Chapter 300: Chapter 300

Spring, for Illusionary Realm, was a season filled with significance—a stretch of time marked by milestones that couldn’t be ignored.

That was exactly why Ha-eun and the other Illusionary Realm members had gathered at LUX HQ: to prepare for the loaded schedule ahead.

For the first-generation VTubers of Illusionary Realm, it was the second anniversary of their debut.

For the second generation, it marked their first year.

On top of that, the 3D avatar debut for the second generation was planned for this spring as well.

There was a mountain of things that had to be discussed in this group meeting.

“The second-gen’s finally making their 3D debut now. It reminds me of when we were preparing for ours, unnie.”

Ha-eun was practically glued to Jung Maria—also known as Cream—as she said that. It was obvious she was feeling nostalgic.

Back when the first-gen was preparing for their 3D debut, a lot had gone down, after all.

“Remember how Hye-min unnie kept pushing us, saying that if our 3D concert flopped, the second-gen debut would flop with it? Thinking back on it now... wow, it's kind of overwhelming.”

“Ha-eun, you had it the roughest. You were filming a drama back then too.”

“Oh, you remember? I knew you were the best.”

Ha-eun chuckled and leaned in even closer, like she wanted to melt into Cream’s side.

She started talking again, lost in memories, but for someone like Mir—still just a third-gen trainee—the stories were impossible to follow.

And something about Ha-eun felt... just slightly off from usual.

Jung Maria tilted her head instinctively, curious about the subtle change in Ha-eun’s demeanor.

Even when Mir tried to get a word in—curious about what had happened two years ago—she couldn’t find a moment to interrupt.

It wasn’t like Ha-eun was deliberately ignoring her, of course.

She had always admired Jung Maria, and Cream too. So naturally, her attention was entirely focused on her now.

It probably wasn’t some calculated attempt to shut Mir out... probably.

She looks fine now. But earlier, she seemed... off.

Even as they reached the tenth floor meeting room.

Even as Mir walked off to join the other trainees.

Even as the meeting began soon after—Ha-eun clung to Jung Maria like she was her lifeline.

It was... a bit like a puppy refusing to give up her favorite toy.

She didn’t say much. She just stayed close.

“Uh, Ha-eun... is something wrong?”

Yeah, something’s wrong.

There was a strange deja vu to the way Ha-eun answered with that blank expression.

It reminded Jung Maria of a time when Ha-eun had wrongly assumed Maria was avoiding her.

But Ha-eun herself seemed completely unaware of how she was acting.

Right now, her mind was busy spiraling through vivid memories of her supposed “past life,” trying to figure out if there had ever been something—anything—between Cream and Mir.

Were we close back then too?

Ha-eun’s absurdly sharp memory was doing what it did best.

She recalled every single clip where Cream and Mir had seemed even remotely friendly.

But of course, she couldn’t just outright ask Cream what their deal was.

At the moment, the two were technically just alumni who’d bumped into each other by chance.

So on the outside, Ha-eun looked calm.

On the inside? Not even remotely.

How did she manage to win her over like that?

Ha-eun was stuck on how Cream had been so engrossed in her conversation with Mir that she hadn’t even noticed Ha-eun’s presence.

Jealousy gnawed at her.

When had they even gotten that close?

Eventually, it all spilled out.

She couldn’t just ask, “Hey, what’s going on between you and Mir?”—that would be way too direct.

So instead, she went the roundabout way.

“She said Mir’s homeroom teacher was the same one she had back in high school. That’s what they were talking about.”

“How did you even find out you went to the same school as Mir?”

“Just came up in conversation. I asked what school she went to, that’s all.”

“Did Mir talk to you first? Or did you talk to her? How did you two even meet—”

“...Are you interrogating me right now?”

“N-no... I was just... curious.”

Only then did Ha-eun realize she might’ve been overstepping. She fell quiet again.

But for someone as sharp as Jung Maria, that silence said just as much as words.

And so she brought it up casually:

“I was thinking of grabbing lunch with Mir sometime—just the two of us. You know any good spots?”

With Mir. Just the two of them. Lunch. Follow current novᴇls on 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭•𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦•𝘯𝘦𝘵

Those three words were enough to send Ha-eun’s brain straight to the Andromeda galaxy.

It felt like the world was collapsing around her.

She stammered. Fell into silence. Tried to say something—anything—but kept stopping herself.

Her poker face shattered, replaced by a look of raw shock.

She’s totally jealous.

Jung Maria was now absolutely sure of it.

