Screaming Woman No. 1

Everyone has a name.

For some people, even a name isn't enough — they go through life with glittering titles trailing beside it. You know how it is.

The first love of millions. An eternal Top Star. A living legend.

"Hey! Isn't that the thing Yeo-reum was an extra in?"

But sadly, the title that always hung beside my name was a pathetically modest one.

"Yeo-reum's going to be a star soon! What part did you play?"

And that was—

"...Screaming Woman No. 1."

Right. Passing Pedestrian No. 1, Onlooker No. 1, Student No. 1 — all those trivial little labels. That was the kind of title that got pinned next to my name.

"Pfft! Well, Yeo-reum was always the last-minute fill-in."

The topic shifted fast. From Han Yeo-reum, unknown extra, to Myeong Je-ha, Triple 10-Million actor.

Right on cue, he appeared on the TV sitting in the corner of the ceiling — one of those old sets mounted up high.

"He went to the same school as us. How'd he get that big?"

"Same school, maybe. Not the same face."

Every drunk in the pochangmacha turned toward the screen at once, eyes locking onto Myeong Je-ha, and each of them tossed in a comment of their own.

"When was Myeong Je-ha's thing supposed to come out again? I'm definitely going to see it."

"Not a movie, it's a season-based drama. On that Netholics! Netholics!"

"Put your anju down. Watching Myeong Je-ha while you drink — that's your side dish."

The dazzling face filling the screen looked like someone literally born to be a celebrity.

He was someone I knew well, too.

"Yeo-reum, you dropped out?"

"...Yeah."

Well, "knew well" was maybe generous. More like...

"Why?"

"No particular reason."

"You're good, you know. At acting."

In every life there are certain scenes — fleeting moments, barely a breath long — that burn themselves in so fiercely you can never forget the person in them. Staring at Myeong Je-ha's face for even a moment, I felt like I was right back on the day I handed in my withdrawal form.

The rowdy conversation moved on after that, drifting to the actor sitting beside Myeong Je-ha on screen. Everyone here knew the names of the people on that screen by heart.

"It's Ji Hae-beom!"

"With Ji Hae-beom in it too? Netholics might as well just take first place now."

"Right? The last one blew up so hard."

After Myeong Je-ha, Ji Hae-beom. The two leads of the film I'd just appeared in as "Screaming Woman No. 1."

Real actors with real names — nothing like me.

Before I knew it, the reporter's mic on screen had moved to yet another actor. Last but not least, the leading lady.

"Whoa—and there's Do Gyeo-ul too!"

I deliberately turned my head away. I didn't want to look at Do Gyeo-ul on that screen.

But my effort was wasted; I ended up face-to-face with her all over again.

Oh, right. Do Gyeo-ul was the model for that soju, too.

...Should've ordered something else.

On the poster stuck to the wall, Do Gyeo-ul's face smiled out at me, crystal clear, a bottle of soju in her hand.

— Yes. This project... was truly meaningful to me.

That was when it happened. Someone cut into Do Gyeo-ul's interview with a loud shout.

"Come to think of it, the world really is unfair. That spot over there — Do Gyeo-ul's spot — it could've been Yeo-reum's!"

Even the drunks at the other tables latched onto that. I flinched and waved a hand in frantic denial.

"What nonsense are you—"

"What do ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you mean, nonsense? It's true, isn't it? You were supposed to be the lead in that play, Yeo-reum. The one Do Gyeo-ul ended up doing."

The freshman-year final showcase production.

It's ugly to admit, but watching Do Gyeo-ul rise and rise, I'd beaten the floor in regret more times than I could count.

That role could have been mine.

If I'd been cast properly back then. If that director's eye had landed on me.

But the past was, in the end, only the past.

Better to work another warehouse shift than waste time on regrets.

Dwelling on it was just a waste of hours.

"Right? Hey, Gu Jin-cheol! If you hadn't broken Yeo-reum's leg—!"

