Note: Putting movies titles in <> now
Park Jun‑sik’s heart pounded as he attended the screening of the film in which he had the lead role.
The atmosphere at the technical and distributor screenings had been good, but he still didn’t know whether he could persuade the reporters who had doubted him.
“Phew…”
Director Gyeong Chanhyeon had said many encouraging things to calm him, yet the reporters’ questions wouldn’t leave his mind.
A man of average appearance in his mid‑thirties.
To anyone, choosing him had to seem like there was some hidden reason.
Watching Gyeong Chanhyeon hold the mic and speak passionately about the film, Park Jun‑sik felt sweat bead on his palms.
He wiped the sweat quickly on his thigh so it wouldn’t show and swallowed hard.
When the questions for Gyeong Chanhyeon ended, the mic was passed to Park Jun‑sik.
Reporters raised their hands as if they had been waiting.
“Han‑guk Entertainment. I’m reporter Kim Na‑un. Mr. Park Jun‑sik, while filming Director Gyeong Chanhyeon’s movie, I’d like to ask about the actions of your fellow actor Song Seong‑woo.”
“Well…….”
When Park Jun‑sik couldn’t continue, Gyeong Chanhyeon beside him spoke.
“If it’s hard to talk, give the mic to me.”
“No… I’ll try.”
Park Jun‑sik closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Mr. Song Seong‑woo’s matter has nothing to do with me. Even if we were in the same troupe… I’m a family man. I have no reason to be involved in a place like that…”
“That sounds a bit different from the information we obtained.”
Reporter Kim Na‑un’s voice turned edgy.
“What about the events at ‘Paradise’?”
“That…….”
At the unexpected question, Park Jun‑sik stared wordlessly at the reporter, looking flustered.
She pressed on without pause.
“There are witnesses who say they saw you, Director Gyeong Chanhyeon, Producer Lee Jun‑seong of Seong‑hyeon Productions, Mr. Lee Dae‑hoon, and Mr. Song Seong‑woo all there.”
Reporters who hadn’t heard that murmured, and Gyeong Chanhyeon beside him put a hand to his forehead and sighed.
“Ha…”
Seeing Gyeong Chanhyeon’s expression, as though he hadn’t foreseen this at all, snapped Park Jun‑sik to attention. He closed his eyes, furrowed his brow for a moment as if gathering his thoughts, then opened them and whispered to Gyeong.
“I’ll handle it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Act.”
“Huh?”
Gyeong Chanhyeon showed brief doubt, then nodded after meeting Park Jun‑sik’s eyes.
“Was there any mention of what I looked like there?”
“Pardon?”
“I was maliciously harassed by Song Seong‑woo. Ask anyone from the Youth Troupe and they’ll confirm it. While shooting this film, Song Seong‑woo even contacted me.”
The mic in Park Jun‑sik’s hand remained rock‑steady, and his voice was firmer than ever.
“Then why did you go there?”
“Because he’s my senior. You know what kinds of things happen in the theater scene under the banner of seniority.”
The reporters nodded, sensing what felt like sincerity.
“Director Gyeong Chanhyeon told me to be careful about my private life. So I contacted him for advice and permission, and Director Gyeong came there right away because of what I said.”
“…”
“If you just check the CCTV there, you’ll see how quickly we left. Are you speaking this maliciously without even that level of investigation?”
“But…… the fact that you were all gathered in such a place……”
“If you look at the CCTV, you’ll see my hair was soaking wet and that Producer Lee Jun‑seong was helping me walk out. Did you confirm that before saying this?”
“…”
The once‑assertive reporter’s face soured, and Gyeong Chanhyeon looked at Park Jun‑sik with a sigh of relief.
Park Jun‑sik’s words had force.
They weren’t logically flawless, but that didn’t matter to the reporters in front of him.
“A junior tormented by a senior,” and “a director who protected him from that.”
That alone filled the reporters’ heads with possible headlines.
“Yes… understood.”
The reporter sat weakly and scribbled in her notebook.
Gyeong Chanhyeon smiled at Park Jun‑sik.
He must have felt sorry to expose someone else’s disgrace with his own mouth—he was a humane person.
He worked like a robot on the job, but in private he overflowed with warmth.
That made him trustworthy. Such a person had trusted him; revealing a bit of ugliness like this was nothing to Park Jun‑sik.
When Park Jun‑sik’s passionate reply ended, surrounding reporters asked about what happened on set. Unlike at the production press conference, he answered comfortably, and aside from a slight commotion, the press screening wrapped up amicably.
A few days later.
Recalling the events of the press screening, I caught my breath again.
Contrary to my nerves, there was only praise for my new film.
In the office, Jun‑seong read newspapers with a contented smile.
[Gyeong Chanhyeon delivers a film completely different from <Night>. Who knew he could do this?]
[Park Jun‑sik’s acting expands the horizon of Korean performance.]
[Birth of Korea’s flagship occult film, crafted by Gyeong Chanhyeon.]
[Most anticipated by cinephiles: Gyeong Chanhyeon’s <Desirelessness>!]
“Reporters’ reactions are great. They’re calling it Korea’s flagship occult film! Tons of praise for Jun‑sik too.”
