I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

* * *

Before anyone realized it, the fan meeting was nearing its end. It was time for the special stage. Soft violet lighting illuminated the hall. Beyond the screen, a dimly lit road unfolded.

As a familiar melody played, the local Taiwanese fans murmured. A flush rose on their happy faces.

‘Finally!’

It was a famous Taiwanese pop song that Yeoreum and Junhyeok had prepared for the Taiwanese fans.

A song so well known that everyone here could sing along. Aetami, too, had replayed the music video clip several times just to memorize the lyrics.

She slipped her hand into her bag to take out what she’d prepared. The person beside her seemed to have finished preparing already. Quietly, she rolled up her sleeve.

“Everything in the world is pitch-dark”

It was a gentle, historical-drama-style melody. Over a soft piano line, Yeoreum’s voice settled gently. It sounded like she’d practiced for a long time—the lyrics were delivered clearly.

“Even the moonlight is dim, on this dark night

What makes me unafraid

Is the hand of yours, holding mine”

A barely perceptible, subtle synth pad lay beneath as the base. A sound that expanded the sense of ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) space drifted like a breeze.

And then—

The audio acted up again.

“...”

The music cut off abruptly. Just as Yeoreum was about to panic, the screen and the lights went out as well. Everything was swallowed by darkness.

“Uh...?”

Yeoreum’s voice slipped out involuntarily at the string of mishaps, echoing through the hall. As if that voice were a signal flare, the screen lit up again.

Yeoreum turned around. On the screen was an image different from what she’d seen during rehearsal.

[Seoryeong & Myungdo

Thank you for coming to meet us]

The music that had been cut off flowed from the speakers again. And the song continued from the part Yeoreum hadn’t been able to sing.

“On a quiet night

Where only the sound of insects crying can be heard”

People slowly moved their hands in time with the music. Something caught her eye.

“What makes me unafraid

Is your voice, calling my name”

Familiar cords were tied around people’s wrists.

They were heaven-blessing cords.

The same cords that had been tied around Seoryeong’s wrist in the final scene of were now around the audience’s wrists as well.

Yeoreum forgot the lyrics for a moment. In any case, she was no longer in a state where she could sing again.

The cords tied around the audience’s wrists fluttered softly in the air. When Kwon Junhyeok lifted his microphone to sing the second verse, the interlude ended and the song resumed.

“As the night grows longer

You become even clearer”

The voice echoing through the hall was neither Kwon Junhyeok’s nor Han Yeoreum’s. It wasn’t a voice you could point to and name.

“We don’t need many words”

It was the voices of countless fans.

Among the audience singing as one, the heaven-blessing cords fluttered beautifully in time with the music.

The vast space filled with an affection too difficult to put into words. Each person’s burning love gathered together, forming something immense.

It felt as though 1,500 people were speaking with one voice.

That they liked you.

“Just by being with you

My heart is fully conveyed”

Their singing gradually grew louder. It was a song that soothed, as if telling her not to cry.

Under the violet lights, Yeoreum didn’t even blink, as if she intended never to forget this sight. Tears streamed steadily down her cheeks.

“What makes me not lonely

Is you, who still remain by my side”

As the second verse continued, Kwon Junhyeok sang along amiably with the fans. The lyrics were delivered with a more solemn feeling than when Yeoreum had sung the first verse.

Partly because of his much lower voice, but also because it felt like words they were exchanging with each other.

Kwon Junhyeok’s voice trembled as well, tears pouring down his face, but the song was still excellent.

The Taiwanese fans, proud that their prepared surprise event had made both of them cry, raised their voices even higher and continued singing.

“What makes me not lonely

Is your heart, holding my name tight”

The fans’ voices were several times louder than Kwon Junhyeok’s. As they reached the chorus, he too—like Yeoreum—couldn’t continue singing properly, sobbing openly.

Until the song ended, Yeoreum never lowered her head. Even as her vision blurred, she kept taking the fans in—again, and again.