"Wh-what did I do?"

"If you'd just been careful on those stairs, our Yeo-reum would be a 10-million actress right now, you bastard!"

The face of the man who'd shoved me down a flight of stairs ten years ago — the man whose carelessness had put a cast on one of my legs — drained an ugly shade of blue.

"Oh, right~ Hey! Gu Jin-cheol, you rotten punk."

"Yeo-reum, go ahead and write that 'Gu Jin-cheol's Character Is Trash' exposé. You wouldn't even be able to cry injustice~!"

The seniors, thoroughly soaked in alcohol, cackled among themselves.

"Yeo-reum, your senior will even recommend a clickbait title for you. 'Han Yeo-reum's Sad Fill-In Life Began With Gu Jin-cheol...' — how's that?"

"Write it and you're dead!"

Gu Jin-cheol glared at me, blustering and defensive.

The moment his eyes met mine, he scrunched up his face like the whole thing was an outrageous slander.

"Seriously, enough. Digging up something from ten years ago..."

I started to get up from my seat. This was exactly why I hated coming to drinking parties.

"Well, it was ten years ago, and you're still doing nothing but extra work. What have you even been doing all this time? Guess it's just your level."

I did my best to tune out the muttered jabs.

They had no idea how desperately, how murderously hard I'd worked to land ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even the smallest role.

I only came because they said a part might fall through...

As always, everyone was just killing time trading nostalgia from their twenties. Pointless.

Staying any longer is a waste. Just go home.

Clatter—

The moment I stood, the door of the pochangmacha swung open.

The person who walked in was the last anyone expected.

"Do... Gyeo-ul?"

Do Gyeo-ul, who had been inside the screen mere minutes ago, had appeared in the flesh.

Near-screams erupted from every corner. The alcohol in my blood flash-evaporated.

"Hello, sunbaenims."

"Hey! Gyeo-ul! You actually came!"

"What— what's going on? Why is Do Gyeo-ul here?"

The entire current of the room changed in an instant. It felt as though every single person in this space had been placed here purely as a supporting cast for one scene.

Everyone becomes an extra, and there is only one lead.

And of course, the lead was the one person whose gaze stayed fixed on me alone while she looked me over, slowly, from head to toe. Do Gyeo-ul.

"Well, I heard Yeo-reum was here, so I dropped by. Yeo-reum, you came to the shoot for our film? Why didn't you tell me? That hurts my feelings. We were classmates, after all."

I glared across the table at Hyeong Chang-uk.

You loose-mouthed bastard. I wanted that buried — especially the Do Gyeo-ul part.

You told her that? And you call yourself my senior?

"Oh my, was it a secret?"

"No, it's not really a secret..."

Embarrassed, Hyeong Chang-uk let out an awkward laugh and looked away.

Of all people, I'd been ambushed by the one person I least wanted to run into.

While I stood there flustered, hesitating instead of bolting for the door, Do Gyeo-ul watched me with a level, unreadable gaze. Then she smiled sweetly, pulled a card from her wallet, and waved it.

"If Yeo-reum stays, this round's on me—!"

Clunk.

Chains snapped around my ankles at those words. Rattling, clinking chains, at that. When the hottest actress in South Korea offered to buy the drinks on one condition, walking out would make me a criminal against good manners itself.

"Hoo—."

I slipped outside on the pretext of being drunk and let out a long breath. For some reason, tonight the wind felt cold enough to sting where it touched my face.

"Hey. Hey, Han Yeo-reum, you...!"

Gu Jin-cheol must have come out for a cigarette; his face was flushed scarlet as he spotted me and strode over.

...Ugh. What a pain.

"You're not seriously planning to write some exposé about my character later, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠right? Calling it s-school bullying? That's a fabrication! Pure ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠persecution complex!"

I hadn't been planning to. But hearing him carry on like this made me want to write it just to spite him.

Not that it would go anywhere. A bastard who can't even act has a zero percent chance of trending.

