The long-awaited announcement day.
From the day she auditioned to the day of the announcement, Kwak Yeonji couldn’t get a grip on anything.
The time spent waiting for the most important moment of her life.
It was only a few days, yet each day felt horrendously long, as if months had passed.
On the day of the audition, she had been certain she’d passed.
But until she heard the news with her own ears, doubt seeped into her heart over those few days while she waited for that certainty to become reality.
She wondered if Director Gyeong Chanhyeon might give her a hint on the side, but there was no contact at all.
She thought that because she had prepared so hard, she would have no regrets.
But the moment she got in the car after the audition, what she felt was regret.
I could have done better…
Maybe because of that feeling, her doubt only grew with time.
“Sigh…”
There was no need anymore to blast the TV like before.
After living two weeks in a quiet practice room, the emptiness that once felt terrifying no longer scared her.
Ding-dong.
She was sitting with her eyes closed, meditating, when the sudden buzz of the intercom made her eyes fly open.
“Yeonji!”
Hearing Go Sangwoo’s voice beyond the door, Yeonji opened it with her heart pounding and said,
“Did they post—”
“They said you passed! Passed! You got it!”
Before her question was even finished, the moment Sangwoo saw her face he hopped up and down and shouted.
Hearing him, Yeonji stood there blankly for a beat, then suddenly slammed the door.
Bang!
“Uh…? Yeonji?”
His worried voice filtered through the door, but Yeonji couldn’t open it.
Crying in front of others is ugly.
“Sniff…”
“I’ll wait outside the building. Come down when you’ve calmed down.”
At Sangwoo’s warm voice from behind the door, the tears she’d held back burst forth all at once.
She had never cried like this.
That you can cry even when you’re truly happy…
at last, she understood.
A few days after the audition results were announced.
For the first time in a while, I lazed around at home and binged a few films.
Regrettably, with the master directors who once shook up the film scene gone, there weren’t many worth watching.
But among films made by less skilled directors who’d gotten lucky, and a few by directors whose names I didn’t even know, some were decent.
“Ugh…”
After sitting for hours watching movies, my back ached.
I stood, stretched a bit, then sat at the computer and picked up the article on Kwak Yeonji I’d left off reading yesterday.
[Director Gyeong Chanhyeon’s new film, title TBD – an unexpected result from the open audition. Kwak Yeonji?]
[In it was an unknown actor. This time, an actress who can’t act. Will there be two miracles?]
[Not Lee Seobin but Kwak Yeonji? Director Gyeong Chanhyeon… giving up a guaranteed hit…]
News that Kwak Yeonji had beaten over 800 applicants to land the lead shocked people.
In her previous work, the role she played had been a supporting part in a drama where Lee Seobin was the lead.
What people call a “flower vase” role.
And perhaps because she hadn’t shown proper acting even in that, the press tore her to shreds to draw clicks.
[Kwak Yeonji’s acting ability—can she handle a Gyeong Chanhyeon film?]
[What kind of movie is Director Gyeong Chanhyeon’s new one, to cast Kwak Yeonji?]
But I can say this with certainty.
Yeonji will deliver astonishing acting in this film.
Maybe that’s why these articles dripping with skepticism only seemed laughable.
They didn’t give me a shred of tension.
If those reporters had seen Yeonji’s audition, they would have gaped and clapped like seals, raving about her performance.
Brrring—
Not long after I finished watching the reporters’ fuss, my phone rang.
It was a number not saved in my contacts.
“Hello?”
—Director Gyeong! Didn’t we come to an understanding back then? What do you think you’re doing right now, huh?
It was Kim Mujin’s voice.
Now that I had no use for Lee Seobin, to me he was trash.
“What understanding? Did you try to lobby me or something?”
—Hey! That’s not what this is about!
“Then what?”
His sudden use of informal speech got on my nerves.
I couldn’t understand why he sounded so brazen.
He should be keeping his head down, and he’s barking at me…?
—Do you know what stigma is attached to Lee Seobin right now? They’re saying a lead-level actress lost an audition to supporting actress Kwak Yeonji! If Seobin’s asking price drops because of you, are you going to take responsibility!?
