A Second Glance

“Hey! Han Yeo-reum!”

The moment the lecture ended, someone called my name.

“...Dami?”

“Why haven't you been answering your texts! I thought you'd died in your sleep~.”

So Da-mi. With those soft, gentle eyes looking at me, Dami was a classmate I'd grown close to around this time of my life.

She was also the only one who'd kept trying to talk me out of it when I was wandering in the wilderness, infected with the full-blown disease of being a *Real Actor*.

'The last thing I ever said to her was snapping at her to stop meddling in other people's lives and get her own in order...'

Why on earth had I acted like such a child?

Looking back now, honestly, cutting her off would have been justified.

'If I were her, I wouldn't have kept talking me down for that long.'

Seeing Dami, who had kept reaching out her hand to me even after I'd made a name for myself in a rom-com, tugged at something in my chest.

'This time, I'm ditching the useless classmates and seniors and focusing on Dami alone.'

Choosing other people over her—what an idiot I'd been, even by then-current standards.

“Did you drink too much yesterday? From now on we're limiting ourselves to one bottle each. For real.”

Judging by the vibe, apparently Dami was the one I'd been drinking with yesterday.

I remembered now.

'A get-together with the classmates before the semester started.'

Drunk on film-school romanticism, we'd killed time spouting nonsense about acting, our futures as actors, the Korean film industry—all of it useless.

“Yeo-reum, let's grab another drink with the others later—”

“Dami, sorry. I don't drink anymore.”

But all of that was over now.

'I don't have a single second to waste.'

Because I had to catch up to Do Gyeo-ul as fast as humanly possible.

Her status window, which I'd checked earlier, looked like this:

'Why does she have THAT many titles?'

Staring at Do Gyeo-ul's status window, I felt the full weight of the wealth gap. Mine had exactly one word to its name—Unknown—and that was the end of it.

'She's not a trophy hunter, she's a title collector...'

Looking at the stats below only deepened the comparison.

Every single one sat a step or two above mine. And as for her skills—she had two, one of which I shared, but hers weren't even in the same league.

My spirit deflated a little, but—

'She started acting a good ten years before me, so nothing I can do about right now.'

I'd close the gap soon enough, so there was no point worrying.

The moment I got home, I threw the system open again.

“Come on, beginner's luck—do your thing!”

This was the very reason I'd blown off my classmates and their drinking plans.

The Skill Draw Ticket—my reward for clearing the first mission.

'Luck is the one thing that's never once shown up for me, no matter how hard I've been squeezed for it. So please!'

With trembling fingers, I pressed the Use button.

Zap!

Light burst from the status window and the roulette began to spin.

Whirrrrr—

The circular wheel spun too fast for the letters to even be readable, then—accompanied by a dazzling flourish of sound effects—it slammed to a stop in an instant.

No sooner had I drawn the skill than a second mission window appeared.

What is this.

'...Is this a good thing? It is, right?'

Correction. I don't think this skill is actually all that great.

“Is she the one?”

The story of yesterday's class with Professor Geum Bit-gang had spread with remarkable speed.

'Not just the other departments—even seniors from my own program...'

had come looking for me.

The atmosphere in here. You couldn't tell it apart from a PE-department drill sergeant's if you tried.

'I can pretty much read where this is going.'

The graduating seniors must be feeling the crunch. At their age, most of them assumed they'd have debuted by now, yet they can barely even land a single audition.

'Their priority right now is locking in a recognizable face credit, one way or another.'

Which meant connections were everything. When the directing majors make their graduation films, they want you to play the lead in them.

'They drag in an obedient junior, work her to the bone as an extra-cum-assistant-staff. Sets are always short-handed, after all.'

Just then, one of the seniors who'd been flexing her neck swaggered over and said, all fake-friendly:

“Hey! I hear you can actually act? What was your name again—Han Yeo-reum?”

“Perfect timing~. You probably don't have much on-set experience yet, so we'll help you out.”

I let the corners of my mouth curl up in a faint smile.

'Help me out, my foot. Just don't get in my way.'

Before the regression, sure—I'd worked everywhere for free, grateful for even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a single line of dialogue. But times had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠changed.

'Absolutely not happening.'

Of course, they must have heard about the acting practicum, so naturally I'd be tempting prey to them. How could they not?

'I am, after all! Han Yeo-reum, personally acknowledged by Professor Geum Bit-gang herself!'

I was fighting down a smirk that kept trying to escape when someone called out to Do Gyeo-ul as she stepped into the lecture hall.

“Hey there, Gyeo-ul!”

Do Gyeo-ul stopped mid-stride, and her eyes met mine. For a long moment, we simply stared at each other.

“Han Yeo-reum... right? Hello.”

Then, after a beat, it was Gyeo-ul who spoke first.

