I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

“Hmm....”

But Andrea Shark stood up without showing any particular reaction.

“Good work.”

At the first shoot of 〈Seoul Metropolitan City〉, the NetHolics executive left nothing behind but a polite smile as she walked away.

* * *

Even after the NetHolics executive and Jegal Rok left, filming continued.

“Ready!”

To maintain momentum, 〈Seoul Metropolitan City〉 triggers the zombie outbreak from Episode 1. That meant the footage from the peaceful period was extremely short.

My next scene was a running sequence.

“Action!”

Screams erupted. Blood spread across the hospital floor. The moment On Jihwa saw people sprinting toward her from afar, she immediately grabbed her mother’s wrist.

Then, without even a second of hesitation, she ran forward.

The camera, mounted on rails, chased the two of us like a zombie.

“Oh my, Jihwa! Jihwa, what is that? Huh? Hah... hah...! Ji, Jihwa...! Wait, wait a second!”

Her mother, still unable to fully grasp the situation, kept calling out to her—but On Jihwa didn’t look back.

She had to keep running forward. Only forward.

“....”

I tightened my grip and pulled at my mother’s wrist as she kept falling behind. Instinctively, I knew there was no one else who could protect her.

“Cut!”

“Haa....”

“Ah... my heart... it’s going to... haa... burst....”

The actress playing On Jihwa’s mother staggered. Maybe all those daily runs at Action Academy had paid off—I wasn’t that tired.

“Oh. That was good just now. Let’s check the monitor—”

I walked over to Director O and looked at my face on the screen.

“You run really fast. Even with the rail cam following you, I thought you were a runaway train.”

“Well, I am supposed to be a national representative. I had to be fast. I really gritted my teeth to shave down that record. Please make sure to remember that during interviews later.”

“Oh, wow. That’s great. Then let’s keep going like this without losing steam. When we shoot with the drone later, make sure to widen the gap clearly.” 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

I smiled at his words.

‘He should’ve watched this scene instead.’

The earlier one hadn’t had enough impact. The thought made anxiety creep in.

Every time filming paused, I became aware of Do Gyeoul. Since we had to finish both of our scenes today, we were stuck on the same set the entire time.

Somewhere here, Do Gyeoul was watching.

That alone was enough to put pressure on me.

‘No. Stop thinking like that.’

From the hanbok ambassador appointment ceremony until now—

Because I kept feeling like I was standing on the same stage as Do Gyeoul, my breathing kept going out of rhythm.

‘Focus on my On Jihwa.’

On Jihwa clearly had her own character identity.

But... could she beat that scene of Do Gyeoul’s in the latter half?

Thinking about it, I wasn’t confident.

‘Views....’

A recently updated ranking came to mind.

Top 10 Korean dramas favored by Japanese audiences. Both first and second place were occupied by Do Gyeoul’s works.

Among current Korean dramas, only a handful made it onto NetHolics. The reason was simple.

The broadcasting companies that owned the IP wouldn’t allow it.

But 〈Beyond the Closed Door〉 and 〈The Fuse〉 were different.

In both cases, the IP wasn’t owned by broadcasters.

As if they had been aiming for NetHolics from the very beginning, they minimized broadcaster investment during the contract phase—

All to retain ownership of the IP until the end.

‘That’s why... right now, Do Gyeoul....’

I didn’t want to admit it, but among actresses in their twenties, she had the highest overseas recognition.

Whether it was 〈Beyond the Closed Door〉 or 〈The Fuse〉, when people in NetHolics regions—including Japan—talked about K-dramas, her works were always cited as representative examples.

‘My On Jihwa also has scenes that can leave an impact, but....’

A strength-type character attacking zombies is something “within expectations.” It lacked the unpredictability of Do Gyeoul.

Viewers might gasp in admiration, but they might not rewind and replay it over and over while scrolling through comments.

‘Then what should I....’

I wanted to call Myeong Jeha right now. I wanted to ask him what I should do. I knew he would help, like always.

‘But no.’

I had to think this through on my own.

When it came to Do Gyeoul, I now wanted to confront her directly, no matter what.

‘The most replayed moment.’

The moment viewers click back to after finishing a video.

Something especially common in idol fancams.

-02:11 this is actually insane, even SSSR cards don’t come out with this level of quality

└ my heart just got punched and passed out

└ I came back just for this...

-everyone stopping at the exact same moment is so obvious lol

-watched it again and again and again and again and again and again and again

“We’re going for a close-up this time—.”

Since we had to cut the same scene multiple times, I returned to the starting position.

This time, it would be just my face. I had to run alone. My empty hand felt strangely hollow.

“Episode 1, Scene 25. Take one! Han Yeoreum tight!”

