I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

-What the hell. So annoying.

Hina was there.

-...Hina?

-I have no intention of hanging out with you two. Move.

It was Hina — corrupted, darkened, fully blackened-out.

[♨️F. Why are you so damn irritating what are you even... -_-^^^ ParCheHi thread♨️]

-What?? lol I seriously can’t predict this plot

-Next episode is the finale, what are they planning;;; is it gonna end in a mess?

˪Feels like that spoiler about it being a comedy webtoon was actually right LOLOLOL If a story like this ends seriously, that’s the real «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» cringe

Viewers immediately began sharing the unexpected development in real-time. Aetami was no exception.

“It turned into a ruin-porn genre~!”

Hina, the sunshine-filled, bubbly heroine, had somehow become a rebellious heroine.

Wearing an electric guitar case on her back, she bumped the two of them aside as she swaggered past.

-This is... no way...

-No matter what happens, the heroine is always Hina?

Joo Junseo and Pi Chaewon began their uneasy prediction.

Sssssrak— the sound of a page turning.

Hina’s distorted daily routine appeared. She skipped school and slept in the nurse’s office. Friends who used to spend time with her worried and came to find her, but—

-It has nothing to do with you.

She repeated the same line and ran out.

Hina wandered the streets. On a pedestrian overpass bathed in sunset, she clenched her fists and looked down at the road. And then—

-If you keep making that face, you’re just going to hurt alone.

-...Ha.

-Losing yourself. You should stop that.

-And what are you supposed to be?

-A senior who’s walked the road you’re standing on? Haha.

Another guy appeared — the inefficiently-kind sub male lead Jun had mentioned.

Chaewon and Jun, sitting together on one side of the stairs, covered their faces with both hands and sighed simultaneously.

-He seems right.

-Yeah....

Sticky notes appeared over them.

Extras can disappear depending on the protagonist’s attributes!

-This isn’t just a school-life series. What if this is actually Hina’s journey to find her dream. She could debut in a band.

-And she could meet managers or other entertainers there... one of them could become the real male lead.

-Yeah... and then we only appear as drunk flashbacks in Hina’s memories. Her brilliant high school days... she could use them as lyrics for her songs....

Before they knew it, the orange sunset over the pedestrian overpass faded, the sky turning navy. White streetlights lit up.

Jun, silently staring at the sky, called Chaewon. They felt easier around each other now.

-...Hey.

-What.

-Do you think you and I... can go back?

-Stop saying cliché things. Every time you do that, we fail to go back.

-That damn cliché.

Jun let out a small laugh. It was the first time he’d laughed.

Chaewon, watching him, gave a tired smile too — still wrapped in Jun’s jacket.

-We’re absolutely going back.

Chaewon stood from the stairs and brushed off her clothes.

Then it happened again. Her body turned translucent. The focus blurred. Her body wouldn’t move.

Beeeeep— tinnitus rang out. Her vision went dark.

-Chaewon-ah.

The next thing on screen was the back of a woman sitting down. Slowly, the focus shifted. It moved to the person she was looking at.

-Time to wake up.

It was Pi Chaewon, lying in a hospital bed.

The screen slowly transitioned. Chaewon’s gray school uniform hanging on the wall. Stacks of romance mangas on the nightstand. Boxes of Pepero bought even though she couldn’t eat them.

-My Chaewon... you need to wake up and go to school.

The woman held sleeping Chaewon’s hand. Then she touched the lifeline on Chaewon’s palm. As if she truly believed Chaewon would come back, she pressed down with her fingernail, tracing the lifeline.

Beep— beep—.

The machines in the hospital room emitted tiny sounds.

Chaewon’s fingers twitched slightly. As if that was all she could move.

[The Cherry on the Parfait Belongs to the Heroine!]

“Aaaaagh!!! This is insane!!!”

Aetami screamed.

Episode 7’s view count of .

It hit 870,000 in a single day.

* * *

Do Gyeoul crumpled the script she had received. It was the script sent through her agency. What she had seen on screen was implemented far better than what was written on paper.

“Han Yeoreum....”

As if that world truly existed. Han Yeoreum, beyond mere text, unfolded vividly before her eyes.

She remembered the worn-out script in the reading-video — the old script Yeoreum used.

Inside that script with the crumpled sticky note at the end, Yeoreum’s analysis must have been written. She wondered what kind of analysis it was.

“I want it.”

Gyeoul murmured. Then she rewound the video again, back to the very beginning.

She watched it over and over, enough to memorize every single line. As if engraving each tiny movement of Han Yeoreum into her brain.

It was different from the acting Yeoreum showed on the first day of class. Han Yeoreum had grown far beyond that.

Gyeoul stared at Han Yeoreum filling an entire wall. There were numerous differences compared to the script she had received. As if Yeoreum rediscovered the character anew on set each time.

“Ahaha.”

Gyeoul let out a small, amused laugh.

