I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

* * *

Han Yeoreum, wearing a beige T-shirt, a loose-fit check shirt, and baggy jeans, had her hair tied up roughly.

“Director, can I wear just one earbud?”

“Hm? I guess that’s fine... but why only one?”

“They’re wireless earbuds, but my commute is long. It’s for the battery.”

With a single earbud in, Han Yeoreum really did look like Na Yuna somewhere on campus. The ear without the earbud was left open.

As if she wanted anyone, anywhere, to come up and talk to her.

“Ready—!”

Director So, holding the megaphone, looked at Han Yeoreum.

‘As I thought... my eye wasn’t wrong.’

When people hear the term “healing drama,” most assume it must be easy. They think it will be comfortable to make and easy to watch.

But that’s nonsense.

In this era overflowing with content, drawing people in with a mild, understated flavor requires desperate analysis.

What do people want? What do they long for? What kind of emotions do they feel in moments like these?

What So Yesol wanted to deliver to the audience was the existence of “lack.”

That emotion people bury first when they live through busy, exhausting days.

“Action!”

She had felt it even while filming 〈No Interest Whatsoever〉, but Han Yeoreum portrayed exhaustion unbelievably well.

She made it feel like looking at someone who had stopped right in the middle of a tunnel, unable to move either way.

Too scared to turn around and leave, too tired to go further forward, yet unable to sit down where they stood.

She understood perfectly how suffocating that breath felt.

Sitting on the bench, Han Yeoreum stared at the corner-cracked phone in her hand with disinterested eyes.

‘Maybe I should call it weariness.’

The face that couldn’t quite look forward to tomorrow was different from Yeon Huijae, who had smiled so bravely until recently.

This was Na Yuna, someone who had entered the university she wanted but was already worrying about employment.

So Yesol tilted her head and watched Han Yeoreum throw her gaze into empty space. Beyond the lonely tree behind her, she imagined the scene once CG would be added.

When cherry blossom CG was layered here, what a sweet and bittersweet freshman she would become.

The thought already made her excited.

Right before the first shoot of the low-budget drama 〈Youth Disqualified!〉, a huge investor had suddenly appeared.

That investor was a giant capable of turning winter footage into spring days if he wished.

And he had poured his money in solely because of Han Yeoreum.

* * *

The office where the meeting had begun became tense.

“So... if I understand correctly, Director...”

Three months had passed since the Korean ban had dropped. Projects that had been progressing smoothly collapsed in their later stages.

Investors across the board shut their wallets.

Two MBS projects that relied most heavily on foreign capital disappeared.

Top stars hesitated to jump into the market right now. The atmosphere was that whoever endured would win.

Rather than filming something now and risking ruining their career, it was better to shoot a few commercials.

“You’re suggesting we invest that amount... into a project we neither produce nor broadcast?”

Jegal Rok was the type who turned crises into opportunities.

Every innovation of JC ENM bore his fingerprints. Even so, people looked at him as if this was going too far.

“There must be a reason NetHolics entrusted 〈Seoul Metropolitan City〉 to JC ENM.”

Entrusting their first Korean market project to JC ENM was essentially a declaration of war.

If JC ENM couldn’t capitalize on an opportunity this big, there would be no second chance.

“Once NetHolics officially opens in Korea, there are other works besides 〈Seoul Metropolitan City〉 that will bring JC ENM money.”

Jegal Rok displayed documents on the screen.

“I assume no one here is unaware of the level of popularity 〈Strange Tales〉 achieved across Asia last season. Because of that influence, overseas investment has already flowed into the soon-to-be-released 〈Faster Than the Law〉.”

NetHolics had played their cards well.

Over the past several years they had carefully studied which Korean projects became hits, and which company had the greatest influence behind them.

The new web drama market.

The production of ten-million-viewer films.

Overseas investment after the Korean ban.

Even the cable miracle that surpassed 20% ratings.

All of it had been achieved by one company.

JC ENM.

“In order to make 〈Faster Than the Law〉 number one in NetHolics’ film category and 〈Strange Tales〉 number one in the drama category, there is something absolutely necessary.”

Jegal Rok adjusted the sharp crease of his shirt collar with one hand and spoke casually.

“Women in their twenties and thirties.”

There was always a demographic every company had to capture if they wanted their service to become mainstream culture.

Consumers who had little resistance to purchasing services and could explode buzz.

“You mean... we invest in 〈Youth Disqualified!〉 to attract women in their twenties and thirties?”

“Exactly. To be more precise, we will position it as what people call a bait product.”

With subscription services, it is crucial to keep works people don’t cancel over—projects they think, “I’ll watch when I have time,” or “I’ll watch again someday.”

