Chapter 103: Arctic fox (real one)

The production team had declared an era of chaos.

Naturally, the reporters’ frenzy showed no signs of stopping, each of them pounding furiously on their laptops as they scrambled to shape their articles.

It was clear proof that the focus of discussion had drastically shifted.

“How did a rookie like Lee Su-an come to play Kim Yuhan?”

No one was looking at the essence anymore.

“Who will be crowned Rookie of the Year?”

That had become the sole point of focus.

Because the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

tvS had Sua, MBQ had Yang Ha-rin, and KBM and SBT also each had a rookie.

By coincidence, every major network had cast a newcomer. Naturally, a competition had formed.

A frenzy of furious typing.

Writer Lee Geum-sook and PD Choi Heewon smiled in quiet satisfaction. After all, this was exactly what they had intended.

PD Choi Heewon leaned in and whispered first.

“The picture’s coming together nicely.”

“That metaphor’s a little off, don’t you think?”

Lee Geum-sook let out a soft chuckle.

“The painting’s already finished—this part is just gathering the viewers. Luckily, it seems to be working well. Everyone’s going to come flocking in with full interest.”

“You’re absolutely right. And the timing’s perfect. All the other networks conveniently cast one rookie each too.”

Choi Heewon rubbed his chin for a moment, then suddenly asked:

“Think we can handle it? If anything, it’s flaring up even hotter than we expected.”

“I’m not worried one bit. After all, we know better than anyone how insane this project is.”

“True enough.”

The PD nodded quietly.

Sua, Kim Sun-il, Seo Yeon-ju, Park Do-hee, Hwang Myeong-pil… all of them had delivered performances beyond expectations. There was no reason to be afraid.

“Let them carry the flame like maniacs over there. Our job is to keep feeding the firewood. Let it burn bright.”

“Agreed.”

PD Choi Heewon then pulled Seo Yeon-ju and Kim Sun-il aside for a quick word.

It was to avoid any unforeseen trouble.

If they didn’t align their answers about the identity of Lee Sua and Lee Su-an, the truth could accidentally slip out and embarrass the entire production.

But the two actors simply nodded, as if they already understood. They were veterans who’d been through the wringer enough times to catch on quickly.

A moment later, a reporter raised a hand.

“A question for Writer Lee and PD Choi, please.”

“Go ahead.”

“Because of what was said just now, public interest has shifted heavily toward who will win Rookie of the Year. But there’s one thing I’d like to clarify.”

“And that is?”

“If Su-an wins the award, would you say that’s thanks to the 808 production team’s capabilities? Or to Su-an’s personal talent?”

Lee Geum-sook and Choi Heewon faintly curled their lips.

Oh?

It was an impressively sharp question.

If Lee Su-an were to win the Rookie of the Year award—

Would it be due to his own pure acting skill? Or was it a reflection of Lee Geum-sook and Choi Heewon’s ability to elevate a rookie that far?

It was a valid line of inquiry.

There had been times when a mediocre rookie lucked into a good project, got a decent role, and managed to snag the award with barely passable acting.

‘If it were another production team, this question would’ve cornered them.’

If they credited the actor and the show flopped, it would reflect badly on the team. But if they credited themselves and the show failed, it would look like they were throwing the rookie under the bus.

A sharp dilemma either way.

However.

For these two, the question was actually a welcome one.

It was perfect material to further expand the playing field.

“Of course, it’s thanks to Su-an’s own ability.”

“…Excuse me?”

The reporter couldn’t hide their surprise.

Usually, people hedge on this kind of question—leaving just enough room to say, “We did our best, but if the actor couldn’t pull it off, what can you do?”

But the production team’s stance was different.

“The script was completed thanks to Su-an, and the filming wrapped successfully because of Su-an. Let me be clear—there were no issues with the actors whatsoever.”

If the show succeeded, it was thanks to Su-an.

If it failed, it was the production team’s fault.

That kind of humility was rare in this industry.

“…The production team seems to care deeply for Su-an.”

That was all the reporter could say.

There wasn’t much room to argue with that.

