To start with, to be honest, Jiyeon had quite a few apprehensions about the filming of Gyeongseong Yeong-nyeo.
The worry wasn’t about the movie’s genre.
Nor was it about the pressure of playing the protagonist.
Rather, it wasn’t that at all.
Purely and simply, Jiyeon felt unnerved about working alongside Sooyeon.
“Haven’t the two of you always gotten along?”
At the beginning, when Jiyeon was practicing for the audition, she often sought help from Seohui Jo.
Even after she passed the audition, she mostly relied on Seohui’s advice.
Each time, Seohui Jo would mutter under her breath while responding:
“Getting along has nothing to do with it.”
“What on earth do you mean by that?”
“Hey, Jo Seohui, you do have lots of friends, right?”
Of course, Jiyeon’s response left Seohui Jo feeling exasperated.
The truth was, Seohui didn’t have many friends her own age.
She just had a lot of acquaintances in the industry—contacts, really.
However, if you were to ask whether these contacts were true friends, the answer would be no.
It was unavoidable, given her circumstances.
From the start, Seohui Jo lived in an environment that didn’t naturally favor many friends.
Most of her surroundings consisted of the children of wealthy families who were always cautious about letting personal information about her circulate.
Ironically, the peers Seohui treated less harshly were those she met through Sooyeon, like Park Jung-woo and Jiyeon herself.
Given how Seohui usually let her guard down around these people, Jiyeon’s defensive behavior seemed bizarre.
“It’s because you’re worried she’ll disappoint you.”
Of course, Jo Seohui must have already seen her acting. After all, it had been broadcast to the public through a cable drama.
Naturally, Sooyeon would’ve seen Jiyeon’s performance by now.
They had even casually discussed it once or twice, talking about what parts were good or could have been better.
But there’s a difference between watching someone act on TV and actually filming with them in person.
For Jiyeon, this was the first time she’d face Sooyeon’s full-hearted performance live on set.
And while Jiyeon thought she’d become somewhat accustomed to it during the filming of Gyeongseong Yeong-nyeo…
“Are you trying to kill yourself?”
A chilling voice from Yuina broke the air.
Until now, Yuina had been exuding an immense presence.
Yet, nothing could compare to this moment.
“What do you mean? Don’t you feel satisfied? Haven’t you gained everything?”
Yuina, with half a choke, practically shoved Michiko while glaring at her with her usual red eyes.
“Ah, so the things I so wanted mean nothing to you? That’s why even after gaining everything, you aren’t satisfied? Because holding it all in your hands leaves you feeling empty?”
Each line from Yuina flowed effortlessly, likely reflecting her own inner turmoil.
It wasn’t just about noticing Michiko was trying to die.
In this situation, she was questioning herself and feeling anger toward Michiko.
All of it came from the confusion she’d been feeling.
“You’ve always done this,” Yuina whispered quietly, almost like an animal’s low growl.
“You jump to conclusions too easily.”
In fact, these were the aspects of Yuina that Sooyeon didn’t understand—her emotions.
It wasn’t just about love.
Yuina’s actions often seemed full of contradictions.
While she had set up the antagonist to try to kill Michiko, now that Michiko was attempting suicide, she intervened.
Even though she pretended to discard Yeon Seonye’s feelings, she grew attached to her easily.
She was aware that Isamu had been using her for quite some time yet chose to deny it and live in ignorance.
Such patterns confused Sooyeon.
To her, emotions were something intuitive.
Happy felt like happiness; sad felt like sadness.
Especially, most of Yuina’s actions stemmed from love—the emotion Sooyeon found most alien.
“Isn’t love supposed to be a positive feeling?”
Sooyeon had vaguely thought this, which was why she couldn’t comprehend why Yuina consistently exhibited negative attitudes.
But then, Yeo-hee explained this to Sooyeon:
“It isn’t always positive.”
“Is that so?”
“People who live carefree like me are rare.”
If there was lingering attachment, it meant it was difficult to let go of that emotion.
Living while carrying such an attachment is not easy.
“Your Yuina is a girl who feels deeply.”
Because she felt deeply, she likely craved things, often feeling greedy about what she didn’t want to lose.
After all, within the story, Yuina was 19 years old—still young and emotionally susceptible to fluctuation.
