We rented out the most expensive beef restaurant in Gangnam for a celebratory dinner with the Night production crew.
We called the production staff to invite them:
[It’s just a casual get-together to celebrate Night, so please feel free to bring your families!]
Far more people showed up than the number of crew members. The large restaurant was packed with guests who found their own seats.
Sitting across from me, as expected, was Lee Jun-seong.
As soon as the beef arrived, he started talking to it in an exaggerated stage voice.
“Your marbling sets my heart aflutter!”
“Dude, snap out of it,” I scolded.
Though his family was wealthy, Jun-seong had spent six years basically living on fast food, so his eyes gleamed with a kind of madness. Of course, he wasn’t the only one with that look—most people here shared it.
Sizzle—
The moment the beef hit the hot grill, that gorgeous sound rang out. I gulped at the mouthwatering noise.
“Hey, beef doesn’t need to be fully cooked,” he said. “Cut it up fast.”
I smiled at him and picked up the scissors to start cutting the meat. Then others around us followed suit, each snipping up their own pieces.
The moment the meat lost a bit of its redness, Jun-seong popped it into his mouth.
“You maniac, it’s undercooked.”
“What’s ‘well-done’? Beef should always be well-done.”
“Dude, that wasn’t well-done. That was practically fresh off the slaughterhouse floor—give it CPR, it might still revive!”
“Then I’ll just call it yukhoe (steak tartare).”
“Puha!”
While bickering with him, I glanced around. Everyone was beaming as they ate their beef. I felt an odd sense of relief and openness.
It dawned on me— so this is what people call living. The thought made me smile.
“What are you smirking at, man?” he grumbled. “Eat. I’ll handle the grilling from now on.”
At his urging, I picked up a piece, dipped it in salted sesame oil, and put it in my mouth.
Heavenly flavor and sublime aroma.
The texture was just right—softness and chewiness flirting back and forth, refusing to let go of my taste buds. The more I chewed, the richer the beef’s flavor became, filling my mouth and nose at once.
“Wow…”
A moan of delight slipped out.
“Hey, don’t be so loud and uncool.”
“Says the guy who was just monologuing to the steak in a theater voice?”
“That’s just my schtick, man.”
“So was that little outburst of mine.”
“If that was just an act, you ought to become an actor. Oh, and we need some booze.”
Jun-seong ordered drinks from a staff member. Except for the tables with children, everyone got a glass and seemed to wait for something.
“Don’t we need a toast? Director! Give us a toast!”
“Director Gyeong! Give us a speech, like in your interviews!”
Suddenly, Jun-seong got down on one knee in front of me.
“Director Gyeong! Please give us a toast!”
Everyone burst out laughing at his antics, and I snickered, holding out my glass.
“Fill it up!”
“On it!”
He promptly filled my glass to the brim, and I stood up.
“Does everyone have a full glass?”
“Yes!”
“This is my first time doing something like this, so pardon me if I’m awkward—”
“Already laying the groundwork for bombing? Boring!”
He was right in front of me, practically shouting until his face went red.
“I see someone’s already drunk. Somebody take him away?”
“Nooo!”
Everyone roared with laughter at him. Some chimed in:
“Give us that fierce look from your interviews!”
“Just half the intensity you had on set!”
Scratching the back of my head, I slowly began.
“First, we made history here in Korea: 1 million viewers, then 2 million, and finally 2.5 million. This record happened because all of us worked together, don’t you think?”
“Ooooh!”
“Romantic! Ooooh!”
I waited for the cheers to subside, glancing at each member of the production team, then continued:
“Tonight belongs to us. Before this night ends—let’s drink for Night! Cheers!”
“Cheers!”
“Oh, and if anyone wants to take some beef home, let us know! It’s on the house! Let’s not worry about money tonight!”
“Wooooo!”
The crowd roared louder at the mention of free beef than they had for the actual toast.
