To be honest, there were only three people who had anticipated Seoyeon delivering such a performance:

    Narumi Sora, Director Kakeba Hiro, and journalist Furihata Yuito.

    Everyone else had a different impression of her.

    "Isn’t she that creepy girl from that variety show the other day?"

    "Wasn’t she crawling on the ground like a ghost?"

    The broadcast had hyped it up as “Hidden Camera Prank: The Genius Actress Dokkiri!”, but from that alone, no one could really tell how skilled she was at acting.

    There had been no lines, no expressions, no emotions—just her scaring someone. That’s not enough to judge acting talent.

    “Genius actress” was a term thrown around far too often.

    As long as someone was young and could act a little, agencies or broadcasters would slap the label on them to promote them.

    This seemed like one of those cases.

    At least, that’s what they thought.

    But then...

    "What’s this? What’s this? Why are you alone? Did you get dumped?"

    The line wasn’t anything special.

    It came from a group of extras crowding around, loudly chattering.

    However, the voice that rang out belonged to Seoyeon, and it was sharp, lively, and completely different from the quiet demeanor she had just shown.

    Her steps were light, her posture slightly bent, as she glanced up at Kento from below, her gaze deliberately angled.

    Then, as though there were no boundaries—or perhaps intentionally—she pressed her index finger against the man’s chest.

    "So what if you’re bored? I’m totally free~."

    Her tone was like that of a woman teasing a stranger on the street—a type you’d instinctively want to avoid.

    The kind of “landmine-style” girl who would cause trouble if you engaged with her.

    In real life, encountering someone like that would be unpleasant, but in a drama, it was entirely different.

    Her appearance, her voice, and her natural presence all demanded attention.

    "S-sorry, but I’d like to be alone."

    The actor playing Kento, Hara Sho, felt like he had miraculously managed to get the line out.@@@@

    He had intended to deliver it more coolly, but the girl in front of him had completely stolen his focus, causing him to stutter.

    Ironically, it worked perfectly.

    "What the heck? How boring. Hey, Sacchan, why don’t you give it a try? He’s totally not budging!"

    Seoyeon stepped back, swinging her body playfully and shaking the shoulder of one of her female companions.

    The action was so lively and cute that it naturally drew laughter from the crew.

    "Ugh, this is humiliating. I thought he’d fall for me instantly, but he’s treating me like a nobody!"

    She continued whining, her voice full of exaggerated frustration.

    The other extras began to chime in, one by one, reciting their lines almost automatically.

    Four extras delivered their lines in a chaotic flow.

    In the middle of it all, the landmine-style girl stood with her arms crossed, a dissatisfied expression on her face.

    Those watching the scene felt a sense of unease.

    There were multiple characters on screen, yet:

    "It feels like only one person is there."

    Even though Kento, the male lead, was standing right next to her, everyone’s focus was entirely on one extra.

    The realization dawned on them slowly, and they turned to look at Director Kakeba.

    The presence of this extra was overwhelming the scene.

    It felt like she was dominating the entire shot.

    And then...

    Another figure entered, seamlessly stepping between the two.

    It was Sato Mio, the lead actress of First Love Moment.

    She had been standing off-camera, frozen in place for a moment before she finally forced herself to deliver her lines.

    "Hey! Hey, hey, what are you doing?!"

    She pushed Seoyeon’s character away—or at least, she was supposed to.

    Her movements lacked fluidity, and her line delivery wavered.

    "Ah, I messed up."

    That was her immediate thought.

    "Cut! That’s it for now."

    Director Kakeba raised his hand to stop the scene.

    It was clearly an NG (no good take), yet Kakeba looked absolutely delighted.

    His expression was full of satisfaction.

    While Mio’s entrance had broken the flow, everything before that had been excellent.

    ‘Could she not know?’

    It was possible. The scene had been added at the last minute, after all.

    Seoyeon typed back a reply:

    “It works fine as a bridge between scenes.”

    Reika blinked as though realizing something for the first time.

    Based solely on the earlier performance, it would’ve seemed like Seoyeon had overstepped her role as an extra.

    But in the context of the show, it wouldn’t feel that way at all.

    The scene had followed a heated argument between Mio and Kento.

    The tension had already been set, and Seoyeon’s strong presence only emphasized Kento’s emotional state.

    In fact, it needed to be that way.

    The audience had to see that Kento was vulnerable and off-balance.

    Once Mio appeared, the dynamic shifted, and the tension dissolved naturally.

    Even the script reflected this—after Mio’s entrance, the landmine girl had no further lines.

    This was undoubtedly Director Kakeba’s intention.

    The landmine-style girl wasn’t meant to be a standout character; she was there to reinforce Kento’s performance.

    A new message popped up on Seoyeon’s screen.

    “I... I knew that too.”

    Seoyeon looked at the text and thought:

    ‘Is she... not very bright?’

    She suddenly felt a bit better.

    Reika’s response had a touch of naivety that was almost endearing.

    Most of the people around Seoyeon were quick thinkers, far too sharp for their own good.

    People like Park Jungwoo, Jo Seohui, and even Lee Jiyeon would immediately understand a situation after hearing just a brief explanation.

    Their intelligence was sometimes overwhelming.

    But Reika, with her slower, more uncertain reactions, was a refreshing change.

    She was like a slightly ditzy version of Jo Seohui.

    That’s how Seoyeon decided to categorize her.

    “Are you leaving for Korea now?”

    Reika added this follow-up message, seemingly a little embarrassed.

    “Yes. The shoot is over, so I’ll be heading back.”

    It was true. After a long break, it was time to return to Korea and begin filming Gyeongseong Lady in earnest.

    And after that...

    She had to prepare for her role in Director Jo Bangwoo’s film.

    Her schedule was packed.

    “Next time, I won’t make the same mistakes as today.”

    Reika’s determination was clear in her message. She glanced up at Seoyeon, her gaze sharp with effort.

    It might’ve been intimidating to someone else, but to Seoyeon, who was used to the piercing eyes of people like Jo Seohui and Lee Jiyeon, Reika’s attempt felt more like a chick trying to look fierce.

    Her demeanor and actions resembled a second-rate Jo Seohui, but her gentle appearance softened the impact.

    “Just wait and see.”

    With that, Reika turned dramatically and walked away, exuding the pride of a lead actress.

    “Oh.”

    Seoyeon suddenly remembered something she had meant to ask.

    ‘That actress who called Sora a servant...’

    While Seoyeon could usually ignore insults aimed at herself, she was sensitive to others being belittled.

    When she overheard that comment earlier, she’d been tempted to step in.

    ‘I should’ve scolded her. At least given her a light smack.’

    But she had missed the moment.

    ‘Well, it’s probably better if Sora handles it herself.’

    Once Mine was released, Sora’s fame would likely skyrocket.

    And so, Seoyeon’s extended break in Japan came to an end.

    “Wait, why is Ju Seoyeon in this Japanese drama?”

    “What?! Seriously?”

    A small ripple began to spread online.