I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

“There’s someone named Tak Jeongyun.”

Out of the countless applicants, Tak Jeongyun had proudly secured a spot. At last, she had seized a chance to appear on television.

“What role did she get?”

“A nurse.”

“That’ll probably have a lot of lines. Still, she seems like she’ll do well—.”

“Yeah. I heard she shares a lot of screen time with the parts where Do Gyeoul appears.”

Geum Bitgang, now finished with her hair and makeup, rose from her seat.

“It’s her first time standing in front of a camera, so I’m not sure yet whether she’ll manage to carry her part.”

She slipped off the gown draped over her shoulders and began walking away. There was a trace of anticipation in her steps.

* * *

The Hong Sang Arts Festival.

Only those whose artistry and popularity were both recognized were worthy of holding the Hong Sang trophy.

For anyone acting in South Korea, it was the ultimate awards ceremony—the kind everyone dreamed of winning at least once.

“I’m so nervous...”

“Wow, I need another calming pill.”

“I already ate them all....”

Tak Jeongyun had finally set foot here.

Beside Kim Ilhee, Lee Youngju, and Park Sehee—who were trembling with nerves—Han Yeoreum looked calm.

‘As expected from someone who’s the hottest rising star right now.... She may be a junior, but she’s definitely different.’

At the Hong Sang Arts Festival, Han Yeoreum had chosen to walk the red carpet together with the members of 〈Intern Academy of the Academy of the Academy〉.

‘It would have been much more advantageous to walk with Myeong Jeha, who’s nominated alongside her for Best New Actress in the TV category....’

Today was the kind of day when a single photograph could generate countless news articles. There was no way a company like JC ENM couldn’t calculate that much. Even Tak Jeongyun could make such an obvious judgment.

‘If not that, she would have been better off walking alone.’

Every shutter click mattered.

And yet, walking the red carpet with the unknown actors from 〈Intern Academy〉 was practically the same as sharing Han Yeoreum’s name value.

Han Yeoreum’s name. Han Yeoreum’s face.

If those stood beside them, then when the unknown actors from 〈Intern Academy〉 went to auditions later, someone would surely recognize them.

“Han Yeoreum and that red carpet back then!”

Tak Jeongyun’s cheeks flushed.

But she had no intention of being carried forever.

‘After the ceremony ends... I’ll tell her then.’

Even now, Tak Jeongyun could not forget.

“Come up to where I am.”

The gaze Han Yeoreum had given her—one that believed it without question.

The sun rises in the east. The earth is round. Apples fall downward. And Tak Jeongyun would inevitably climb up to her level.

That natural certainty.

That belief had carried her this far.

‘I’ve reached where you are now, too.’

Tak Jeongyun’s heart pounded because she wanted to tell her she had joined 〈Seoul Metropolitan City〉.

What kind of reaction would she show?

Would she smile and congratulate her?

Would she gasp in surprise and say that was great?

Or would she stay calm like she always did...

“Ugh, I’m seriously so nervous. Unni, can I get one of those calming pills?”

“Calming pills? They’re all gone.”

“Then what’s that?”

“Ferrero Rocher. Want one of those instead?”

Inside the car, Yeoreum stomped her foot.

“Aaaaaah! Unni... what am I supposed to do without my calming pill.... That’s so unfair, you guys ate them all yourselves....”

“Did you even hear what we were saying earlier? We asked if you wanted one. You didn’t answer, so we just ate them.”

“I was too nervous to hear.”

Tak Jeongyun pretended she hadn’t ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) heard Han Yeoreum’s silly whining.

By then, they had reached the front of the red carpet.

The overwhelming crowd made Tak Jeongyun feel dizzy.

‘All these eyes... at once....’

Through the tinted car window, shutters burst like gunfire, and every gaze was focused on them.

“Well then, shall we go?”

The nervous expression from earlier had vanished. Yeoreum’s face had completely changed.

“...Yeah.”

“Ah, we’re finally attending an awards ceremony!”

“It’s Hong Sang, Hong Sang!”

“Let’s go!”

When the four answered, Han Yeoreum stepped forward without hesitation.

Facing the sparkling flashes.

Hearing the thunderous cheers.

Waving toward the place where people passionately called her name.

Showing the back that Tak Jeongyun desperately wanted to catch up to someday.

* * *

IP 85.152 entered the audience seating.

The Hong Sang Arts Festival was such a prestigious and representative awards ceremony that anyone who loved South Korea’s advanced cultural arts would want to attend at least once. That was why IP 85.152 had come—not at all to see celebrities, for example Han Yeoreum.

‘The traffic was fucking insane....’

Having run here, IP 85.152 caught their breath.

Just as they were about to find their seat and sit down—

‘That face looks kind of familiar.... Something about it....’

There was a familiar-looking face in the seat beside them.