When the song ended, Yeoreum smiled brightly with tear-filled eyes. Shutter sounds rang out in confusion.

As if to prove that Yeoreum wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to forget this moment.

The fans wanted to keep it, at least in photos.

On their phones were images of Yeoreum, overly zoomed in and slightly blurred as a result.

Even from afar, her face was overflowing with happiness.

* * *

“Cheers—!!!”

“Great work!!!”

It was a raucous night. Having rented out the entire lounge bar, no one bothered keeping their voice down.

On the second night, with the Taiwanese nightscape spread beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, everyone clinked glasses in unison—tension released, and the day having been a success.

“Ah... I think I’m getting drunk....”

Yeoreum muttered, gulping down her drink. With a hazy gaze, she looked out the window.

“Yeoreum, that’s non-alcoholic.”

Manager Choi soothed her. But Yeoreum replied stubbornly.

“I think I’m drunk on the taste of being the protagonist, unni.”

“That’s the kind of thing you’re allowed to get drunk on, cutie!”

Manager Ma, who’d changed into a 9,900-won three-pack T-shirt, was sprawled on the sofa with a neck pillow. Somehow, compression stockings had even been put on her legs.

“You were seriously amazing today. When that sound accident happened, it was insane. By now it’ll be splashed all over Korea! Ah, this is too exciting. Too fun.”

Manager Ma gnawed on some dried mango and downed the beer can in her hand in one go.

“When the sound accident happened,”

Kwon Junhyeok was drinking a non-alcoholic beverage with me. Since we had a magazine pictorial shoot tomorrow, the two of us still had to manage our diets.

“I was thinking of doing Han Yeoreum’s three-set aegyo, like puppy ears and stuff.”

At his earnest confession that he’d been trying, in his own way, to deal with the accident, the surrounding staff couldn’t hold back their laughter.

“I’m kind of glad I didn’t grab the mic first....”

“What a waste. I should’ve done it. I’ll definitely do it at the next fan meeting.”

Having successfully wrapped up the most important schedule, the atmosphere was bound to heat up.

“I keep telling you, Yeoreum’s just built for the stage. Stronger on a live set with the camera rolling than at a script reading, and stronger once it starts than during rehearsal.”

Chewing on some dried squid, Manager Choi patted my shoulder.

‘Built for the stage....’

It was the first time I’d ever heard that. I hadn’t stood on stage enough to feel like it suited me.

‘Then again, I did theater for a long time.’

I just never got important roles. But I was always on stage. Suddenly, I missed the theater.

Not a big theater like today, but an ordinary small theater in Daehakro.

A shabby place that always smelled faintly of damp dust, where people had to sit pressed tightly together—I found myself wanting to go back there.

I missed theater, where you couldn’t afford a single NG, where you had to somehow pull off live ad-libs in real time.

‘Still, I shouldn’t bring that up right now.’

At a time when I was rapidly rising, I had to choose each schedule carefully.

Even though my head understood, a lingering regret for the small-theater stage refused to fade from a corner of my heart.

* * *

Yeoreum kept smiling as if she’d never cried at all. Watching her, Manager Ma checked her watch.

‘Only two days left in Taiwan.’

Not even a full 48 hours remained. And Manager Ma was certain that within those two days, a meeting with Taiwanese executives would be scheduled.

‘Once the coverage really hits, her popularity will skyrocket even more.’

If a foreign celebrity shows love for your country, people can’t help but feel a swell of national pride. A Hallyu star who practiced just to sing a beloved Taiwanese youth-drama OST at a fan meeting.

‘And then she cries her eyes out over a small fan event?’

With having become a hit, this was the moment to row hard while the tide was in.

Once , which Yeoreum appeared in, was released—and if she returned to Taiwan again for a GV schedule—

‘They’ve got heads on their shoulders. They’ll think it through.’

If they wanted to claim the title of the Taiwanese entertainment industry that had helped create that Hallyu star, they, too, would have to move quickly.