You've been receiving worldwide attention as Eunmil's muse," the interviewer stated, leaning slightly forward. "How do you feel?"
It was true. The attention had been overwhelming since the photographer's death. I was happy to have caught the interest of many people, but I also had mixed feelings, as my friend's death was the catalyst.
"You just referred to Eunmil as your friend," the interviewer pressed. "Eunmil was extremely private during his lifetime, and little has been revealed about his personal life."
"May I ask what your relationship was?" she continued.
I took a moment, clasping my hands together. "Well..." I began, meeting her gaze. "We were... artistic partners who inspired each other."
He would often take photos of me, and I liked them because... I felt that they were more beautiful than I was in person. I never imagined... that those photos would become so talked about.
"Yes..." I smiled, remembering. "I was his model, and a big fan of his work."
Looking at those photos, my whole life has... completely changed.
"Looking at those photos, you can really feel the love from the person behind the lens. So there are rumors that the two of you might have been lovers."
I smiled politely, trying to project a calm image. "...Well, we had more of a... platonic relationship. It was an artist and his muse. An artistic relationship. I think that's what it was."
The interviewer's eyes widened. "Wow... It's like something out of a movie. So romantic..."
"Is it? Haha." I chuckled, but inside I felt disgusted by my answer just now... but I had to remind myself that I was just acting.
Later, my manager or agent, I assume, spoke to me sternly in the office.
"I thought about your background story."
"Huh? My background story?" I asked, confused.
"Myung was Eunmil's work partner," she stated, leaning forward with a smile, clearly ready to spin a narrative. "Eunmil loved Myung as his muse, they focused on creating true art, not chasing popularity. Something like that, where the focus is on artistry instead of your private life."
Her expression turned serious. "It's important to think about what kind of image an actor's presenting to the public."
"Oh, yes..." my manager said, sliding a script across the table. "You have an interview with DADA Magazine coming up, so I prepared a script. What do you think?"
I picked up the papers and flipped through them. "...This is completely made-up..." I stammered, feeling a wave of panic. "What if it's revealed later that all of it was a lie...?"
"Well..." my manager replied, leaning back in her chair, a casual dismissiveness in her tone. "Eunmil's already dead, and the truth about his private life is forever buried with him. The remaining fact is that Eunmil took photos of you, and held onto them for a long time."
"...Still... I can't do an interview saying all these lies." The lines about my previous interview flashed in my mind:
My official statement: "...Well, we had more of a... platonic relationship. It was an artist and his muse. An artistic relationship. I think that's what it was."
"Lies? Don't be silly. Think of it as acting," she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
"...Acting..."
"Actors don't just act in films. An actor has to act in every moment, outside of their private lives." She looked at me intently, her smile widening. "Acting. You can do that, right?"
"Well, you don't even have to be an actor to do that," my manager had chuckled after stating that "An actor has to act in every moment, outside of their private lives." "We're all acting in our daily lives."
"I am, and so are you," I thought, looking at her.
"I look forward to your future work as an actor. Here's my last question," the interviewer said. "What kind of actor would you like to become?"
Hmm... It was a fundamental question, but it wasn't in the script, so it caught me off-guard.
I... I hesitated, searching for the right words, for the right performance.
"I want to be a pure actor," I declared.
That's a lie.
The interviewer seemed unfazed. "Could you elaborate?"
"Yes. I'd like to become an actor who doesn't care about critics, the box office, or their own image." I leaned in slightly, a false sincerity washing over my face. "I just want to be faithful to the roles I play."
It was a pathetic lie—no, an ad-lib.
I walked out of the interview, the weight of the scripted life heavy on my shoulders. I was now an actor, constantly performing, even when the cameras were off.
My manager was still flipping through the DADA magazine where my interview had been featured. "You're so photogenic," she commented, looking at my picture on the cover. "There's plenty of people whose charms can't be captured in photos, no matter how attractive they are. But your photos always seem to tell a kind of story."
She closed the magazine, still smiling widely. "Oh... I don't know if that's because of your charisma or because you're so good at acting? Haha."
Then her expression shifted to one of pure, energetic salesmanship. "Let's get you in a drama. You've never worked on a drama before, right?"
