I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

Geum Bitgang stood crookedly, looking down at Han Yeoreum.

“You probably think I’m going to tell you the floor’s cold and to get up. Tsk. Whether you roll around there or not has nothing to do with me.”

“So that doesn’t work either....”

“What exactly are you asking me to teach you? How annoying.”

Geum Bitgang pulled out a slipper from the entrance and tossed it onto the floor. While she headed toward the living room, Han Yeoreum hurriedly changed shoes and followed after her.

“You did a lot of recording work, didn’t you, Professor?”

At the question, Geum Bitgang recalled the past.

Back then, because of technical and budget limitations in the Korean film industry, on-site recording was practically impossible.

“I did. Every production.”

Because of that, it had been standard practice to roughly recite lines on set, then gather in recording studios afterward for ADR sessions.

“And I heard you also did foreign film dubbing....”

Back during weekend movie broadcasts and classic film theaters, Geum Bitgang had been what people called a soaring actress.

No matter how strict the senior actor was, nobody could find even the smallest flaw in Geum Bitgang’s pronunciation.

Because it had been perfect.

“I got cast this time in a D*sney animated film dub.”

“Really?”

“But they withdrew me.”

“What?”

Geum Bitgang glared at Han Yeoreum with blazing eyes.

“They withdrew you? What exactly did you go out there and do to suffer such humiliation?”

“They figured it out after two lines.”

Half-standing and half-sitting awkwardly, Han Yeoreum spoke stiffly.

“I tried, but... I’ve barely watched animation before... so I don’t really know anything about it....”

Geum Bitgang tilted her head sideways.

“If it’s D*sney, that’s not ordinary animation. It’s not TV animation either — these are films.”

Han Yeoreum knew an absurd amount about movies. Far beyond what someone her age should know.

“Wouldn’t animated films usually feel more familiar than regular movies when you’re young? And yet you never watched them?”

“...No. Out of all movies, I never watched animation. Not D*sney, not P Company, not DreamWorks.”

“At that point, it’s not a matter of preference anymore.”

Geum Bitgang immediately dug into the core issue.

“Why didn’t you watch them?”

“I don’t know. Why I was like that....”

“That won’t do. If you don’t know that yourself.”

Geum Bitgang continued sharply.

“D*sney animated films play just by turning on the TV. Schools show them too. It’s not like you lived in an environment where they were hard to access. Which means this depends on your mindset... you need to figure out for yourself why you hated animation.”

Han Yeoreum answered hesitantly.

“I’ve never really thought much about the reasons I dislike things....”

“Then do it now.”

Geum Bitgang did not teach carelessly. Han Yeoreum had to find the answer herself.

“Actors must be sharp. If you keep smoothing things over and letting them pass, you’ll never pierce the audience.”

One strike straight into the heart.

That was what Geum Bitgang believed an actor should be.

That moment in repetitive daily life where something absolutely pierces through. Creating that was an actor’s job.

Whether it was anger, love, sadness, or joy.

A proper actor needed a sharpness capable of stabbing directly into the heart.

“...I think I just wanted to become an adult quickly. When I was little.”

“Say it properly.”

“I hated remaining a child. So I hated animation too.”

From Han Yeoreum’s words, Geum Bitgang could read something.

Whether one wanted to or not, by this age the world became painfully visible. Through voices, ways of speaking, gazes, and eyes. Han Yeoreum made people unable to avoid feeling something.

Animated movies shown in theaters all shared the same broad framework.

Worlds without despair.

Parents either died early and became figures of longing, or misunderstandings piled up until they looked villainous even though deep down they loved their children.

The only parents who stayed alive just to torment their children were witch-like villains.

The idea that parents loved their children was portrayed as the most natural truth in the world.

“...Still, I watched tons of movies growing up. I memorized all the classics. Want to test me? I can answer immediately.”

No matter how difficult or painful things became, in the end everyone grew. Villains were punished, and protagonists always became happy.

As though it were some kind of promise.

“By middle school I’d watched all the classics too, and difficult movies I replayed two or three times.”

But once the movie ended, reality began. A different kind of everyday life from the one the world showed children.

