I'm an Unknown Actress, But Everyone Knows Me

The sky over Taiwan was so vividly blue it almost hurt the eyes. Choi Seonhye, gripping the steering wheel, glanced at Yeoreum in the back seat, who was sitting quietly with her eyes closed.

Her hands were full of letters she had received at the airport. Heart stickers were plastered all over the envelopes.

‘No wonder.’

The car was unusually quiet, but Manager Choi felt no particular curiosity about it. Everyone had been overwhelmed by the atmosphere just moments ago, so Yeoreum must have been the same.

‘She’s not Seoryeong anymore.’

The airport in Taiwan had been packed to the point that there was hardly any space to step.

Click click click click—!

Flashes burst dozens of times per second. The noise level rising from the crowd felt like being at a concert hall.

The news that the lead actors currently enjoying the greatest popularity in Korea were visiting Taiwan had spread rapidly.

The airport was filled with K-drama fans who didn’t want to miss the chance to see them all at once.

“Yeoreum—!”

Among the voices echoing across the crowd, the loudest one was Han Yeoreum’s name. It was thanks to the consecutive success of 〈Strange Tales〉 followed by 〈Faster Than the Law 〉.

NTV, a Taiwanese broadcasting station established in 2006, had even launched a channel dedicated entirely to Korean dramas. Any drama that gained popularity in Korea would be aired there.

Works from KBC, MBS, and SBC could all be watched by Taiwanese viewers through NTV, and the number of viewers on the channel increased explosively with each passing day.

Meanwhile, 〈Strange Tales〉 had become a national drama not only in Korea but also in Taiwan, and advertisements parodying scenes from 〈Faster Than the Law 〉 had even been produced.

‘The works themselves are popular, but Taiwanese fans already recognize Yeoreum as a “national Hallyu actress.”’

Han Yeoreum’s “I Love Taiwan” interview had worked perfectly.

An actress who was rising in Korea had watched nearly every Taiwanese film there was, and she had even held her first fan meeting in Taiwan.

That alone had raised Han Yeoreum’s recognition in Taiwan to a level equivalent to actively promoting there.

In celebrity surveys conducted across Taiwan, her name consistently ranked near the very top.

The celebrity people most wanted to resemble, the favorite celebrity, the celebrity of the year. Han Yeoreum’s name appeared at the very top every time.

Public appeal, favorability, influence.

Han Yeoreum had captured all three at once.

As if to prove it, more than a hundred media outlets had gathered at the airport. And this wasn’t even the press conference for 〈The Great Garland〉.

They had simply come with cameras to capture the Hallyu stars visiting Taiwan.

“Done....”

Muttering something from the back seat, Yeoreum finally opened her eyes as if she had just finished something.

“With what?”

“Matching the faces and names of the people who gave me fan letters and memorizing them. Okay.”

“...You memorized them?”

“That’s why I checked them as soon as we got in the car.”

Normally, could someone memorize things just by checking them once? Manager Choi wondered that silently, then met Yeoreum’s eyes in the rearview mirror as the actress smiled as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Meiling still hasn’t left the fandom. And it seems like her combat power has gotten even stronger. Unlike last time, she managed to take the front row today.”

Han Yeoreum truly remembered. Their eyes met through the rearview mirror.

Right. For Han Yeoreum, that was perfectly normal. Manager Choi let out a small laugh and pressed the accelerator.

* * *

“Wow.... In all my life, I never thought I’d come to a place like this on a reward vacation.”

The reward vacation destination for the 〈The Great Garland〉 team was Jibei Island. A white ferry cut across the emerald-colored sea. The sea breeze carried the sweet taste of success.

Director Ja approached Writer Ahn, who was gazing out at the view, and lightly tapped his shoulder.

“Pretty incredible, right, Junmyeong.”

“It really is. KBC must be bleeding money for this. We have a lot of people.”

“Taiwan covered part of the cost too. From NTV.”

Once 〈The Great Garland〉 aired a few months later, it would surely become enormously popular in Taiwan as well. Thinking of NTV’s swift decision as the biggest beneficiary of that success, Writer Ahn smiled.

“Ah—. Now it finally feels real. Our drama’s really over.”

During the three months that 〈The Great Garland〉 aired, every day had felt like a dream for Ahn Junmyeong. The writer leaned back comfortably and turned his gaze.

Then he saw both the beginning and the end of 〈The Great Garland〉.

“Unnie, take another picture for me, please! I think I can upload this straight to my story!”

Han Yeoreum, who was so excited she could barely contain herself, and—

“...”

Eun Baekhap, wearing sunglasses and quietly gazing out the window.

The two of them didn’t resemble each other at all, yet within the drama they had appeared as if they were one person.

Ahn Junmyeong took in the sight of them.

As it happened, she had just finished completing the entire synopsis of her next work not long ago.

The face of one lead actor immediately came to mind. There was something about that character that only Han Yeoreum could express.

