor girl of the story.

Struggling to escape poverty—by any means necessary.

And that included acts that crossed moral and ethical lines.

She was the driving force behind the film’s tension and weight.

The mastermind behind every conflict.

And just then, another lead actor stood up to introduce herself.

“I’m Min Da-yeon, playing Kim Ji-min.”

Another million-ticket actress.

The definition of a successful former child star.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

With a face and name known to everyone, she instantly drew all eyes.

It only made sense—

Since Da-yeon’s Kim Ji-min was the foil to Ha-eun’s Yoo Ye-rim.

A battle between two top actresses.

Two childhood best friends, going head-to-head in Parasite Family.

‘Their personalities are supposed to be the opposite in real life.’

‘I wonder how it’ll feel, watching them act together.’

And since their acting styles were completely different, even the industry was eager to see how this clash would unfold.

After all—

The entire story revolved around Yoo Ye-rim parasitizing Kim Ji-min’s family in every way possible.

So maybe that was why.

"You want to start from Scene 21?"

Director Sung Chan-wook’s voice echoed through the room, announcing the scene number.

It was a dialogue scene between Yoo Ye-rim and Kim Ji-min.

He wanted to see how Ha-eun and Da-yeon would clash in their performances.

A beat passed before their gazes met.

In Da-yeon’s eyes—

A mixture of anticipation and nervous excitement.

Instead of answering, Ha-eun simply rose from her seat.

‘Well... I did promise.’

This was Da-yeon’s moment to shine.

She had made a promise that day at the ryokan’s hot springs, and she intended to keep it now.

Da-yeon remembered that promise too.

And opportunities to directly act against each other like this were rare.

-Creak.

-Step.

-Step.

Da-yeon stood as well and walked toward the empty space where Ha-eun stood.

A few steps away from the table—

They finally faced each other.

A short silence.

Then—

“I’m starting.”

Ha-eun's voice signaled the beginning of Scene 21.

And almost instantly, Da-yeon responded.

“...Okay.”

Determination tinged her voice.

Ha-eun met her gaze.

Short bobbed hair.

Sharp, aristocratic eyes—like a villainous noblewoman from a novel.

Features completely different from Ha-eun’s own.

Because they were different people.

And naturally, their acting styles were different too.

Ha-eun adapted to her roles.

Da-yeon molded her roles to fit herself.

Neither approach was right or wrong—

But that was precisely why Da-yeon had never been able to imitate Ha-eun’s acting.

Because no matter what she played, Da-yeon always bled through.

Her acting was calculated.

Every expression, every breath, every movement was carefully measured.

Unlike Ha-eun, who immersed herself in her characters and acted from within.

Da-yeon’s performance was controlled.

"Ji-min, did you finish your art assignment?"

Ironically, Da-yeon’s precise acting style suited Ha-eun’s Yoo Ye-rim.

Because Yoo Ye-rim had to hide her poverty.

"Not yet. I'll probably do it this weekend."

"I got some help from my dad’s gallery. Want to look at the reference materials together?"

The school Yoo Ye-rim attended, Cheongrim Arts High, was a place for the elite.

Only rich kids.

Except for Yoo Ye-rim, who had scraped her way in with a scholarship.

"Oh? Your dad owns a gallery?"

"Yeah. In Insa-dong."

At Cheongrim, poverty meant weakness.

And the weak were devoured.

So to survive, Yoo Ye-rim performed an elaborate lie.

And in front of Da-yeon’s real rich girl, Kim Ji-min, she had to be even more convincing.

"Then, Ye-rim, do you have time this weekend? Let’s do the {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} assignment at my place."

"Sure. Let’s do that."

Ha-eun didn't rely on bitter memories from her past life.

Instead, she calculated every word, every movement—becoming nothing but a machine assembling a façade.

This was the most precise version of Da-yeon’s acting Ha-eun could mimic.

She wanted Da-yeon to see herself.

"Oh, but Ye-rim, my parents will be home on the weekend. You might feel uncomfortable..."

"That’s fine. They’re your parents, after all."

The performance felt wrong.

Something about it was off.

Even her smile—too perfect, too practiced.

Like a mask.

No, not a mask—

A puppet, being controlled.

"I’ll text you my address. See you this weekend, Ye-rim."

"Yeah."

A lighthearted laugh.

But beneath it—cold indifference.

The kind of look that didn’t see friends, only tools.

A smile so contrived it was unsettling.

But the moment Da-yeon exited the scene—

That mask vanished.

As if it had never been there.

As if every trace of warmth had been fabricated.

“.........”

A sharp, emotionless gaze lingered where Da-yeon had stood.

Like she was calculating something.

Something cold.

Da-yeon was shocked.

‘...That’s supposed to be me?’

She had been watching Ha-eun intently the entire time.

She knew—

Knew that Ha-eun was playing the role differently than usual.

But that only made it worse.

Because Ha-eun had clearly been imitating her.

Did that mean... this was how Ha-eun saw her?

“Director, was that okay?”

“Yes. That was great.”

After wrapping up the scene, Ha-eun and Da-yeon returned to their seats.

More accurately, it was during their break in the script reading session.

-Step.

-Step.

Da-yeon approached cautiously.

Then, hesitantly, she grabbed Ha-eun’s hand.

Her voice trembled slightly as she asked—

“...Were you scared of me?”

“Huh? Wh-what?”

“Be honest. It’s okay.”

Ha-eun frowned in confusion.

“Why would I be scared of you...?”

Then what the hell was that scene earlier?

A tangle of emotions churned inside Da-yeon.

The way Ha-eun had portrayed Yoo Ye-rim—

It had felt so unnervingly familiar.

Like a reflection of herself.

And not in a good way.

For a moment, Da-yeon was silent.

Then—instinctively—she tightened her grip on Ha-eun’s hand.

“...Don’t keep secrets from me. Just tell me. Anything. I promise I can handle it.”

If Ha-eun had ever resented her, she wanted to know.

If she had ever feared her, she needed to know.

If their childhood friendship had ever been fake—

Da-yeon didn’t think she could handle that.

‘...If she knew my secret, she’d pass out.’