I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

Manager Ma watched Yeoreum with satisfaction as she crunched on celery the next day, preparing for the pictorial shoot.

* * *

This was Taiwan’s Shilin Residence. Elegant, simple Western-style houses stood alongside a vast ecological park, a place where even pressing the shutter at random produced an A-cut.

“Run another accessory check, and line them up in order—in order!”

The Taiwan Ruel team moved busily ahead of the shoot. Outdoor filming always carried the risk of items being lost, and celebrities chosen as cover girls tended to become especially sensitive.

Because they were handling high-priced clothing and accessories, the staff checked the site more meticulously than usual.

‘The difficulty level is high.’

The Ruel photographer sipped his coffee as he watched the styling team prepare at a frantic pace.

Han Yeoreum was popular enough right now that calling her the most popular Korean in Taiwan wouldn’t be an exaggeration. This photographer, too, was familiar with her face.

‘It was three months ago that I saw her as the Korea Ruel cover girl.’

The October Ruel cover had been adorned by Han Yeoreum. It had been split into two versions, Type A and Type B.

Type A matched the Halloween season: a jet-black background, Yeoreum dressed in a white burial shroud, a red flower held between her lips.

Type B used a deep green background, a crazily slashed folding screen placed behind her, Yeoreum smiling gently.

‘The reservations went insane for a cover of that quality.’

had just ended, and her popularity hadn’t cooled off at all. On top of that, the cover concept matched the season perfectly, so all preorders sold out.

‘The Intube video clips got great reactions too.’

The behind-the-scenes footage from the pictorial shoot had been released as original content on Ruel’s channel.

Normally, even popular making-of videos only managed a few thousand views at best. But Han Yeoreum pulled influence on par with a well-known male actor.

Thirty thousand views.

‘Come to think of it, what did he say again?’

The photographer recalled something a friend had said—someone who had attended Yeoreum’s fan meeting the day before.

That friend had gone in business mode, camera in hand, to shoot photos for local Taiwanese media. He’d returned a few hours later as a full-fledged fan of Han Yeoreum.

Despite never having watched .

‘Did he say she swallowed the lens?’

The photographer remembered the excitement in his friend’s voice.

“She just makes you press the shutter!”

His friend had gone on for several minutes about Han Yeoreum delivering lines live on set in real time. The photographer, who had an early-morning schedule, had listened only half-heartedly.

‘Well, if something like that really happened on set, it would make you want to shoot.’

It was almost an occupational hazard. Photographers were cursed with the urge to freeze every moment—especially ones that felt memorable—in the shutter.

‘Still, there probably won’t be any event like that today.’

He’d heard that the previous Korea Ruel cover shoot had only been four pages.

‘And it was indoors, too.’

In contrast, today’s shoot was a full eight pages. And it was outdoors, which made the difficulty entirely different.

‘If we can secure even one solid A-cut, that’ll be good enough.’

He didn’t place high expectations on a rookie actress unfamiliar with outdoor shoots.

“The actress has arrived!”

He heard that Han Yeoreum was coming in from the parking lot. Slinging the camera around his neck, he stood up.

“Final check, everyone—!”

A cool breeze passed over his head as he stepped out from under the installed tent shade.

The weather was good. The sunlight was close to perfect. For some reason, his heart kept fluttering.

* * *

A white wall set beneath a blue sky made the frame feel refreshingly clean. The photographer lifted his camera, and the installed lights brightened.

The first thing to shoot was the magazine cover.

‘The most important shot today.’

It wasn’t just a simple image. It was a signal—this brand was declaring that this person was the face of the month.

Sales rose or fell depending on who graced the very first page.

“Please stand in the center of the wall!”

The interpreter relayed the instruction. Yeoreum moved to the center of the wall. Behind her, an arched opening cut through the wall, revealing the sky and a wide lawn garden spread out below.

The loose strands of Yeoreum’s hair, tied up high, swayed gently in the wind.

‘Now that I see her in person, she feels a bit different from how she looked on screen.’

When he’d only caught clips of in passing, her image had been overwhelmingly intense—cursing, biting her lip hard as she endured pain.

But Yeoreum now, with near-bare skin makeup that was light and transparent, her hair tied up naturally, carried an atmosphere that suited her name perfectly.

‘Right—her next project is a first-love role, isn’t it?’

It matched exactly the mood written on the concept sheet. A comfortable, first-love kind of feeling.

In Yeoreum’s hand was a bubble wand. On either side, bubble machines had been placed for the background.

“Feel free to move comfortably. I’ll keep pressing the shutter, so let’s do a light rehearsal first.”

Perfectly set, Yeoreum looked as though she had been standing in this spot from the very beginning. She moved her hand lightly and opened the bubble wand, holding the elongated part straight and bringing it to her lips.

“Fuu—.”

As she pursed her lips and blew, bubbles shimmering with rainbow colors spilled out as they caught the sunlight. They scattered in the gently blowing breeze.

Click.

The photographer pressed the shutter without realizing it.

‘Huh.’

Even though it was just a rehearsal, his finger had moved almost unconsciously.

“She’s asking if this is okay.”

“Uh... yeah. Like that. Just move naturally.”

At the interpreter’s relay, /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ the photographer failed to give proper direction and simply nodded.

Whatever had been conveyed, Han Yeoreum moved as if she had come here solely to blow bubbles from the very start of the shoot. She didn’t seem to be thinking at all about looking good on camera.

‘She’s natural.’

She tried greedily to blow a large bubble in one go, only for it to pop near her nose, making her scrunch her face. When a sudden gust of wind sent the bubbles drifting into the sky, she lifted her chin and followed them with her gaze.

Click, click, click, clickclickclickclick

At some point, there was no more directing. The photographer kept shouting the same words.

“Okay! Good!”

He captured Yeoreum again and again beyond the frame. He didn’t even know how much time had passed when the assistant photographer beside him spoke up.

“Sir, aren’t you going to check the cuts?”

Only then did he snap back to his senses. He shouted loudly.

“Ten-minute break!”

He needed to check the memory and see whether an A-cut had come out. It was time to decide whether to continue shooting or move on to the next outfit.

It was during that brief moment when the camera’s shutter rested.

Yeoreum’s expression, her facial muscles relaxed, suddenly turned cold.

Her lips pressed together. Her eyes lowered. The angle of her head slightly turned away from the sun. With just that, an entirely different face flickered into view.

‘Normally, that’s the kind of face you can easily catch with subjects who have uneven eyes.’

A common kind of duality. Often seen in models whose eyes weren’t symmetrical—one slightly lifted, the other lowered.

Emphasize the right side of the face, and it gave a gentle impression. Emphasize the left, and it looked malicious.

Han Yeoreum’s face, if anything, was perfectly symmetrical. A face composed of carefully refined curves looked the same from the left and from the right.

‘This is strange.’

Without realizing it, the photographer raised his camera again and pressed the shutter. The unguarded instant of Han Yeoreum—unaware of the camera—was captured 그대로 into the memory.

Click—