Not that Ha-eun made it easy—she refused to believe it even when Maria insisted it was all a joke and tried to calm her down.

“I-it wasn’t Mir. I was talking about my mom. You must’ve misheard.”

“...Why would you have lunch alone with your mom?”

“Because... she’s my mom? Obviously?”

That was the day Jung Maria learned exactly what Ha-eun looked like when her brain short-circuited.

It was also pretty clear that Ha-eun had no idea what she was even saying anymore.

Two days after the Illusionary Realm group meeting.

On the set of The Youngest Son of the Chairman.

Ha-eun—fully transformed into her character, Yoon Seo-ah—sat silently on a folding chair, waiting for the shoot to begin.

Outwardly, she looked like her usual self: stoic, unreadable.

But inside? She was frozen.

Or maybe it was more like boiling—quietly, furiously.

All because of something Cream had said two days ago.

Specifically, something about Mir.

She said it was a joke, but still...

Technically, Cream and Mir were just alumni who’d happened to cross paths again.

Right now, Ha-eun was objectively much closer to Cream than Mir was.

But that didn’t stop her from being fixated on Mir.

Mir had this subtle charm, a sort of understated appeal—and when you added in the whole “history with Cream” angle, things got messy fast.

What really unnerved her was the fear—completely irrational, maybe—that Cream might grow distant because of Mir.

Ha-eun knew it didn’t make logical sense.

But logic didn’t apply when it came to Cream.

Maybe I should spend more time with Maria unnie... or maybe plan more collabs?

She kept looping through ideas, thinking of ways to strengthen their bond.

Even though, really, their bond hadn’t even weakened to begin with.

Still, the sudden appearance of a potential rival like Mir threw everything into chaos.

“Oh! Y-yes? What is it?”

“They said the setup’s almost done. Time to start getting ready.”

Even now, Ha-eun hadn’t noticed Yoo Sung-jae approach.

When he asked if she was feeling okay, it was pretty clear why.

“Season’s changing. Gotta be careful with your health this time of year.”

“Ah... right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Either way, on set, Ha-eun wasn’t a VTuber.

She wasn’t part of Illusionary Realm.

Right now, she was Yoon Seo-ah, the actress.

And she had a job to do.

Especially since the scene she was about to film focused on something she’d recently been told she wasn’t expressing strongly enough: jealousy and unease.

She’s starting to feel threatened by Shin Do-hyeon...

Shin Do-hyeon, the protagonist of The Youngest Son of the Chairman, was a nobody among the heirs of the powerful Chunseong Group.

Meanwhile, Ha-eun’s Yoon Seo-ah was the heir of their rival, Baekhan Group, and already cemented in her role.

Ordinarily, someone like Shin Do-hyeon—barely in the running—wouldn’t even register on Yoon Seo-ah’s radar.

She only cared about crushing Chunseong Group as a whole.

But as time went on, Shin Do-hyeon’s presence within Chunseong grew stronger.

Just weeks ago, he’d completely derailed a major Baekhan project.

“Shin Do-hyeon again...?”

Now, Yoon Seo-ah had no choice but to take him seriously.

This scene—Scene 11—was part of the early arc of the drama.

“What the hell did he do to make the mayor completely ignore our faction?”

“I... I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re still looking into it.”

With a cold expression, Yoon Seo-ah waved her secretary away.

Her face looked neutral, but underneath, emotions churned.

“If the mayor’s siding with him, that means he’s decided we’re disposable...”

Her eyes trembled ever so slightly.

Her lips were set in a calm line, but her gaze could cut steel.

Ha-eun’s performance was drastically different from a few days ago, and Director Cha Sun-ho’s eyes took on a more serious gleam.

Whereas the Ha-eun from the last shoot had been all sharp edges—like a bristling thorn—today she was a coiled snake, cautiously watching the sudden appearance of an unpredictable threat.

To be fair, Yoon Seo-ah had always seen Shin Do-hyeon as a rival.

But now, there was something more dangerous about her aura—something harsher, yes, but also tinged with unease.

"...So it wasn’t money. He must’ve offered something else. Or maybe... he found something he wasn’t supposed to."

Yoon Seo-ah’s hand reached for the water glass on the table.

But she didn’t bring it to her lips. Instead, she held it idly, staring into the void, a soft hum escaping her.

Her gaze, sharp and cutting, locked onto the empty space before her—

As if picturing Shin Do-hyeon himself.

Her brows furrowed slightly.

