T/N: Apologies for the slow update. Work has been kicking my butt lately!
The second shoot of the day began.
The set was the sanctuary of the Liberation Church: eerie paintings on the walls, a young actress in a white hanbok, and—kneeling devoutly before her—Park Jun‑sik and Lee Dae‑hoon. The frame looked perfect.
“Here he is,” Lee Dae‑hoon announced.
The moment Park Jun‑sik saw the cult leader he bowed deeply.
Cult leader (a young woman, speaking in archaic Korean)
“So, what is your name?”
As she addressed him, Park Jun‑sik’s hands trembled as though he were already under a spell.
Park
“M‑my name is… Kim Mu‑jin.”
Leader
“Such a greedy soul.”
Park
“P‑pardon…?”
Leader
“What you seek will not come easily.”
Park
“What I seek…?”
Leader
“Happiness, is it not? Tsk. Especially your obsession with family—your daughter—runs deep.”
Her words shook him; his pupils quivered.
Park (whispering)
“How could you possibly know…?”
Leader
“I see through all things beneath the heavens. Your heart is laid bare before me!”
The dialogue continued, drawing Mu‑jin ever deeper into the cult’s web.
“Cut! Good—very good.”
At my shout, Park Jun‑sik exhaled hard.
“Ha! Smooth sailing,” cinematographer Jin-soo chuckled beside me.
“Your storyboards make life easy—just line up the camera and shoot.”
“Of course,” I grinned.
Whack!
“Argh! Hyung, you think that’s playful, but it hurts!” I yelped as he smacked my shoulder.
“Keeps that nose of yours from climbing too high. People with big egos don’t last in this business.”
“I know, I know.”
“Then behave!” Jin-soo laughed. I edged out of arm’s reach.
“By the way, where’s that producer of yours? Aren’t you two inseparable?”
“Jun‑seong? He’s swamped with Director Kim Eun‑ha’s film.”
At her name Jin-soo blinked.
“That woman director? I almost fainted when the press conference claimed you’d assaulted her—and the very next day you two were holding a press conference together! Nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Yeah… that was a time,” I said.
He only knew her as the director of Country Girl Comes to Seoul, a film crushed at the box office by Night. My decision to finance her new movie had shocked him.
“What’s the point of investing in someone who made that kind of flop?”
“She was my classmate. And that film wasn’t what she wanted to make.”
My tone must have been sharp; the bearded bear scratched his head, sheepish.
“If you say so… heh.”
“Her next picture will be a hit,” I added. “Scheduling got messy, so I happened to start shooting first.”
“Sorry—didn’t mean to bad‑mouth her.”
Seeing the big bear apologize made me feel bad too.
“It’s fine, hyung.”
“Come on, sit. Let’s check the monitor.” Pat pat! He slapped the chair for me.
“Ow… fine.”
It wasn’t until lunchtime that Park Jun‑sik noticed his script was missing. He searched the waiting room top to bottom—nothing.
“Where… where did it go?”
“Lose something?” Lee Dae‑hoon asked behind him.
“M‑my script…”
“Really? A rookie should keep that glued to his hand. Tsk.”
“S‑sorry, sunbae.”
“Not my problem, but the shoot’s going to be a mess now.”
Park forced a smile and bowed.
“Ah, but I did memorize it all.”
Lee Dae‑hoon frowned. “All of it? Two full pages of your lines in the next scene alone.”
“Yes, sir. Like you said, I’m a rookie.”
“Well, do your best. And keep quiet about losing it—rookies who screw up get a reputation.”
“Thank you, sunbae.”
After patting Park’s back, Lee strolled out. Park closed his eyes, replaying the upcoming scene in his head. This next shot was actually from much later in the film—a reminder of what Director Gyeong had taught him: stage plays run in sequence, movies don’t.
“Actors, please get ready!”
Park stepped out toward camera. Lee Dae‑hoon watched him, practically salivating for an NG.
Park drew a deep breath.
Lee Dae‑hoon left the waiting room first and stretched. The upcoming take was a three‑minute long shot with no cuts. A newbie would surely blank—and Park’s dialogue was massive.
“Got the script?” he asked his manager.
“It’s in the trunk.”
“Hidden well?”
“Of course.”
“No way that newbie memorized everything,” Dae‑hoon sneered. “Hope he wrecks the mood. Song Seong‑woo said he’s a blockhead anyway.”
The manager chuckled emptily.
When the actors assembled, I addressed them: “This may be the toughest scene—especially for you, Mr. Park. Four minutes, no cut, your emotions driving the frame.”
“Yes, sir!” Park answered loudly. Dae‑hoon snickered.
“We’ll run a rehearsal first. If it looks good, we shoot. Let’s try lines and blocking.”
“Action.”
Park immersed himself. Dae‑hoon planned to crush him, but as Park’s eyes reddened with fury, Dae‑hoon felt his own breath catch.
“You still haven’t cast off desire,” the cult leader said.
“Desire?” Park’s body shook with rage. He rose and advanced on Dae‑hoon, eyes murderous—too real.
Dae‑hoon gulped, speechless.
“NG!” I called.
“Mr. Lee, you can’t freeze—push back! Aren’t you going to say your lines?”
“S‑sorry!”
“Again, please. If this works we’ll roll camera.”
We started over. Park manipulated rage, sorrow, madness, betrayal—seamlessly. Dae‑hoon, overwhelmed, kept choking.
“NG!”
Each time I shouted, Park snapped out of character instantly; Dae‑hoon just sighed, humiliated.
“Sunbae, are you all right?” Park asked sincerely.
“You little… doing this on purpose? Still stuck in theater habits—too over the top! This is why stage hacks—”
“These beats are exactly how the director wants them…”
“Director?” I yelled from monitor village. “Mr. Lee, focus, please. Every minute is money. Mr. Park, keep doing exactly that—excellent.”
Dae‑hoon ground his teeth. “Could we take a short break?”
Faces darkened around set; extras sighed.
“Fine, short break,” I agreed.
Dae‑hoon stalked to the smoking area. All anyone talked about there was Park’s performance.
“Did you see his eyes? Like he’d stab someone if you handed him a knife.”
“Right? Off camera he’s just a regular ajusshi, then—bam!—different person.”
“How did Director Gyeong even find a guy like that?”
When Dae‑hoon arrived, the chatter died; people stepped away.
“Seriously… what’s the big deal?” he muttered. “Some nobody who got lucky. A theater bum playing at movies…”
“You’re absolutely right…” his manager mumbled.
“You think that was impressive?” Dae‑hoon snapped.
“N‑no, not at all.”
Dae‑hoon scowled. “No eye for acting, any of you. Hmph.”
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