Chapter 312: Chapter 312

An unspoken, overwhelming jealousy surged up.

It was different from the competitive drive Da-yeon had felt in the past when Ha-eun’s style of acting contrasted with her own.

This was something else—

A gut-level, physiological envy as a woman.

And a little bit of bitter frustration.

Why the hell doesn’t that little brat lose any chest fat even with all that working out...?

Objectively speaking, Da-yeon didn’t have a small chest either.

But the world ran on comparisons.

Having spent so many years side by side with Ha-eun, there was simply no escaping the visual contrast of that bust size.

It made Da-yeon’s chest seem smaller by default—whether she wanted to compare or not.

“You got surgery, didn’t you.”

“Then why do they keep getting bigger?”

“I don’t know, they just grow on their own...”

Unlike Da-yeon, who had tried all sorts of methods to enhance her bust, Ha-eun had done literally nothing—and that only made it more unfair.

Wasn’t effort supposed to pay off?

She’d probably drunk enough milk to fill a truck over the years.

So why did that side keep growing while hers stayed the same?

“If anything, go ask my mom... Wait, even she isn’t exactly on the smaller side...”

“I’m just saying, maybe you’re the mutant— ...I was kidding! Kidding! Put the chair down!”

Da-yeon, eyes flashing with rage, made Ha-eun flinch and throw her hands up in defense.

Maybe it was because she’d been working out lately, but she was seriously strong now.

She was hefting that chair like it weighed nothing.

“I don’t want to hear that crap from you.”

And just like that, the latest commotion passed.

Ha-eun tried on the properly sized dresses, while the designer explained which styles suited her body best.

Having gone through this process before for various award shows, it wasn’t new to Ha-eun.

In fact, she’d been fitted for dresses more than once just for CF shoots.

But the dress for the Venice Film Festival was a different matter.

It would be made of luxury fabric, designed to be exceptionally elegant.

Naturally, the price reflected that.

If I used this much money to commission a new avatar for Diah... I could make at least five, she thought.

“...Lee Ha-eun, you’re having weird thoughts again.”

It made sense that a dress for the Venice Film Festival would cost more.

It was a gathering of global stars—there was no way she could show up in just anything.

The only surprising part was how shockingly high the actual number was.

“Some people show up decked out in designer brands from head to toe, you know.”

“For that kind of money, you could buy... I mean... just kidding.”

“Don’t even talk about gukbap. You don’t even like gukbap.”

Before long, the final estimate for Ha-eun’s dress was confirmed.

Since Da-yeon’s dress had already been decided, the rest of the discussion focused on how long the tailoring would take for both gowns.

They left the dress shop shortly afterward.

Though it was well past lunchtime, neither of them had eaten yet.

So first order of business: lunch.

They headed to a nearby gyudon specialty place.

And the moment they sat down, Ha-eun pulled out her action cam.

Cue the YouTube intro.

“We just wrapped up our schedule and came to grab a bite. Today’s menu is—”

Here she goes again, Da-yeon thought.

To be fair, it wasn’t like she was being obnoxiously loud about it.

In fact, it was quiet—almost too quiet.

Whenever they filmed in restaurants with other customers around, Ha-eun spoke in a near-whisper.

From the side, it looked like people could barely hear her. Still, asking for permission to record in every single place had to be exhausting.

“Do you really need to film everything?”

“I’ve got a whole team depending on me. I have to keep up with the channel.”

“My YouTube team. They’re all waiting for this footage like their lives depend on it.”

She said it so seriously it almost sounded like a public service announcement.

Then she asked Da-yeon if she had any interest in starting a YouTube channel.

The answer came immediately: nope.

She said she had zero confidence in chatting alone in front of a camera like Ha-eun did.

“I just want to eat in peace when I eat.”

“You’d probably get tons of subscribers, though.”

“There you have it. No plans to start a channel anytime soon.”

“...Wait. Are we streaming right now?”

“Not live, but someone did leave a comment asking about your channel.”

Apparently, a hardcore fan.

As she filmed her just-served yaki-gyudon with her action cam, Ha-eun even told Da-yeon the username of the person who left the comment.

Honestly, it was a strange feeling.

She hadn’t expected someone to ask about her YouTube on Ha-eun’s channel.

Maybe it was because she appeared so often as a guest.

“So how does the cheese gyudon taste, Miss Min Da-yeon? Care to comment?”

“If you’re offering.”

And so, between occasional mini-interviews from Ha-eun, they finished their gyudon. Then, they boarded manager Kim Jin-soo’s van to head to their next schedule: a celebrity ceremonial first pitch meeting.

Another event they were attending together. With baseball season in full swing, the team had requested both Ha-eun and Da-yeon to make an appearance.

“Come to think of it, didn’t you do a first pitch when you were a kid, Ha-eun?”

“Oh, yeah. That was also for the Sehwa Eagles.”

The first pitch event had always been something Ha-eun wanted to do again. It was part of what launched her career in the entertainment industry, so it carried emotional weight.

It was also why she’d talked Da-yeon into joining.