Maybe....

“He says he’s going back to America in a few days.”

“The bastard who withdrew your casting?”

“So before that, I want to try filling in what I’m lacking.”

“...I see.”

Geum Bitgang stared fixedly at Han Yeoreum.

The foundation of learning was experience. For Han Yeoreum, who had absolutely no experience with animation, dubbing might become the hardest mountain to overcome.

‘But....’

Maybe it would be possible to fill that gap in only a few days.

“I heard you have a sibling.”

“Yes. One younger brother.”

“Call him.”

“...What?”

Life was like that sometimes. No matter how much you thought about something a hundred times, it couldn’t compare to seeing it ten times — and even ten viewings couldn’t compare to experiencing it once.

“Here.”

Of course, whether it worked or not would depend entirely on Han Yeoreum’s abilities.

* * *

Han Taeyang genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this flustered.

“...Are you insane?”

She’d urgently called him over, so he thought she’d gotten into some kind of trouble again. But instead, what stood before him was...

“Hey. Do you seriously run to your professor every time something happens? What kind of insane person invites someone to their professor’s house to watch cartoons....”

“Watch your mouth when talking to your sister, asshole....”

“You told me to hurry over, so I came empty-handed.... What happened to manners....”

The legendary actress.

Geum Bitgang.

‘No wonder the address was an apartment!’

Han Taeyang had rushed out in such a hurry that he looked more disrespectful than anyone. Wearing a tracksuit with a cap pulled low, he fidgeted nervously in the entranceway.

“Come in.”

“The professor’s talking. Hurry up and take your shoes off....”

Quietly glaring at the sister scolding him, Han Taeyang slowly removed his shoes.

At the same time, his socks turned out to be mismatched.

“Do you like cartoons?”

“Uh....”

Caught off guard by the sudden question, Han Taeyang momentarily lost his words.

Seeing Geum Bitgang up close was different.

Her piercing gaze, rigid posture, °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° and the way she somehow seemed to be looking down on him even while seated.

It felt like saying no would be a mistake.

“I... probably do.”

“Really? Then what’s your favorite?”

“King Lion....”

“Why?”

“The songs are good. The OST.”

Geum Bitgang gestured with her chin.

“Then lie down here.”

“...What?”

Now that he thought about it, something was strange.

The blankets spread across the elegant living room. The pizza, cola, orange juice, and snacks nearby.

“Lie down, pretend this is your own bedroom, and just watch comfortably.”

“Hey. The professor’s talking — why aren’t you moving already?”

Dragged along by Han Yeoreum, Han Taeyang had no choice but to sit on the floor. He was so awkward his back stiffened straight.

While Han Taeyang remained flustered, Geum Bitgang simply warned them not to spill juice on the blankets before disappearing into another room.

“What the hell is this?”

“Just watch first.”

Before they realized it, the movie had already begun.

A castle from a blue fairy tale appeared. Fireworks exploded. The logo emerged.

The famous OST from the classic masterpiece King Lion began playing. A father rejoicing over the birth of his son appeared on screen.

“Hey. Eat the pizza. Don’t spill corn on the blanket.”

“This situation is so fucking confusing I can’t even swallow....”

“Did you eat before coming here?”

“I woke up and came straight over.”

Han Taeyang absentmindedly accepted the pizza Han Yeoreum handed him. It had cooled down a bit, but that made it easier to eat.

“But seriously, what is this? This feels like some kind of dream sequence.”

“I got rejected.”

“From where.”

“D*sney.”

While eating pizza, Han Taeyang looked at Han Yeoreum like she’d completely lost her mind.

“I was supposed to do dubbing... but they rejected me after hearing two lines.”

“Didn’t practice?”

“I did. But apparently it’s obvious I never watched animation before.”

“You should’ve made your profile picture anime ages ago then.”

“If you’re going around outside acting like that, stop. I’ve sold you out too much already and it’s damaging my image. Just use the default profile picture.”

At some point, the baby lion had met a warthog and a meerkat.

“This is making me remember old times.”

“What old times.”

“When we got free tickets from the welfare center and went to watch a movie together.”