Han Yeoreum. With this, it was enough. A mere web drama causing this level of impact was entirely because of Han Yeoreum. Gyeoul could be certain.

Gyeoul had always acted exactly as written in the script. Some people called it perfect. Others said it was obsessive. Others said it showed how deeply she respected the writer.

‘Idiots.’

All of them were wrong. Gyeoul found it painfully difficult to understand people. She always felt as though a wall stood in front of her.

She couldn’t grasp the characters beyond that wall. No matter how well she memorized lines or displayed perfect expressions, her acting had limits.

“Manager. It’s me. Gyeoul.”

But now, things were different.

Do Gyeoul contacted her agency. She had avoided acting projects under the excuse of studying for college entrance, but now she felt she could do it.

“Please submit me for that script. I want to try the brightest role possible. A rom-com.”

She could do it. No — she wanted to. Like that. Like Han Yeoreum.

The script in her hand was worn and torn. Every part that differed from the actual show was marked.

* * *

This was the MBS Drama Center in Ilsan. On the 7th floor, the center director stared at the graph with a devastated expression.

“...How is this even possible? Huh?”

It was Saturday and Sunday, at 10 p.m. — the golden time slot. Well-known actors and a director whose previous drama had achieved over 10% ratings were leading the show.

“And now we’re losing to Intube!”

But from mid-series onward, the early ratings had been disappointingly weak.

From minutes 10 to 15, viewership dipped, then rose slightly afterward. The cause analysis delivered shocking results.

“? Huh? Even the title sounds childish!”

Low budget, rookie actors — but most of all, the center director’s pride was wounded because they had been beaten not by cable but by a mere “Intube.”

“You’re telling me MBS lost to a platform where rewatching is totally free?”

It made no sense. The idea that people were watching Intube first and delaying the drama broadcast was unimaginable.

“Director, instead of complaining, isn’t it time we also activate our own Intube channel?”

A brief silence fell. Then someone brave raised a hand.

“I heard JC ENM is currently searching for scripts for the follow-up web drama to .”

“Come on. This time they just got lucky once — how do we know the sequel will succeed?”

“...It’s being overseen by Jegal Rok.”

At the name Jegal Rok, no one could argue. Instead, the push to strengthen their own Intube presence grew.

“Right now, the highest-viewed content on the MBS channel is 780K, and its impact and comment volume aren’t even comparable to .”

The center director bit his lip at the undeniable truth.

As Intube grew, major broadcasters opened their own channels and uploaded all kinds of videos, but the public was cold. They didn’t feel extra interest in something they had already seen.

‘Only six hours out of twenty-four.’

That was how long the public spent consuming media.

Broadcast networks, the film industry, sports, countless brands, shopping malls, aspiring celebrities and influencers — all of them fiercely competed to occupy those leftover six hours.

‘At this rate....’

They all sensed it. That the authority of broadcasters was in danger.

This was outright ecosystem collapse.

“Maybe once ’s finale airs, things will calm down?”

They tried to hold onto hope, but the center director shook his head. He was furious, but he understood reality.

“No. Now people will want content just like : stimulating, fun, short, and fast-paced. They won’t even bother checking out anything else.”

SNS communities where people with similar tastes gather, feeds tailored to one’s own preferences, platforms where you can watch anything instantly for free — everything was shifting toward individualized taste.

“Which means, by contrast, broadcasts that don’t fit that trend can’t survive....”

The trigger had already been pulled. A new wave of trends was crashing in like a tidal wave.

* * *

“Yeoreum’s here?”

“Director Jang~.”

The team gathered once again, now standing before the finale. It was the wrap-up party.

The moment I stepped through the door, the writer and Director Jang welcomed me.

Staff members sitting all around raised their hands to greet me. I bowed lightly and walked in.

“I’m so excited. Seriously.”

Team Leader Seong laughed, gargling with soju. The restaurant was filled with the exhilaration unique to a successful project.

’s view count had finally surpassed a million. It was an unprecedented achievement for a web drama. Clips from every episode circulated widely, and even those clips alone recorded high views.

“Look. The finale blog posts are already going up.”

“We didn’t push those, right?”

“Nope. They wrote them on their own because of the views.”

All around, people talked and talked about how successful had been.

Between the sizzle of grilling meat, the joy of a massive hit spread through the air. Drama fans with big followings were voluntarily attaching themselves to .

It was a positive sign that JC ENM’s next web drama would have a smooth launch.

“Our Chaewon~. Our little lucky charm.”

The writer wrapped five pieces of meat in a ssam and handed it to me. She said offers for the next project were already coming in from everywhere.

“Later... we have to... absolutely... work together again, okay?”

She was saying the exact same thing Director Jang said. My cheeks were so stuffed that I couldn’t answer, so I just nodded vigorously. Joo Junseo, sitting next to me, poured me soda.

“Okay!!! Finally!!! finale!!!”

On the big Intube screen on the wall, the final episode appeared.

“Starting!!! Right now!!!”

Amid everyone’s cheers, the video was clicked.