He'd be lucky to scrape together ten upvotes on an exposé post. What was he so worried about?

"Your life's an extra's, my life's an extra's. I'm not going to hold you back, so relax. Do whatever you want."

I ignored Gu Jin-cheol's rant and turned my back on him. No — I tried to.

"Hey! It wasn't me who knocked you down back then! It was Do Gyeo-ul!"

"...What did you just say?"

If not for those words drifting from behind me—

"Say that again."

I knew it was nonsense.

And yet I couldn't pretend I hadn't heard it.

"It's true. Somehow the mood just landed on me and I ended up apologizing, but—ah, damn it. If I'd known it'd come to this, I should've said something back then, goddammit!"

"What the hell kind of bullshit is that?"

"It was just me and Do Gyeo-ul behind you that day, and Do Gyeo-ul said it first! She went, 'Jin-cheol, watch where you're going.' That's why I yelled that it wasn't me — but nobody believed me, did they!"

I blinked, slowly.

Right. That did happen...

But no one had believed Gu Jin-cheol's story. Not even me.

Unlike the ever-careful Do Gyeo-ul, Gu Jin-cheol was a hot-headed klutz — it fit him perfectly.

I had always believed he'd knocked me over carelessly with the equipment bag he was hauling.

"Kyaa! Yeo-reum, are you okay...? You're not hurt? Gu Jin-cheol, what is wrong with you! You should've been careful!"

And Do Gyeo-ul, standing right beside him, was the last person on earth who'd do such a thing. Her voice as she worried over me had been so vivid, so raw, that it was impossible to believe it was an act.

"But... your story... it's actually...?"

All those endless what-ifs had been real?

That moment — the single greatest opportunity of my life, maybe — had been snatched away by Do Gyeo-ul...

"...It wasn't an accident?"

Eeeee—.

A brief ringing split through my ears.

The soju poster I'd seen minutes ago flickered before my eyes.

Lines from that freshman-year play — lines I could never forget — buzzed and droned in my ears.

I remembered the poster: unlike "Screaming Woman No. 1 — Han Yeo-reum," it had carried Do Gyeo-ul's name, bold and proud, right alongside her role.

"Yeo-reum, get better soon... Don't worry about the stage."

Even the sound of Do Gyeo-ul's voice, sweet with concern.

Guilt was written thick across Gu Jin-cheol's face.

"I'm telling you, it's the truth! If it really had been me, wouldn't I at least feel wronged? I'm saying Do Gyeo-ul was acting that day! Nobody believed me so I just shut my mouth, but if this drags me under too, don't you feel sorry for me?"

That part was true.

Gu Jin-cheol cannot act.

And he certainly can't act this convincingly.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Like a madwoman, I half-ran back toward the entrance of the pochangmacha. As it happened, Do Gyeo-ul was just closing out the tab, about to climb into her manager's car.

"Yeo-reum~."

Spotting me, Do Gyeo-ul smiled, her eyes curving warmly.

"You were still here? I thought you'd left without a word."

Do Gyeo-ul gestured to her manager as if relieved. The manager fished a crumpled 50,000-won bill from inside his jacket.

"Here, for a taxi home. If you'd told me, I would've paid you extra for the extra work. I'm really sorry."

The creased, crumpled bill slid into my empty pocket.

"Tell me next time, okay~?"

Around Do Gyeo-ul, beaming and easygoing, I could hear the seniors cheering her on.

Right. This is Do Gyeo-ul's character.

Aloof on the surface, but underneath — loyal, generous, always looking after people.

"Do Gyeo-ul. Was it really you?"

But Do Gyeo-ul is a superb actress.

"The stairs, back then... you were the one who pushed me?"

Unlike Gu Jin-cheol—

"Did you do it on purpose?"

At my sudden question, an awkward silence fell over the group. The seniors' eyes darted between me and Do Gyeo-ul, and they scrambled to defuse the mood, tossing out lines one by one.

