I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

Geum Bitgang yawned inside the car stuck in traffic.

The new semester that welcomed freshmen had always made her heart race, but for the past few years, it had only been dull.

‘Maybe it really is time to retire.’

Geum Bitgang.

A well-known figure who had once held the position of national actress with her solid vocal projection, honed through theater, and the rich facial expressions that pulled everyone into immersion.

‘...Right.’

As she grew older, being on set had become too hard, so she had become a professor, but now even that seemed to be reaching its end.

‘Only until this year.’

Her lingering attachment toward acting had faded, and so had her passion for raising any promising talents.

She still wanted to act, but the years had passed quickly. She wanted to pour everything she had into teaching, but there was no one who could follow along.

‘At least this year there were maybe two who were decent....’

Geum Bitgang recalled the freshmen. Of course, none of them were to the extent she would call a personal disciple.

‘This is a good enough point to dust off my hands and step away.’

Do Gyeoul, the only daughter of a famous actress and a former child actor.

And Myeong Jeha, who at nineteen years old a year ago had carried a ten-million-admissions film on his shoulders.

‘Come to think of it....’

While organizing the freshmen inside her mind, Geum Bitgang’s eyes glimmered for a moment.

‘Among this year’s freshmen, there was one who was quite interesting.’

Daehan Arts General University, known as DaeYeJong, the hardest school to enter in Korea.

And among them, Geum Bitgang was at the very center, the one with the strongest authority in selecting freshmen.

The reason that student, whom everyone had said was still lacking, had been accepted was entirely thanks to Geum Bitgang.

“Free acting, will begin.”

Geum Bitgang recalled the clumsy performance from that time and let out a small laugh. Han Yeoreum, whom she had picked because she liked her eyes, even though she had been full of flaws.

‘She looked like she wasn’t afraid of anything.’

Eyes shining as if she knew no tension—she hadn’t disliked that.

‘And no self-consciousness.’

Someone who knew how to act instinctively, without calculating how others might view her.

Geum Bitgang added one last person to the list of freshmen who stood out.

Han Yeoreum, whose acting experience was said to be not even half a year.

‘Of course, there’s no way it would happen.’

But if even one among them were to learn everything Geum Bitgang had, she suddenly found herself thinking she would gladly postpone retirement as long as necessary.

* * *

‘How long has it been.’

I took a deep breath in front of the school building. It had been a long time since I came to school.

I had been so happy when I first heard that I had been accepted here.

‘Of course, even then I couldn’t graduate.’

Hyeong Changuk had said that. That I absolutely had to debut the proper way.

“At the time, I thought if a senior said it, I just had to listen, so I believed that.”

After being forced to give up the lead role in the first-year theater production to Do Gyeoul, I immediately submitted a leave of absence.

And following Hyeong Changuk’s advice, I went to Hyehwa and started working as the youngest in a theater troupe.

‘All I did was sell tickets, clean, act as a practice partner....’

Right. I wasted time.

After that, I kept rolling around the troupe, did some extra roles on the side, and that was it. I practiced like crazy on my own, but I was never given a big role.

‘I really did go to so many auditions....’

And every single time, something went wrong.

Eventually, I gave up and just took the extra roles that Hyeong Changuk tossed my way.

‘All that luck went to Do Gyeoul, so no wonder I ended up like that.’

To think even those roles had been something she shoved me into just to watch my acting.

‘I will never make the same mistake this time.’

I let out a small sigh and regained my calm. I had all my memories of the future. The misfortune was no longer mine.

I knew which movies and dramas would succeed, which brand CFs would be worthwhile, which outfit trends and SNS usage would catch on—success was the only thing left for me.

‘Ah, right. And add all the web-novel-based dramas too.’

I searched my memory and recited a line that fit the situation.

“Status... window?”

Ttring-!

[Name: Han Yeoreum]

Level: Unknown

Title: None

Immersion: B+

Analysis: C

Delivery: D+

Agility/Improvisation: C+

Concentration: B+

Fame: F

Artistry: F

Skill

〈Protagonist on Stage〉 F

Then the indicators showing my current state appeared.

‘But what is this?’

No matter how I looked at it, the stats were bottom-tier, the status window of a newbie.

“...No, but I acted for ten years. How can my scores be this modest?”

How did I not have a single A in any stat? I pressed my forehead and groaned. Even the level was written mercilessly.

“Unknown....”

I stood frozen in place, unable to believe my status.

