I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

For a celebrity to succeed, two things are necessary.

‘One is core fans, and the other is mass appeal!’

No matter how strong the core fandom is, if the general public doesn’t recognize you, your influence can only be minimal. The reverse is the same—if the public knows you but you have no core fans, it leads nowhere.

‘To go beyond being a simply popular celebrity and become a star, both conditions have to be fulfilled.’

Manager Hong smiled as he looked at Han Yeoreum, who had racked up 130,000 views with a single Taiwan entry video.

‘Fans have to go crazy, and the public has to love her.’

Because even though she was a rookie with only two years since debut, the sprouts of a star were already visible.

“Manager, the response is great.”

The staff monitoring the situation moved their hands busily.

Manager Hong sensed that the first button in transforming Han Yeoreum into a “first love” image had been successfully fastened.

“Then let’s immediately release the live footage of tomorrow’s fan meeting too.”

* * *

Inside the hotel room. Hands moved quickly, spraying a fragrant floral mist to protect the hair before styling.

“Aren’t you nervous? How do you feel?”

Director Dok Gogyeol, who had come along on the trip, asked while refining her skin texture. On one side, a vlog camera was rolling.

“I’m really nervous.... Since it’s my first fan meeting, I feel like I’m going to mess up a lot.”

“You say that, but you’ll do great, right?”

Of course. Who am I? A rising Hallyu actor in Taiwan with ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) countless fans at Meiling’s school, someone who sold out 1,500 seats even for a first fan meeting, a woman who makes people want to write letters even after running them through a translator.

‘Do well.’

I made a vow as I faced myself in the mirror.

‘Let’s remember the stage that was made for me.’

Last night, right after going to the hall for rehearsal, a microphone had been placed in my hand. I was told that all I needed to do was give the greeting we’d prepared there.

That was all the guidance I received, yet the moment I stepped onto the stage, I felt something powerfully pulling at me.

‘...How long has it been since I last stood on a stage.’

Not since the freshman-year final play, .

There’s something about a stage that bewitches people—just the fact that I exist alone in that wide space is enough to make me dizzy with euphoria.

‘Once the lights hit me, the excitement just won’t die down.’

Those few seconds when the darkened view slowly comes into focus again—that familiar sensation sent a sharp thrill through my heart.

For a long time, the only place I was allowed to exist on stage was the corner.

‘Because I wasn’t supposed to stand out.’

But now, I could stand right at the center of the stage. With my own name on it.

Not Screaming Woman 1. Not Passing Woman 1. But Han Yeoreum.

‘If we can include the script-reading scene in a variety show, it’ll firmly brand me as an actor who’s serious about acting.’

If the Taiwan side decides to invest, when releases, new schedules will open up.

Doing photo walls and GVs here would solidify my footing as an actor.

‘Today’s fan meeting decides everything.’

People might not realize it, but once you’re on stage, all those faces in the audience come into view at once.

What expressions they’re wearing. Where they’re looking. How immersed they are right now.

‘They were definitely looking straight at me.’

If variety shows make the public recognize Han Yeoreum, dramas reshape my image, and then a ten-million-viewer film lets people fall in love with my character again—

‘Then maybe my name could end up on the first billing?’

Just thinking about it made my lips want to curl up. I wanted to grow faster.

‘If the Taiwan side invests because of me....’

The chances that NetHollix will focus more on an actor named Han Yeoreum when it fully lands in Korea would increase.

‘When NetHollix produces an original, maybe I’ll be the first to grab a script.’

Not Do Gyeoul.

Han Yeoreum.

That was how important this fan meeting was.

“Yeoreum, close your eyes for a moment.”

Before I knew it, the setup was nearing its final stage. I closed my eyes as Dok Gogyeol instructed. I felt a soft brush sweep across my eyelids.

“Alright, done. Open your eyes.”

I slowly opened them. In the mirror stood Han Yeoreum, fully prepared to attend the fan meeting.

“Pretty, right?”

The Han Yeoreum in the mirror sparkled like someone who deserved to stand at the very center of the stage.

* * *

“Why are there so many people?”

IP 85.152 shook her head at the bustling crowd. Jongno District would’ve been one thing, but Taipei still felt unfamiliar.

