ILHBO C2

Episode 2

A faint voice echoed somewhere.

“Ms. Ha Eunrae?”

A woman was standing in front of her.

Was this a hospital?

Then this person must be… a doctor? But she didn’t look like one. No white coat, nothing clinical.

Wire-rim glasses, a checkered shirt, and a soft, slightly disheveled appearance with a gentle, almost cute face.

…Wait.

I recognize her.

She’s a famous film director.

Jegal Seyun.

She had to be well into her forties, but… she looked younger than I remembered.

And then she spoke.

“Weren’t you here for the audition for Living with a Ghost?”

Living with a Ghost?

That was the title of Jegal Seyun’s independent film.

It was the very first audition I ever attended.

“Please wait a moment while we set up the camera.”

She said that and immediately walked into the audition room.

Left alone, I looked around—and then I realized.

‘I’ve regressed.’

It was a quick conclusion, typical of someone used to thinking in cinematic logic.

There were clues, of course.

The phone showing a date in 20XX.

And above all—

the script in my hand.

Living with a Ghost.

This was Jegal Seyun’s film academy graduation project.

Twelve years ago, it was also the audition introduced to me by a photography student who attended the same school as her.

But the word “graduation project” hadn’t impressed me back then.

“Graduation film? So it’s just a student project, right?”

At the time, I was already making decent money as an online shopping mall model, so it didn’t seem appealing.

“It’s a film academy graduation project, so it’s not just a student film… and it’s feature-length. The pay should be good.”

But the moment I heard “good pay,” my eyes changed.

Back then, my family was constantly causing trouble, and no matter how much I earned, it all disappeared immediately.

‘I didn’t even know what a film academy was back then.’

A “film academy” is one of the most prestigious film schools in Asia.

Their graduation works are often submitted to international film festivals, and for actors, appearing in them is considered a major opportunity.

But I didn’t know any of that then.

So I naturally assumed I would be chosen.

And it wasn’t a strange assumption.

I glanced at the mirror across the hall.

I was young.

And pretty.

‘Well, I’m still pretty twelve years later.’

At twenty-one, Ha Eunrae had a striking presence.

Photographers begged to feature her in personal projects, and film students constantly asked her to act in theirs.

And—

My skin.

I stared at my reflection.

After the “debt scandal” years later, stress and procedures had ruined it—fillers, Botox, fat repositioning.

All gone now.

No artificial stiffness. No forced expressions.

It felt like I had returned to my body before an injury.

So this is what they call a cheat code.

I smiled at myself.

What made regression most satisfying was this:

‘I haven’t met Kim Doun yet.’

The last emotion I felt before dying was regret.

Regret over choosing Kim Doun to escape my disastrous family.

I looked at my empty ring finger.

This time, I won’t live like that.

Not for my family.

Only for myself.

For what I love.

For the moments I feel most alive.

For acting.

Only that.

Just then—

Someone called my name.

“Ms. Ha Eunrae.”

“Yes?”

I turned around.

A staff member gestured.

“Please come inside.”

It was time for the audition.

For reference, twelve years ago I completely embarrassed myself here.

I failed, naturally.

But now my acting skills are different.

The only problem was—

…I haven’t read the script yet.

I’ve only seen this film twice!

Inside the audition room, director Jegal Seyun sat with visible tension.

While preparing her graduation film, she had rewritten the script multiple times.

And that led to a problem.

I don’t like the script…

She preferred comedy, so the concept was playful:

A woman who believes she is a ghost, and a man who knows she is not.

The female lead, Soo-in, survives a car accident that kills her parents.

Unable to cope with survivor’s guilt, she convinces herself she is already dead—wandering the world as a ghost.

She eats funeral meals, avoids sunlight, rarely bathes, and sleeps on the floor.

All comedic expressions of deep psychological trauma.

So far, the professors had praised it.

But—

“Everything breaks once the male lead appears.”

That was the unanimous feedback.

So… I’m bad at romance.

The moment she tried to turn it into a romantic relationship, everything collapsed into clichés and awkward dialogue.

The more she revised it, the worse it became.

And now her thoughts were completely stuck on the script.

Then—

“Um… Director?”

A woman called her.

Cat-like eyes, striking features, flawless skin, and a face that would make anyone look twice on the street.

But—

Actors are always like this.

No matter how pretty they are, many lose their presence on camera.

That was her initial thought as she glanced at the camera beside her.

Then—

…!

Wait.

She looks even better on camera?

Her eyes especially. Alive. Magnetic.

And if I’m not mistaken—

She knows her angles.

For a newcomer, that was rare.

Like someone with ten years of experience…

But her résumé showed no significant acting history.

Which meant—

It’s natural talent.

Just as she was thinking this—

“Would it be okay if I slightly adjusted the script and tried improvisation?”

The applicant, Ha Eunrae, spoke unexpectedly.

Change the script?

Jegal Seyun’s expectations dropped slightly.

Beautiful face, but maybe difficult to work with.

There were actors like that—always trying to interfere with direction.

Thinking they knew better because they “studied film.”

They treat indie films like a joke.

Maybe she was one of those types.

But then she met Ha Eunrae’s eyes.

And paused.

Something about that gaze…

As if she was being seen through.

Even though she was the director, older by over a decade.

“…Fine. Go ahead. Which scene will you do?”

Ha Eunrae pointed at the script.

“The first meeting scene.”

“…!”

That was exactly where the script started to fall apart.

The beginning of the relationship between the two leads.

So she’s choosing that part?

For a moment, it felt like the twenty-one-year-old girl in front of her was reading her thoughts.

And that—

made Jegal Seyun, thirty-three years old, feel strangely exposed.