I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

“ASMR?”

“To put it simply, it’s a video made of sounds that stimulate the five senses. Sounds like tapping objects, rain, crackling fire, or a softly whispered voice, and even role-plays that make you feel like you’re experiencing a particular situation—there are many types.”

A light appeared in Jegal Rok’s eyes as he listened to Team Leader Seong’s explanation.

He grew curious about what might come out if JC ENM poured in all their manpower, capital, and time—and if Jegal Rok’s instinct combined with Han Yeoreum’s talent.

“For idols, we could go with simple ASMR. For actors starring in JC ENM’s films or dramas, we could run character-appropriate role-play ASMR. If they don’t have much time in their schedule, even just whisper-reading a script would work well.”

A tingling sensation spread through Jegal Rok’s entire body.

‘A second project with Han Yeoreum....’

With Han Yeoreum’s voice, the view duration could easily exceed five minutes. He wanted to make something different from provocative or childish content.

He felt that Han Yeoreum could become the first key that opened the path Jegal Rok wanted to take.

Thinking of the videos with Han Yeoreum, Jegal Rok immediately chose the second stage.

‘Her voice.’

A voice that evoked scenes—high-definition audio. And they happened to need that.

Setting the stage would be simple. Once they set the trend and built a “hip” image, even the most prideful actors would have no choice but to want to appear. He imagined the agencies that would start contacting them, wanting their actors to show their faces even once, and he found himself smiling.

“As befits the Web Content Department, let’s not stop at web drama scripts. Let’s expand the platform to original content as well. Production costs and activity costs will all be—.”

On Jegal Rok’s face—usually expressionless and marked with exhaustion—a strange smile spread. Who could have ever imagined that a cable broadcasting company, starting with an Intube channel, would overturn all of public broadcasting?

But to Jegal Rok, that future didn’t feel absurd at all.

“Whatever it costs, I will take responsibility.”

Right now, Jegal Rok was dreaming of a perfect reversal. His eyes—shadowed deeply by dark circles—gleamed.

The words Jegal Rok spoke in the conference room spread quickly. News that Jegal Rok was preparing a new project was something anyone would find interesting.

* * *

The news reached Myeong Jeha as he was reading a script.

“Chief Na. I want to do that too.”

“What? ASMR?”

“Yes. ASMR. Sounds fun.”

Chief Na of Noble Actors, who managed Myeong Jeha and was already panicking that Jeha hadn’t chosen his next project, nearly screamed.

“Jeha! Why would a film actor appear in something like that? Do you know how important your image-making is? That’ll cheapen you!”

“Haha. Cheapen me? I’m still a rookie.”

“Even as a rookie! Huh? Even if it’s a project Jegal Rok is doing, this is... No. Absolutely not.”

Chief Na went on and on about how important Jeha’s next project was.

“JC ENM? Sure, they might be acknowledged in film when placed next to public broadcasting, but they’re still nothing compared to the majors. Broadcasting? Not yet. And Intube? Even less!”

Jeha pretended to read his script again, already thinking about something else.

There was no need to argue. Things would eventually go Jeha’s way anyway.

‘What would be good for Han Yeoreum’s next project....’

Jegal Rok would likely follow the same flow as always.

Pulling the web content world into mainstream recognition.

Jegal Rok’s plan had always been to adapt webtoons or web novels into live action.

‘Jegal Rok always has good eyes. He’s never failed.’

Bringing in an already popular original work made it easy to pull in the fanbase, and it helped web content feel familiar to drama viewers.

‘And when it comes to making money, he’s a sure thing.’

It was Jegal Rok who had revitalized original works, dramas, and even the goods market that had once been the realm of a small fan culture.

Jeha traced his memories.

JC ENM’s Intube account had always posted basic content: trailers for dramas and movies, behind-the-scenes footage, script readings. They hadn’t started making new forms of content this season.

‘Things are definitely happening years earlier.’

At least four or five years earlier than they originally would have happened. And this time, two things were unfolding at once.

‘Among web novels... which one was it that Do Gyeoul acted in?’

Do Gyeoul had acted in countless works. Sometimes she made the exact same choices repeatedly, sometimes completely different ones.

Every regression brought endless changes—too many to remember clearly.

‘Ah. There was that one.’

But Jeha’s brain worked diligently.