Her fingers trembled ever so slightly as she set the glass back down.

There was no dialogue in that moment, but the twitch in her hand said it all—Seo-ah was unraveling on the inside.

"A total rookie with no connections... found a weakness we couldn’t."

Her brow, her jaw, the line of her nose—frozen like ice.

And in that tense stillness, she radiated jealousy, inferiority, and burning ambition all at once.

Her lips curled into a sardonic smile. A soft, bitter laugh escaped her.

Her eyes twitched with the slightest emotional fracture.

It was the moment Yoon Seo-ah could no longer deny that Shin Do-hyeon had begun to register on her radar.

Her neck stiffened. Her lips were dry.

She didn’t scream or lash out—but her rising wariness showed in every rigid line of her face.

"...Twenty? That kid?"

A thousand-year-old serpent.

That’s what Director Cha Sun-ho and the other staff saw in Ha-eun now.

Even in a silent monologue scene, she dominated the screen with suffocating presence.

Her pale hand trembled around the glass.

That small shake... was the crack that revealed the surge of emotion deep within.

Blink. Just a fleeting second. She closed her eyes, then opened them again.

And in that instant, the camera captured a chilling mix of disdain and heat in her gaze.

With the cold, venomous eyes of a snake, she simply stared.

Imagining Shin Do-hyeon.

And within her quiet glare lingered a faint panic—

The fear that someone she once looked down on might one day tower over her.

Director Cha Sun-ho’s voice echoed through the set, bringing Scene 11—the penthouse scene—to a close.

It had only taken one take.

A far cry from the multiple NGs they had braced for.

I thought it just needed a little tweak... but this? She completely transformed.

As he recalled their conversation from days ago, Director Cha walked over and praised Ha-eun, calling her performance outstanding.

He even marveled aloud that she only needed to be told something once to understand ten more things on her own.

Ha-eun’s only response was a sheepish smile.

“You were picturing Shin Do-hyeon, weren’t you? The way your eyes shifted just a little—it really felt like he was standing right in front of you.”

How do I tell him I wasn’t imagining Shin Do-hyeon, but a VTuber trainee...?

Ha-eun might not fully understand the textbook definition of jealousy or anxiety,

but she did know that she absolutely could not admit what had really fueled her acting—

That she’d been picturing Cream being stolen away by Mir.

Still, Scene 11 was complete.

Next up was Scene 12—a two-person scene with Yoo Sung-jae.

Ha-eun headed back toward the edge of the set, quietly trying to calm the emotions that had risen to her throat.

And then—her phone buzzed.

She tilted her head and unlocked it, only to find a series of messages from Cream.

[Jung Maria (Cream)] – (Poster of Forgotten Child – Korean Dub Release)

[Jung Maria (Cream)] – Is this real??

[Jung Maria (Cream)] – I thought the trailer voice sounded kinda familiar...

[Lee Ha-eun (Diah)] – Ah

[Lee Ha-eun (Diah)] – You caught me

[Jung Maria (Cream)] – 😱

[Jung Maria (Cream)] – No way...

Come to think of it, the Korean dub trailer for Forgotten Child was supposed to drop today.

Ha-eun had been so swamped lately that her sense of time had gone completely out of whack.

Still, the reason she’d even taken the dubbing job for Forgotten Child... was for Cream.

And just seeing that Cream liked it was enough to make Ha-eun glow inside.

[Jung Maria (Cream)] – Do you have time on the release day for Forgotten Child?

[Jung Maria (Cream)] – Wanna go on a date?

That one message stopped Ha-eun’s breath in its tracks.

Without hesitation, she checked her schedule at light speed—

Then fired back a reply just as fast.

[Lee Ha-eun (Diah)] – I’ll go even if the sky falls

[Jung Maria (Cream)] – LOL okay then 😆

Ha-eun and Cream had a date.

She pumped her fists and swung her arms wildly in the air.

Her heart was thumping like crazy—and it wasn’t her imagination.

Just as the edges of her mouth started twitching up into a grin, just as her joy threatened to spill into pure giggles—

Yoo Sung-jae’s voice rang out beside her.

“Did you... win the lottery or something?”

“N-no... nothing like that...”

Caught red-handed, Ha-eun’s face turned a deep, tomato-like red.

One poke might’ve made her explode like a balloon.

Even the edges of her ears were trembling—it was, in many ways, an unforgettable sight.

“L-let’s go, {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} Sung-jae. It’s time for the next scene.”

...She’s like a wind-up toy.