But soon, the next question was directed at Seo Yeon-ju.

“How was it for you, Ms. Seo Yeon-ju? You were the only woman among two male actors. Did you find yourself comparing them? Would you say Su-an was lacking in some ways compared to Sun-il?”

It was asked with a smile, but it was quite a rude question.

But Seo Yeon-ju just smiled in return.

“Su-an was wonderful. If anything, I learned from him. How should I put it? I almost fell for him at first sight?”

“…Excuse me?”

Immediately, the reporters began hammering away at their keyboards.

Seo Yeon-ju had just said she nearly fell for a male co-star. A perfect juicy headline. They all assumed it was a slip of the tongue.

But it wasn’t.

From the beginning, Seo Yeon-ju had no risk at all. Once it was revealed that Sua was actually a woman, everything would resolve itself.

The reporters were being thoroughly played by the entire production team.

PD Choi Heewon took the mic.

“We’ll take just one last question before we wrap up the production briefing.”

Dozens of hands shot up like bamboo after rain.

“Please! Let me ask just one!”

“I swear, it’s an important question!”

“Over here! You haven’t picked our side even once!”

After a fierce competition, one reporter was selected, and he grinned as if he’d been saving a killer question.

“Mr. Sun-il, aside from Su-an, are there any other rookies who’ve caught your attention? Even just a quick mention would be great.”

“Daesang winner from the short film festival… Ah, you mean Ms. Sua?”

But Kim Sun-il fell silent after that.

The reporters went wild.

“Sun-il just named Sua!”

“Then doesn’t that mean Su-an didn’t make the cut? But Seo Yeon-ju did praise Su-an, didn’t she?”

“Doesn’t matter! We’ve got way too much material for today!”

The reporters were already busy drafting articles in their heads, wondering who would seize the Rookie of the Year award, while the production team smiled contentedly as the briefing came to a close.

Now, only one thing remained: the broadcast itself.

◈◈◈◈◈

Go Taemin’s studio.

“…”

Kim Iseo quietly lifted the papers in her hands.

It was a copy of the signed contract, and she was doing her best not to let anyone see her hands shaking.

Honestly, she wanted to just hug the damn thing.

‘A project by Director Go Taemin… This is insane.’

She caught herself thinking something embarrassingly low-class.

Just being involved was already an honor, but to work alongside Ham A-yoon? This was a guaranteed career-defining role for Sua.

‘Of course, assuming it turns out well…’

But it’s Sua. There’s no way it won’t turn out well.

Kim Iseo turned to Go Taemin and asked again.

“You mentioned earlier that the funding has already been secured?”

“Yes. CEO Kim personally funded The Sword, but there’s no need for anything like that for Crescendo, Starting Tomorrow. Honestly, we have too many investors.”

“Well, just your name and Ham A-yoon’s would be enough to create a line of investors. It makes sense. That’s a relief.”

Just then—

The manager from AWA Entertainment, Ham A-yoon’s one-person agency, who had once sincerely apologized, appeared again with her usual ball cap. But this time, she couldn’t hide her surprise.

“It’s honestly shocking. A rookie getting a contract like this?”

Right? I’m shocked too.

Kim Iseo barely stopped herself from saying it aloud.

The contract terms were outrageous.

You could step on industry standards and still be proud.

But that’s why everyone was so fascinated by Sua. Meanwhile, the person in question… was just looking at her phone.

‘…Is she not even surprised?’

But soon, she understood.

‘No, she probably thinks even being surprised would be a waste of time. She’s got new work on her plate. She’s probably checking her schedule and adjusting things.’

Wrong.

Sua was Googling arctic foxes.

‘Holy crap. This is insane. Too cute. I love it.’

Her screen brightness was at 1, so no one else could see, but Sua was absolutely absorbed in looking at arctic fox photos.

To think such a cute creature actually existed in real life?

Of course, Sua said nothing out loud.

Even up to the point where she shook hands with Director Go much later.

“Ms. Sua, I’m counting on you for the role of Kim Sohee.”

“I’ll do my best.”

After that, the one who came to find Sua was Ham A-yoon.

