I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

The second filming day followed the first. Because they had to cram as many scenes as possible into the weekend, the lighting team had come out early in the morning again today.

“Ah, I’m so tired I could die....”

“This part’s setup is different from yesterday, isn’t it? Check it one more time.”

Filling themselves with caffeine, one of the three major nutrients of modern people, the staff talked about yesterday’s shoot.

“At first, I wondered why Director Jang picked a total newbie right away, you know? But there was a reason.”

“Yeah, right. She relaxes by herself, but somehow she steadies the center again.”

The main topic of conversation was Han Yeoreum. Because she was the only one among the three who never had a single NG, she had earned solid favor from the staff.

“She’s the only one among the three who actually acts properly, so why doesn’t she have an agency?”

“Right? But doesn’t it seem like she’ll go somewhere pretty decent soon?”

“Where? Bon Actors? That place is too intense. She might fit well with Jeongdam, though.”

“OneFrame is also looking for rookie actresses these days.”

As a stream of decent agencies continued coming out of the staff’s mouths, the lighting director quietly sipped his coffee without a word.

“What about you, director? Where do you think Han Yeoreum will get picked up?”

At the staff’s question, the director laughed as if they were asking something ridiculous. Then he answered briefly.

“A good place.”

“What is that supposed to mean~!”

The staff burst into laughter at his half-hearted answer.

“No, really. I have a feeling.”

But the lighting director remained firm and did not laugh.

“She’s... going to go somewhere really good.”

His instinct, sharpened by years of broadcast experience, told him so. Han Yeoreum felt different. She was bright even without lighting.

* * *

If yesterday’s shoot was centered on the three leads, today’s shoot included the extras as well.

Thanks to that, the filming site was quite crowded. Among the extras filling the classroom, Yeoreum appeared as the transfer student.

“A transfer student at the start of a new semester! Hi, hi~. I’m Hina. Let’s get along well!”

Choo Gaeul came up close to Yeoreum and tilted her head cutely at the desk. Then she held out her hand as if asking for a handshake. Yeoreum, looking at Gaeul, had a somewhat displeased expression.

“Cut!”

Director Jang shouted cut and subtly shook his head.

‘It’s strange. She doesn’t stand out at all....’

Even with pink hair, the ribbon around her neck, white half-stockings, and all kinds of exaggerated behavior, Choo Gaeul somehow blended into the background whenever she stood in front of Han Yeoreum. The focus naturally settled on Yeoreum, who was just quietly sitting.

“Gaeul, that was good, but let’s go again paying a bit more attention to your tone. Mind the stress.”

“Yes, I’m sorry....”

“No, no. You don’t have to get discouraged.”

It was probably her voice. With every line spoken in an overly high tone, Choo Gaeul certainly appeared bright, but there was not a single impactful moment.

‘What if Han Yeoreum did it....’

Before he knew it, Director Jang was imagining Yeoreum in Gaeul’s role as well. Coincidentally, tomorrow they could shoot the scene where Han Yeoreum’s character changed. The scene where the extra Pi Chaewon tries to mimic the heroine Hina’s character traits.

“Yeoreum, can you try doing the exact same line Gaeul just said?”

At Director Jang’s instruction, the filming site fell silent for a moment.

* * *

‘...Are you putting me on blast in front of everyone, pointing out how bad my acting is right now?’

Gaeul couldn’t control her expression for a moment. Her face, which had been cheerfully smiling just moments ago, hardened.

“If the two of you are completely different, the scene connection tomorrow will feel awkward. You know, right? That part where Pi Chaewon copies Hina’s character traits exactly.”

“Ah, yes. I remember. I know, I know....”

Gaeul agreed in a perfectly low tone, entirely different from the voice she had used as Hina a moment ago. At the same time, she felt resistance.

‘My character is so hard to pull off. Even if Han Yeoreum tries, it won’t be any different.’

Choo Gaeul’s Hina was far more difficult than Han Yeoreum’s Pi Chaewon. There was a delicate line—cringey dialogue, exaggerated motions, and a silly vibe, but she absolutely could not look too ridiculous.

“Yes. I’ll try. The same as just now?”

Since yesterday, the only changes in Han Yeoreum’s expression had been a slight frown of the brow or gently curling up the corner of her mouth. Now she looked confident. She stood up according to Director Jang’s instruction.

‘Fine. Let’s see how well you do.’

