I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

* * *

Over the past few days, as she watched Han Yeoreum struggle and fight her way through, Geum Bitgang’s gaze kept drifting more and more toward this little chick.

She kept finding herself curious about Han Yeoreum’s acting, and curious about the direction Yeoreum would go.

‘Whether she can fill in the remaining ten points or not.’

Geum Bitgang opened her mouth again toward Han Yeoreum, who stood a few steps away.

“So. Have you found Seoryeong?”

“Not yet.”

“Well. That’s understandable.”

In the meantime, sides of Han Yeoreum that Geum Bitgang had never seen during lectures kept spilling out endlessly.

‘Even when she hasn’t properly found her bearings....’

So many different expressions layered themselves over that youthful twenty-year-old face. Geum Bitgang gave a small snort of amusement and walked to Han Yeoreum’s side.

“Where did you learn theater? I’m pretty sure you said your acting experience is only half a year.”

“...I’ve never learned it separately.”

“Don’t even think about lying. I can tell just from your voice.”

A deep shadow fell over one side of Han Yeoreum’s face as she turned to look at Geum Bitgang. After a moment, Yeoreum answered with a playful grin.

“I’m just good, you know? Maybe it’s because I’m a fan of Professor Geum. Is it that obvious that the moment I decided I wanted to act was when I saw your play?”

“Flattery only works on people it works on.”

“It’s not flattery, it’s true. I’m just using a bit of dawn vibes to say what I haven’t been able to say.”

“Fine, I’ll let that slide. Then when did you see that play?”

“Third year of middle school, in December. Our school went to see a play as a group.”

Yeoreum’s gaze locked heavily with Geum Bitgang’s. It was a clear light with not a speck of falsehood.

“Everyone was like, ‘Why a play? Let’s just go watch a movie.’ I was like that too.”

Han Yeoreum spoke as if she were delivering a monologue.

“But then the lights in the theater went out, and a pinpoint spotlight lit up the center, and the moment I heard the actor’s footsteps thudding on the stage... the stage started pulling me in like I’d gone crazy.”

It was a work Geum Bitgang remembered too.

Just stop here. Just stop here. She had sworn that to herself countless times as she climbed onto that stage.

“When I watched the scene you acted, my heart was pounding like it was going to die. It was the part where you got angry... and that’s when I knew. I have to act.”

was a play that realistically depicted the harsh lives of fishermen living on a small island.

It portrayed the tragedy of a working-class family who spent their entire lives fighting rough waves to haul in fish, yet had no boat of their own—suffering under a boat owner’s abuse as they struggled to survive.

‘It’s not a play a middle schooler would call “fun”....’

Still, the climax might have stuck with her. It had experimental staging that hadn’t existed before.

‘Because about five liters of water were poured onto the stage.’

To make the lives of impoverished fishing families feel real, they used wind machines and water.

Maybe because it brought up old memories—Geum Bitgang’s heart burned strangely hot. Even though the frigid winter wind filled the space between them.

Her heated heart pounded wildly. Geum Bitgang asked,

“Do you still remember ?”

“Of course. Obviously.”

As if her heartbeat might be heard, Geum Bitgang tightly folded her arms. Then she spoke to that far-off junior.

“Then do it here once. I’ll decide whether to believe you or not after I see it—your flattery about starting acting because of me.”

Her junior didn’t hesitate for even a second. She turned her back and walked a few steps forward. Small footprints stamped clearly into the wet dirt.

Han Yeoreum raked at the hair she’d roughly tied up with one hand.

In an instant, she looked like a fisherman’s wife who’d tightly bound her hair from sheer exhaustion with life.

“Eooh, you know too.”

Back then, the Geum Bitgang had performed in had been newly adapted. It was set at Mokpo Port, and every actor’s lines were delivered in dialect.

And Han Yeoreum spoke that dialect naturally.

“Is rice somethin’ that’s everywhere, huh? Times like this, you oughta be grateful and just shove down whatever you’ve got!”

The voice of a tough, relentless mother seeing off a small fishing boat at Mokpo Port rang out.

“Stop it already! The words comin’ outta that mouth—words, words, words...! Ah. Not a single day goes by without you turnin’ a person’s insides upside down!”

Han Yeoreum shuffled forward, unsteady—like she was trying to get away from the son who had just been habitually complaining about poverty.

‘...Right now, she’s limping on one leg?’

Geum Bitgang noticed Han Yeoreum’s entire body tilted subtly to the right. As if she’d been crushed under brutal labor for her entire life.

Because she had her back turned, the hunched spine and bent neck were even clearer.

Thud-. Thud-.

