I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

“I believed it was only natural to perform beyond the role I was given!”

It was a mechanical answer.

“An intern is a position for learning, yes — but at the same time, it’s a position where you are responsible for your own one person’s share within the organization!”

Jin Jinju was reciting exactly what she had learned at the Intern Academy. At some point, both her hands had come to rest on her hips.

She wasn’t trembling. She wasn’t nervous.

Because she had become someone capable of carrying her one person’s share alone. Because she no longer needed to grow by asking questions.

— Jin Jinju.

A synthetic voice called her name.

— You have passed.

The lights on stage went out once more.

Whir— whir— whir— whir—. The sound of a printer echoed through the darkness. When the lights came back on, the stage had transformed into an office.

‘Wow... this is triggering my PTSD....’

A fresh recruit watching the play clenched his fists as he stared at Jin Jinju — she looked like someone had copied and pasted his life from just a few months ago.

The play was racing toward its end. The audience’s laughter was gradually growing heavier. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

At first they had watched thoughtlessly, laughing. But slowly, reality began to press in. Even when they laughed, it didn’t feel like laughter.

As if determined to demonstrate exactly what black comedy meant, Jin Jinju’s corporate life began.

“Jinju, I think the copier’s jammed!”

“Yes!”

Jin Jinju hurried offstage. Clack-clack, the sound of her handling the copier filled the space.

“Eunji. You never refill the copier paper after it runs out, do you? Same with the ink.”

“I’m sorry. Could you tell me where the ink is kept...?”

“You don’t even know that?”

“No one ever taught me...”

“Even if no one teaches you, you’re supposed to do it! Honestly.”

Unlike Jin Jinju, the fellow intern was scolded. As if making sure Jinju could hear from afar, she called out loudly:

“Last week, average ink consumption decreased by 27%! Replacement scheduled for next Tuesday!”

Jin Jinju didn’t look like an intern. She looked like a component of the company itself. As the other intern stood there with slumped shoulders, Jin Jinju rushed back in almost triumphantly.

“It’s done!”

“Good. See? Isn’t it nice when someone does well without needing to be taught?”

Jin Jinju placed her hands on her hips just like an assistant from the Intern Academy. Meanwhile, the fellow intern had shrunk into herself — exactly the way Jinju had at the beginning.

“File naming rules?”

“‘Date_ProjectName_Minutes_’ format!”

“Outlook calendar sharing?”

“Create the meeting schedule and share it with the entire team calendar!”

“Margins on printed documents?”

“Paper size A4! Top and bottom 25.4mm, left 30mm, right 20mm! Font Malgun Gothic! Title 14pt, subtitle 12pt, body 11pt!!”

“My coffee preference?”

“Iced Americano normally, caramel macchiato with two extra pumps of syrup on rainy days!”

Clap clap clap—. The senior applauded. Even his movements were precise.

“These are the kind of interns we should be hiring. Honestly...”

He spun around and walked off. Once he disappeared, the hesitant fellow intern approached Jinju.

“How do you do everything so well without being taught? Do you go to some kind of academy or something...?”

It was meant as a light joke between peers, but Jin Jinju stared at her blankly.

“Ah...”

Then she let out a sigh. As if she couldn’t believe someone didn’t know something so obvious.

“Uh...?”

Startled by the reaction, the fellow intern watched as Jinju gave her a stiff smile.

“Anyway, I’m jealous. I wish I could be as good as you, Jinju. Getting older is easy, but becoming an adult feels so hard.”

Jin Jinju remained silent. She didn’t answer.

Whenever situations arose that weren’t covered by what she had learned at the Intern Academy, she did this — she simply stood still.

Because she had been taught that staying still gets you halfway there. Don’t help others. To carry your one person’s share, you must focus only on your own portion.

“How are we supposed to do company work? How do you handle relationships with people...? It’d be nice if someone would just teach us. Right?”

Ddan ddaradan-ddan-ddan— ddan—.

Suddenly, a phone rang. Jin Jinju pulled it out of her pocket.