Aside from the dead-fish-eyes acting, she has nothing—Gaeul reassured herself. She thought this was her chance to forget the sudden, inexplicable anxiety that kept appearing inside her. If she saw Han Yeoreum awkwardly playing Hina, she felt like she’d regain her pace.

“Action!”

But the moment Gaeul looked directly at Han Yeoreum, who changed her expression instantly the second Director Jang finished speaking—

‘...This isn’t right.’

Gaeul’s shapeless anxiety began taking form. Han Yeoreum performed as if she had swallowed both Pi Chaewon and Hina whole.

Not a trace of awkwardness.

* * *

Taeyang again used lunchtime today to open his workbook. Circles filled the pages, and as he flipped further, only the wrong answers were checked. As he plugged formulas into math problems, faint noise began reaching Taeyang’s ears.

“Our auditorium. I heard they’re filming there right now. That web drama from last time.”

“Yeah, yeah, right. I heard from an oppa I know who’s an extra there that the lead is really good at acting. Want to go see?”

“You mean Joo Junseo? Too many kids swarmed him. Even if we go now, we won’t see him.”

“No, not him. The actress. What was her name again... it was a bit like Taeyang’s.”

Even if that person acts well, so what. Taeyang smirked to himself and spun his mechanical pencil.

‘Everyone needs to see Han Yeoreum’s acting.’

Taeyang still remembered Yeoreum’s entrance-exam acting from a few months ago. Han Yeoreum, who had spoken lines alone for over five minutes. He wanted people to see how she didn’t waste a single breath or slur a single word.

“I remember! Han Yeoreum!”

That was why Taeyang shot up reflexively.

“What did you just say?”

“Uh... Han ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) Yeoreum....”

“An actress???”

His classmate panicked when Han Taeyang suddenly strode over and asked again. It felt like they had done something terribly wrong.

“Uh... the web drama filming... in the auditorium....”

Before his friend even finished speaking, Han Taeyang opened the classroom door.

Bang—!

At the explosive sound, everyone flinched. Han Taeyang ran toward the auditorium. A crowd had already gathered to watch. He pushed past them and moved to the front. Just then, the director’s action sign fell.

“....”

In the middle of the filming set was a face Taeyang knew. Bathed in lighting, Han Yeoreum delivered line after line without stumbling.

“For three years I have to do a club activity~ I’m really torn. Hng. The wind ensemble at the neighboring high school is strong, but being a manager for the volleyball or basketball club means there’s too much work. Oh right. What else was there? Going-home club is kind of boring, right? Should I join the shopping club~? What’s a shopping club? I just made it up. After school, together we can....”

It was a true one-woman show. Moving around alone near the actors who stood dazed, Han Yeoreum poured out lines.

Every word was like a light ball being tossed onto the auditorium floor, bouncing up toward the ceiling, then dropping and rolling around again.

“Her memory’s insane....”

Someone beside Taeyang murmured in awe. The longer Han Yeoreum’s lines continued, the more quiet gasps of admiration mixed in.

“Cut! Okay—!”

The director wrapped up the long, long monologue. Before anyone realized it, all the onlookers had raised their phones to film Han Yeoreum instead of Joo Junseo. The clicking of photos echoed chaotically through the auditorium several times. Taeyang silently left the auditorium.

“Seriously... Han Yeoreum.”

He figured he’d better tell his sister soon to prepare her official signature.

* * *

Before long, the filming headed toward its final stretch.

“Junseo, you really worked hard. We’re almost done now. Really!”

“Yeah, got it.”

The final shoot was the breakup scene between the two characters. Since they had to shoot it during the sunset magic hour, they had only forty minutes. The staff moved busily accordingly. Joo Junseo looked around at the filming site, which looked like a battlefield, and thought:

‘...It really looks like a runway.’

Unlike the neatly prepared, artistic stage, the backstage had always been like this. Busy, urgent, everyone stomping in impatience because every second was precious. Everyone put in so much effort just for one flawless minute of walking.

‘It’s similar to filming a drama too.’

Watching the lighting being readjusted, Joo Junseo recalled the lights he saw on the runway. The web-drama shoot he had hated so much somehow brought him a strange nostalgia.

“We’re going to put both of you in frame—!”

It was right before magic hour began. Joo Junseo stood in front of the camera, one step away from Han Yeoreum. The orange sunset covered one side of Yeoreum’s face. Her brown eyes shimmered with a mysterious color under the light.

“Okay! Let’s start shooting like this!”

Director Jang’s excited voice grew louder. The camera’s red light turned on, and the sound of the slate being clapped was heard.