I Became a Malicious Streamer

One day, a post appeared in a community:

[Who is currently the best actress in South Korea?]

It’s a male-dominated community. Overflowing with all sorts of random discussions, it was the kind of place where people flocked to share their different opinions, and this time was no different.

[Isn’t it obviously Son Hye-jeong?]
[Kim Jung-in acts really well.]
[These days, the hit projects are mostly by Lee Ha-rin.]
[The roots, Kang Ah-ra.]
[Han Gyu-ri too.]

Many names were mentioned. From A-list actors everyone knows to those who are actively pushing their acting skills, and even those who have shown strong performances across various projects recently.

There’s no right answer to this topic, and it’s just a meaningless debate. How could these people rank the actors?

Even if some authoritative organization were to rank them, it would be uncertain if it would align perfectly with public opinion. People’s thoughts differ, their values differ, and their standards differ. Therefore, there is no actor that everyone recognizes as the best.

However, despite the lack of consensus, some names were repeatedly mentioned among the masses.

Son Hye-jeong, Kim Jung-in, Lee Ha-rin, Kang Ah-ra, etc…

In fact, such posts appeared regularly in the community. Who is the best actress/actor—jumping in to chat and rank each other, it’s like the comfort food of the community.

But whenever they appeared, the results didn’t change much. The same actors were praised as the best every time. At least for the past two years, it had been that way.

This implied that while who the best might be unclear, the mentioned individuals had reached significant positions as actors.

They were top stars sustaining and splitting the South Korean broadcasting scene.

And among those top stars, Lee Ha-rin entered the Selection Entertainment building with a frown.

“Hello, sunbaenim—.”

The junior actress, who tried to greet Lee Ha-rin, trailed off and hurried to leave. It was clear Lee Ha-rin looked uncomfortable.

In reality, Lee Ha-rin was quite displeased.

‘Are they raising new actors without me knowing?’

Her fury was solely directed at Kwon Sang-tae, the CEO of the entertainment company. She had recently obtained some information from a staff member.

It seemed the boss was seriously trying to recruit a new actor, going above and beyond—this was the vibe she got.

Lee Ha-rin and Kwon Sang-tae were not just a simple relationship between an actor and a CEO.

Back when Kwon Sang-tae was merely a team leader and Lee Ha-rin wasn’t a top star but an unknown actress, they had been together.

They had founded the company and grown together. Kwon Sang-tae had promised Lee Ha-rin, who had trusted him and left her previous company.

“I’ll make you the top actress in South Korea.”

His words had somewhat come true. Although she was not a top actress, she had grown to be recognized as one on par with them.

However, Lee Ha-rin could not be satisfied with just that. She aimed for the pinnacle and still remembered the promise Kwon Sang-tae made.

‘He should only be focusing on me.’

Now, bringing in a new actor.

Lee Ha-rin felt considerable betrayal.

‘Let’s see that person’s face.’

With that thought, she headed to the CEO’s office and confronted someone.

“I’m not doing it. No way.”

A woman was repeatedly expressing her refusal to Kwon Sang-tae.

*

[#1 Jang-tae smirks maliciously.]
– Isn’t that just how life is? The chairman wanted something like that from me too.

Noir film.

[#3 Se-young speaks in a vaguely smiling tone.]
– Why are you going this far? You made me like this…

A slightly brutal revenge story.

[#4 Jun-hyuk mumbles in disbelief while looking into the mirror.]
– Is this… me?

A genre-blurring daily life story where a man turned into a woman?

I hadn’t seen those works that I found interesting, but I was sorting through scripts that piqued my curiosity only from their texts.

Especially the last script… it felt too relatable.

“Uh, I have a bit of a unique taste…”

Kwon Sang-tae, before me, said while checking one of the categorized scripts.

It did feel that way. The works I selected were all quite distant from mainstream and weren’t exactly hits.

He might think, “Is this guy suffering from Hongdae syndrome?”

But tastes are tastes for a reason. There’s a saying about respecting preferences, and preferences vary for everyone; I’ve liked this genre since the past.

Cinematic crime noir, exhilarating revenge. Those things had me immersed, sweating and my mouth parched.

It was the same this time. Even though it was just a script, the scenes were vividly playing in my head as I read with intense focus.

“Uh, Ji-eun, is this the kind of work you want to do?”