Clap.

The slate snapped, and I ran forward.

Without looking back. Only forward.

My eyes scanned frantically, searching for where to go next.

One wrong choice—and it brings you closer to death.

On Jihwa knew the weight of mistakes all too well.

In a country where even hitting perfect scores might not guarantee a national team spot, she had earned that title at a young age.

And after overtraining, she ended up with a shoulder injury.

The fear she carried—

“Cut!”

Even after the cut call, my thoughts about On Jihwa didn’t stop.

Ding—!

C

The status window flickered before my eyes.

Suddenly, I realized something.

Even though she was performing far above the standard, On Jihwa was someone who feared even a single mistake.

Just like me.

‘I need to think.’

In an apocalypse story, why do people rewatch scenes? Where do they pause?

Endorphins flooded my body from the repeated running.

And then—

something clicked.

‘Zombies.’

The conclusion came startlingly fast.

In apocalypse content, there’s something people care about just as much as the acting.

‘...the makeup quality!’

-what is this, why does a freshly bitten zombie already look like it’s decomposing lol does this director even understand basic apocalypse logic

└ agreed, they should’ve just given the actors white lenses instead... what a waste of a story

-should’ve gone to L World during Halloween season for makeup instead ㅠ

└ lmao what the hell

└ this is insane lol

└ honestly that would’ve been better

-the CG...? who skimmed the budget on this lol

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The heartbeat that had been squeezed tight with anxiety started to change.

‘This is it.’

On top of that, this was NetHolics Korea’s first original production.

There was no way people wouldn’t be curious about its quality.

I sat beside Director O and quickly flipped through the script.

Once my thoughts reached that point, I understood.

The scene that would get the most views in 〈Seoul Metropolitan City〉.

Jihwa’s Mother⎢ Oh my, Jihwa... what do we do? What is that? People are... are...

On Jihwa⎢ ...(She says nothing. Instead, she tightens her grip on her mother’s wrist.)

Jihwa’s Mother⎢ My heart is racing... what do we do? Let’s call 112, the police...

On Jihwa⎢ ...(She still doesn’t respond. Then—bang. She turns her head toward the sound.)

‘The trailer.’

If a zombie appears right after On Jihwa’s tense close-up—

everyone will rewind to that exact moment.

To see the zombie.

I hurriedly flipped through the script again. And again.

The problem was, I wasn’t the only one encountering zombies for the first time.

There were plenty of substitute scenes. They didn’t need to give that crucial moment to me.

Do Gyeoul. Myeong Jeha. Tak Jeongyun.

Any of them could replace me.

But unlike them, I had something only I possessed.

I could immerse myself deeply.

Especially fear—I could fall into it instantly and make it feel real.

‘...I have to do it.’

Because I already knew something similar to a zombie.

Something without reason. Something that seeks to harm. Violent. Chases people. Reacts sensitively even to small sounds.

I could act out the desperation of someone trying to survive better than anyone.

Even without a single line, I could convey tension.

Because my memory was sharp.

Because I could recall it as if it had happened yesterday.

“....”

That was it.

I checked when the NetHolics executive would return.

No matter what, I had to claim the highlight moment of the trailer.

* * *

At the guest hall of Seongra ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) Hotel, the Namsan Tower shimmered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, lighting up the Seoul skyline.

Ji Haebeom, caught in a strangely elevated mood, lifted his wine glass and made a slow round. The watch on his wrist gleamed.

The one summoned by the NetHolics executive numbered around thirty.

Only those whose faces and names every Korean would recognize had received invitations.

It was a lineup that practically said anything under 30% ratings or under ten million moviegoers didn’t even count.

Even 〈Faster Than the Law〉, which had been a consecutive hit, had sent an invitation only to Director Gong—not to Yun Hyeonjo or Detective Kwak.

Shin Seojin from the recent hot topic 〈Unfair Trade〉 wasn’t present either.

Among writers, only the top 1%—Seomun Ihwa and Hwang Boseok—were invited. Ahn Junmyeong of 〈The Great Garland〉 stood awkwardly among them, exchanging glances.

So there was no way those seated here didn’t understand.

They had been chosen by NetHolics.

Among actors present—Ji Haebeom, Eun Baekhap, Hong Suryeon, Yoo Jiuk, Jin Yi, Gyeon Uigeon, Woo Chahyeok—

only seven.

Except for Eun Baekhap, who had been unusually unlucky with projects, all of them were people who easily broke 30% ratings whenever they appeared, had at least one successful lead film, and possessed strong overseas fandoms.

The very top of the top.

From writers to directors to actors—

only those capable of carrying an entire production on their own were seated here.