[Park Jun‑sik exposes theater world, no connection to Song Seong‑woo—Director Gyeong helps……]
[Paradise CCTV checked… Park Jun‑sik’s words proven true…]
“This story will spread by word of mouth too. Nice, nice. Do you know how worried I was when you said you had no special ideas this time?”
Jun‑seong’s grin didn’t fade as he clipped and scrapbooked the articles spread out before him.
The marketing team proposed using the same campaign that had worked for <Night>, but I vehemently opposed it.
<Desirelessness> isn’t a character‑driven film like <Night>, and gimmicks had been overused by other studios, so I said it could even backfire now.
“Ha… but it’s turning out like this. See? The world’s on our side. Thank goodness Jun‑sik spoke up so compellingly there.”
While cutting out clippings, Jun‑seong asked,
“But why hide the digital‑camera part? Jun‑sik left that out too.”
“I don’t want to be branded as a righteous crusader. The image I want is a great director through film, not a righteous director.”
“Vector‑Man is a righteous hero and a great hero.”
“His job is saving the world. Same as a film director?”
With a regretful look, Jun‑seong said,
“You’d be a total superstar, though. What a pity.”
A few days later.
<Desirelessness> opened in theaters.
Just as restaurants get an opening rush, films do too, and viewers poured in from day one.
Because so many multiplex theaters had sprung up after <Night>, the numbers rose even faster.
In the office Jun‑seong pounded the keyboard, brow furrowed as if doing something critical.
“What are you doing?”
“Reading café posts.”
[Gyeong Chanhyeon. Wish he’d just make something like <Night>. This new film feels too icky.]
┗ Do you go to an occult film with the same mindset as an action movie? (edit/delete)
┗ Just means it’s less fun than <Night>.
┗ I liked it more than <Night>. Lots to ponder, and Park Jun‑sik’s acting kills. That expression in the long take could be textbook material.
┗ Nah. Don’t overrate something so trivial.
┗ You wanna die? Where do you live? (edit/delete)
┗ Your mom’s bedroom.
The café was locked in constant debate over which was better, <Night> or <Desirelessness>, spawning long posts at all hours.
And as anonymity on the internet goes, curses began to fly.
“Ugh…… these lunatics.”
“You look like the craziest—why waste energy on that?”
Having joined the dogfight, Jun‑seong slumped back, drained.
“They’ve got no eye for films.”
“Opinions always split on movies. How can you make something everyone loves?”
“I know, but still…”
Sighing over the papers, Jun‑seong said,
“Did you see this? A Korean blockbuster opens next week.”
“Yeah.”
“Of all things, that blockbuster is the competition? It’ll steal all the audience……”
The movie opening a week after <Desirelessness> had a budget over 12 billion won and had taken more than three years to make, stirring up the Korean film scene even before release.
I remembered how excited I’d been back then, hearing that such big‑budget films were finally being made in Korea.
But that film flops. Absolutely.
“We won’t lose viewers. Don’t worry.”
“Huh? It’s a huge Korean blockbuster. Even I’d go see that.”
“It’ll bomb.”
Jun‑seong frowned slightly, tilting his head.
“It’d be nice if the competitor bombs, but… can a 12‑billion‑won movie really fail? Is that even possible?”
“Want to bet?”
“What? A bet?”
Eyes wide, Jun‑seong said,
“Good thing we didn’t bet on the World Cup semifinals… You’ve got that kind of feeling again?”
“Yeah.”
The competitor to <Desirelessness> is <The Miracle of the Match Girl>.
One of Korea’s so‑called three masterpieces that supposedly cure cancer if you watch it…
It was a film that shut down its studio.
After that, several Korean blockbusters in a row failed, and the rumor spread that big‑budget films in Korea were doomed, so such projects vanished.
“If it bombs, won’t investors shy away from us too?”
Gazing at the poster of <The Miracle of the Match Girl> online, Jun‑seong said.
“Were you planning a blockbuster?”
“If we’re going overseas, we need one… I was thinking Seong‑hyeon Productions would pull in big money and go global.”
“Wow, aiming for world domination? How about conquering Korea first?”
“Small‑minded, Director Gyeong?”
“You were just worrying about losing audience.”
He laughed, but still spoke softly, as if unsure.
“Really… it’ll bomb…?”
Not long after, <The Miracle of the Match Girl> opened—and immediately flopped.
It hit bottom without even the initial rush, dragged down by bad word of mouth.
The next day, Jun‑seong came to the office with sunken eyes.
“I watched it over the weekend. Twelve billion and three years?”
He looked pale, hands trembling as if traumatized.
“I just… can’t tell what kind of movie it was. I even questioned if I belong in film studies.”
Most viewers reacted like him.
Some hurled harsh insults, but the majority said they couldn’t even grasp the subject.
People started saying, ‘Compared to <The Miracle of the Match Girl>, <Desirelessness> is a fairy.’
Those who had called <Desirelessness> incomprehensible all vanished.
In the end, <The Miracle of the Match Girl> actually increased <Desirelessness>’s audience and helped us.
“I can still hear that line—‘Wanna get hit with jajangmyeon?’—ringing in my ears……”
T/N: Vectorman: Warriors of the Earth (지구용사 벡터맨 Jigu Yongsa Begteomaen) is a Korean tokusatsu television series.
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