“Well, the theater really is beautiful though. Exotic.”

Gazing at the Taipei National Theater, IP 85.152 took out her phone and snapped a photo. She couldn’t forget why she’d come here.

‘I didn’t come just for a fan meeting.’

As a cultural citizen, she needed to grasp how Korean Wave dramas affected Asia, and what kind of influence the unique sensibility of youth high-teen dramas would have on the Korean media market going forward.

And while she was at it, she’d come to Taiwan to broaden her perspective and refresh her thinking through travel abroad....

“Seoryeong is here! Myungdo is here!”

A Taiwanese vendor who realized she was Korean spoke to her in Korean. IP 85.152 gave him an indifferent look.

“Goods, goods!”

All kinds of items were piled up where he was sitting. A photo of Han Yeoreum smiling was displayed like a signboard.

‘Right. I do have something I should buy anyway.’

She hadn’t come specifically for the fan meeting, but if you were a true audience member, it was basic etiquette to respect the prepared performance culture.

“Quality’s good. Nice! Pretty!”

As a cultured person who knew how to enjoy performances, and as a Korean returning kindness to a Taiwanese person who’d gone out of their way to speak in a foreign language, IP 85.152 gripped her wallet.

“How much if I buy all of this?”

Buying unofficial goods was also a way to feel how much fan culture had changed since her school days—and to broaden her perspective.

IP 85.152 bought Seoryeong photo cards in every version.

* * *

Input: ah seriously I’m so f***ing f***ing f***ing nervous

This was in front of the Taipei National Theater. Breathing in the humid air, Aetami typed on her phone, relaying the current situation in real time to Reporter Wi.

Buzz-.

[should’ve been me there f***...T_T]

A reply soaked with genuine tears arrived so fast the screen felt damp. Aetami placed her hand over her chest as she looked at the National Theater.

‘Yeoreum.... unni’s here....’

Just looking at the magnificent building made Aetami feel like she might cry too.

‘My baby. Already doing her first fan meeting.’

It hit her that she was a fan of an actor holding a fan meeting only two years after debut.

The massive building, with its red pillars and golden roof, moved Aetami deeply. Hearing foreign languages all around her, she felt Yeoreum’s popularity.

‘Later on, you have to do a solo fan meeting too, okay? Unni needs a seat, so don’t do it in some 300- or 500-seat place—do it somewhere this big....’

Already imagining the cutthroat ticketing wars back home, Aetami raised her camera to capture the historic moment.

Click-!

Input: Han Yeoreum absolutely insane incident.

Yeoreum slamming her first fan meeting in Taiwan like a boss, and an office worker clawing her way to attend incident.

After live-posting updates to her private fangirling account, Aetami lined up to enter. Checking the ticket in her bag, she made sure everything else was there too.

‘Okay. Fully prepared.’

Everything was perfect. All that was left was Yeoreum. As the people in line entered one by one, Aetami drew closer and closer to the theater.

‘Wow, it’s really hot. Why are there so many people?’

Entering the interior, where soft lights glowed along the high ceiling, Aetami found her seat from the ticket.

‘Ah, I can breathe now.’

Thankfully, unlike outside, it was cool inside. People kept pouring in without a gap. The row in front of Aetami was packed.

‘Great seat!’

All those times checking the seating chart before ticketing paid off. The view was perfect. Sitting in the plush chair and wiping her sweat, Aetami lifted her phone again.

‘Yeoreum is on the screen....’

On the screen, marked with in Chinese characters, was an unreleased two-shot of Seoryeong and Myungdo.

‘Long-awaited crumbs....’

In that instant, Aetami felt like she’d gone back to summer.

The shock when the trailer first dropped, the comment threads that exploded after Episode 1, the days when life was divided into days with and days without it.

‘I’m low on dopamine.’

Remembering those days when she’d rush into the gallery the moment she woke up to skim the top posts made her feel like crying.

She was about to habitually replay iconic scenes one by one when—

“Wow...!”

Gasps burst out around her. Aetami exclaimed at the same time. The atmosphere shifted. Everyone inhaled, breath heavy with excitement.

‘It’s starting!’