There was a lack of suitable roles—Kwon Sang-tae mumbled as he gazed at me, engrossed in the script.

But he didn’t need to worry about that. I wasn’t going to act, not at all.

I could feel it distinctly from the script. This wasn’t a field I wanted to get into.

If I placed my thoughts on the works I considered enjoyable, the issue would become clear. I simply didn’t have the confidence to take on one of those roles and naturally lead the plot.

“That’s obviously because you’ve never acted before.”

No one starts out well; it’s impossible to know without trying, and you don’t have the slightest interest?

“No, I’m not doing it. No way.”

I shook my head against Kwon Sang-tae, who was pleading desperately. Letting hobbies become work can be exhausting, and as an audience member, I was already quite content. I had no desire to take on any risks. Not that I had any interest in acting to the extent of wanting to take on risk.

There are things seen only on stage and others seen only off stage. Was there really a need to dig into that?

The situation continued where Kwon Sang-tae’s look of regret and my constant refusals were like a battle between a spear and a shield. It ended with a person who burst through the door.

“Ha-rin?”

“Hello, CEO.”

She looked somewhat displeased. Upon entering, she shot a piercing glare at Kwon Sang-tae before turning her gaze toward me.

“…?”

“Hmm…”

When I met those eyes that scanned me from head to toe, she clicked her tongue softly.

“Chit.”

“What’s going on, Ha-rin?”

“Do I need a reason to come to the company? I just come when I want to.”

A prickly attitude. You can’t completely gauge someone based on a few exchanges, but I had formed a rough character profile in my mind.

Arrogant and proud, but it seems fitting due to her appearance—a thorny rose vibe.

She spoke to me.

“Are you a newcomer? An aspiring actor?”

“Neither. The CEO brought me here to consider it, but I’m not really drawn to it.”

Her response seemed to please her for some reason, and she smiled.

“I see, being an actor isn’t as easy as it sounds. Many nights are spent on set, and it’s hard to get noticed…”

As she continued her advice like a senior to a junior, I suddenly grew curious. She seemed famous, but what were her representative works?

“May I ask your name?”

“You really have to be picky about works—? Huh?”

Wondering if she misheard, she seemed flustered.

“I-I’m unknown? I’m Lee Ha-rin! Lee Ha-rin! Rom-Com Goddess, Ice Princess Lee Ha-rin!”

“I don’t really watch rom-coms…”

Putting that aside, it was quite the confidence to refer to oneself as an ice princess.

Kwon Sang-tae called out to the shocked Lee Ha-rin.

“Ha-rin, don’t you have a schedule today? Shouldn’t you be heading to the set?”

“Y-yeah. I was just going to see you for a moment before I left.”

In contrast to her earlier entrance, Lee Ha-rin looked somewhat gloomy and was about to exit the room.

“Let’s go together.”

“Huh?”

Kwon Sang-tae gestured to me while putting on his coat.

“Ji-eun, want to go see the shooting set?”

“Can I go?”

“Just say you’re a company associate.”

It seemed Kwon Sang-tae wanted me to reconsider my feelings after seeing the actual film or drama set, though I wasn’t sure about that.

I had always wanted to visit a place where movies and dramas were shot, at least once.

Agreeing as I stood up, Kwon Sang-tae smiled satisfied.

*

“CUT! CUT! Let’s do it again!”

“So, that’s why I said it! You… ah, I’m sorry!”

“Put more emotion into it! Use your evil voice!”

The set, bustling with ongoing filming, was chaotic to the point where it was insane.

Performing passionately, actors, a director yelling with a megaphone, and the staff supporting them.

The energy was high and palpable. You could feel everyone’s dedication to the project.

Contrary to Kwon Sang-tae’s expectations, I affirmed again that this was not where I belonged.

Simply put, stepping into this like I was pretty-faced but without any real zeal for the work was a huge disrespect to those involved.

Even the so-called top star, Lee Ha-rin, screamed joyfully with veins bulging in her neck, unlike just a moment ago when she had a meek demeanor.

Regardless of whether I chose to act or not, coming here was undoubtedly a great choice. The bustling film set was fascinating enough for me, an outsider.

Opportunities like this were rare. I found enough value in spending time here. I decided to stay a few more hours before leaving.

And the next day, there was a ridiculous misunderstanding that Mollru was debuting as an actor.

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