“Oh? Then I’d better go—.”

It was an avoidance tactic she had learned at the Academy of the Academy of the Intern Academy.

The stage lights went dark again, except for a single spotlight in the far-left corner.

“Thank goodness I went to the Academy of the Academy of the Intern Academy. Phew....”

Jin Jinju wiped the sweat from her forehead.

“This isn’t the time for this. If I want to become a full-time employee, I need to attend the Full-Time Employee Academy too. And what other academy was there? What else do I need to do?”

Her monologue continued. Not a single audience member was laughing now.

“Ah! I need to buy my own home before I turn forty. I need to become FIRE and achieve financial freedom. Otherwise I won’t be ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) able to carry my one person’s share in society. Who these days doesn’t own at least one apartment in Seoul? And who keeps scrambling for money at that age? If I do that, I won’t even manage one person’s share. What one person’s share? I won’t even manage half a person’s share.”

Jinju spun in place.

Her voice trembled with anxiety, but her footsteps struck the floor with sharp precision.

“What do I do! I can’t do this alone! I don’t know! I still can’t even manage one person’s share!”

She collapsed into a crouch on the spot.

“Instead of doing two people’s shares— let’s just do one— properly—. Don’t be greedy for two— just accomplish one—.”

And then it happened.

The assistant from the Intern Academy appeared once more.

This time, he scattered flyers endlessly from his hands. Snapped back to attention by his voice, Jin Jinju crawled across the floor, scrambling to pick them up.

“You haven’t saved a single cent! What do you think the problem is? The problem is your blank-sheet life.”

Of course someone who had just become an intern wouldn’t have savings. But the assistant blamed it entirely on Jin Jinju.

Flash—! A spotlight lit the center of the stage.

Hidden among the stage equipment stood Geum Bitgang.

“If you don’t know what to learn, how to learn it, and where to learn it, you will never accomplish your one person’s share in this society. We will create a life where you can do everything flawlessly on your own!”

Her voice rang out powerfully, scolding youth itself. As if to say: society isn’t the problem. You are.

“That’s right... I need to build a life where I can do everything perfectly on my own!”

Gripping the flyer, Jin Jinju sprang to her feet and shouted like a vow.

“First, an academy. Let’s go to an academy!”

The certainty in her tone sounded almost like fanatic devotion.

The lights went out.

The stage fell into darkness.

The same voice from the opening echoed again. That stiff, mechanical tone.

— We do not thank you for your service. We will now inform you of the results of your full-time conversion.

But the tone had changed.

It was unmistakably mocking her.

— It is because you are lacking and insufficient. It is the company’s wish to hire more useful individuals. Please strive harder and grow into a human capable of carrying your one person’s share, one who can be of use to many....

Silence fell.

No one could laugh.

It felt as if the play was showing a pitch-black reality — as if to say that even though the performance had ended, our dark tomorrow was only just beginning.

Clap.

A weak pair of hands began to applaud.

Then, from here and there, more applause followed.

Bitterness clung to the movements of the audience as they clapped. The message of 〈Intern Academy of the Academy of the Academy〉 had lodged itself deep in their minds.

The stage lights came back on. The actors appeared.

One by one, they stepped forward and waved. The applause grew louder.

It wasn’t the weak applause that had drifted across the darkened stage moments earlier.

When Han Yeoreum stepped forward and bowed, the sound that erupted was on a completely different level.

It wasn’t merely praise for a rookie actress who had delivered a solid performance.

It felt like comfort — as if telling their former selves, the selves who had once been Jin Jinju, that they had endured well, that they had truly worked hard.

It felt like encouragement for their present selves, who were still living through their own Jin Jinju days.

The applause roared, each person holding their own emotions.

〈Intern Academy of the Academy of the Academy〉 was critically acclaimed from opening night.

Sunwoo Seonuk summed up his review in a single sentence:

Our dreary youth unfolding inside a worn-down theater.

Tickets began selling out entirely.