A Thousand Followers Overnight

I created two accounts: one main, one private. The goal was to start gathering a following before my official debut even began. Only then can I shave some time off the road to debut.

@midsummer — that was the main account. @seasaltsixscoop — the private one.

“Nice. The handles look good.”

I typed a simple bio into the main account.

“Clean and elegant, done in cursive. If I write a whole wall of text it just looks desperate.”

“All right, time to start pulling in followers properly.”

With the mission cleared and a rising profile like this, a web drama role or a minor part should be within reach.

“Back in my first life, I was so full of Actor Syndrome I never understood how much followers mattered.”

One by one, influencers had begun debuting in the entertainment industry for real. Some landed small shows on their own channels; others became actors appearing in dramas and even films.

“And once that happened, it became the natural order of things even among aspiring actors — the ones with the biggest followings debut first.”

Celebrities with big followings and a beautifully curated SNS feed also enjoyed what you might call the branding effect.

The better your reception on Youstagram, the more advertisers started paying attention — and ad contracts came to include your Youstagram feed as a condition.

“Renewals would work in my favor too, right!”

Granted, not a single ad offer had come in yet, but there was nothing wrong with preparing for a renewal early. Hmm. This is the kind of detail a true star doesn't overlook.

Jiing—. Jiing—. Jiing—.

“What now?”

I was mulling over what kind of ad I'd like to shoot when my phone started blaring.

It was Dokgo Min.

“…Didn't our conversation end a while ago?”

The moment the "1" notification vanished, a fresh avalanche of messages came pouring in — stacked with emoji stickers, endlessly.

And she remained firmly committed to talking only about herself.

“So Dokgo Min is one of those types. Noted.”

Into my mind floated Han Yeo-reum's Snob Scales. On one pan sat the feeling of annoyance; on the other, the spamming, whining Dokgo Min.

“She IS a pain in the neck, but still.”

The calculation was over in seconds. The scales crashed down on one side.

Verdict: Dokgo Min wins by total knockout.

I'd better reply kindly. We'd be keeping up a friendly relationship from here on, after all.

“That feeling from yesterday….”

I couldn't forget it. Even thinking about it now made my body feel like it was floating. For that entire stretch of time, no camera had been assigned to me.

“The lens was always pointed at someone else.”

But now there was a camera that captured me too. That first sensation of a camera trained solely on me, focusing on me and nothing else, made my chest swell until it ached.

I dashed off a casual reply, then uploaded the photos Dokgo Min had sent me to my main account.

And then—

Jiing— Jiing—.

“How are followers coming in this fast…?”

Thanks to Dokgo Min's tag, strangers had begun finding their way to my account.

“Great results.”

For the time being, I decided to ride the coattails of Dokgo Min and her sizable following.

The comments turned noisy in no time, filled with friends and seniors alike. A few of them even sent DMs demanding to know why I wasn't following back, so I hurried to follow them from my private account—

“Huh?”

A new follower had appeared on my private account in the meantime. No profile picture, no bio, and a fully locked account, at that.

I tilted my head for a moment. “Eh, it's obviously a senior or a classmate. If they ask me to work on something, I'll bolt immediately.”

For now I accepted the follow and sent a follow-back request of my own.

Ding—!

As if they'd been waiting, the other party accepted at once. And with that, the only photo on the account came into view.

“Myeong Je… ha?”

Myeong Je-ha's main account already had well over a million followers, so this had to be his private one. Why would he bother following me, of all people? We'd never even spoken one-on-one. Well — it wasn't a bad start.

“Whatever… we're classmates, after all.”

I worked through the rest of my private account's pending followers.

Within a few days, my profile photo had racked up five hundred likes. And my followers—

Is it even allowed to grow this fast? Before my regression, no matter how many likes I handed out wandering the app, these were numbers Han Yeo-reum could never reach. One good photograph, and a thousand people gathered in an instant….

A tingling rush of exhilaration rang through my skull.

“Yeoreum!”

“Huh?”