‘There’s an interpretation that breaks through the work itself.’

When people refer to media, they often describe it as 1D, 2D, or 3D. What Han Yeoreum had seen was 1D—the Huijae that existed only in written text.

But by understanding Huijae’s lonely life, by piercing through the meaning of the pear blossom, Huijae suddenly leapt out from the line, forming a point and then a surface.

Yeon Huijae.

The birth of the perfect Yeon Huijae that Ahn Junmyeong had tried to create was thanks to Han Yeoreum.

‘That doesn’t mean Eun Baekhap fell behind, though.’

Eun Baekhap had clearly differentiated herself from the young Huijae at first, but as the story progressed toward the latter half, she blended together the child-era Yeon Huijae and Han Yeoreum’s Huijae.

Writer Ahn admired the judgment it took to discard pride and make the best possible decision.

One had elevated the role to its peak, and the other had completed it perfectly.

“You’re taking Han Yeoreum with you, aren’t you.”

Beside her, Director Ja asked quietly. Writer Ahn nodded.

“Of course. You saw my synopsis, Director Ja.”

“Then what about Eun Baekhap?”

This time the answer did not come easily. The next project Writer Ahn planned to make had a completely different tone from 〈The Great Garland〉.

Compared to the works she had written so far, it resembled none of them.

“Well....”

She inhaled slowly. By then the ferry was approaching its destination.

“I suppose we’ll find out when the time comes.”

* * *

The vacation lasted three nights and four days. The first day had a group schedule. Since the travel time had been long, everyone unpacked in the evening and held a simple barbecue.

I slipped away from the staff who kept insisting I eat more and sat alone on the sandy beach.

“Nice....”

That was the only word that came °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° out.

Loud laughter echoed faintly from far away, the sea stretched out before my eyes, and right now my SNS follower count was 1,851,492....

“Yeoreum. What are you doing?”

“Whoa, you scared me.”

Without making a sound, Myeong Jeha had come close. In his hands were two orange cocktails that looked like the sunset reflecting off the sea.

I reached out and took one.

“Elder, I’m tasting the flavor of success....”

I gazed deeply at the sunset-lit ocean. Han Yeoreum really had grown up. To think I’d live long enough to come on a reward vacation....

The pure white beach gradually turned crimson, like a scene from a movie.

“What kind of person is Baekhap sunbae?”

I asked Myeong Jeha, who had sat down beside me.

“Why ask that all of a sudden?”

“I think she might be in Writer Ahn’s next project with me.”

At my words, Myeong Jeha looked surprised.

“What’s the title of the next project?”

“It’s a working title for now. .”

“...What’s it about?”

The synopsis Writer Ahn had sent was a work that hadn’t existed before my regression.

‘But I thought it would naturally exist somewhere in Myeong Jeha’s life.’

Apparently not. After looking at the synopsis I showed him, Myeong Jeha seemed slightly shocked.

“...This is something Writer Ahn has never written before. Not once.”

“Really? Never?”

“Yeah. I’ve never even heard of it.”

The future was changing. But I made a guess.

‘With a high probability... one of the leads will be Eun Baekhap.’

The stat window I had seen for Eun Baekhap had been similar to Ji Haebeom’s. Just like someone who had reached the top.

[Name: Eun Baekhap]

Immersion: A+

Agility: A

Artistry: S+

A

There was a reason why the works where Eun Baekhap had been the lead remained well-made productions even if they failed commercially.

The script might be good, but Eun Baekhap had the kind of acting that made viewers fall deeply into the story.

‘Writer Ahn’s next project is exactly the kind of work that could make the most of that strength.’

And...

There must be a reason Writer Ahn showed the synopsis to me first.

I would be playing the role of Jeong Uigyeom.

“Yeoreum, are you going to join that project?”

“Of course.”

“There’s nothing guaranteed yet.”

Of course, this had been unexpected. I had assumed Myeong Jeha would know the outcome of the project.

“...Still. I want to do it.”

I would absolutely join that project.

The moment I read the first line of the synopsis, I knew I had to do it. It was only a synopsis for now, and who knew when episode one would be finished, but it was a project I absolutely didn’t want to miss.

.

“I love the project too much. I feel like I’ll regret it if I miss it.”

Unlike 〈The Great Garland〉, where I played a younger version, this time I would act on the same set as Eun Baekhap and build the performance together.

Just thinking about being in the same frame as that top-tier actor already made my heart race.

“So what kind of person is Eun Baekhap?”

This time as well, Myeong Jeha didn’t answer immediately. After a brief pause, he spoke.

“In 〈ParCheHi〉, what do you think the relationship between Jun and Chaewon is like?”

Myeong Jeha asked it as a counterquestion. I answered simply. I mean, it was obvious.

“They like each other. Both of them.”

Myeong Jeha asked another question.

“Then in 〈Strange Tales〉, what about Myungdo and Seoryeong?”

“They like each other too. Why?”