I’m not sure how I got home, but when I opened my eyes, I recognized my bedroom ceiling.
“Heh… heh heh…”
Anyone watching would’ve assumed I was nuts, but I couldn’t stop laughing. The realization it wasn’t a dream—and that we’d really done it—kept me smiling.
All those conversations last night at the steakhouse…
“I honestly thought 2.5 million was impossible. But it actually happened.”
“Right? Night really topped 2.5 million…”
Sure, in the future, hitting ten million viewers would become more common. But in this day and age, 2.5 million was a massive feat. Especially in this world, where there was no Kang Je-gyu’s Shiri, no Bong Joon-ho, no Park Chan-wook, no Ryu Seung-wan—none of the big-name directors who should have been around.
When Shiri originally came out in my old world, people were already betting on whether it would pass 1.5 million. Here, with none of those films, 2.5 million was jaw-dropping. Especially in a timeline where even Seopyeonje—the first Korean film to surpass one million viewers—never existed, 2.5 million must seem incredible.
Knock, knock.
“Chan-hyeon? Are you alright? Are you laughing or crying?”
I shot upright at my mom’s worried tone.
“I’m fine, Mom! I’ll be out in a sec!”
The real work starts now. First, we probably need to move…?
Time to step out of that cramped basement under KMD and into the light.
[Night Reaches 2.5 Million—Why It’s Nothing Short of a Miracle]
KMD Group Chairman Lee Jeong-ho gazed at the newspapers stacked in front of him with a satisfied smile.
“They actually did it.”
He pressed a button on the phone at his desk:
“Secretary Yoon.”
“Yes, Chairman?”
“Come in.”
Knock, knock.
A man entered, sporting a neatly pomaded hairstyle and a spotless suit, as if he allowed no room for error.
“Have you seen Night?”
“Yes, sir. I did.”
“How was it?”
“It was the best film I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?”
Lee Jeong-ho smiled contentedly, showing Secretary Yoon the articles.
“This young man named Gyeong Chan-hyeon—he’s got a good head on his shoulders.”
“Yes. He definitely knows how to grab people’s attention.”
“He could do well in business, too.”
One of the basics of running a business is ensuring people know your company exists. That’s why many companies go all-in on TV ads. Gyeong Chan-hyeon knows how to present himself as if he were a brand.
Usually, it’s the actors who reap all the recognition from a film’s success. But Night was different. Sure, Kim Seung-hoon and Lee Jeong-woo got more famous and upped their fees, but that’s ordinary for rising stars. A director who was a complete unknown becoming just as famous is on another level.
“Right, sir.”
“Set up a meeting soon with Jun-seong and Director Gyeong.”
“So… you’d like to bring your son—”
Secretary Yoon hesitated, and Chairman Lee nodded.
“They went beyond just being the ‘first in Korea’; it’s a record that won’t be broken anytime soon. I have to give them proper credit.”
We left the KMD basement and relocated to a cheap building in Gangnam, near KMD’s main office. It needed a lot of work since it was old, but it was perfect as a new home for Seong-hyeon Productions.
“A movie company should be in Chungmuro, not Gangnam.”
“Better to be close to KMD. Ever heard of the halo effect?”
“Tsk… Not like we know if they’ll invest in the next movie.”
“What businessman would destroy the goose that lays golden eggs?”
“True.”
Chungmuro is still considered the hub of Korean cinema, packed with theaters and production companies. But in less than a decade, that’ll change. Once big theaters start popping up all over Seoul, Chungmuro will lose its edge.
Gangnam’s actually better. Plus, being near KMD can’t hurt.
We called in some folks to help clean up. After we cleared out piles of dust and threw away the junk left by the previous tenants, it finally started to look like a real office.
“Where should we hang this? It should go somewhere it’ll really stand out, right?”
Jun-seong held up a Night poster.
“Stick it on the left wall. Once we start rolling out more films, we won’t have much space.”
“Let’s fill this whole wall with movie posters.”
