Something was off in Junseong’s voice.
Lee Junseong sounding gloomy at eleven at night?
I hurried into my clothes and went to meet him. When I reached the street stall, he was already half-gone, eyes glazed. Two bottles of soju lay empty, a third had just been opened.
“What is this? You drank all this alone?”
“Sit.”
His expression was far from good; I had not seen it this dark in a long time.
“What happened? Did you get dumped? Is that why you are drinking yourself silly?”
He only laughed without answering.
“Do I look like the mighty Lee Junseong who would down straight soju alone over a breakup?”
“Yes.”
He widened his eyes at my reply.
“I did not.”
“Then what?”
Instead of talking, he refilled his glass. I snatched the bottle from his hand.
“Give it back.”
“Stop chugging and talk. Don’t drag it out.”
“By the way, what big money did the cheapskate spend today?”
“One more sidestep and I am leaving.”
He smiled at me.
“I met some high school friends tonight.”
“And?”
“Why has every relationship turned into something with a purpose? No, nobody is without a purpose. Sure, purpose is fine, but still…”
He was so drunk that spit flew while he spoke.
“Why did they all become trash? Or were they trash from the start? Does that mean I was trash, too? Am I trash now? Do I look like trash to you?”
He pointed at himself with his index finger. Whatever happened must have been rough.
“Ran into your rich buddies, did you?”
“Yeah, drank expensive whiskey with those money bags.”
“Then why are you sharing cheap soju with me? I feel left out.”
He suddenly stood.
“Fine, let’s go drink whiskey.”
“I’m kidding. You are hammered, President Lee. Sit down. I’m sorry, all right?”
At my apology he let out a snort, poured more soju, and finally told me what had happened.
The others had mocked him for serving in the army, for doing part-time jobs.
Hearing it, I felt nothing.
Draft scandals among celebrities pop up in every era, and rich kids dodging service is child’s play.
Junseong was the rare case, walking out of his cushy life at twenty, flipping burgers to pay rent and food. Even now he scowls at hamburgers, says his tower of bulgogi burgers could reach the moon.
He boasted that no one in the army disliked him, and judging by how he still treats his juniors to meals, it was not a lie.
“And you held it in?”
“Should I have smashed a bottle?”
“That’s minimum. You should have cracked heads.”
He shook with laughter.
“Know what angered me most?”
“What?”
“For a second, I thought maybe I had lived wrong. Just for a moment…”
He sighed deeply and drained his glass at once.
“I did live right, didn’t I? I didn’t waste my life like those jerks say, did I?”
He pointed to his empty glass.
Normally I would refuse, but after words like that I could not. I filled it without comment, and he tossed it back immediately.
“If I hadn’t entered film school, life would have been easier, sure. But because I went, I met you, made Night and Desirelessness. Without film school I’d have skipped the army and part-time jobs, but would Seonghyeon Productions be where it is now? Who set the new record in Korea? You and me, right? Right?”
He threw an arm over my shoulder, shouting in my ear.
“Solomon himself, all truths tonight.” He babbled from drink, caring more that I agreed than what he said. “I discovered your talent, got the investments, what would I talk about with guys who don’t know what a producer does…” His words trailed off, eyes closing.
Soon he slurred to himself, then…
Thud.
He face-planted on the table, lips still moving. “There must be a way to pay them back… I can’t just take that… mm…”
He looked completely out. I poked him.
“Hey, wake up.”
“Unngh, don’t touch me… I have nothing…”
“Again?” I sighed, hoisted him onto my back, and loaded him into a taxi. The night air had turned cold, making him feel heavier.
Once I dragged him into my house I could breathe. He lay on the floor snoring.
He is both a grateful friend and a remarkable guy. He looks like a carefree joker, yet his depths run deep.
When movies bashing conglomerates were in fashion, I thought of him; It was proof that not every tycoon’s heir is crooked. Some laughed, saying a penniless man was siding with the rich, spouting black-and-white nonsense.
Remembering that made me chuckle, helped by the sight of this heir snoring like a tank on my floor.
Next morning he woke on the floor, clutching his head.
“What the… Why am I here?”
“You poured your heart out last night, wore me out.”
“My heart? I remember nothing.”
“You should see a doctor, your snoring nearly killed you.”
He crawled onto my bed.
“Drama queen… What did I say yesterday?”
“Tongues of fire. All kinds of nonsense.”
He slung an arm around me.
“Your big brother had a rough night, good thing I have a loyal vassal.”
“Your breath stinks, get off.” I shoved him, he tumbled to the floor with a yelp, then laughed.
“And yet… the past should stay in the past. A man must live in the present, not the past.”
“What nonsense first thing in the morning…”
Ignoring me, he pulled out his phone. “First, I’m deleting those jerks’ numbers. I’ll never see them again, not even after death.”
“They’re rich, bring them in as investors.”
“I wouldn’t take their money if they begged me. I’d borrow from sharks first. What’s with that look? Being born lucky is fine, I used my luck well, unlike that trash, willing or not.”
“Would you have been the same if you hadn’t run away from home?”
“Hypotheticals are the dumbest. By that logic what if you were never born? Should you not have bothered?”
He laughed, tapping his phone. “I’ll call my army juniors, buy them dinner.”
“What about me?”
“You’re loaded, live generously.”
I sighed playfully. “It’s pointless. Last night someone dragged me to Gangnam…”
“Later, my treat. Hush.”
He grabbed a quick bite at my place then returned to the office. While working, a call came from an unknown number. Not Jo Jun’s. He answered without thinking.
“This is Representative Lee Junseong of Seonghyeon Productions.”
“Junseong, it’s Sangwoo!”
He checked the number and sighed.
“You don’t have to repay me, but stop calling.”
“I know I have no shame but…”
“Then hang up.”
Click. He smacked his forehead on the desk. An employee outside asked if he was okay.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
His head felt ready to burst, teen memories he thought happy now denied. A crawling itch under his skin.
Ping. A text arrived.
“Junseong, I’m managing an actor now. Could you at least get him an audition for Director Gyeong Chanhyeon’s next film? I know I am shameless but…”
His eyelid twitched.
“Now he’s lobbying me. Bribing the guy who cleared his debt? Is he sane?”
He shut off the phone.
“At least have a conscience.”
Go Sangwoo, once admired for his confidence and brains, now appeared pitiful. He did not know why it angered him but he could not stand the sight.
“Enough. No more calls. I have plenty to do.”
He pushed the phone away and checked the list of films entered in the upcoming Cheongpung Film Festival.
“Our Boss, Gangster Brothers…?”
Mostly copycats that flooded in after Night. Winning an award should be easy. He closed his eyes to focus on prizes, ignoring old friends.
Then he glanced at another article on the festival.
[Taesan Group becomes exclusive sponsor of Cheongpung Film Festival. Chairman Kang Hyunseok says we must support the Korean film industry…]
“This is insane.”
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