After asking about the two dramas I had starred in—〈ParCheHi〉 and 〈Strange Tales〉—he asked one last question.

“Finally, what about you and me?”

“Of course we like each other. Wait, why do you keep asking such obvious questions?”

“Right. We probably do like each other.”

And then, as always, Myeong Jeha spoke a single sentence that pierced straight to the essence.

“But you’ve never once said you like someone or that you love someone out loud.”

I retraced my memories.

〈ParCheHi〉 ended with the reunion of the two after returning to reality. Before that, there had never been time for them to confess their feelings.

The only expression had been when I grabbed Jun’s hand as he was disappearing and ran up the rooftop stairs with him.

〈Strange Tales〉 had several times more episodes than 〈ParCheHi〉. But Seoryeong had always carried death in her heart, so she never properly expressed love, let alone said the words.

‘And the one who always expressed love first was Myungdo....’

Through the gaze he used when looking at Seoryeong. Through the pace of his footsteps when he walked beside her. Through the way he ignored the wound from a blade and rushed straight in just because the five-blessing cord had come loose. And through the moment he held Seoryeong in his arms even knowing the falling tree would crush him.

‘Meanwhile, Seoryeong only spoke of love through promises.’

She promised Myungdo for the first time that she wouldn’t die, and after meeting him again by the river, she promised endlessly about the life they would live from then on. That was the entirety of how Seoryeong expressed love.

And finally, in 〈The Great Garland〉, Huijae’s love was simply smiling.

When she called Taeseok. When she told him her name. When she held onto his clothes from the back seat of the bicycle. When they met each other’s eyes in the rain.

The love I portrayed had never been something spoken aloud. It was something meant to be felt.

Realizing that, I turned to look at Myeong Jeha beside me.

“Meanwhile, Eun Baekhap’s popular works required her to say love out loud.”

Eun Baekhap had debuted with romance projects, and that was when she first gained attention. Her following works had been similar as well.

Because Eun Baekhap was especially strong in romance.

‘Could it be that the works after that failed because of this...?’

Pansori stories, loan-shark companies, chaebol families. Among them, none of Eun Baekhap’s characters had lines where she said she loved someone.

‘Part of it was bad matchups in competition... but maybe it was also because her biggest strength wasn’t being fully utilized.’

Eun Baekhap probably knew that too. And yet she still chose genre works.

‘Because she’s an actor with pride.’

But there was something wrong in Myeong Jeha’s analysis.

“Then what about 〈The Great Garland〉?”

Yeon Huijae never told Taeseok she loved him after they reunited. And yet it had become Eun Baekhap’s representative work.

At my question, Myeong Jeha took a sip of his cocktail and replied casually.

“Because you were there, Yeoreum.”

“Me?”

“You had already said love first. There was no need to emphasize it several times. So....”

I had thought it was impossible to beat Eun Baekhap’s Huijae.

It was only natural to lose. There were parts that the young Huijae could never win against—screen time, character development, things like that.

“In the end, the Huijae you created won.”

Hearing that the Huijae I had created was more complete gave me a satisfaction on an entirely different level from everything I had achieved so far.

And not from just anyone, but from Eun Baekhap.

At the same time, it made me want even more to join Eun Baekhap and Writer Ahn Junmyeong’s next project.

“Eun Baekhap knows this too. Even so, do you think she’ll join the same project as you? There’s a high chance she’ll refuse.”

“...You never know.”

Eun Baekhap was the kind of actor who knew the easiest path yet deliberately chose the long way around.

I also knew that from the moment you created a representative work, the next project and the one after that were the most important choices. If you didn’t solidify your position now, it could disappear.

But somehow, I felt that Eun Baekhap would choose this project.

“If Eun Baekhap appears in that project... learn how to act love from her and come back. From what I see, that’s the area you’re especially weak in.”

Looking at my face, Myeong Jeha said quietly.

We had practiced acting together a few times outside of official projects, so the Han Yeoreum database that the elder had built was surprisingly accurate.

Since I already knew it myself, I nodded slightly.

“You don’t have to say it every time... but there will definitely be a project where that line—‘I love you’—is necessary for you.”

I knew that too. If I wanted to enter romance works, I would have to say those words properly at least once.

And in Writer Ahn Junmyeong’s next project, there was a character who said “I love you” countless times.

If Myeong Jeha’s analysis was correct, that role would create insane synergy if Eun Baekhap played it.

So—

‘I should definitely get close to Eun Baekhap sunbae.’

I watched the beautiful sunset and downed the cocktail in one gulp.

.

A project with uncertain success, yet one I absolutely wanted to do. A project that felt like it could succeed if we did it together.

And then that evening—

“Hey, if you came here to relax, just relax.... Don’t try to cling to me pretending we’re close.”

The ‘get close to Eun Baekhap’ project collapsed on the very first attempt.

If she had this kind of personality, you should have warned me beforehand, elder....