"A drama...?" I echoed, surprised.
"There's this drama we're working on. And there's a role that's perfect for you," she said, tapping the magazine. "I already decided that you're going to be in it. You'll do it, right?" Her smile was a wall I couldn't push past.
"...But I didn't even audition for it. Is that possible?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"Of course," she insisted, her smile never wavering. "I insisted that you be in it."
It's that easy... I thought, the realization of my new, fabricated fame washing over me.
"Why? You don't want to?" she asked, her voice betraying a hint of impatience. "I thought you'd be happy."
"...No, I am. Thank you." I forced a small, grateful bow. It seemed my career had been cast, not by my talent, but by the narrative surrounding the dead artist and his muse.
"I'll do my best," I said, a forced smile on my face.
My manager returned the smile, satisfied. "I'll look forward to it, Myeong." She then added, "Oh, you'll be accompanied by Manager Eun from now on. Is that okay?"
"Oh, yes," I replied, nodding. "Then I'll have him send you the script." The promotion machine had already begun to turn, installing a handler for me.
My new life as a famous actress, elevated from obscurity by a dead friend's art, had started. A white car pulled out into the street. VROOM
Inside, two people were already talking about me.
"Bro! Did you see this? The Artist's Muse???" a woman with a sleep mask pushed up on her head exclaimed, holding up her phone.
"That's a great photo," her friend replied, looking at the image on the screen.
I didn't know the exact photo they were looking at, but I had a sudden flash of a memory—of a candid moment captured on a phone. The image showed a younger me, laughing brightly, embracing someone who was just out of the frame. It was a photo that held a warmth that none of my recent magazine shots possessed.
Wow...
I remembered the beginning of the whole whirlwind, the lies I told just to keep the story neat for the public.
"You've been receiving worldwide attention as Eunmil's muse. How do you feel?" the first interviewer had asked.
"Things must be quite hectic for you these days," she'd added.
"I'm happy to have caught the interest of many people... but I also have mixed feelings, as my friend's death was the catalyst," I'd answered. "Eunmil was extremely private during his lifetime, and little has been revealed about his personal life."
"May I ask what your relationship was?"
"...Well... we were... artistic partners who inspired each other. Yes... I was his model, and a big fan of his work. He would often take photos of me... and I liked them because... I felt that they were more beautiful than I was in person. I never imagined... that those photos would become so talked about."
My whole life has... completely changed.
I looked at my own reflection, the fabricated version of me staring back, and wondered who I was anymore.
The white van sped down the highway, an immediate upgrade to my transport, and the first tangible benefit of my new "muse" status. Inside, I sat quietly as my new manager, Eun, a man with a beanie and a neatly trimmed beard, was getting hyped by my magazine cover.
"Bro! Did you see this? The Artist's Muse???" a woman in the front passenger seat exclaimed to Eun, showing him her phone. The screen flashed with a photo.
"That's a great photo," Eun replied, looking over. It was a close-up of me, laughing genuinely, a familiar arm partially visible around my shoulder. A fleeting, unguarded moment.
Another picture slid across the screen, a shot of me in a simple white t-shirt. The woman zoomed in on the photo. Then another, a slightly blurred motion shot of my side. The pictures were all so candid, so real.
I had an immediate, sickening realization. These weren't the highly-produced magazine shots; these were the private photos that Eunmil had taken, the ones I thought were simply for his own artistic record. He would just hold his phone up and click. And now, they were being shared... used to market the "Artist's Muse."
The woman in the front seat was still gushing. "Look at her! She's really pretty, but she's also got this mysterious aura that makes her stand out. She's got this vibe that says she's been through a lot."
A mysterious aura? Vibe that says I've been through a lot? I just sat there, listening to my fabricated life story being repeated and magnified by strangers. They weren't seeing me; they were seeing the character my old manager had so carefully scripted.
Eun's face, partially obscured by his beanie and the shadow of the roof, was set in a professional, calculating gaze.
"She's an actor now, right?" the woman continued. "The drama's gonna be a hit!"
Eun glanced back at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting mine for a brief, cold second. "Let's get her ready," he said to the driver, his voice a low, businesslike monotone.
The van accelerated, pulling me further and faster into the narrative that had been created for me.