“Simply put, the environment she was in made it impossible for Yuina to act freely.”
Although Yuina was a villain, she was also a victim.
Hearing this, Sooyeon watched many works anew, re-watching those she had seen before.
And she found things she never noticed before.
“Right.”
Especially when reconsidering themes of lingering emotions from a past life, her understanding of the script deepened.
It was the moment she watched Jo Seohui’s performance that everything clicked.
To be sincere, in the script, Yuina’s emotions weren’t presented with such intense reactions.
When Yuina discovers that Michiko is trying to kill herself, she grabs her collar and mocks her:
“You’ve foolishly obtained everything and yet still try to die? How idiotic.”
That was the gist of it.
Though the emotions underlying such a reaction weren’t too far off from what Seohui delivered through her performance.
The difference was in the approach—mockery versus rage.
However, watching Jo Seohui’s portrayal, Seohui, who was already deeply involved as Yuina, couldn’t do otherwise but react this way, believing that Yuina must have been extremely angry at this moment.
“Yuina and Michiko have a deep bond.”
Once, their relationship could be described as friendship.
Though the movie doesn’t explicitly reveal this, considering their backgrounds, their relationship was likely quite special.
Being the type to form deep attachments, Yuina would undoubtedly have clung to their shared past.
If, hypothetically,
Yes, if,
Reencountering her mother from a past life, only to find her unhappy—wouldn’t that provoke anger?
In this life, all she wanted had been fulfilled—so why the dissatisfaction?
“Of course, she wouldn’t have understood the meaning of this anger.”
Happening to resemble the face her mother from the past used to wear, Seohui’s interpretation of Michiko’s expression struck Sooyeon deeply.
Perhaps, that was the reason Sooyeon became completely absorbed into her role as Yuina in an instant.
Everyone on the filming set fell silent, holding their breath.
Director Baek Min momentarily raised and then lowered his hand.
The script and emotional direction had changed.
He didn’t like performances deviating from his intent.
“How many times has this happened now?”
But during the filming of this movie, he had allowed for a few exceptions—firstly, in actor Lee Sang-soo’s scene, and then later in the filming of Yuina’s interactions.
And now, here it was again.
It wasn’t just Seoyeon.
Even in Jo Seohui’s eyes, a spark of fire kindled—this certainly wasn’t the Michiko emotion he originally intended.
Yet, it wasn’t entirely an incorrect interpretation.
“Yuina and Michiko know each other from the past.”
This shared backstory exists.
Specifics about the closeness of their relationship aren’t detailed in the script.
However, given their environments, they might have been friends.
Considering the movie’s genre, their relationship may have been deeper than just friendship.
Director Baek Min also seemed to recognize this in his intentions.
“This isn’t what I planned, but…”
Seoyeon’s forte in performance is revealing deep emotions.
Even in her early acting days as a child actress, she embraced Method acting.
She exhibited such qualities in The Chaser, although she hadn’t taken such roles since.
Nevertheless, today’s Yuina performance suggested that, whether intentionally or not, Seoyeon was clearly immersed in her character.
More so than ever before.
And therefore, it made sense that Jo Seohui’s reaction would follow naturally.
“Why do you think you know anything about me?”
A sharp voice.
Michiko, who had until this point only maintained a noble disposition, grabbed the hair of Yuina, who had grabbed her shirt collar, pulling it taut.
The sharpness in Michiko’s gaze shifted, and her voice, trembling slightly, conveyed her anger.
“You’re hilarious, Yuina. If you wanted me dead so badly, shouldn’t you be happy? I’m offering to return everything I took from you.”
“Ever since we were young, you’ve been too much of a thinker, believing yourself the most unfortunate person in the world. How arrogant, Michiko. Seeing you act like you’ve lost everything after possessing everything annoys me.”
“Hah! Having everything? What exactly do you have? I wanted nothing! It was what my parents wanted! What your parents and you wanted!”
Sharply shrieking, Michiko forcibly pulled Yuina’s hair.
“Because you’ve never lost anything, you can say things like that, Amaranabi Michiko.”
Adjusting her grip, she hurled Michiko toward a nearby street vendor.
The physical struggle escalated in an instant.
The staff were momentarily stunned by the intensity of the acting, one that didn’t spare any physicality.
