I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

Jin Jinju delivered her lines like a machine, not a single stutter.

Geum Bitgang, who had been watching her, curled her lips into a grin and lightly smacked the assistant.

“Looks like it’s time for you to enroll in the Assistant Academy of the Academy of the Academy.”

“No!”

“You little—.”

“No!”

“What do you think your role in society is! What’s society like right now?”

“Average retirement age: 52.7. Life expectancy: 83.6. Average assets: 170 million. Most of it tied up in housing.”

Originally, the acting had shown Jin Jinju trembling in anxiety under Geum Bitgang’s harsh scolding.

But this time, it was different.

‘The reckless energy from the beginning gets wiped clean by the latter half... and that contrast makes it even sharper.’

A young person who had endured a merciless, cold society—her youthful spirit and lively bravado completely worn away.

And that wasn’t the only shocking part.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that all of Geum Bitgang’s lines were practically carried by Han Yeoreum.

“What’s the economic growth rate?”

“Twenty years ago, 7%. Now, 1.4%.”

Han Yeoreum rattled off numbers like a machine, overwhelming everyone watching.

‘That’s ad-lib...?’

They had wanted to see her panic when the prop disappeared.

No matter how talented she was, experience mattered more—that was what they had wanted to prove.

They wanted to recover their pride, at least that way.

“Prices go up, but salaries stay the same. No room to save, no chance to invest!”

But as the play moved into its latter half, all they could do was look at Han Yeoreum again. It was as if she had swallowed the entire script whole.

Han Yeoreum alone had completely overturned the play.

〈Intern Academy of the Academy of the Academy〉, once weighted toward comedy, grew heavy with something darker.

—We do not thank you for your efforts thus far. Regarding your conversion to full-time employment. It is because you are lacking and insufficient. The company wishes to recruit individuals who are more useful.

“Rig-ht-. I have to build a life where I can do my one person’s share all by my-self-.”

Perhaps because she had become mechanical, even after failing once more, Jin Jinju prepared for the future without a single rise or fall in her voice, determined to fulfill her “one person’s share.” It was almost frightening.

“First, the academy-. Let’s go to the academy-. Yaaawn-.”

The confusion of the ending scene was replaced with lethargy.

—Work harder and grow into a human being capable of serving many as someone who does their one person’s share....

The mechanical voice that followed sounded as if it were spoken by a previous “Intern Academy” graduate before Jin Jinju. It felt like an expression of people gradually becoming mechanized.

The revolving-door audience members who had seen the play multiple times shivered at how the same actors and the same story could produce such a completely different atmosphere.

A literal turning misfortune into blessing. A mistake that could have ruined the entire performance had been handled skillfully, delivering a new story and message to the audience.

Han Yeoreum’s talent seemed to grow every single day. There was no room left for jealousy. All they could do was bite their lips and acknowledge defeat.

With applause far louder than usual, the curtain fell.

* * *

“Are you all out of your minds?!”

The moment she came off stage, Tak Jeongyun grabbed the juniors. The ringleader stood with her head bowed low, tears streaming down her face.

“Do you think the audience is a joke? If you don’t like someone, you can just ruin the stage? Is that it?”

“......”

“What would we have done if we hadn’t pulled it off today?!”

Tak Jeongyun wasn’t ignorant of the juniors’ feelings as they stood there unable to even lift their heads. She knew exactly how ugly jealousy could make a person.

“All the more reason you should’ve practiced harder! What did you think you did so well that you’re eating and sleeping instead of rehearsing in your spare time?! You shouldn’t have eaten! You shouldn’t have slept! You should’ve practiced! Don’t you dare act like this!”

It was then that the noise outside the storage room door grew louder.

“Manage the props properly!”

Even without looking, everyone knew whose booming voice was echoing down the hallway.

“I praised you from your rookie days, told you you were good, and now you think theater is a joke! You can’t even properly check before stepping on stage!”

Geum Bitgang was scolding someone. The temperature in the dressing room dropped in an instant.

“Don’t want to go on stage? Fine. Then I’ll make sure you never step on one again.”

Her sharp rebuke would soon change direction.

Han Yeoreum had always prepared meticulously before going on stage—and she knew someone had deliberately removed the prop.

‘...If Han Yeoreum opens her mouth....’

It would all be over.

Tak Jeongyun closed her eyes. For someone like Geum Bitgang, barring two or three extras from ever stepping on stage again would be nothing.

‘...Should I go out and grab her and beg....’

But Tak Jeongyun was afraid too. Afraid she might never be allowed to act again. She didn’t have the courage to step outside.

Her body froze, unable to honestly ask for forgiveness.

“...I’m sorry.”

But then, words no one expected were heard.

“I should’ve prepared properly before going up. It’s my fault. It won’t happen again.”

Han Yeoreum didn’t drag anyone down with her. Even though she knew it wasn’t her fault, she covered everything herself.

“Oh? It’s all your fault?”

“Yes. It’s my fault.”