After sitting down, IP 85.152 grabbed the zipper at the bottom of their long padded coat to take it off. As they bent forward, the phone of the woman next to them caught their eye.

EverydayIsYeoreum @mailEyeoleum

(Yeoreum nominated for Hong Sang Arts Festival.jpg)

Input: Yeoreum, do well today too ♥(
´૩`
)♥

Only then did IP 85.152 realize who the woman was.

She was the woman who had been standing in line at the 〈The Great Garland〉 pop-up store last time.

‘She really must be a Han Yeoreum fan.’

Thinking how nice it must be to enjoy fandom that much, IP 85.152 removed their Han Yeoreum long padded coat and gently placed it over their knees.

Then they picked up their phone—the one with the 〈WeRand〉 grip-tok attached—and turned on airplane mode.

‘This is the basic attitude of someone who loves performance culture.’

Keep noise to a minimum.

Be considerate of those around you.

Simply focus on appreciating the stage.

‘But the person next to me might be a little loud today.’

When Han Yeoreum won an award or when her face appeared on the big screen, it seemed likely she would cause quite a commotion.

‘Well... fans are usually like that.’

Through past experience, IP 85.152 had gradually learned firsthand about the relationship between popular culture, celebrities, and fans. Understanding how Korean “fandom culture” worked made them think that cultivating the mindset of a culturally educated person who understood the times was important.

Even though it had been bothersome and not especially interesting, IP 85.152 had gone out to events and browsed the internet because they wanted to view the world with broader perspective.

This kind of useful learning would surely continue to—

“Waaah....”

Down below, Han Yeoreum suddenly turned her head as if searching for something.

Then she waved toward this direction.

The woman beside IP 85.152 gasped softly.

“Hhk....”

Unable to shout loudly, the woman inhaled sharply and waved back.

IP 85.152 crossed their arms and looked at Han Yeoreum greeting the woman.

‘Good eyesight.’

From this distance she recognized a fan?

Han Yeoreum kept waving. Her gaze seemed to drift slightly this way.

‘What? Me?’

IP 85.152 wasn’t a fan, but since she had been waving for so long, it felt polite to return the gesture. So they waved back lightly.

‘Hopefully she doesn’t misunderstand.’

IP 85.152, who was absolutely not Han Yeoreum’s fan but merely sitting here as a cultured lover of the arts, crossed their arms again.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

The lights illuminating the entire hall began shutting off from the far end.

Soon the only remaining light was the bright glow on the stage.

—The Hong Sang Arts Festival will begin shortly. Distinguished guests, please...

The announcement echoed through the hall.

At last, the highlight of the year’s awards season—the Hong Sang Arts Festival—had begun.

* * *

“Yeoreum, who were you greeting?”

At Kim Ilhee’s question, I kept my expression carefully composed, acting like it was nothing unusual.

After all, everyone knows this by now.

I have a fan cafe now.

Not only handmade wallpapers but also subtle “incognito fan” wallpapers.

Fan accounts.

Birthday cafes.

Snack support with stickers that say “Happy birthday to the actor we love passionately, Han Yeoreum ♥.”

Green macarons matching my nickname “Baby Melon Bread,” cookies decorated with icing melon bread, even chocolate éclairs.

And even the companies that post about the support packages mention things like “Seoryeong from 〈Strange Tales〉, which I personally enjoyed very much, support for the beloved actress Han Yeoreum.”

...All of that.

I summarized it into one short answer.

“Who else... my fan‘s,’ of course....”

“Wow! Everyone sitting over there?”

Two people was already a lot, but I didn’t specify that there were exactly two.

Fans can have a favorite actor, a second favorite, actors they like, actors they’re curious about.

So in a way, they could all be my fans.

“Hehe....”

I answered with a smile.

Someone approached and sat at our table.

“Enjoying yourself that much?”

At the same time, all four of us jumped to our feet.

I stood up as well.

“Professor!”

“Sit down. You’re making a fuss.”

With a single gesture from Geum Bitgang, everyone sat.

Everyone here knew exactly what kind of giant she was in the acting world.

‘The same table as Geum Bitgang....’

I had been placed at the 〈Intern Academy of the Academy of the Academy〉 table, not the 〈The Great Garland〉 one.

It seemed JC ENM was trying to brand me properly as a serious actress.

Older audiences might know me as Huijae right now, but if they wanted people to remember my real name, they needed Geum Bitgang.

They needed to burn it into people’s minds.

That rookie actress who had stood on stage with Geum Bitgang.

That was me.

“Don’t grin everywhere you go.”

Geum Bitgang spoke without even looking at me.

“From now on, behave properly.”

“Yes. Understood.”

“Pay proper attention to the eyes that will be focused on you.”

I knew why Professor was saying this.

After today, my weight class would be different.

I wouldn’t just be a rising popular actress.

My name would carry weight.

