Knock, knock.
“Chairman, CEO Lee Junseong is here.”
When the secretary opened the door, Lee Junseong bowed to Lee Jeongho.
Seeing that, Chairman Lee Jeongho welcomed him with a kindly smile.
“It has been a while since we met here, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, Chairman.”
Chairman Lee rose from his desk and sat on the sofa. Lee Junseong followed and sat as well.
“The film opening soon… was it ‘Memory of Murder’?”
“Yes, it is in the final stage now.”
“Even though Director Gyeong Chanhyeon is not involved, it is reliable?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Its quality is solid and society will pay attention.”
“Hmm… yes, the subject is certainly provocative. Enough about Director Kim Eunha’s film.”
Chairman Lee paused and pointed with a nod to the newspaper on the table.
[Taesan Group vows to contribute to the film industry! Acquires Future Film Studio! Launch of Taesan Pictures shakes Korean cinema! Planning a project with Director Kim Su-rin of <Our Boss>!]
Seeing the headline he had just shown Chanhyeon, Lee Junseong’s expression tightened a little.
“Those Taesan thugs pulled a sly stunt. Still, Director Gyeong landed a clean hit on them, so it is not so bad.”
Though he frowned, Chairman Lee wore a faintly mocking grin.
It seemed he quite liked that Chanhyeon had left the trophy on the podium.
“Do you know who that Kim Surin is, the one making a film with Taesan?”
“Yes. A senior from college.”
Kim Surin. The director of <Our Boss>.
A senior with strong directing ability, yet with poor rumors following him. But rumors are only rumors; there is no way to know the truth.
“If you went head-to-head, would you feel confident?”
“Yes. This time Director Gyeong Chanhyun—”
Remembering what was said at the festival after-party, Lee Junseong barely suppressed a laugh.
Ten million.
When he first heard that impossible figure, he thought the guy was crazy.
Yet the tongue that seemed possessed had never been wrong so far.
The man had even guessed the World Cup semifinals he barely cared about.
After a brief pause, Lee Junseong spoke again with only a faint smile.
“Director Gyeong Chanhyeon’s next film will overturn Korean cinema.”
Chairman Lee burst into hearty laughter.
“Overturn it?”
“Yes. He says he will aim for ten million viewers.”
“Ten… ten million?”
At that number, Chairman Lee’s brow furrowed.
“Ten million? Is that even possible? Even with more theaters these days… that is a film one out of every five citizens would see.”
“I think so too, but… Director Gyeong speaks as if he knows the future. He has never been wrong.”
“That is true, but…”
Resting his chin on his hand, Chairman Lee pondered for a moment, then smiled.
“Let’s trust him. At least he will not put us in the red.”
After a few more words, Lee Junseong bowed and left KMD headquarters, then headed back to Seonghyeon Pictures.
“By the way… her name was Kwak Yeonji?”
On the way back, the name Kwak Yeonji kept rattling in his head.
Such an out-of-the-blue name.
The last time he saw her face was two years ago at the graduation project.
He could not forget how at that audition Chanhyeon looked at her as if dissatisfied.
Of course, Chanhyeon had not rejected her out of personal dislike.
Kim Hyosun’s acting had simply been overwhelming.
And that manager of Yeon-ji’s… a peculiar fellow, a manager who pushed work with insane drive.
Hoping Go Sangwoo’s call was mere coincidence, Lee Junseong shook his head.
“First, finish the urgent matters.”
I sat in the office for a moment, thinking about the next project.
A film with a chaebol 1as the main theme. If I just wove in the stories Junseong heard from those friends recently, it might work well.
“Hmm…”
Handling chaebol material must suit the medium and the times.
In dramas nowadays, the hit formula is a wealthy heir who loves a pure, delicate heroine—
the line that runs from Lovers in Paris to The Inheritors.
Such dramas dominate weeknight slots until viewers tire; then shows with a chaebol as hidden villain succeed.
But film is different.
Since Cinderella love stories with chaebol lovers are known to flourish in dramas, film chaebols lean more villainous.
Movies like The Old Detective and The Prosecutor and the Chaebol, where crooked tycoons get beaten down, become huge hits.
While I pondered, Junseong opened the door and came in.
“Did the talk go well?”
“I conveyed your ambition to the chairman.”
“Ambition?”
“What you said at the after-party. Ten million. Don’t you remember?”
After tossing his coat on a hanger, he glanced at the notes I had been scribbling and asked in surprise,
“Chaebol?”
“It is the next film’s topic.”
“A handsome chaebol meets a poor girl? Following the trend, are you, Gyeong Chanhyeon?”
He looked at me with disappointment.
“Still, clichés sell. Do it well.”
“Not that kind. A story that brings a chaebol down.”
“Brings one down?”
His disappointment vanished, and a quiet smile spread.
“Actually, the guys we met the day you lectured on life… I thought of targeting people like them.”
Laughing loudly, he asked,
“So a revenge movie?”
“Vicarious satisfaction. Hard to do in real life.”
“Got any material…”
Ding-dong.
Before he finished, a cheerful ringtone echoed through the office.
“It’s an invite to Kim Eunha’s preview. Anything you need to check? Ask if you want.”
“I thought you cut ties with them—what do you know?”
“Still better than you. Have you drunk with their sort? I have.”
With a playful grin he stepped out to take the call, while I recalled the clichés often used in chaebol films.
Money, drugs, violence, sex crimes.