"Yeo-reum, you must be pretty wasted. We only talked about that among ourselves — come on, don't kill the vibe~"

"That's it, that's it. Yeo-reum~ Enough, come over here! Gyeo-ul even booked us a place for round two! Stop being a burden."

I shook off the hands of the seniors trying to hold my shoulders and calm me down.

My heart was pounding like it had gone insane.

Do Gyeo-ul gave no answer at all. She simply stared at me, unblinking — as if she were observing something.

It was a gaze I had seen before.

"I'm asking you. Was it really you?"

That was the look Do Gyeo-ul wore when she was dissecting a role.

It wasn't the way you'd look at a drunken junior. It was closer to the clinical procedure she went through when analyzing a character in a film or a drama.

"Do Gyeo-ul. Answer me!"

Only then — as if she had finally finished mapping my movements, my expression, my voice — did Do Gyeo-ul slowly pull me into her arms.

"Let go of me! Did you want the lead that badly?"

The whole crowd burst out laughing at the scene — the deep, complicated Do Gyeo-ul tenderly embracing a junior driven mad by her own inferiority complex. Everyone except me.

"Yeo-reum."

Do Gyeo-ul whispered, pitched so that only I could hear. I tried to twist out of the iron grip wrapped around me, but—

"If it had been me..."

The instant that voice reached my ear, every ounce of strength drained from my body.

"...I would have stood on that stage. Even with a broken leg."

The low voice hit me like thunder.

"The one who gave up the lead role back then wasn't me. It was you."

I knew it instinctively. It wasn't a proper answer — but it was a silent confession.

The one who pushed me down those stairs wasn't Gu Jin-cheol...

It was Do Gyeo-ul.

The whispering voice coiled around my eardrums like a snake.

"The way you look right now is so ugly... Like a classic weekend-drama villainess, honestly. Ahaha. It wasn't a particularly memorable scene, so I'm disappointed. I came here to see you, you know."

Do Gyeo-ul patted my back twice, then gently pushed me away. And then, as if it were a comfort, she offered:

"But Yeo-reum, keep at it just like you are now! Someday, we'll definitely get to work together."

Loud enough, this time, for everyone to hear.

With those final words, the van carrying Do Gyeo-ul pulled away. I chased after the slow-moving vehicle and pounded on its door.

"Do Gyeo-ul! Open the door! Open the door!"

"Han Yeo-reum, stop it. Do you know how much Gyeo-ul has looked out for you? And you can't even say thank you?"

"Seriously. How pathetic... What is wrong with her?"

But the van kept accelerating, pulling farther and farther away until it was beyond anything my legs could chase. I refused to give up, clawing after it with everything I had—

SCREEEECH—!!!

A colossal horn blast—

CRASH—!!!

My body lurched skyward, then fell.

Agonizing pain slammed into the back of my skull, again and again. Little by little, every sensation faded.

I laughed, a small, wheezing sound.

So this is how it ends... dying without a single real name to call my own?

Pathetic. Exiting the world as Screaming Woman No. 1.

I wanted to die as an actress...

I'd never even asked for everyone to know my name. If my name could have appeared on a poster, just once—

If I could have managed at least that much before I died, maybe I wouldn't have any regrets left...

If I die like this, no one will ever even know I was an actress...

From the very moment a dream had taken root in me, the goal I'd worked myself to the bone for — actress — dissolved away with my last breaths.

Darkness crept inward from the edges of my vision.

Ding—!

That was when it happened.

An unidentifiable chime rang out, vivid and clear in my ears.

An unknown window had opened before my eyes. Among the options, the word YES was glittering and shimmering, begging to be pressed.

Was this my desperate wish showing me a final hallucination before I died?

Ah. I always did want to be in something with CGI like this, just once.

With the last of my strength, I raised my index finger and pressed the shimmering YES button. Then I lost consciousness completely.