Everything depends on how many subscribers you gather and how many you retain.

Jegal Rok had a gut feeling that 〈Youth Disqualified!〉 was the hidden card.

For those who hadn’t seen it yet, it would be a slow-paced story they wanted to watch someday when they had time.

For those who had already watched it once, it would be something they revisited whenever life became difficult, or whenever that season returned.

“Even if the ratings aren’t explosive right away, let’s create a drama worth rewatching again and again.”

Every year, 〈Youth Disqualified!〉 would appear again at the top of NetHolics.

It would climb back up the rankings, and climb again, endlessly returning without tiring.

Jegal Rok’s prediction was not mere speculation.

It was certainty built on evidence.

* * *

The three leads gathered together.

The scene they were about to film was a drinking gathering.

The beginning of the semester.

A time when people began to get to know one another.

Would they erase the lines between them and become “us”?

Would they stay alone inside their own lines?

Or simply step across them?

It was a scene that required subtle exploration amid quiet tension.

Click, click, click.

One of the staff members focusing on the setup spoke up.

“But honestly, both Choo Gaeul and So Dami are pretty good.”

“Yeah. So?”

“But when you put them next to Han Yeoreum, doesn’t her presence feel way too strong?”

A rising actor whose stock was climbing rapidly, a rookie recently praised for her acting ability, and a complete beginner making her first appearance in a broadcast drama.

Comparing them was almost embarrassing.

Everyone here knew Han Yeoreum wasn’t becoming popular just because of luck.

“True... we dressed her down as much as possible with hair, makeup, and styling to tone her down.”

The name “star” wasn’t given for nothing.

Among countless people, the one who stood out overwhelmingly.

Only those with the talent to command attention were called stars.

And without question, Han Yeoreum was a rising star.

“What do you think, Director?”

Someone asked the lighting director who was checking angles.

He answered calmly.

“She’ll handle it.”

At the simple response, the surrounding staff booed playfully.

“Hey—! What kind of answer is that?”

“That’s way too careless!”

“It doesn’t even sound like you thought about it!”

The lighting director shrugged lightly at the teasing reactions.

What kind of image would appear in today’s frame?

How much would the two rookies be overshadowed by the rising star’s light?

The staff were secretly curious.

And a moment later, when filming began with Director So’s call of action, everyone ended up agreeing with the lighting director.

Han Yeoreum really did handle it on her own.

* * *

Erasing my presence?

For me, that’s incredibly simple.

To explain briefly—

‘If an extra shows off in a play, they get cut immediately.’

Sometimes you must become the background.

Sometimes the trigger that ignites the protagonist’s emotions.

Sometimes simply an object placed exactly where it belongs.

Quietly.

As if you’re there but not.

But never looking careless.

That’s one of the things I’m best at.

On stage and off.

After spending years as an extra, I learned something.

How to express things purely with my body, without a single line.

There is such a thing as nonverbal expression.

Checking your watch during a conversation means you need to leave soon.

Shaking your leg while sitting means you’re extremely anxious.

Speaking while habitually waving your hands means you’re saying something your mind hasn’t fully organized yet.

‘Then what should someone do if they know they don’t belong here, but still have to sit here anyway?’

Showing your whole body feels awkward.

Na Yuna—no, I—intentionally wore clothes with long sleeves.

So only the tips of my fingers were visible.

It protects me while hiding the movement of my hands.

That makes me feel safer.

In my right hand, I’m holding my phone.

Even if I’m not part of this place, I want to show that I’m connected somewhere else.

Like an immature high school student tapping on their phone at the start of a semester, pretending to be messaging someone.

Na Yuna hasn’t grown up at all yet.

“But don’t you think there are quite a few decent seniors in our department? I saw some of their profile pictures—”

In the lively conversation, the most Na Yuna could do was nod occasionally.

Enough to blend in without having to open her mouth.

“You know this guy, right? Everyone saw him?”

“He looks like he’d have a girlfriend.”

“One hundred percent he does. A few days ago I saw he put music on his profile? And the way it changed again now feels like his girlfriend told him to.”

To keep from drifting outside the conversation, Na Yuna spoke exactly one sentence.

“Oh, really?”

That was when it happened.

A freshman who had been quietly smirking ever since hearing ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) Na Yuna's age seized the moment.

“Why? Do you like younger guys, unni?”

“...Huh?”

“You seem kind of interested. Do you like younger guys, older guys? Or someone your age?”

Suddenly the topic of conversation shifted to Na Yuna.

The type of person who probably had the loudest voice in the classroom even back in high school.

“Unni, how old were the boyfriends you dated before?”

It wasn’t a big deal.

But the way this classmate spoke had a subtle way of making people uncomfortable.