Since the Hong Sang Arts Festival began, no actor had ever been nominated simultaneously in both the TV category and the theater category.

But—

For the first time.

The only one.

At the age of twenty.

My name had been listed.

“Don’t relax even a little. There are plenty of bastards out there ready to tear you apart.”

She had told me not to smile everywhere.

But next to Professor, this wasn’t “everywhere.”

So I smiled and replied.

“Of course. Whose student do you think I am?”

* * *

“For the presentation of the TV Category Best New Actor Award, last year’s winners of the TV Category Best New Actor Award, actor Noh Seungchan and actress Do Gyeoul, will come forward.”

“Hello. I’m Noh Seungchan.”

“Hello. I’m Do Gyeoul.”

“It feels like it was just yesterday that we were standing here last year. Time has passed so quickly, Gyeoul. Have you been well?”

“Yes, Seungchan. There’s a legend that if you win the Best New Actor Award at the Hong Sang Arts Festival, you become a national actor. I’ve been working hard so I wouldn’t shame the senior actors who created that legend.”

By now, Do Gyeoul’s recognition was already more than enough for the title “national actress” to be placed before her name.

The senior actors watching smiled with satisfaction at her simple, modest joke, their expressions captured on the screen.

“I’ll have to work just as hard as Gyeoul, then. Now, shall we reveal today’s main character—the person who will lead the next Hong Sang and become a national actor? Let’s introduce the nominees for Best New Actress.”

A presentation appeared on the large screen.

KBC, MBS, SBC, TVM, JTBS.

They were already actors who had each won a trophy.

From the most outstanding works of each broadcasting station, which actor among those leading roles deserved to take home this highest honor today?

The hall sank into a heavy, trembling silence.

“Congratulations. From 〈The Great Garland〉, Han Yeoreum.”

The Best New Actress award went to Han Yeoreum, who had appeared in only four episodes.

Yet no one could object.

Because if you asked who had shone the brightest this year—

everyone would say the same name.

Han Yeoreum.

* * *

Backstage, people passing by offered congratulatory words to Geum Bitgang, who was preparing for the next presentation.

“Congratulations, Professor.”

“You must be pleased.”

At that, Geum Bitgang waved the cue card dismissively.

“You must be busy—go take care of your work. It’s not even my award. What’s there to be pleased about?”

But the staff who noticed the subtle shift in her expression simply smiled.

Each time Geum Bitgang exhaled, the beads on her chest glittered brightly. She kept drawing in deep breaths, then letting them out again.

‘Honestly. It’s just been a while since I’ve stood on a stage like this. I’ve really become a relic.’

Coming back of her own accord to a place she had once tried to completely turn her back on—no wonder it felt embarrassing.

Geum Bitgang tightened her grip on the cue card.

“Professor. It’s time.”

Without accepting anyone’s escort, Geum Bitgang walked out onto the stage.

Step by step.

Thinking about it, she had always walked this path like this in this industry.

Sometimes lonely.

Sometimes brisk and refreshing.

That was what it meant to be alone.

No one had to take responsibility for her, but she also had no one to lean on.

How many scripts had she held before she grew large enough to fill an entire stage by herself?

Just remembering that weight already made her arms feel heavy.

‘But this is strange.’

Right now, the hand holding a single cue card felt even heavier.

Her eyes fell on the table below the stage.

Geum Bitgang slowly opened her mouth.

“This year’s Young Theater Artist Award goes to...”

A desperate face looking up at her from below.

Dressed in a pure white gown.

Geum Bitgang had once worn that same expression herself.

“Han Yeoreum.”

Applause exploded through the hall like a star bursting apart.

It wouldn’t be wrong to call it an upset.

No actor this young had ever taken home two awards from the Hong Sang Arts Festival.

—With a black comedy that sharply satirizes the times, the play captured the pain of people in their twenties. Congratulations.

A brief introduction explained the play Han Yeoreum had performed in.

Carried by the thunderous applause, her student climbed the steps and stood facing her as an equal.

Geum Bitgang placed the dazzling golden trophy into the young actress’s hands.

The camera lenses captured the two of them standing together.

By tomorrow, headlines would probably appear everywhere.

Something like “A Generational Shift.”

“Hold it tight. Don’t let it go.”

But Geum Bitgang thought to herself—

‘This isn’t a replacement.’

Replacement meant exchanging something old for something new.

‘Don’t simply replace my place.’

Watching Han Yeoreum holding the trophy, Geum Bitgang felt a quiet wish.

She hoped this young actress would not resemble her loneliness.

She wanted her to leap forward while carrying the people behind her.

Without discarding anything—

carrying expectations, admiration, and support all at once.

Higher.

Far higher.

To a place so distant it couldn’t even be compared to where Geum Bitgang had reached.

She wanted her to climb breathlessly upward.

Under the dazzling spotlight, the young actress smiled—

a smile even brighter than the lights themselves.