Ha-eun would handle the pitching; all Da-yeon had to do was swing the bat.

“I don’t think I’ll hit it.”

“Eh, the batter usually just whiffs. Swing once and wave, that’s it.”

In the end, Da-yeon also agreed to take part in the Sehwa Eagles’ first pitch ceremony.

It helped that she wouldn’t be alone—and it had been a long time since Ha-eun was this eager about an event.

“Alright, then we’ll need to get uniforms too. Got a number in mind for the back?”

This brat’s way too excited.

Talk of Ha-eun’s ceremonial first pitch ended when Ju Jung-yoon arrived to pick her up.

Afterward, Da-yeon left for her Dynasty shoot, while Ha-eun headed to her meeting at the LUX office—each getting into separate vans.

About 30 minutes later, Ju Jung-yoon’s van pulled into LUX.

Ha-eun, now wearing her building access badge, entered the company lobby—where Ji Hye-min was already waiting for her.

“You’ve committed a grave sin...”

“B-Baba-ba! B-Baba-ba!”

“‘Watch It Separately’? Watch THIS separately!”

...Yeah. She was a bit too excited to see her.

She greeted Ha-eun by immediately grabbing and pulling on her cheeks.

“I was going crazy without you! Actually going crazy—!”

“E-Enough, unnie! L-Let me go!”

“I was dying of embarrassment, you know.”

After that intense punishment for making Ji Hye-min say cutesy promotional lines, Ha-eun followed her into the meeting room where they first discussed the launch of new Diah merchandise.

“We’re planning to release new merch for Diah’s 2nd anniversary. Got anything in mind?”

“Hmm... you know those round cushions where only the face is printed? I forgot what they’re called.”

“Yeah, that one. I thought it’d be fun to use Diah’s face for it—”

That discussion went on for about an hour.

Or more specifically, it went on until Ji Hye-min’s notebook was packed full of new product ideas for Diah.

Then, Ji Hye-min pulled out a new folder—this time with an unexpected announcement.

“You know Blue Academy, right?”

“Uh... yeah.” ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⚑𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖⚑𝕟𝕖𝕥

The name wasn’t unfamiliar to Ha-eun.

First of all, it was developed by a major Korean game company, OnGames.

Plus, memes from Blue Academy had already popped up in Diah’s stream chat a few times.

But above all else, what stood out the most:

Blue Academy’s developers had once launched their own VTuber.

One way or another, anything related to VTubers always stuck with her.

They really got torn apart over that “red pill” controversy before they shut it down...

Regardless. This was the first ad Diah had ever been offered.

There was no way she would even consider turning it down—this one actually meant something.

Still, despite Ha-eun’s enthusiasm, there were some blurry lines in the ad contract.

“I get the feeling they don’t just want Diah.”

“I mean... it sounds like they also ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) want actress Lee Ha-eun in the ad too.”

So-called “homework stream” obligations would go to Diah.

She’d play Blue Academy live on stream and promote the newly released character.

However, the OST cover and voice-over lines for the commercial?

Those, according to Ji Hye-min, were expected to be done by singer Pinocchio and actress Lee Ha-eun—not Diah.

“I mean, technically, they’re all the same person, but...”

“Well, nothing’s set in stone yet. You can decide after meeting with them.”

Either way, she definitely wanted to take the ad.

Diah’s first ever sponsorship wasn’t something she was about to pass up.

So she decided to meet the client directly.

They, too, were eager for a face-to-face meeting, and the date was confirmed faster than expected.

Never done a game ad before, she thought.

Though she’d heard of Blue Academy, Ha-eun had never actually played it.

So, as prep for the meeting, she decided to give it a quick test run.

And finally, it was the day of the meeting with OnGames.

“...There’s something off with the rates.”

The marketing team at OnGames, who had come to meet her, weren’t met with a pitch or introduction.

They were met with complaints.

From a frustrated newbie.

“I mean, it’s a pickup event for a new character. The rate’s supposed to be higher.”

“R-Right. The odds of drawing Prana are higher than other characters.”

“Then why do I keep pulling dupes? It’s way too many duplicates—”

Even though she kept her usual poker face, her voice and expression gave away a subtle hint of indignation.

Not to mention the sheer number of duplicates visible on her Blue Academy account.

“This just doesn’t make sense. If I didn’t get her five times in a row, statistically, that means I should have by now, right? Why does she keep not showing up?”

The words rate rigging almost left her mouth.

The gacha system in Blue Academy was far more brutal than she’d expected.

“Okay, but I seriously want to know—why is there no ceiling for pass characters? Are you saying someone could pour in tens of millions and still not pull her? That’s—”

Whoa... she’s really into this game, the team thought.

Actual business talk only started after they promised to “look into” every single one of her complaints. And even then, they were caught off guard again.

“This one’s the Diah version. And this...”

“This is the Pinocchio version. Which one do you prefer?”

The marketing team had worked on plenty of ad campaigns before. But this was the first time they’d ever received a counter-proposal from the model. And never before had someone pre-recorded two separate OST versions before the contract was even signed.