I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

The manager driving the van casually asked Geum Bitgang,

“Should I call JC and tell them to stop?”

He knew very well the kind of voice she used at times like this.

“Leave it.”

His instinct wasn’t wrong. Geum Bitgang was bad at pretending she disliked something she actually liked. The more she liked it, the worse her acting became. She stared at Han Yeoreum’s photo displayed on the screen.

It was a capture from Episode 2 of 〈EmBubu〉. Geum Bitgang had appeared for only a few seconds. Just a brief moment of standing on the same stage as Han Yeoreum. Yet with that single capture, Yeoreum and 〈EmBubu〉 had bathed in Geum Bitgang’s halo.

– I’ve been keeping an eye on this actress lately, hehe. It doesn’t seem like Geum Bitgang favors her for no reason...

ㄴShe acted so chillingly well in Strange Tales~ It really pierced straight into my brain

– Seeing it like this really makes it hit that she’s about my daughter’s age... Someone works that hard and someone else gets drunk and makes her mom cook hangover soup T_T I wanna smack her on the back

– Maybe the reason Geum Bitgang stepped back into Daehakro is because she ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) misses that youth.. Geum Bitgang’s favorite disciple hehe. I should really go see a play again for the first time in a while

‘The rest is the voice.’

What the broadcasting station had focused on was Han Yeoreum’s voice. Looking closely, there was an organically connected thread from Episode 1 to Episode 2, and even into the preview for Episode 3.

Radio, play rehearsals, script readings. All scenes where Yeoreum’s voice could take center stage.

‘Whoever planned this did a damn good job.’

The central axis of Han Yeoreum’s acting was her voice. Once the audience heard her deliver a line, their attention was helplessly seized.

Unfairly enough, there are people like that in this world. People whose single sentence carries a different texture. Sharp, shimmering, weighty.

‘It really is theater.’

Geum Bitgang couldn’t forget the scene from 〈The Full Net〉 that Yeoreum had shown at dawn. Theater was a living organism. Matching breath and rhythm with others every minute and every second would sharpen Yeoreum’s instinctive responsiveness.

“If you liked her that much, you could’ve accepted 〈The Great Garland〉 too.”

“Who said I liked her?”

Geum Bitgang snapped curtly at her manager’s question. 〈The Great Garland〉 had gone to Noh Jeongyeon. What Geum Bitgang wanted wasn’t the growth of just one Han Yeoreum.

‘The atmosphere has changed.’

No one understood the territorial nature of the theater scene better than Geum Bitgang. It was obvious how much they would curse and resent a newcomer who looked like a parachute hire.

But ever since the first script reading, she could feel tiny cracks forming in their emotions.

They were theater actors who took pride in climbing through skill.

‘There’s no way they wouldn’t recognize it.’

They couldn’t possibly fail to recognize Han Yeoreum’s ability. The one they had dismissed as a parachute hire possessed skill that could stand shoulder to shoulder with those who had lived on stage.

‘No—beyond that.’

Or talent that could overwhelm them entirely. Insight enough to adjust to her scene partner, yet acting so natural it left no visible trace of calculation.

‘Unless they’re fools.’

Every time they rehearsed stage blocking, Jin Jinju came alive. It was as if she knew the stage through her bones.

Han Yeoreum seemed like someone who had longed for the stage desperately, like a theater actress who had endured years of obscurity.

Her walk, her hand gestures, the light turn of her body, a simple nod—every small action that caught the audience’s eye was presented with a subtle difference.

‘When there are no stage devices, it shows even more.’

The gaze of those watching as actors, not as audience members, is sharper. Even a tiny difference can look excessive.

Yet rookie theater actors often unconsciously exaggerate their movements and voices, trying to portray exaggerated characters.

‘Because sound resonates on stage.’

The more their own voice reverberates after leaving their mouth, the clearer it rings in their ears. And that sharpness fuels anxiety.

Are their expressions matching the voice? Are their movements fitting as well?

Unable to see themselves from a third-person perspective, they are swallowed whole by the stage, helpless as if malfunctioning.

‘But Han Yeoreum clearly lacks stage experience.’

Yet Yeoreum refined her performance as if she had already examined it countless times through another’s eyes.

If it tipped slightly into excess, she instantly anchored it with weight. If it risked becoming dull, she freely played with tempo until the listener leaned in on their own.

“We’ve arrived.”

“Good. See you at lunch.”

Early in the morning, Geum Bitgang stepped down the stairs to the basement rehearsal space at the scheduled time and smiled at the murmur of voices.