Geum Bitgang’s heartbeat grew so loud it felt like she could hear it with her ears. The lungs that had been pulling in cold winter air and exhaling icy breath felt like they were heating up.

“What’d you do, huh? What did you do, I’m askin’! I’m the one who worked my bones to dust my whole damn life—so your bellies wouldn’t go empty, I worked ‘til sundown ‘til my hands swelled up all fat and numb, I did!”

Han Yeoreum stood under a tree and drew in a breath. In that single inhale, sorrow clung and soaked through.

Heat spread through Geum Bitgang’s heart.

“But you—you little bastard... you run your mouth like this whole mess of a house is, like... like it’s all my fault...!”

She had spent her entire life clawing and scrambling because she didn’t want to pass poverty down, and yet poverty didn’t die—it ruled their lives all the same.

“Looks like I ain’t even here to you, yeah...? Like I ain’t even a person, huh...?”

With a voice on the verge of tears, Han Yeoreum screamed as if thrashing.

“That long, long time—those years I lived for you...!”

BAM—!

Han Yeoreum kicked the tree trunk like she was venting her rage. And with that, rainwater that had pooled all night poured down over her in a rush.

Just like that stage, back then.

The back of a poor person flailing just to survive one more day against rough, relentless waves was pitiful beyond words.

“Was it all—every last bit of it—just nothing?!”

Her life must have been as empty as sea spray, and every day salty seawater must have run down into her eyes. Sons who drowned trying to fill the fishing boat with a full haul must have surged in and out of her chest like the tide.

Because that was what had tried to paint.

‘...Han Yeoreum....’

Han Yeoreum slowly turned around.

Her face, drenched as if she’d just climbed off a fishing boat, looked like poverty itself.

“....”

The moment Geum Bitgang faced that expression, she forgot how to speak.

It felt like she’d been dragged back onto the stage she had performed on that day.

The acting was over. And yet Geum Bitgang couldn’t escape the afterglow.

“...Answer one question for me.”

Geum Bitgang spoke to Han Yeoreum, forcing herself to suppress her trembling. It was an impulsive question, but she desperately wanted to hear the answer.

“What is acting to you?”

Han Yeoreum opened her mouth without ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) a second of hesitation.

“Survival.”

“Survival.... Why?”

“Watching the stage... I realized, ‘So you can let your emotions explode like that.’ ‘So you don’t have to just endure.’ From the moment I realized that, it felt like I’d die if I didn’t act.”

As if making a vow, Han Yeoreum pressed each syllable down again, carefully, firmly.

“So acting is survival to me.”

Beyond Han Yeoreum’s back, the sky was slowly brightening.

Before she knew it, dawn had passed and morning was approaching.

“Then will you believe me now?”

Where had that face from a moment ago gone? Han Yeoreum returned to her usual self and smiled.

The sun was rising.

“...Yeah.”

“Then I’m gonna go in first! Ugh, it’s cold—.”

Han Yeoreum shook out her wet hair and ran inside as if fleeing. Left alone, Geum Bitgang still felt like the ground under her feet was a stage.

In the meantime, a sun bright enough to light up the entire world settled over Geum Bitgang.

Like a pinpoint spotlight on a stage.

“That kid....”

And Geum Bitgang realized. Why she kept getting curious about Han Yeoreum, why her eyes kept drifting to her, why she wanted to see more.

It was ridiculous that she was only realizing it now.

“She’s rough-cut stone.”

Anyone—not just Geum Bitgang—would think so.

Even in the vicious winter weather, Geum Bitgang’s heart burned madly hot.

Like summer.

Like Han Yeoreum.

* * *

Click-. Click-.

This place, where the stiff mechanical sounds didn’t stop, was the editing room for . Today too, Director Gong was plucking flower petals in anxiety.

“They say it’s good... they say it’s not... they say it’s good... KYAAAAH! It’s not, though!”

The editor, used to it by now, turned up the headset volume. Since the genre was action, the sound was loud anyway, and Director Gong’s screams were nicely buried.

“Is this... some kind of revelation? Right? Huh? Right?”

“Go before it’s right....”

The editor lifted one side of the headset up and shot a look at the anxious Director Gong. Director Gong stared back with pitiful eyes.

“What do I do. I can already see it... I can see the comments, I see them....”

“Then let’s just look at the comments!”

“KYAAAAH! Anything but that!”

“We can!!!”

In the end, unable to endure the annoyance, the editor went straight onto the internet. Director Gong covered his face with both hands. The editor quickly typed in the search term.

[Search: Law-Faster-than]

Today was the day the teaser trailer for was released.