“Obviously.”
The Night poster, taking pride of place, looked impressive. It showed Kim Seung-hoon and Lee Jeong-woo wearing solemn expressions. Thanks to Night, they were no longer “rising stars”; they were leading men. Their faces were everywhere on TV—variety shows, talk shows, you name it. Rumor had it they were getting continuous offers from film producers, hailed as a “dynamic duo taking Korea by storm.”
“I heard Kim Seung-hoon was asking to be in our next project. He’s apparently drowning in offers, but he’s still interested?”
“We don’t even have a new script yet. Though… I’ve got a lot of possible films in mind.”
“Seriously? You’re like a walking idea bank.”
“Of course. But let’s slow down for a bit. We have a lot to do—hire staff for Seong-hyeon Productions, and I also have to fix up that movie theater.”
“The theater?”
“Yeah.”
It needed remodeling. Agape Cinema, run by my family, was an old-fashioned single-screen theater with rickety seats and outdated projectors that sometimes caused flickering frames. And that wasn’t the only problem.
As for “service,” sometimes even if customers paid full price, they had to stand because there weren’t enough seats. That was common.
Dad had bragged to me once, slightly tipsy:
“Because of Night, we’re even selling out standing room tickets! It’s a first! Chan-hyeon, I’m proud of you!”
But if a cramped old theater is selling out standing room, that’s not really ‘watching a movie’—it’s more like torture. This kind of environment only sped up the demise of small independent cinemas like ours.
“Alright, we’ll worry about that later. By the way, you know what’s up today, right?”
“You mean with the Chairman?”
“Yeah. It’s almost time. Let’s head over. We can finish cleaning later.”
A few blocks away from our building, we entered KMD Headquarters. Someone met us in the lobby and escorted us to the chairman’s office.
Knock, knock.
“Come in.”
As soon as we walked in, Chairman Lee Jeong-ho greeted us with a bright smile.
“So you’ve arrived. Have a seat.”
We settled on a plush leather couch that felt like it was hugging my body, and he began:
“You kept your promise. Congratulations, Jun-seong. And congratulations to you too, Director Gyeong.”
“Thank you, sir!”
We bowed slightly.
“I hear the profit from this film was pretty decent. True to your word, the dividends were generous, just like Director Gyeong predicted.”
“Congratulations to you as well, Mr. Chairman.”
“It’s all thanks to you two. I honestly thought this was a pipe dream at first… I never imagined it would really succeed.”
He glanced at a corner of his office where stacks of newspapers lay, smiling in satisfaction.
“And after all the scandals, you still didn’t ask me for help, right? Was that your idea, Jun-seong?”
I remained silent, so Jun-seong spoke up first.
“Yes, sir.”
“Tsk, I could have helped. I take it you didn’t see the need?”
“We just didn’t want to rely on KMD. We felt we should handle it ourselves.”
“What about that fellow Baek Jin-cheol? Any plans for him?”
Caught off-guard, Jun-seong discreetly pinched my thigh under the table.
“Oh—um, you mean Baek Jin-cheol?”
“Yes, that president of The Film H. I did a little digging myself, wondering who was meddling with the film I invested in.”
“I don’t think it’s time yet,” I said.
Chairman Lee leaned forward slightly, intrigued.
“You’re aiming higher?”
“That guy is bound to accumulate more sins on his own.”
“You have a lead? He’s apparently thorough, with other companies backing him.”
“I’m not so simple either.”
He seemed amused by my bold reply, bursting into laughter.
“I like it. Knowing when to wait is the key to success.”
We smiled in response. A moment later, he turned to his son:
“Jun-seong, it’s time you moved back home.”
“Pardon?”
“Your mother’s been talking about you nonstop, giving me a headache. Don’t be stubborn—just come back. Enough with the pride.”
Tears pooled in the corners of Jun-seong’s eyes, and he clenched his fists.
“Yes, Father.”
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