Just like last time, her blond hair flowed as she walked. For a brief moment, Sua thought of the dawn rising on the horizon.

“You’re Sua, right? Piano practice. Have you done any?”

“Not at all.”

“Hmm…”

Sua immediately regretted the reply, but unexpectedly, Ham A-yoon just nodded.

“Well, Kim Sohee’s performance does need to carry a certain clumsiness. It’s better not to practice at all. I get it.”

Um, ah, well… that wasn’t really the reason, though.

“More importantly.”

Ham A-yoon’s eyes sharpened.

“Do you remember what you told me?”

“I’ve said a lot of things. Can you be more specific?”

At this point, Sua was pressing down on the tip of her right foot with her left—hard. Ugh, why is normal conversation this hard?

She was dying to unleash her Sua-techniques.

“You promised to show that expression again when filming started. The one you made while watching my performance. You said you’d explain why.”

“Ah, right.”

She remembered.

She’d said that to draw Ham A-yoon into the project.

Did she have a plan? No, not even close!

Ham A-yoon looked like she wanted to say more but—

“Sorry. Let’s talk when we start shooting.”

Sua turned away first, signaling to Kim Iseo that they should leave quickly.

“….”

Ham A-yoon reached out as if she had more to say, but then folded her arms. There was no obvious displeasure on her face.

“She doesn’t waste a single second.”

“Right? Ha-yoon, that rookie’s really something, huh? I heard she even won the top award recently.”

“No.”

“Huh?”

“She might not be a rookie.”

That look she had while watching my performance—it was like she knew something—Ham A-yoon swallowed the rest of her thought.

Sua left behind all those words and walked away.

‘Arctic fox!’

Though truthfully, her head was filled with nothing but thoughts of the arctic fox.

‘Arctic fox! Arctic fox! Arctic fox!’

◈◈◈◈◈

“Whimper.”

Inside a cage, an arctic fox was trapped.

The arctic fox was very depressed.

“Whine.”

Three weeks old. Only the size of a palm.

It couldn’t even climb onto anything properly. It kept slipping and losing strength quickly. It was weak.

It was young and ignorant of the world, but the fox instinctively understood that the climate surrounding it didn’t suit its body. It preferred the cold.

But that wasn’t the source of its sadness.

“Whimper, whimper…” (What am I, really?)

Yes, that was the baby fox’s dilemma.

The little fox was sad because it hadn’t discovered its identity yet, and it desperately wanted to. It often watched the dogs and puppies in the cages across from it and wondered endlessly.

Do I look like that? Am I one of them?

But it could never find the answer.

Because it had no mother.

From the moment it became conscious, it had been alone. With no family to serve as a model, it had no way to discover what it was.

Then, suddenly—

The baby fox perked up its ears.

Footsteps overlapped, and unfamiliar human presence followed.

There were two unfamiliar scents aside from the usual visitor.

The baby fox instinctively knew that two women had joined the visit.

Three women were now staring down at it.

“Oh my, is this the one?”

“Yes. Its fur is a little reddish now because of the heat, but it’ll turn pure white in winter. Since arctic foxes are difficult to raise indoors, I’ll need to go over some things.”

“Yes, please explain in detail.”

“Compared to dogs or cats, they’re not good at potty training, and there are quite a few quirks. There’s a reason arctic foxes have the highest rehoming rate—”

After a long string of explanation, the cage door opened.

Clack—!

The baby fox’s vision began to rise.

At the same time, a warm sensation. Someone had picked it up.

The moment it looked up and met eyes—

“…!”

The baby fox shuddered.

A world it had never known, the world of the Arctic, unfolded before it. The being in front of it stood firm like a glacial cliff, unmistakably an apex predator.

“My god…”

And the tone—sharp and fragile like a blade.

Then, the terrifying sensation of fingers running over its fur.

“…How can something be this cute!”

At that fierce proclamation, the arctic fox instinctively understood.

This powerful being—she was the mother it had been waiting for. Its confusion over identity would no longer exist.

“Whiiine!” (Aha!)

It, too, must surely be a dignified beast of prey.