I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

“Their teeth are already clenched from the teaser.”

The color grading on the screen was different. Shin, the new recruit, checked the portal site. Articles had already been blasted everywhere by the broadcasting station and the actors’ agencies.

[Hallyu star Do Gyeoul transforms into a villain... Challenges Jang Huibin through , shedding her long-held innocent image]

[From purity to charisma — “Nothing she can’t do” Do Gyeoul is now Jang Huibin]

[SBC’s finally unveils its first look... Netizens buzz: “Something big is coming”]

Since it was Do Gyeoul’s comeback project after , attention gathering around it was only natural. Filming had briefly halted due to the post-restriction climate, just like many other productions — including — but it had resumed without issue.

Japanese investors had opened their wallets without hesitation, placing their trust squarely in Do Gyeoul.

“Hey. Stop looking at other people’s stuff.”

Manager Hong clicked his tongue from behind Shin’s back, then pointed at his watch.

“Come on. We have to go.”

“Ah, today seriously dragged forever — finally!”

Shin shot up from his seat. Today was the long-awaited first day of Han Yeoreum’s play.

* * * 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

IP 85.152 took a deep breath at Hyehwa Station.

“This is it. This is exactly it....”

Her memory rewound to that very first moment she met Han Yeoreum.

The lonely dawn after watching DaeYeJong’s , fighting alone. The shift in comment reactions after the stage clip was uploaded to Intube.

‘Then sealed it....’

The thrill of being proven right — that her claim about Yeoreum had been correct — still lingered vividly.

It wasn’t just one or two musical-theater fans who, moved by Yeoreum’s razor-sharp diction in the gut ritual scene, had begun hoping to see her on stage.

“I knew she’d come at least once!”

All those prayers begging her to step into theater just once — they hadn’t been in vain. She liked that Yeoreum had ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ chosen a play while she was still rising fast.

‘With someone at her level, she could’ve shot multiple ads as they came in, cemented a trending image, stacked up projects....’

The fact that she had chosen theater over film or drama seemed to explain exactly what kind of person Han Yeoreum was.

You could feel how much she truly loved acting.

IP 85.152 hummed as she walked the familiar path she could navigate with her eyes closed. The corners of her mouth kept lifting on their own. The weather, too, was unusually perfect.

In front of the outdoor stage, someone strummed a guitar. Another person stood before a microphone and sang.

Daehakro — where theater posters hung everywhere the eye could reach. IP 85.152 felt her heart burn.

‘All the crumbs so far haven’t even been close to enough!’

The theater’s Intube channel had uploaded a short introduction video. The poster had been released. But what IP 85.152 truly wanted was to see Han Yeoreum on stage.

She had already bought out all of Yeoreum’s tickets for the week and approached the ticket booth.

‘...She looks familiar.’

Her gaze lingered on a woman receiving her ticket.

‘Well, probably just one of the repeat attendees.’

* * *

“Wow, I’m so nervous.”

Aetami and Reporter Wi entered the Evergreen Art Center. As drama addicts, their daily routine usually involved turning on the TV at home, so coming to a theater felt rare.

It resembled a cinema, but the murmur of anticipation before the start was entirely different.

Admission began. The theater was smaller than expected. More precisely, the seats were close enough that you could practically feel the person next to you.

Seated, the two of them talked about the reason they were here today — Han Yeoreum. As usual.

“I hope we make eye contact again today....”

“You sure she actually saw you?”

“I’m telling you, she did!”

Aetami spoke only facts to the skeptical Reporter Wi.

“Yeoreum remembers me. She might’ve been waiting because I didn’t come. Today she’ll see me and go home thinking, ‘Ah, that unnie came... I’m so happy... I wish she’d come to every schedule....’”

“At this point that’s delusion.”

“You don’t get it. The way she looks at me is different.”

“Hey, I’m the one sitting right here, okay? Then she’ll only see me. We even exchanged numbers.”

“No professional ethics, huh? Mixing personal feelings into work like that....”

They bickered, then faced forward. The stage lay empty under darkened lights.

Soon Han Yeoreum would stand up there. Just imagining it was exciting.

—This performance runs for 90 minutes without intermission. Please turn off your mobile phones, and refrain from photography or recording. Seat changes during the performance are difficult, so please take care of any needs beforehand.

The announcement flowed through the speakers. Around them came the sounds of coats being placed on laps, water bottles being opened.

The audience seemed to be preparing in advance, knowing that once the actors appeared, not a single sound could be made.

“Hey, turn off your phone.”

“Yeah. Should.”

Aetami and Reporter Wi powered off their phones just in case and took a sip of water. The small theater felt swollen with anticipation, as though it might burst.

Beside them, Han Taeyang nudged his mother, who sat with her hands clasped like she was praying. The seats were too narrow to move freely, so he used his phone’s memo app to communicate.

Typed: Why do you keep worrying lol just relax

But even Taeyang’s words didn’t soften her stiff expression.

That was when—

“Um... are you, by any chance, her younger brother? Right?”

A hesitant voice spoke.

Han Taeyang turned toward it.

A woman clutching her phone addressed him nervously. She seemed to be a viewer of .

“Ah, yes. I’m the younger brother of Han Yeoreum, who plays Jin Jinju in .”

Taeyang replied casually, already unzipping his messenger bag.

“Would you like an autograph?”

“...Excuse me?”

“I figured you would. Just a second.”

From inside his bag, he pulled out a white sheet bearing Han Yeoreum’s signature. It even had a neatly written p.s.

Always stay healthy and happy!^^

The paper Taeyang extended passed through his mother’s hands before reaching the woman.

“Ah....”

Unsure how to respond to the sudden situation, she stared at him — only for Taeyang to offer another sheet.

“Want another?”

“...No. Thank you.”

“If you’re worried it might get crumpled, I can hold onto it and give it back after the show.”

“...No... I’ll treasure it.... You don’t have to.”

Treasure.

Keep.

Taeyang nodded quickly at those words.

‘Should’ve brought more. How many seats were there tonight...? This might not be enough....’

The woman, who now possessed two signed sheets, had her own thought.

‘...I was going to ask for a photo.... Maybe I shouldn’t talk to him anymore.’

Meanwhile, his mother’s once-tense face had finally softened into a smile.

* * *

“Do you see any empty seats?”

“No. Not a single one. It’s completely full!”

The dressing room buzzed.

They had expected this ever since tickets sold out so quickly — but hearing there wasn’t a single empty seat sent a thrill through them.

Just before curtain.

A tingling sensation crawled across her body, beating against her heart. The heightened atmosphere thickened with each ticking second of the clock.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Five minutes!”

“Everyone, standby!”

Her mouth was dry. The heavy stage makeup made her skin feel suffocated. Her breath came out hot. Her entire body buzzed. Strands of hair slipped down along her bowed face, brushing against her chin.

All five senses sharpened to a blade’s edge.

‘Finally.’

There were people waiting for her beyond that curtain.

‘...At last....’

I’m not an extra. I’m not a nameless actress. I’m someone worthy of standing beneath blazing lights.

‘I’m going up....’

She closed her eyes.

The countless hours of rehearsal flashed past. Scene after scene blurred away, leaving only one thing behind.

Her name.

‘I am Jin Jinju.’

A replaceable part of society that cannot even fulfill her one person’s share.

She lifted her head and opened her eyes.

She looked into the mirror.

At that moment, the audience murmured. A familiar atmosphere. The lights inside the theater had gone completely dark.

So now, finally—

“Yeoreum! Go!”

The time had come to claim the center of the stage.

‘...I’ve waited so long.’

It was only the beginning.