And then the status window added another explanation.

System

>>> All your current stats and skills are locked.

The only way to return them to normal is to focus solely on missions!

I even forgot how close I was to being late and had to put # Nоvеlight # effort into understanding this cold reality.

“Ah~.”

I let out a deep sigh. But hearing my own voice echoing from inside out, confidence surged up again.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway!”

Even if the stats were locked, my voice was still the same.

A voice forged through practicing every day on an empty stage. I decided to trust the path my past self had walked.

* * *

“Now, before I explain what kind of lecture I will be giving—.”

The professor’s voice, standing at the very front of the bright, sunlit lecture room, carried clearly all the way to the back.

Professor Geum Bitgang, who was explaining the lecture with pronunciation clearer than that of a news anchor, spotted the freshman sneaking in through the back door.

‘Look at that?’

Tardy on the first day of Geum Bitgang’s class—her face spread with a displeased smile.

“Student.”

Geum Bitgang pointed at the top-ranked freshman sitting in the very front row.

“And.”

After calling Do Gyeoul, she turned her gaze toward the arrogant freshman who had barely settled into the back row.

“Student. To the front.”

The late student was the interesting one Geum Bitgang remembered. Han Yeoreum.

As the two walked to the front, the freshmen’s attention immediately gathered.

Unlike Do Gyeoul, who was naturally used to others’ gazes, Han Yeoreum seemed a little nervous as she looked at each student’s face one by one.

‘There needs to be at least one person here with Concentration grade B or higher for the mission to clear. But since they’re freshmen, their stats are just....’

Of course, Yeoreum, completely unconcerned with nerves, was only checking which freshmen could be used to complete the mission.

Professor Geum Bitgang looked at the two and then continued greeting the freshmen.

“I believe there is not a single freshman here who has never watched a play!”

A voice far too sturdy for her age boomed through the lecture room.

“A play, as the word says, is something you explain to the audience through words and movement. It’s different from film! Different from drama! Musical? Even more different!”

It meant you could not rely on editing. Without fundamentals, theater was where you would get torn apart.

“You have to carry your persuasiveness directly in front of the audience and push it into them!”

Everyone seemed to understand and put on serious expressions. Grinning, Geum Bitgang jerked her chin at Do Gyeoul.

“Anything is fine. Recite a line.”

Freshmen who recognized the face of child-actor Do Gyeoul fixed their eyes on her.

Her features, already exuding celebrity aura, were a spectacle on their own.

Even in this sudden situation, Do Gyeoul opened her mouth like a prepared actor, without a trace of surprise.

“‘The Seagull’. I will begin.”

Do Gyeoul immediately started acting.

Her appearance, showing not a moment of hesitation even before the great actress Geum Bitgang, overwhelmed her peers.

Lowering her head, then slowly lifting it again—her gaze had changed.

“You were not late.... You truly were not late, right? I worried all day, I was so afraid!”

Her pronunciation, though not at Geum Bitgang’s level, was accurate; her expressions were natural; and her use of hands was quite good.

The hands gathered over her chest trembled faintly. Standing on the stage, staring into the air, Do Gyeoul spoke as if persuading someone beyond it.

“I truly... rode the horse nonstop, over and over.”

Pure concentration poured toward Do Gyeoul as she lowered her head slowly and continued her lines.

Of course it was expected, since she had chosen a famous play that everyone had practiced at least once.

“Look at me. I am so... out of breath.”

Her panting and the way she gathered her breath were beyond expectations.

When she lifted her drooping head again, it happened.

There was an indescribable force in that slow movement.

“Still, like a seagull.”

Do Gyeoul, pausing for a beat and drawing a breath, was someone who knew the stage. She knew how to balance strength and softness.

“...I am drawn to this lake.”

Everyone held their breath, waiting for that final line.

Staring into the air with shining eyes, Do Gyeoul slowly lowered her gaze and finished.

“My heart is filled with you.”

Silence lingered for a moment before applause broke out, followed by growing cheers.

“You saw that, right? An actor’s greatest weapon. Theater is where skill decides everything. No matter how luxurious the set is, there’s a limit. In a world of CG, 3D, 4D—before an actor can have marketability, there is only one thing. Skill. Absolutely skill.”

Then Professor Geum Bitgang turned toward Han Yeoreum, whose gaze was still uneasy. It was the signal to begin.

“Um....”

Carefully opening her mouth, Yeoreum asked:

“Does it have to be a theater line?”