I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

“What do you mean? That...? Half right and half wrong?”

By coincidence, there was a point where what Han Yeoreum had shown in passing overlapped with Seoryeong from .

“Find the point where you can empathize with Seoryeong in this story.”

Compared to the one-episode short drama she had taken on not long ago, Han Yeoreum was now facing a role of incomparably greater length.

The anxiety that came with it was painfully obvious in Myeong Jeha’s eyes.

“Erase the original from your head. Use the newly rewritten Seoryeong as the backbone, and inside that, grab onto one thing that resembles you.”

That must have been why.

Why Yeoreum, unlike her usual self, couldn’t see the answer sitting right in front of her.

“Do you think the Seoryeong I came up with is the same as Director Jang’s Seoryeong? That’s what matters. What do you think?”

Yeoreum had gotten the premise itself wrong.

Director Jang hadn’t rewritten Seoryeong’s arc for the sake of narrative completeness.

“Yeoreum, what kind of person do you want Seoryeong to be? How do you want her story to end? Say your analysis properly.”

A progression clearly different from the original.

It was obvious the entire structure had been overturned with someone in mind—someone the director wanted to show properly.

“I think she should want to live. For the sake of Venerable Jeongan, who saved her life, and because in the world Myungdo and Grand Prince Seonghwi want to create, she’d want to live properly.”

Pretending to know nothing—and yet, Yeoreum was still Yeoreum.

She had already analyzed Seoryeong.

In her own way.

“Seoryeong lived with the sole goal of hurling a curse at Yeomga. So the desires she carried were extremely limited.”

This wasn’t the story of Yeomga of Yeomho Kingdom, Crown Prince Yunhwi, Grand Prince Seonghwi, or Myungdo.

“There’s nothing in Seoryeong’s life that looks toward the future.... She doesn’t even promise herself a ‘next time’ as empty words. She’s someone who lives only in the now—not tomorrow.”

From beginning to end, it was a story of Seoryeong, for Seoryeong, by Seoryeong.

“But in the new synopsis, Seoryeong starts imagining a future after meeting Myungdo.”

Which meant that from the start, the key had already been in Han Yeoreum’s hands.

“A Seoryeong who drifts along and throws away her life... versus a Seoryeong who lived in order to die, but starts wanting to live. Maybe....”

Yeoreum’s eyes lit up instantly.

“Maybe that kind of love is actually bigger?”

Now Myeong Jeha understood why Yeoreum’s character analysis had stalled.

“...That’s the end of my analysis.”

She wanted to understand the role completely.

Or perhaps she had already sunk too deeply into it.

Something a ‘real’ Seoryeong wouldn’t do had caught in her mind.

“So now tell me. From where exactly is half of my Seoryeong wrong?”

There was no need to hesitate any longer. Myeong Jeha stood up.

“Alright. Then let’s go.”

“Where?”

If Han Yeoreum had reached this conclusion, then all that remained was to finish .

Because Han Yeoreum’s Seoryeong was the right answer.

“To make the ending.”

Regardless of the director’s original intent, had to become Han Yeoreum’s once-in-a-lifetime move.

* * *

Despite the sudden call from Yeoreum, Director Jang readily sent over his studio address.

His eyes were dry and bloodshot from days without sleep, his wrists ached, his stomach burned, and his neck was stiff—but for a director, these were perfectly natural conditions.

“Director—!”

“Yeoreum—!”

As usual, the two greeted each other by calling out each other’s names like exclamations. Accepting the coffee Yeoreum had brought, Director Jang also addressed the person standing behind her.

“Oh, Jeha! Thanks for coming. I really enjoyed .”

“Thank you. I watched and really wanted to meet you, so I pestered Yeoreum about it.”

“Oh come on, it’s not like I’m anyone special—you didn’t have to pester her~.”

Director Jang beamed and gestured for them to come inside.

But there was something small behind Yeoreum.

“Huh? Is this the younger sibling you mentioned last time, Yeoreum? Hi~. I’m Director Jang. Did you come to hang out with your sister?”

Director Jang greeted her warmly, but the short-haired kid snapped her eyes upward sharply.

“...She’s my senior from school. And my sibling is a boy....”

“Eh? Senior?”

“If I may introduce myself—once-in-a-lifetime genius of DaeYeJong, Dok Gomin. I shot Han Yeoreum’s profile photos here, the still cuts for , and I’ve worked with Do Gyeoul and others as well.”

Chin lifted proudly as she introduced herself, Dok Gomin made Director Jang awkwardly extend a hand for a handshake.