“Then Chief Na, # Nоvеlight # could you pass along a recommendation of one web novel to Team Leader Seong for ASMR? Just one?”

“Jeha! If you want to appear later, fine. But not now. Absolutely not. This is just... No.”

“No, not for me—it's a recommendation for Yeoreum. I heard about it from Director Gong last time, and from some others....”

Of course, that was a lie. Jeha smiled as he recommended a web novel to Chief Na.

‘No one remembers conversations clearly when drunk anyway.’

It was a drama Do Gyeoul had filmed, but that never aired. A project that got canceled during mid-shooting.

“That one? Well... I can tell Team Leader Seong. Jeha, let’s focus on choosing your next project, okay? We can’t wait forever.”

“Yes. I know. That’s why I’m diligently reading scripts.”

Because of an incident that would shake Korean entertainment at the end of next year.

‘I wonder if that can change too.’

It was a blank-slate project—no ratings, no buzz, nothing released to the world.

Because it had never even been shown. Jeha thought of Han Yeoreum, who was now at the center of everything.

How far could that girl change things? He truly couldn’t guess.

* * *

Finally, the climax scene.

At the entrance of the mountain, a deep pit had been dug. Between the sound of chirping insects, staff members held walkie-talkies and communicated.

“Lighting team—check the crane one more time.”

“The rails look like they’re shaking. Make the ground a bit flatter!”

The crane lights raised high, the camera rails laid over the dirt ground, and even the massive water truck—everything was buzzing with activity.

“Yeoreum... don’t worry too much. You’ll do great.... We’ll adjust the water so it’s not too much—.”

“No. You don’t have to do that.”

Thinking Yeoreum was scared of the water truck, Director So patted her shoulder. Yeoreum looked up at the bright full-moon-like light and smiled.

“Please make the rain fall heavily. It’ll help cover the sound of crying.”

Even though she knew this would be strenuous filming, Yeoreum’s expression showed she didn’t care about that at all. A kind of boldness only beginners had came through.

The staff and Director So looked at her and smiled. Even the extras who had worked with Yeoreum multiple times lifted the corners of their mouths.

“Alright, let’s do a movement rehearsal once—and then we start filming!”

And at last, filming began. The key point of , the scene that would make viewers cry with her.

* * *

I walked frantically. The dirt ground was soaked and muddy from the rain. But I didn’t care. Jung Yeondu—who always tried to keep things neat—now had nothing in her mind but one thing: Boksun.

“Boksun—! Boksun!”

Right before Boksun disappeared, I’d heard talk of a dog-catcher in town. I immediately thought of Boksun, but since it wasn’t my dog, I had assumed I bore no responsibility—and now I regretted that.

“BOKSUN!!!”

I gripped the flashlight tightly and called only for Boksun. I recalled the little creature that had panted and laughed, wagged its tail first, rolled over belly-up. My whole body kept getting wetter. Cold sweat mixed with rain trickled down.

Ding—!

System

[50]% of the audience is beginning to focus on you!

Current audience: 33

The system window appeared, but I had no space in my mind to pay attention to it.

“...Boksun!”

Boksun was nowhere. Thinking I could ignore it because it wasn’t my responsibility—that had been the problem. This was all my fault....

“Cut!”

As soon as Director So shouted, Dok Gomin rushed toward me with a towel. I moved away slightly from her hand trying to wipe my wet hair.

“Unnie, I’m okay.”

“What are you talking about? You’re soaked!”

“It’s just... right now, I don’t think I should wipe the water....”

The same subtle emotion that had echoed in my head earlier—before I imagined running away from Boksun—resonated again. A pleasant tension spread.

“Yeoreum... we’re going right into a close-up. Are you okay?”

I nodded at Director So.

A little more, just a little more—I felt I could get closer to Jung Yeondu. I didn’t want to exist as Han Yeoreum right now, but as Jung Yeondu.

Not Pi Chaewon, not Influencer 1. Perhaps the character who shared the most similarity with the real me: Jung Yeondu.

“Ready—!”

A camera covered in waterproofing stood before me. I strengthened my gaze.

‘Don’t cry....’

There’s no one to comfort me if I cry. Nothing changes if I cry. Crying only harms me.

Those were the first thoughts that arose—emotions controlled as if shaped by the life Jung Yeondu had learned to live.

“Action!”