She answered Geum Bitgang quickly, even when asked again.

Tak Jeongyun carefully cracked open the storage room door and turned her eyes.

Han Yeoreum stood before Geum Bitgang, hands clasped behind her back, head bowed. The two exchanged a few more words too quietly to hear.

‘...What are they saying....’

Half anxiety, half guilt made sweat bead along Tak Jeongyun’s back.

With a final barked warning to straighten up, Geum Bitgang turned and walked away.

“Unni, what did she say?”

“Can you hear them...?”

“I couldn’t hear either. Don’t lean on it.”

As they bickered in whispers, Han Yeoreum’s footsteps approached.

And then—

The door they were leaning on was suddenly yanked open.

Crash!

All four of them tumbled to the floor at once.

Tak Jeongyun, sprawled on the ground, met Han Yeoreum’s eyes. Yeoreum was still holding the doorknob.

“Uh....”

No words came out. It was humiliating enough to die from. From the beginning, Han Yeoreum had clearly known they were hiding there listening.

“I’m hungry.”

It was Han Yeoreum who broke the silence.

“Let’s go eat.”

* * *

“You were way too full of yourself-!”

“Hey! Just don’t do it again-!”

“Hey? Did you just say hey to your unni?!”

They were at a shabby frozen pork belly place in Daehakro. One drink turned into two, and in just thirty minutes everyone was thoroughly drunk.

The extras who’d had grievances against me. From the left: Kim Ilhee, Lee Youngju, Park Sehee.

“Enough. Let’s just cheers.”

And finally, Tak Jeongyun.

“Anyway.... The kids were wrong this time. You must’ve felt bad too, but thanks for covering it up.”

For the record, Tak Jeongyun had a low tolerance. When she got drunk, she’d see three of everything. Even now she was muttering toward the wall instead of me.

“It’s just... because they’re jealous of you.... So don’t take it to heart....”

Someone whose limit was two shots of soju had downed an entire bottle alone. It was obvious her stomach wouldn’t be okay.

‘My real limit is five bottles of soju.’

I was deliberately pretending to be drunk to match them.

“You knew everything, didn’t you?”

“It was really my mistake.”

“Yeah right. Whatever.”

Earlier, Professor Geum Bitgang had whispered quietly.

“Fine. You crushed them with skill once, so now it’s time to soothe them with grace. But if something like this happens again, then it really will be your fault.”

She had known—and still chose to be deceived.

How many memories had I built with these people in Daehakro?

Even if I’m the only one who remembers them now.

Our history wasn’t short.

“Honestly... hic... Han Yeoreum. I thought you were reall-ly shit at acting. Hic.”

Kim Ilhee. When she found out I was three months behind on rent, she paid two months for me. Told me not to pay it back because it wasn’t a loan and even got mad about it. If not for her, I really would’ve ended up sleeping at the theater.

“Ah... this is so embarrassing.... Why are you like this, huh? You’re so much younger!”

Lee Youngju. When I couldn’t even afford bus fare and walked an hour every day, how many times did she slip me money? I can’t even count. I only found out later—she gave me bus fare and then walked herself.

“Just eat. Eat first. Sniff. Eat and then talk.”

Park Sehee. If it weren’t for her, I’d have gotten malnourished more than once. She’d go hungry herself but couldn’t stand seeing me skip a meal.

‘I’m just repaying what I owed back then.’

If I tried to recall all the help I received, there’d be no end to it. Covering something like this was nothing.

‘To be honest, it wasn’t all beautiful memories....’

Sitting here like this brought back the past.

Acting like seniors, enforcing discipline, fighting over whose acting sucked more, then not speaking for months, then pathetically trash-talking successful actors to patch up our self-esteem.

‘It was what made me swear I’d never fall into that “real actor” delusion again.’

Still, sometimes I missed it.

Maybe not everyone—but I missed these people.

So when I returned to the troupe and saw the guarded expressions on their faces, it hurt a little. Back then you all said Han Yeoreum was a real ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) actress. You don’t even remember, do you?

“Anyway.... Even if you’re the lead... hic. Don’t go too far.... We work really hard too.... But everyone only likes you, only you stand out.... Don’t be like that....”

I grabbed Tak Jeongyun’s shoulders—she was still talking to the wall—and turned her toward me. Her face was flushed red from alcohol, barely holding back tears.

I deliberately slurred my words, pretending to be drunk.

So they’d feel less embarrassed.

“Why d’you think I did that? You must’ve talked so much shit about me, huh? ‘Look at her sniffing around the theater scene for nothing. Let’s embarrass her good!’ Like that. Am I wrong? Huh?”

“...”

“I just wanted to show off a little. Like, if I try, I can do this much. So what? There. Happy?”

Tak Jeongyun nodded.

“...Then why?”

“Yeah.... Why did you cover for us?”

“You knew everything....”

“Hic....”

All four of them asked me.

“Why else? Because I want to keep standing on stage with you.”

I answered.