I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

“Not even thirty minutes? Please. I’m asking for a favor. I missed the beginning of the play.”

Hearing a slightly longer sentence, Myeong Jeha’s distinctive voice came through even more clearly.

Just that voice alone gave weight and persuasive emotion to every line.

This is exactly what all the top critics in Korea pointed out about him.

A low, warm voice you want to keep listening to.

“Help me with the reflection paper. Yeah? We’re classmates.”

Even though it was such a small favor, his tone made it nearly impossible to refuse....

If I stay on good terms with Myeong Jeha...

The mercenary scale in my head appeared again.

On one side: thirty minutes of Han Yeoreum’s time.

On the other side: a smiling, hand-waving, ten-million-audience actor, Myeong Jeha.

This wasn’t even something worth agonizing over.

The answer is so obvious it’s funny.

The mercenary scale tipped quickly toward Jeha.

“Then thirty minutes is fine.”

Of course—because it’s him.

And the fact that he stopped me when I slipped out alone,

He must not be planning to fully devote himself to department activities either.

Jeha’s value on Han Yeoreum’s mercenary scale grew heavier.

He already debuted, so he was perfect for expanding my network.

* * *

I sat across from Myeong Jeha in a nearby study café and opened my laptop.

“Really, thank you. I would’ve been in big trouble without you, Yeoreum.”

“This isn’t a big deal.”

Today was the premiere, but in a few days there would be viral press posts, blog entries, and complete scene summaries everywhere.

The beginning is just the typical rom-com formula both you and I know.

If I could make Jeha owe me a small favor with this, that was only good for me.

We secured a room with a door, so Jeha took off his hat without worry and ran his hand through his hair.

Soft wheat-colored hair glimmered under the lights.

Even one strand of his hair looks different. As expected, he’s a celebrity.

Even the faint, expensive shampoo smell was perfect.

I can see why people go on and on about Myeong Jeha.

If I keep someone like him in my network, not even Do Gyeoul will be able to sabotage me.

He must know many directors and writers, and there are people who will invest for his name alone.

At the very least, I wouldn’t be pushed out of a casting or get fired the day before.

Good. Let’s get close.

I smiled as warmly as possible at Jeha.

He smiled back when our eyes met.

“I was going to come right after my schedule, but something got on my clothes...”

Looking closer, there was a faint stain on his shirt.

Must be from a sponsorship?

Especially with that slightly drooped gaze as he said it.

I gave him friendly advice.

“You should’ve gone to the restroom and wiped it. It wouldn’t have stained if you’d cleaned it quickly.”

“Ah... The restroom was kinda far in the theater. So I just wiped with a wet tissue from the car.”

“What are you talking about? It’s right on the right side of the B1 entrance. Guess you didn’t see it properly.”

“I got confused about the floors. I thought it was on the first floor. Isn’t it closed? That hallway is like some office space...”

He doesn’t look like it, but maybe he has a clueless streak. A directionally challenged celebrity?

“Idiot. The first floor is also part of the theater. There’s only one entrance.”

I laughed lightly and continued typing.

“What was the line in the middle? The one during the three-way confrontation. After ‘you think I—’?”

“‘You think I like every woman? You? At this rate you’ll bring every aunt and cousin and insist they’re my girlfriend!’ That one.”

Professor Geum Bitgang really forced even active entertainers to behave like model students.

Jeha was writing his reflection with an almost extreme level of thoroughness.

“What about the line right before the ending? Under the streetlamp.”

“‘Feeling bothered is proof your heart swayed. A rational piece of evidence.’”

I answered every question he asked. He definitely didn’t watch the play properly.

“But, Yeoreum.”

“Yeah?”

“Isn’t it strange...?”

Clack.

The sound of Jeha closing the laptop echoed strangely loud.

What? Is he done already? That fast?

“This was the first performance today... but you’re reciting the lines like you had them memorized.”

My fingers froze above the keyboard.

...What did he just say?

Silence settled over the room.

Jeha spoke as if it were nothing.

“Like someone who’s watched that play for years.”

I stiffened.

Not just watched for years—sold tickets for years, performed as a minor role for years...

He said it casually, but he was clearly waiting for an answer.

Across from me, Jeha was staring straight at me without saying a word.

...But I can’t say that.

Of course not.

He’d think I was insane. No one would believe me.

More importantly...

My instincts screamed it—

I should never tell anyone that I regressed.

This is my only card. I cannot show it.

Think from a normal person’s viewpoint.

What should I say right now?

I took a small, quiet breath.

I need to avoid looking nervous.

Just say the lines naturally.

Right. Think of it as acting.

In this field, scripts circulate all the time—totally normal.

“I just remembered roughly. It’s probably not exactly 100 percent—”

“No. It’s 100 percent.”

My once-in-a-lifetime acting failed instantly.

Jeha swatted it away without a second of hesitation.

I was just about to snap back with, And how would you know?—

When our eyes met.

Jeha was looking at me with a completely different expression.

His gaze was—how to describe it...

“Because I know that play.”

Like a predator eyeing ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) prey.

His darkened eyes pinned me in place.

“...Did you get the script in advance?”

“No. Guess how I knew.”

Jeha threw the question back at me with a small smile.

My heart pounded wildly.

What? Did the play go into drama production at the same time? No—that never happened. Or maybe someone Jeha knows wrote the script?

Dozens of possibilities tangled in my head.

It was such a simple question, yet I couldn’t find a satisfying answer.

“Yeoreum.”

He called my name again.

Just a moment ago, I thought there was no better voice than Jeha’s...

Now it chilled me.

I forced myself to maintain a calm expression.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My heartbeat echoed in my ears.

“You know...”

“...What.”

“You know the Blue Art Center.”

The name of the theater we were at today.

Jeha’s face brightened innocently, as if he’d caught me perfectly.

“They only use the basement floor for now.”

Thud.

My racing heart plummeted.

“Not the ground floor.”

“...”

“That’s why there are two entrances.”

His neat, precise pronunciation pierced my ears.