Dalla padella alla brace; from bad to worse, it is an Italian phrase.

Clearly it was a bad thing for the agency if Dara was cut off from eleven cast list in the whole season. But, it seem worst for her that she just woke up with the most head-splitting headache ever with a news that the number reduced to ten and the plus one was swapped with a penalty action. She was to volunteer in a correctional facility centre to teach etiquettes class – if she wish to remain in Director Song’s play.

It made her felt even bitter than being thrown out of set yesterday and amused all in the same time.

She was considered as the most rude and unnervingly frank theatre actress. Her reputation is as low as rotten, yet, she will have to teach basic manners to a bunch of teen delinquents. How do they expect her to teach them to tuck their legs while sitting and speak pleasantly without cursing when Dara was struggling with that part of life herself?

Figures.

She just had an inkling who played this crazy stunt of media play – Mr. Lee, her agency CEO. That spawn of Satan does get on her nerves.

The kick from a strong self-brew cappuccino and sugary cinnamon bun got her back on her feet. A hangover soup would have worked better in the midst of a morning hangover and broken ventilation system, however, the stove won’t cook by itself and the coffee taste at least decent. Everything just felt so out of place. Her house was stuffy, hot and she just felt like crawling back to the bed but, Bom had already clipped her new schedule in a recent e-mail.

Dara checked on it while stuffing her face. The week is totally packed – teaching in the morning, evening practice for the play, recreation activities on weekend with her new students and everything else squeeze in between. Deciding that the day was too hot for any form of makeup, Dara sauntered out bare face in a floral printed blouse with an emerald olive jacket and pencil skirt, a lighter shade than the jacket, before flagging a taxi. As if everything wasn’t enough to spite her, it took her twenty minutes for an empty taxi.

At the front desk, a feline looking woman stared at her ridiculously when Dara arrived. She was chewing and popping a whitening pink bubble gum, slightly vibrant against the fierce redness of her lips. One unapproved look settled between the sculpted brow of the former and an urge to shrink appealed Dara.

Lee Chaerin, her nametag gleamed from the fluorescent lamp.

“Hello,” Dara stopped and clear . She sound so timid. “Can you refer me to any higher-ups? I’m here for the volunteer event. Etiquette class or something?”

“You don’t know yourself?” The front desk’s voice were pitchy with a unique tone and Dara pressed into a thin line to avoid any stupid rebuttals spilled from . She knew getting on the other’s bad side would practically meant hell and Song Mino was enough.

When Chaerin’s question left unanswered, she cradled the phone receiver between the dip of her shoulder and her head, pressing a speed dial. The call connected in seconds, a few sentences flew back and forth in the call before she gestured to the second room on her right. Dara muttered a slow thanks and excuse herself into the administration’s office. Inside the room, a stern looking man greeted her with a curt nod. His bushy moustache looks so silly that Dara quickly took a seat to stifle her bubbling laughter.

“I’m informed,