Gomin shot him a wary look.

“Y-yes.... Nice to meet you. I’m Director Jang. Please feel free to call me ‘Jjang Director’....”

Dok Gomin breezed right past him. Myeong Jeha grabbed the back of her collar and dragged her back in front of Director Jang.

“Senior. What kind of greeting is that?”

“I don’t want to shake hands! They’re all my rivals anyway!”

“Then please go home.”

“You were the one who told me to come! You said you don’t know which director might steal her!”

As Myeong Jeha laughed and tried to drag Gomin out, Yeoreum quietly soothed Director Jang.

“She looks like that, but she’s actually a big fan of yours—”

“Can you guarantee this old man isn’t weird like Director So? Jeha, you don’t get it! Directors can’t be trusted!”

But thanks to Dok Gomin’s flailing, the lie was exposed. Watching Gomin struggle in Myeong Jeha’s grip, Director Jang smiled benevolently.

“...Just bring her in, Jeha.”

He planned to humor a bunch of kids in their twenties for a bit, then return to his script work.

It was practically accepted wisdom that films were the director’s playground, while dramas were the writer’s playground.

And here, Director Jang had taken on both direction and adaptation.

In other words, on the game board called , every ounce of responsibility rested on Director Jang’s shoulders.

‘Feels like my shoulders are twice as heavy....’

On his laptop slept an unfinished version of .

He’d responded to Yeoreum’s call to briefly forget that burden, but the sighing breaths kept slipping out regardless.

And then, those breaths changed completely.

“Huff... huff...! How did you know, Jeha?”

Like a hardcore fan meeting someone who truly spoke his language, Director Jang panted. His heart swelled.

He had never met anyone who understood his direction this deeply after seeing only up to Episode 4.

“In the intro, you used a lot of layered sound. Starting with the bells, the audio overlaps—so I wondered if all those sounds would eventually connect and lead into a full shamanic ritual... haha.”

“That’s it. Exactly! How did you know? You actually got it?”

Director Jang had planted a hint in the intro. And Myeong Jeha had caught it ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) immediately.

“In a curse ritual, you summon the god with a flute, confirm the god with a janggu, identify the target with a kkwaenggwari, and then finish the curse with the drum...”

Gulp. Director Jang swallowed, staring at Myeong Jeha with shining eyes.

“Since we never hear that final drumbeat, I thought you might be saving it for the ending scene.”

“That’s it—exactly that, Jeha...!”

Director Jang clutched his forehead and collapsed. Meeting someone who understood his intent made his heart race—but the tangled threads still weren’t fully undone.

“Director. So how does it end?”

Yeoreum asked seriously. Director Jang hesitated for a moment.

Of course, he had a Plan B. Every director thinks of the highlight first.

But he couldn’t go with Plan B.

‘...Yeoreum already has too much to carry on her own.’

The ending Director Jang had kept to himself, unable to tell anyone.

If Yeoreum could pull off that scene from Plan B, it would be ideal—but venting her rage toward Yeomga alone would be enough.

Leading a sixteen-episode series as a rookie actor would already be overwhelming.

“The ending is Seoryeong stopping Yeomga from carrying out the curse ritual. We’ll handle it a little differently from the original, but why? Something bothering you?”

“The dialogue from the original ending.”

Yeoreum bit her lip.

“I don’t think Seoryeong would risk her life for Myungdo.”

The Seoryeong Yeoreum had analyzed was identical to Director Jang’s Seoryeong.

Not a divine maiden wielding power to shake the world—but a single, ordinary human being who feared death.

Director Jang nodded vigorously as Yeoreum explained carefully.

“You’re right. Exactly as you said. That’s why, at the end, Seoryeong tries to hurl the curse after pouring out all her divine power, but suffers internal injuries and reaches the brink of death before giving up. Because she realizes that dying together with Yeomga isn’t the only answer.”

The edges of the script were worn down from how much it had been read.

Smiling, Director Jang thought he’d truly found the right actor.

“Yeomga lives on in the world where Seonghwi becomes king, imprisoned like the saetani she once created. And Seoryeong leaves in search of a new life. That’s our Seoryeong.”

“Oh, thank goodness!”

Just as Yeoreum smiled in relief, Myeong Jeha—who had been listening quietly—opened his mouth.

“That’s not the end, is it? It feels like there’s another scene you’ve envisioned. Please don’t hide it—tell us.”

Director Jang’s gaze wavered.

“The part you originally cut from the ending... are you planning to go with it as is?”