When depicting chaebol negatively, the story centers on such crimes, and prosecutors, politicians, and journalists always appear as their allies.
“I thought that was terribly stale…”
Yet the lines I jotted could not escape the mold of chaebol movies I had seen.
Grabbing my head, I opened a search window and typed in “chaebol.”
[‘No potential for reform’—chaebol heir gets prison for drunken rampage.]
[Second-generation tycoon Kwon Minseok and others jailed on marijuana charges.]
Unlike 2022, names were printed openly now, but the impact was far weaker.
With SNS and online communities less active, such articles drew little attention.
Instead, celebrity scandals—marijuana, draft dodging—stole the spotlight day after day.
That never seems to change…
[Chaebol owner’s son gains draft exemption through Sergeant Park…]
“This is a bit fresh.”
The thing gnawing at Junseong lately after drinking was military service.
I was effectively discharged more than twenty years ago, but for him it was only five.
Hearing that from a draft-dodger would naturally make anyone’s blood boil.
When a veteran jokes to another veteran, “I worked hard,” it is nothing, but if a draft-dodger says it, I too might explode.
Then why not use this…
Draft evasion and chaebol.
Mix in a few familiar chaebol tropes… it might resonate with people and give them catharsis.
A few days later.
Together with Junseong, I went to the technical preview of Kim Eunha’s “Memory of Murder.”
Instead of her usual baggy sweats, Kim Eunha wore a neat suit and stood with the actors before the screen.
Before the cast greeted us, she took the mic first.
“Uh… hello. I’m Kim Eun-ha, director of ‘Memory of Murder.’”
Unlike her usual self, she seemed quite nervous; her hand holding the mic trembled lightly as she looked upward and spoke softly.
“First, I sincerely thank CEO Lee Junseong and CEO Gyeong Chanhyeon of Seonghyeon Pictures for making this day possible.”
“Pff!”
At her words Jun-seong burst into loud laughter, and people around us stared at him.
I jabbed his side with an elbow.
“Be quiet.”
“Wait… is that really the Kim Eun-ha we know?”
“You’re embarrassing me too, so please hush.”
“Heh… hmph…”
Covering his mouth, he fought to stifle his laugh as she continued.
“This film, as the press says, reinterprets ‘Come See Me,’ inspired by the Hwaseong serial murders. Director Gyeong Chanhyeon especially helped with the adaptation. The ending differs from the play. I hope this film will shed new light on the case, so it does not remain unsolved.”
After her remarks and a few words from the actors, the screening began.
Because it was a Kim Eunha, film I felt excited, yet seeing the final cut for the first time also made me anxious.
Expectation breeds worry.
“Whew…” Trying to clear my head, I exhaled deeply.
I had seen films ruined when sloppy editing destroyed the flow between cuts, so my concern did not fade easily.
Deciding to watch simply as an audience member, I drew another breath and focused.
And all the while I watched, I was impressed.
Just as I knew, Kim Eunha displayed her directing prowess to the fullest.
She slyly mocked the police’s lack of power with humor while portraying the brutality of crime in horrifying detail.
The direction was witty yet never made the situation feel light.
Recognizing the style I had seen in her work, I cheered inwardly.
She balanced levity and gravity perfectly. The only drawback was that frequent staff changes made some framing subtly different, but anyone not hypersensitive would miss it.
My worries proved groundless; Kim Eun-ha unleashed her talent.
Time passed, and soon the final scene arrived.
Where the original ends with the line “Have you been eating well,” she built a new ending as I had suggested.
A man with inmate number 50423 on his chest stares at the camera in prison and smiles grotesquely; “Memory of Murder” ends there.
Once the film finished, we stepped outside, and I spotted Kim Eunha in her sharp suit.
Recognizing us, she click-clacked over.
“You should dress like that more often. I thought you were a different person today.”
Junseong greeted her by teasing, but she, seemingly deaf to his jab, asked nervously,
“Was it okay? How is it? Good? Or…”
“It’s good. You can go as is, no changes needed.”
Her eyes sparkled.
“Really? Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Yesss!”
Forgetting she wore a suit, she did a strange dance of joy, making Jun-seong burst out laughing.
“Hey, Lee Junseong.”
“Yeah?”
“You laughed when the presentation started, right?”
“Huh?”
Slap!
“Ow!”
So he had heard and just waited?
Seeing him yelp after the hit made me laugh.
“But what’s with that last scene? It felt different on the big screen compared to the final file.”
“Oh, that? Chanhyeon suggested it.”
“Huh?”
He looked at me, then back to her.
“What did he say?”
“He said the real killer is probably in prison already. When I heard that I slapped my knee.”
With bright eyes she looked at me.
“It makes sense. A lunatic who committed such vicious crimes hiding peacefully in society? He was a murder addict from the start. No way he’d stay quiet outside.”
“Turned into a criminal psychologist, haven’t you?”
Junseong teased me.
“I worry it might spark needless controversy. The subject is already touchy… attention is good, but it’s risky, like a poisoned chalice…”
“If controversy leads to a reinvestigation, even better. A film providing clues to a cold case—how awesome is that?”
Fueled by audience reactions, Kim Eunha seemed like a completely different person now.
“Anyway! Let’s go eat. My treat!”
- A chaebol is basically a giant family-run business group in South Korea. Think of it like a small empire of different companies—cars, phones, construction, finance—all linked together under one family’s control. Famous examples are Samsung, Hyundai, LG, and SK. ↩︎
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