It wasn’t just one person speaking. They must have all arrived so early that it was impossible to guess when.

‘See? The atmosphere has changed.’

I want a big role. I want to be famous. I want recognition. Among all those desires, buried deepest in the actors’ hearts was the truest one.

“Instead of that movement there, what if you lower your head slightly?”

“I think turning my back could work too.”

I want to act well.

For some, jealousy and envy were fuel. For others, ambition. For others—

“Teacher, you’re here!”

The shame of arrogance was their fuel.

“Yes. It’s good to see you working hard.”

“Thank you!”

“Tak Jeongyun.”

“...You knew my name...?”

Each clung to different emotions and fought to grow. Geum Bitgang patted Tak Jeongyun’s shoulder, her expression almost moved.

“That’s how you do it.”

They influenced one another. Whenever someone began to slacken, another surged forward. It became a field where only those who focused fiercely on acting could remain.

What Geum Bitgang wanted to create was Han Yeoreum’s environment.

A place where one could not help but love acting with all their heart.

* * *

This was 〈Gogyeol〉, a pure white standalone building in Cheongdam-dong, Gangnam District. A cameraman stood beside Yeoreum as she reached the top floor where the director’s office was located.

“Director!”

“Yeoreum!”

Today they were filming the visual meeting for 〈Faster Than the Law 2〉.

The acting Han Yeoreum showed on 〈EmBubu〉 spanned everything—DaeYeJong practical training, theater, and film.

‘She’s insanely lucky. Usually it’s either drama or film. It doesn’t get packaged like this.’

The cameraman admired her again. Most actors appeared for project promotion. Focusing on the profession itself, like Han Yeoreum, required juggling multiple works simultaneously.

The conveniently open three weeks, the lined-up projects—it wasn’t a typical 〈EmBubu〉 appearance.

‘The center director definitely gave her a free pass.’

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say the three-week broadcast of 〈EmBubu〉 was an introduction to the rising actor Han Yeoreum.

As she adjusted Yeoreum’s hair, Dok Gogyeol explained the visual concept of “Influencer 1” with a serious expression.

“When you think of Influencer 1, red hair comes to mind first. So we’ll keep the color the same as last time...”

Film had stricter tone and manner than drama. The scale of the screen was incomparable to television.

A film visual meeting required considering skin texture, surrounding color palette, and lighting response.

Looking at the Influencer 1 still cuts from 〈Faster Than the Law〉 on the tablet, Dok Gogyeol opened the storyboard for 〈Faster Than the Law 2〉. It was dense with sticky notes.

“In the early part, let’s attach hair pieces to add volume. In the latter half, remove them and add layers. A line that neatly wraps this jawline.”

Since 〈Faster Than the Law 2〉 centered around diet pills, Dok Gogyeol pinpointed a detail that would sharpen the material: thinning hair as a side effect.

“She frequently visits dermatology clinics, so let’s make the makeup lighter than in part one... Yes, especially more like mascara without eyeliner. Just shading.”

“And the lip, like we said, one tone calmer?”

Yeoreum added details she had analyzed about Influencer 1. Between them, the character grew clearer and clearer.

“Let’s start with the hair. We’ll finalize color makeup later.”

Dok Gogyeol divided the hair into sections with the deft hands of a seasoned director and carefully applied the dye.

“Ah, it’s been a while since I’ll be meeting viewers again as Influencer 1... I’m really nervous....”

Han Yeoreum covered her mouth with both hands and laughed shyly while the dye processed.

Thirty minutes later, warmed by the machine’s heat, she fell asleep with her mouth open, having completely forgotten her nerves.

The 〈EmBubu〉 staff burst into bright smiles.

“She’s just... got that professional variety instinct.”

“They’re already begging us to edit the next panel in the Han Yeoreum style.”

“Concept-heavy personalities are only fun once or twice a year... If you stack them back-to-back, ratings drop....”

The staff, speaking in Gam Dajeong-esque tones, felt a little reluctant about parting with Han Yeoreum.

In week one, she hit a peak rating of 6.8%. Week two, 7.0%. It was the result of filming, editing, and Yeoreum’s own star power.

“How high will week three go?”

“Who knows... A rookie crossing 7% is already a miracle.”

“If it drops next time, we’ll just accept it.”

But none of them could suppress the expectation blooming in their chests.

‘What if....’

‘Maybe....’

‘If we’re lucky....’

And after Episode 3 aired, something even more important than ratings exploded.

[Han Yeoreum tint]

Sold out.