In This Life I Will Die as an Actress Not a Villainess Chapter 180

A few days later, the fandom atmosphere for the actors in the two dramas from HBC and QYN had completely split.

HBC was officially releasing first, second, and third preview trailers along with ceremonial yet glamorous still cuts.

QYN was walking an entirely new path.

‘So I cried so much while acting out this scene today. I still haven’t pulled myself together emotionally. Ridiculous, right?’

In the video, Han Sena smiled sheepishly with a noticeably gaunt face.

The video was none other than a filming vlog.

Every actor appearing in <Night of Fire> was shooting their own vlogs and uploading them to the drama’s promotional account.

[Fire Team 2 Dinner Gathering Revealed! Who’s Team 2’s Biggest Drinker?]

[Han Hyunsu’s Script Practice Vlog]

[Jeon Woongi’s Real Talk! Teammate Interviews!]

[Team Leader’s Vlog (Boring Content Warning)]

[Choi Sunha’s Love Letter Reading. To. Park Inha]

[Han Sena’s First Ever Short Hair Transformation Since Debut!!]

Han Sena’s videos in particular were getting explosive reactions.

From cutting her hair for the role, to script practice, visiting fire stations, uniform explanations, and chatting with fellow actors.

Every vlog Han Sena uploaded was packed with fascinating content both inside and outside the production.

On top of that, they all contained surprisingly candid material.

‘I still don’t really understand why Tae Sunwoo likes Park Inha. I’ve never experienced going from pity to love myself.’

‘But Choi Sunha sunbaenim seems to already know. He says he already loves Park Inha.’

‘After acting with sunbaenim, it sank in for me. Even if I still don’t understand it with my head, I genuinely felt it in my heart. Oh, this person likes me.’

-This is insane. What is this. Show us already.

-Wait, Choi Sunha and Han Sena are the love line? Doesn’t seem like it’d work.

-Usually they save this kind of stuff for after the drama ends. This one’s going backward.

-But somehow I think they’d work? Fresh.

-My unnie cut her hair and suddenly looks like a different person T_T. So unfamiliar. But I like it. But it’s unfamiliar.

-Park Inha’s character is so pitiful. Why am I crying without even watching the drama.

-Wow, first time seeing inside a fire station. Fascinating. Will be cheering on all firefighters in the Republic of Korea. Thank you.

-Busy eating up all these teasers. Every day feels overwhelming. Other dramas should learn from this. If you want to build a fandom, you gotta do at least this much for real

-Who came up with the actor vlog idea? Seriously go take on some executive position. You’re gonna make it.

-First time seeing Choi Sunha talk this much.

Meanwhile, the comments trickling in on HBC’s preview trailers had a markedly different temperature.

-Lee Jeonggil’s handsome. Fighting.

-Can’t wait. Want to watch soon~^^

-The action scenes look really cool. Now the Republic of Korea’s a cultural powerhouse that doesn’t fall behind even Hollywood!!

⤷ Stop spouting nonsense.

⤷ That’s too much.

-Give us vlogs here too T_T

-If not vlogs at least something fun T_T What are we supposed to do with these photos.

Amid the contrasting atmospheres, filming for both teams continued relentlessly.

Inside the van in front of the HBC set, Lee Jeonggil abruptly shut off the Han Sena vlog he’d been watching.

“This is seriously pissing me off.”

Lee Jeonggil irritably threw his phone and climbed out of the van.

* * *

Same time, on the rooftop.

In front of the camera, an immersed Han Sena gasped for breath roughly.

Han Sena’s soul had already completely transformed into Park Inha.

Tears welled in Park Inha’s eyes as she barely managed to draw in shallow breaths.

Park Inha raised her head to look at the sky.

With each breath of air she inhaled, her face showed the agonizing pain of her throat burning up.

Every exhale came with a rasping sound.

That’s when the rooftop door burst open.

Park Inha jerked her head toward the opening in surprise.

It was Tae Sunwoo.

Park Inha hurriedly steadied her breathing.

Tae Sunwoo strode toward Park Inha with heavy steps.

“What the hell are you doing? Want to die? Want someone to kill you? Is that it??”

Tae Sunwoo erupted in rage, his voice exploding outward.

Park Inha clasped her hands behind her back and lowered her head, as if accustomed to this.

But her demeanor showed no trace of fear.

Just the familiar response she’d always shown.

That seemed to make Tae Sunwoo even angrier as he narrowed his eyes.

“You think the scene’s a joke? Think the flames will dodge you?”

Tae Sunwoo, still unaware of Park Inha’s past, pressed the fearless rookie hard.

That’s when Park Inha lifted her head and quietly looked at the huffing Tae Sunwoo.

Then she opened her mouth.

“Sunbaenim… why are you getting this angry?”

“What?”

Tae Sunwoo doubted his own ears.

“Today’s scene was a small shop. The fire was small, suppression was easy.”

“……”

“Why are you coming down on me like this? Aside from briefly losing contact due to the radio malfunction, I didn’t break away or act independently at all.”