Beside me, Da-mi had her face puffed up in an aggrieved pout. “You weren't listening to a word I said!”

“No, no, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was listening.”

“Then what did I just say?”

“….”

“See?!!”

Da-mi, I'm sorry. It turns out I'm a more ambitious woman than I look, and the only thing in my head right now is success.

I patted the grumbling Da-mi on the back to soothe her. “We've got the play today~! I'm so excited!”

Ah. Right, today's the day of the off-campus lecture.

Not far from the Korea National University of Arts ran the theater district of Daehangno. Occasionally attending the premiere of a play as a group and writing a review afterward counted as one of our classes.

“You're excited too, right, Yeoreum?”

No.

“Yesss~ it'll be so, so fun.”

Yeah, not even a little. I've seen this play over a hundred times — I used to sell its tickets.

I could recite it on command without ever opening the script.

I walked the familiar streets of Daehangno with Da-mi, the trees flushing green with the arrival of spring. A familiar place, Hyehwa. Familiar to the point of nausea.

A chicken-skewer cart right in front of the subway station, troupe members selling tickets from tents nearby, long banners fluttering under every streetlamp.

Now that I look at them again, they're even more corny than I remember….

Just reading the play's blurb, splashed in aggressively saturated pink, was enough to give me a headache. And of the three, it had to be the third one. That's the romantic comedy I'm stuck watching today.

It had done well enough in its day that a drama remake had even been made of it. Fine. I'll just let my mind wander and kill the time.

“Hey!!! You said it all, didn't you? Everything you had to say!”

“No, I didn't finish! I must have been an idiot to like a bastard like you, even for a second!”

“…What? You l-liked… me?”

“That's right! You rotten jerk!!!”

With one ear, I let the play's lines wash over me; with my hands, I was busily writing something out.

“Liar! You said you hated my type, remember? Huh? That you'd rather DIE than like someone like me!”

“That's right! Hate you to death! And yet… the moment I see you, I can't look away — and I hate myself for it even more!”

Even by my own judgment, it was a meticulously planned, airtight schedule. I closed my eyes, smiled contentedly, and nodded. This is how a person should use their time.

Clap clap clap clap—!!!

Right on cue, the play ended and applause erupted around me. I raised both hands and clapped along. Not for the play, of course — for me. A woman who wastes not a single second deserves to be praised. That's our Han Yeo-reum for you.

“Do you like theater? As it happens, we've got a really fun play—”

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, a student? Wow, lucky you! This play's got a student discount — guess the price and I'll give you a ticket for free!”

“No, thank you.”

I hurried out of the theater district, terrified that someone from school might catch me and hold me up. Ticket-sellers snagged me one after another along the way, but I fended them all off with practiced ease. The smart move is to bolt early.

You exchange pleasantries with the theater actors, then someone starts whipping up a everyone-join-us atmosphere, and—

Before you know it, you're at the samgyeopral joint around the corner for round two and three, pulling an all-nighter. That's the classic route in this business.

Not one moment could be spared. I was speeding out of Hyehwa when—

“Excuse me.”

Someone called out from behind me. Yeah, no. Declined.

“I'm busy.”

“Just a moment.”

But something was off. This wasn't the voice of a generic Bystander Number One. It's too clean and crisp for that…. The resonance was excellent, too — and the breeze blowing toward me at just that moment carried a lovely fragrance along with it.

Who is that?

The instant the thought formed, my head turned of its own accord. Behind me stood a tall man. A simple cap, a mask pulled up — but from his frame alone, it was obvious he was no ordinary passerby. Silhouettes like that don't come around often. Even the knuckles of the hand just visible at his sleeve were far from average. And every single person passing by is staring at him…?

The sheer force of his presence was considerable. Even the ticket hawkers had gone still, pamphlets in hand, gazing at him blankly.

“Spare me a little of your time.”

The man slid his mask down with his index finger and smiled.

“…Myeong Je-ha?”

My classmate — and, in my past life, a triple 10-million box-office star. It was Myeong Je-ha.