“Isn’t Yuina being too strong?”
“The fight isn’t turning out right.”
Although the script suggested an intense fight by pulling hair, from this angle it seemed one-sided, with Michiko being hit.
Yet, this brutality surprisingly suited Yuina’s usually calm demeanor.
Even Michiko’s angry glare appeared fittingly dramatic.
Director Baek Min kept raising and lowering his hand alternately.
Should he call “Cut”?
“Besides, both of their immersions are at a peak this moment.”
Especially Jo Seohui.
She leapt back into the fray.
This time, Yuina directly received Michiko’s charge, and the two tumbled onto the ground.
Both actors, rolling on the streets and wrestling chaotically, quickly drew a crowd of passersby, who began acting as onlookers.
“Wow, I’ve never seen Seohui get so immersed in a role.”
Director Baek Min had specifically chosen Jo Seohui for this Gyeongseong Yeong-nyeo primarily because he believed that the role of Amaranabi Michiko suited her perfectly.
Since childhood, Jo Seohui had been shadowed by the loss of her mother—a situation similar to Michiko.
After all, Michiko had always been overshadowed by her parents.
Add to that her status as the heiress of a wealthy family,
the ambiguously strained relationship with her father,
all these nuances became the factors that allowed Seohui to dive deep into her role as Michiko.
At this moment, the Michiko rolling around with Yuina might as well be Seohui herself transformed into Michiko.
The synergy between the two female leads left the staff spellbound.
Some were excited, others concerned.
Director Baek Min, too, paused, hand raised again in thought.
It wasn’t because their performance was bad.
Because the scene didn’t just feature Yuina and Michiko—it also involved the person who would step in to stop their fight:
the protagonist, Yeon Seonye.
Is her acting genuine or merely her actual confusion?
Whichever it was, it still felt natural for now.
However, leaving the fight to continue endlessly wasn’t an option.
The confrontation would only end if Yeon Seonye intervened.
“But should I step in?”
“Is Seohui OK?”
At this point, an NG seemed inevitable.
As everyone started to think so,
“Stop it now…ouch!”
Between Yuina and Michiko, Yeon Seonye tried to intervene but tripped, falling and hitting Yuina’s face in the process.
Frankly, it was partly accidental.
While watching Jo Seohui and Sooyeon’s intense fight as they rolled around, Jiyeon had not dared to step in and deliver her lines.
Since childhood, Sooyeon had been a benchmark for Jiyeon—ever since they acted as prince and princess together.
She desired to deliver an equally powerful performance.
“I also wanted to say that I wanted to confidently act alongside you like Seohui.”
Seohui managed it naturally.
You could clearly see it in her current performance.
Hadn’t Seohui ever been so immersed in her role before?
It was ironic that the most powerful scenes were physical fights.
Regardless, Jiyeon struggled to step into the fray between the two actresses.
In reality, it seemed like being stuck in the middle of a real battle between Michiko and Yuina.
Even though Jiyeon was the main character, all the staff’s attention was on the other two actresses.
Likely, the viewers would react similarly.
In that moment, Jiyeon felt like an extra swallowed up by the crowd.
“Like this, it’s going to be an NG.”
Realizing that, Jiyeon felt her head grow cold.
She felt the full gravity of the present situation.
If the intense performances of the others had to be retaken because of her missing a line or failing her acting role,
Could she really deliver such an immersive performance again?
Honestly, she wasn’t sure.
Thus, with growing urgency, she tried to act—only to trip accidentally.
She fell forward, straight into Yuina’s face.
“Yeon Seonye, are you all right?”
Yuina held her face as she rolled around.
Her two hands covered her face.
Through the gaps in her fingers, her eyes measured up the situation, questioning if this was part of the act.
The sudden disruption turned everything upside down—an unplanned moment.
Seohui too looked over at Jiyeon with surprise, clearly thinking this wasn’t part of the script.
Yet, Jiyeon, having accidentally headbutted Seoyeon, found herself calming down.
“Thank goodness, it was Jo Sooyeon.”
After knocking heads with someone who could take a dozen hits and show no wear, Jiyeon seized the moment of confusion.
“I’ll stop you from bothering this lady, you wicked woman!!”
The previously chaotic scene quickly escalated into pandemonium, albeit in a good way.