The look in Do Gyeo-ul's eyes was different from the brief flicker we'd exchanged yesterday. There was nothing at all in those eyes as she regarded me—no emotion of any kind.

A pure observer's gaze, stripped clean of like or dislike.

'...This is somehow even creepier.'

But as if none of that had ever happened, Do Gyeo-ul rearranged her face into a smile and came closer.

“We never got to say hello yesterday. You were really good.”

Her voice as she offered the greeting was so soft and clear it practically drew sighs of admiration. I gave a vague nod in return.

A visceral, instinctive aversion set my heart pounding in my chest.

'...Calm down.'

The horrific memory of the car accident threatened to surface again.

'Officially, this is our first greeting.'

I forced my expression into order and smiled lightly.

“You were really good too.”

At my words, Do Gyeo-ul curled her lips upward as if in gratitude. Then, with practiced ease, she claimed the seat at the center of attention.

“Did you all come to see Yeo-reum?”

“Uh, sure? Among other things. More kids came to see you, honestly...”

The seniors bobbed their heads obsequiously at Do Gyeo-ul's smooth seizure of the spotlight.

And fair enough.

'If you had to pick the single most successful actor in this room, it would be Do Gyeo-ul, hands down.'

She'd debuted at five and racked up credit after credit in countless productions until she was fifteen.

Then, the moment she turned sixteen, Do Gyeo-ul had abruptly vanished—announcing she was preparing for college entrance—and then blown ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the doors off the country's most notoriously impenetrable arts university with the top score in her cohort.

'Everyone just instinctively knows.'

Even among students at the same school, exactly who stands above whom.

“Gyeo-ul, why did you even come to this school? You're acting again, right?”

“Come help with our production~! We've got a seriously good scenario. At least give it a read!”

Everyone was desperate to get on Do Gyeo-ul's good side.

'I guess I should be thankful I'm outside their field of interest, at least.'

I was biding my time, planning to slip out and return when the lecture began, when—

“It's the agency situation for me. It's a bit difficult, probably... I have a whole backlog of scripts already.”

Do Gyeo-ul reached out and gently caught my hand as I tried to slink away.

The heat radiating through her grip was startlingly warm.

“But her! Yeo-reum, right here! I saw her yesterday and—wow. It was no joke.”

...What?

“If I were you, I'd cast Yeo-reum as your lead. I'm genuinely curious, you see. To see what Yeo-reum's acting becomes.”

That single remark flipped the room's atmosphere on its head. The seniors who'd been bowing and scraping to Gyeo-ul suddenly had light in their eyes as their heads snapped toward me.

This was a trick Do Gyeo-ul had pulled on me once before.

In professional terms: pawn-shifting.

'Fool me once, shame on her. Fool me twice? Not a chance.'

Back then I'd known nothing, and how proud I'd been that Do Gyeo-ul herself had acknowledged me.

'All while she hogged every commercial project for herself and shoved me onto an endless rotation of money-losers.'

In my old life, I would have been starving for validation like this, rushing wherever they called. But not now.

'Do you have any idea how many hundreds of thousands of won even just the profile photo mission will cost?'

I don't work for free. I was about to refuse on the spot when—

“Alright, alright—! I get that you're all excited, but everyone back to your seats~.”

Thankfully, before Do Gyeo-ul could finish cementing me as her sacrificial extra, the professor walked in.

I let out a sigh of relief and sharpened my escape angle.

The second the lecture ended, I bolted.

Because with Do Gyeo-ul firmly out of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reach, the seniors had decided Han Yeo-reum would do just fine instead.

“What about me? I can act really well too! Anyone want to see~?”

Thankfully, Dami saw the look of cornered panic on my face and stepped in as a human shield with her own two hands.

'Dami. I will never, ever forget this debt.'

I didn't stop running until I reached the entrance of the Media Arts Center.

'Speaking of which, I need to find a part-time job, and fast...'

Hair and makeup alone ran well over a hundred thousand won. Tack on the profile photos and losing several hundred thousand was practically a given.

'I don't know the system's exact criteria yet, but...'

I had a gut feeling that to hit 500 likes and land a photographer with Artistry of Rank B or above, shooting at some half-baked studio would never cut it.

“Whew... if I work a warehouse gig for about three days...”

The part-time-job warrior's spirit, etched into my very bones, reawakened.

Sighing, I ran my eyes over the wall at the entrance of the Media Arts Center out of sheer habit.

'Every so often, things like filming-assistant gigs get posted here.'

Maybe one of the posters plastered wall-to-wall would be worth something.

National scholarship applications, screening dates for the student film festival, and—

'Huh?'

That's when I saw it. Among the sea of posters, one sheet of paper caught my eye.

Muted colors and a clean typeface—and yet a design that radiated real craftsmanship.

I hurriedly read the words.

“As expected.”

My eyes never lied.