Notes Passed Under the Desk
“Heh heh heh…. Heh heh heh heh.”
And here, in an MBS office, sat a man grinning in perfect contentment, as if news like this couldn't interest him less. On the screen before him, the following words were displayed.
Not Interested At All — Trending Video Charts
On the screen he watched so fondly, Han Yeo-reum was on full display. One episode of the five-part Not Interested At All had finally clawed its way onto the trending charts. Sure, it was the very bottom of the list, but for the head of MBS's Drama Center, it was nothing short of exhilarating.
Riding this wave, he planned to upload clips of every previous one-act drama the network had produced.
“Why didn't I think of this sooner!”
They couldn't just sit around forever waiting for viewers to come find the drama website on their own. This was an age where a few scrolls through InTube turned up more new dramas than anyone could count.
Even if the quality there tended to be far worse.
It was free, it came with the fun of chatting with other viewers in the comments, and above all, it was convenient.
“Then we simply follow suit, JC ENM.”
The Drama Center head, who had already spun up a web content division of his own in response to JC ENM, was convinced it wouldn't be long before every broadcaster in the country started taking the InTube market seriously.
Bzzzt—.
Just then, his phone vibrated.
“….”
The director's mouth hung open for a moment.
The URL So Ye-sol had sent was real. At the press briefing held at the Seoul Press Center, Not Interested At All had been named among the works advancing to the official selection.
“267 entries from 51 countries…?”
The largest submission pool in the festival's history — which meant competition that much more brutal. And yet, out of only 28 works that made the final cut, Not Interested At All had claimed one of those spots.
“Ha…. Well, I'll be.”
The director found himself thinking of Han Yeo-reum.
A twenty-year-old rookie actress who had barely half a year of public exposure to her name.
Her debut work, which had stubbornly fought its way to ten million views on InTube.
A commercial instinct that seemed incapable of putting a branded product anywhere but the bestseller list.
A one-act drama — a fill-in job, no less — that had pulled a 3.7 percent rating and drawn praise as a genuine work of art besides.
“Things are getting interesting….”
Even with no agency behind her, the achievements she'd racked up entirely on her own had been dazzling. Now that she had JC ENM at her back, he found himself genuinely curious just how high Han Yeo-reum would climb.
He typed: So when's the ceremony?
The 8th of next month. Attention was beginning to gather around whether Han Yeo-reum would actually take home an award at the Seoul International Drama Awards.
“Han Yeo-reum—!”
“Dami, Dami—!”
We threw our arms around each other right there in front of the school. Anyone watching would have called it overkill, but there was no helping it.
“How on earth were you busy the entire break?!”
“Sorry. I really was swamped.”
Shooting a drama, shooting a movie, stamping contracts — I'd spent the whole vacation running around stamping and shooting one thing after another, and it had left my head spinning. The moment I stepped into the lecture hall, my classmates swarmed around me.
“Ooh, a celebrity—!”
“I saw it! The one-act drama that got submitted for the Drama Awards!”
A life where everyone paid attention to me. It was electrifying. So this was what it meant to be a star…!
“Hi, Gyeo-ul.”
Ah.
Could I at least savor it a little? Just a taste of being a celebrity, please?
Determined not to meet Do Gyeo-ul's eyes, I turned my body toward Dami, pretending I hadn't heard.
Tap tap—.
The sound of fingers rapping a desk rang out, unusually crisp. When I turned my head—
“Yeo-reum, I'd like to sit next to you.”
Do Gyeo-ul was there.
“…My seat? Dami's sitting there.”
“Then Dami can move over, can't she?”
No, what kind of logic is that?
I couldn't make sense of what was happening, and I'd just opened my mouth in flustered disbelief when—
“There's something I need to discuss with you about work, Dami.”
A command was tucked inside that silky voice. Before I knew it, Dami was up out of her seat and moving away.
Dami… don't go….
“Thank you.”
After a small nod of thanks to Dami, Do Gyeo-ul settled calmly into the seat beside mine.
Instinctively, the entire left side of my body went rigid. A revulsion I couldn't suppress no matter how I tried crept up the back of my neck.
Despite having said there was business to discuss, Do Gyeo-ul didn't say a single word to me. Not even once the lecture began.
So this is what her face looks like when she's nervous.
Gyeo-ul studied Yeo-reum in the neighboring seat at her leisure. For reasons she couldn't quite name, the girl had made it obvious from the very first day they met that she wanted to keep her distance.
What's her deal? It's kind of fun, though.
Gyeo-ul had honed her instincts on film sets since she was a child. No one understood the world of stark, unapologetic hierarchy between A and B — between the powerful and the powerless — better than she did.
Most people in the A seats warmed to her. Those stuck in the B seats, by and large, resented her.
“She's so young, and she completely ignores the adult extras. Only ever talks to the lead actors.”
“Did you see her run up to the director every single break to say 'thank you for your hard work'? Cunning little thing. Absolutely cunning.”
She could forgive the hatred; it sprang mostly from inferiority, and they had every reason to feel it. They could strain all they liked and never live the life Do Gyeo-ul lived, which meant they couldn't even land a blow.
But then why Han Yeo-reum?
Gyeo-ul's gaze dropped to Yeo-reum's hands resting on the desk. Memorizing the expressions and gestures of someone nervous was second nature to her. The pale, small hands were clenched into fists.
Weren't her unknown days barely a blip?
They weren't in the same league, granted, but she wasn't so far beneath her that this level of inferiority complex made any sense. It wasn't unpleasant, exactly — she just wanted to know the reason.
Gyeo-ul began writing words in the corner of her notebook.
Tap tap—.
Then she rapped the desk lightly, as if to say, look here.
Did I mention your name in my last interview? :)
Han Yeo-reum's expression flickered, just for an instant.
That's the face someone makes when a person they hate suddenly acts friendly for no reason…. Better remember that one.
Even when she couldn't fully grasp what emotion someone was feeling, she could memorize the momentary expressions, the small gestures — every piece of nonverbal behavior — with effortless precision. It was those memorized fragments, one by one, that had built the Do Gyeo-ul of today.
And that was exactly why she needed Han Yeo-reum.
Now that I'm carrying storylines on a completely different scale from my child-actor days.
Scripts centered on child roles were all but nonexistent, in film or television. A child actor was, at best, one supporting player among many — the young version of the protagonist, or someone's little sister, someone's daughter. Never a story of her own.
I want to do it properly this time.
It had never once occurred to her that the gaps in her acting might show.
A lead, and yet not a lead. That was what a child actor was.
This was the first project she'd taken on since critic Seonwoo Seon-uk's review — and her first true leading role at that.
But it never made it into the articles T_T Why'd you cut it…. Next time I'll make sure Yeo-reum tells them to write about you too ♥︎
The crease between Han Yeo-reum's brows deepened, ever so slightly. Gyeo-ul filed that away too.
Sharper than I expected.
She seemed to have understood at once what the note really meant — that nobody cared about a nobody of a rookie like her.
The eyes that had lingered on the written words lifted slowly. Gyeo-ul looked at Yeo-reum and gave a small smile.
What if I push a little harder?
Would she snap at her? Or burst into tears? Maybe even get up and walk out mid-lecture? Just as her curiosity began to sharpen—