Knock, knock.
“Chairman, Representative Lee Junseong has arrived.”
When the secretary opened the door, Lee Junseong bowed toward Lee Jeong-ho.
At the sight, Chairman Lee Jeong-ho greeted Junseong 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; Junseong followed and sat as well.
“The film opening soon, Memories of Murder, was it?”
“Yes, we are in the finishing stage.”
“It is not Director Gyeong Chanhyeon’s work; can it be trusted?”
“Completely. Its quality is solid, and it will attract social attention.”
“Hm, the subject is certainly provocative. Let us leave Director Kim Eunha’s film there.”
Chairman Lee broke off, pointed with his chin at a newspaper on the table, and spoke.
Taesan Group vows to ‘contribute to cinema’
Acquires Future Film Studio, launches Taesan Pictures
A storm in Korean film, planning with Our Boss director Kim Su-rin
Seeing the headline he had just shown Gyeong Chanhyeon, Junseong’s brow creased slightly.
“Those Taesan men pulled a very sly trick. Director Gyeong landed a clean blow, so it is bearable.”
Though he frowned, Lee Jeong-ho’s expression also held a trace of ridicule; he clearly liked how Chanhyeon had left the trophy on the stage.
“Do you know that Kim Su-rin who is said to start a picture with Taesan?”
“Yes, he is a senior from university.”
Kim Su-rin, the director of Our Boss.
A senior gifted as a filmmaker yet rumored not to be a decent person; but rumor is only rumor, there is no sure way to know.
“If you face him, are you confident?”
“Yes. This time Director Gyeong Chanhyeon…”
Junseong recalled what had been said at the Daedong after-party and barely stifled a laugh.
Ten million.
When he first heard that absurd figure, he thought the man was crazy, yet that oracle-like tongue had never been wrong, even guessing the World Cup semifinal though he hardly cared for soccer.
Pausing, he allowed only a faint smile and spoke again.
“Director Gyeong’s next work will overturn Korean cinema.”
At his words, the chairman burst out laughing.
“Overturn it?”
“Yes. Director Gyeong says he will aim for ten million admissions.”
“Ten… ten million?”
Chairman Lee frowned at the number.
“Ten million, is that even possible? Screens may have increased, but you are saying one of every five citizens will watch that film.”
“I think it far-fetched too, but Director Gyeong speaks as if he knows the future, and he has never been wrong.”
“That may be, yet…”
After resting his chin and pondering, the chairman smiled.
“Let us trust him. At least he is not a fellow who loses money.”
Exchanging a few more remarks, Junseong bowed and left KMD headquarters to return to Seonghyeon Pictures.
“But… her name was Kwak Yeonji, right?”
All the way back the name Kwak Yeonji churned in his head.
So abrupt a name.
He had last seen her two years ago at the graduation film, remembered how Director Gyeong stared at her in the audition as if dissatisfied.
Of course, Chanhyeon had not dropped her for personal feelings; Kim Hyoseon’s acting had simply overwhelmed everything.
And that manager of Yeonji’s—an unusual type, a manager who handled work with insane drive.
Hoping Go Sang-woo’s call was mere coincidence, Junseong shook his head.
“First finish the urgent tasks.”
Back at the office, he pondered the next script.
He cast big brother Jun-sik as the chaebol, so any line would fit, yet creating the press-woman character proved hard.
What words would sound natural? His head tangled.
“Aigo, honestly…”
Switching off the desk lamp, he buried his face in the bed.
He had not met today’s quota, but tomorrow’s self could suffer a little more.
Ding-a-ling.
His phone rang.
An unknown number.
Eleven at night—no reason for anyone to call. He almost ignored it, then took it, thinking it might be important.
“Hello?”
“Senior Chanhyeon? Hi, it’s Yeonji. Is now a good time?”
It was Kwak Yeonji, voice sounding a bit drunk.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Oh! How did you know? Does my voice sound different?”
“Yeah. The nasal tone—never mind. Why did you call so late?”
“I, uh, wanted to apologize about that day.”
Listening with eyes closed, he noticed that aside from the nasal habit hers was a low, stable voice, pleasant to hear. He even thought if she could drop the nasal tone she might work as a voice actress.
“I was really sorry for what I said at the drinking party.”
“Hm?”
“I was too drunk… I’m sorry, senior.”
Her subdued tone conveyed genuine remorse. Not knowing what wrong he had done, he answered gently.
“It’s fine, people do that when they drink.”
“Pardon?”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry.”
She seemed startled and fell silent, so he checked the screen and repeated, “It’s fine.”
“Ah… but still…”
“If there’s nothing else, I’m actually working, may I hang up?”
“Your voice sounds tired… I really am reflecting.”
He cleared his throat—hours of silence had husked it.
“Really, it’s fine. Don’t dwell on it. Sleep well.”
“Are you sure you are all right?”
“Truly all right.”
“Okay…”
“I’m hanging up.”
After ending the call, he returned to the desk; fresh dialogue for the ambiguous, slightly crazy reporter flowed more naturally.
A character whose pretty face lets her get away with words that would irritate from anyone else—like that lunatic female villain in Suicide Squad who became so popular she got her own movie.
Could he find such an actress?
A few days later.
At Purum Entertainment’s rehearsal room, Yeonji’s manager met her with a question instead of a greeting.
“You called Director Gyeong, right?”
“Yes, yes, I did.”
Relieved, the manager studied her face.
“Then why the look? You didn’t fight again, did you?”
“Why?”
“Your expression’s off.”
“This is my normal face. Don’t you know it yet?”
She flipped through the audition script that had been handed out and savored each concise, punchy scene.
“Even from this short piece you feel it’ll be a hit, don’t you? The guy’s a genius.”
“We’ll see. No one knows if it’ll succeed or flop.”
“You almost sound like you hope it flops.”
“That’s not it…”
Smiling, the manager perched on a chair, then spoke seriously.
“The application opened only yesterday. Articles will soon list what big names audition. Because it’s Director Gyeong, tons will apply.”
“Obviously.”
“This time it’s pure ability. Those two aren’t dirty types, unlike last time…”
She let the words fade, then set out water bottles.
“Did he give any coaching over the phone?”
“What sort of coaching?”
“Advice as a director, maybe?”
“He’s not the humanitarian you imagine. Why would he do that over a simple apology call?”
“You should pray for a miracle.”
Yeonji frowned, and the manager laughed. “I’m off to see the boss. Practice hard!”
Left alone, she immersed herself.
The role, though in a short script, was not easy—cheeky, maybe crazy.
She raised a pen like a recorder and smirked into the mirror.
“Reporter Lee So-hee of Culture Daily. Your words are on tape; shall I splash them on page one? I’m dying to know what happens—aren’t you, CEO?”
Something felt stiff—maybe the expression, maybe the movement. She explored tens of images in her mind, then read the next line.
“Line up everyone after your neck and the queue reaches Busan. Help me or regret it when your head rolls. Choose.”
Each reading gave her a thrill.
“I really want this…” she whispered.
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