Tae Sunwoo’s expression instantly flooded with confusion.

“What are you saying, kid?”

Park Inha always wore a face impossible to read, her thoughts completely opaque.

A face perpetually unfocused and vacant-looking.

With that face, Park Inha bluntly asked Tae Sunwoo.

“Sunbaenim, do you like me?”

* * *

The director monitoring the scene fidgeted with his hands on his knees.

This scene was the one he’d poured the most effort into over the past week.

Not a fire scene, not teamwork, not a tear-jerking sacrifice—right now.

Director Byun Yumin, taking on <Night of Fire> as his debut work, had needed longer than anyone to fully immerse himself in this project.

And it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say he’d devoted two or three times the effort the actors had to achieving immersion.

Truth was, all the short films Director Byun had built up during his aspiring years were either romance or melodrama.

But in film, unless you had a solid actor lineup, even the best melodrama scripts struggled to break into the market.

And lately, love stories just weren’t selling.

Genre pieces were the trend.

Director Byun found death and injury horrific whether in reality or on screen, but he’d been forced to choose <Night of Fire> to make his debut.

What had held him was the heartbreaking romance between Tae Sunwoo and Park Inha—dangling precariously on the edge of being shown or hidden from viewers.

Making this scene required tremendous restraint.

Their love couldn’t overshadow Park Inha’s trauma.

This point was incredibly difficult and made people ache with longing, so Director Byun had agonized over it for days and nights.

But his worries and concerns vanished all too easily.

‘To think that’s actually acting.’

Director Byun briefly pressed his sweat-soaked forehead.

A hollow laugh escaped.

‘Do I even deserve to be called director by those people?’

Director Byun tore his eyes from the monitor.

Then for a moment, he watched Han Sena and Choi Sunha delivering chemistry that exceeded his imagination.

Choi Sunha’s face was painted with confusion, fear, and shame.

Han Sena was looking at Choi Sunha with unwavering eyes.

Director Byun marveled watching that gaze.

Simply looking at someone.

Looking without any meaning—how much bewilderment could that throw someone into?

Han Sena already thoroughly understood this and was staring at her scene partner.

A long silence stretched between them.

Next, it was Choi Sunha’s turn to deliver his line.

Choi Sunha extended the silence longer than during rehearsal.

Director Byun immediately sensed it in that silence.

That person actually got flustered.

Probably flustered by the harmless confusion Han Sena was giving him.

Right in front of that performance, he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed.

But he was too much of a veteran to easily lose his rhythm.

“Yeah. To me, you’re a woman.”

It was a confession befitting both Tae Sunwoo and Choi Sunha.

Now it was Park Inha’s turn to be confused after asking thoughtlessly.

As if she truly hadn’t expected that answer.

Park Inha’s eyes widened.

“…?”

Watching that face, Tae Sunwoo smiled slightly.

“Don’t worry. You’re a woman to me, but. You’re my colleague before being a woman.”

“……”

“I have no intention of crossing that line, so relax. I won’t approach you.”

Park Inha’s pupils shook.

“Sorry for getting angry.”

A moment later, Director Byun shouted.

“Cut!! That’s perfect!!!”

* * *

That afternoon, moving to an indoor location for the continuing scene.

A small house.

The house felt empty enough to convey that impression—not even the lights were on, let alone furniture.

Inside the small room, Park Inha sat on the bed with her knees drawn up.

Water dripped from her short hair, freshly washed.

‘Yeah. To me, you’re a woman.’

‘I have no intention of crossing that line, so relax. I won’t approach you.’

Park Inha sat lost in thought over Tae Sunwoo’s words from earlier today.

Park Inha’s eyes were filled with nothing but confusion.

Park Inha looked at an old family photo on the nightstand beside the bed.

Then she muttered as if someone might be listening.

“All I’ve ever heard my whole life is that I look gloomy.”

Only silence flowed through the room.

“Throughout my school years, adults always said it. That kid’s shadowed. With scared looks like my shadow might rub off on their kids.”

Park Inha kept talking.

“But… he says he likes me like this.”

Then she rested her chin on her knees.

“You’re really the fearless one. What do you even know about the kind of person I am.”

A self-deprecating, lonely expression appeared on Park Inha’s face.

Then she smiled faintly and collapsed onto the bed.

“Someone like me.”

* * *

“Cut, okay!”

The moment I heard “okay,” I rolled over on the set bed and covered my face with my arm.

Tears suddenly flowed.

‘Again, here we go again.’

Every morning I came to set, I told myself to just act and go, but it was never easy.

I found myself recalling all those times spent immersed in the script more than ever, and staying as Park Inha on set drained my emotions so heavily it was exhausting.

Even moments like now—getting sad over daring to wish for Tae Sunwoo, for the same fluttering, light everyday life others had, even briefly.

Because I knew how absurd that was from Park Inha’s perspective.

The staff hesitated to approach, waiting for me to collect myself.

I wiped my tears and sat up on the bed.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Sena-ssi. Take your time.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, taking small breaths to gather my emotions.