He was furious; the gentle tone he’d used when we met before was nowhere to be found.
“The results are already out. You want me to change them? And why ask me to take responsibility for your actor’s price dropping?”
—Just say you’re reversing it! You think it’s hard to tank your movie?
“Go ahead and try. Whether you go after Yeonji or you go after me. Ah, you’ll be too scared to touch the KMD side, so like you said you’ll probably just cook up some smear rumors about Yeonji, right?”
—”…”
“Whatever you’re planning, keep it in your imagination. Whatever you think the endgame is, it’ll be more horrific than that.”
Kim Mujin said nothing.
“And I’m the one on top here. You’re the one beneath me, you punk. If you’re going to bite, know who you’re biting. I hold back and you think you’re the top dog.”
—“…”
“If you’ve got more to say, talk to the company. How is it that even over the phone you reek?”
Click.
I finished my revenge disguised as a call and flopped onto the bed.
But what on earth is Yeonji’s agency doing, leaving those malicious articles about their own actress untouched?
I stared at the articles, then just shut it all down.
I hoped Yeonji wouldn’t see them.
The malicious attacks on her… would they affect her acting…?
The next day.
When I got to Seonghyeon Productions, there was Kim Eunha, whom I hadn’t seen in a while.
“Hey! Gyeong Chanhyeon! Long time no see!”
Junseong looked at me with a bright “I can finally breathe” face, and Kim Eunha greeted me with a polished look that made it hard to believe she was the same person I’d first met.
It made sense.
With Memories of Murder, Kim Eunha was garnering heaps of praise in the industry.
Her previous film, Country Girl Comes to the Big City!, had vanished completely from people’s minds, and with just that one film, she’d earned the nickname “Queen of Thrillers” in Korean cinema.
“What’s up?”
“So now that you’ve finished your errands, you think you can skip the greetings when you see an old friend, you punk? Not ‘what’s up,’ start with hello!”
She playfully smacked the back of my head and sat back down.
“So, what is it? At the screening you asked me something about Kwak Yeonji. You acted like you didn’t care then. How did it end up all the way to casting?”
“Because she acted well. Did you watch the audition video?”
“No. I didn’t. Show me. Let me see the performance that beat 800 people.”
When she said it, sounding excited, Junseong jumped up and shouted,
“It’s not here in the office, it’s in the archives, so you two hurry up and get…! I mean, go!”
He practically shoved us out of the office.
“What’s with him?”
At my question, Kim Eunha made a face and said,
“No idea. It’s been a while since I saw him, so how would I know? If anyone knows, it’d be you.”
In the archives, I found the final audition video and hit play.
She was floored by Yeonji’s completely changed appearance.
“What is she? She’s totally…”
“Different, right?”
“Uh… I could believe it if you told me she was a different person. Did you use magic? Her voice got amazing too. What even happened…?”
She stared at the screen, dumbfounded.
“And she’s really pretty. It’s cheating, honestly. To be that pretty with that haircut. No, maybe she’s prettier because of the haircut…”
Watching her gape and gush, I suddenly wondered when her next project would start.
“So when are you going into your next one?”
“Do I look like you? There are almost no directors who can crank out a script of that quality in a few days like you do. And you don’t even use a separate screenwriter. How do you write like that?”
She grumbled, but in a way that begged for a tip.
I propped my chin and answered playfully,
“I guess I was just born with it?”
“Ugh… annoying as that is, I’ve got nothing to say. Anyway—good luck with this film. Not that you need me to say it.”
She looked at me with a slight frown.
“Is that support, or jealousy?”
“Jealousy is for people who are at least in the same ballpark. You’re on a different plane. It’s a shame you’re stuck on this little peninsula.”
She shuddered at her own words and scratched at the goosebumps on her arm.
“Ugh, I can’t even stand myself saying that. Anyway, I’m glad it’s going well.”
“What is?”
At my question, she watched Yeonji’s audition again and said,
“I came because I was nervous about the news you’d cast Kwak Yeonji. There have been so many articles lately I got worried for no reason. But seeing this, it was pointless worry.”
She let out a hollow sigh, as if laughing at herself.
“When I heard it wasn’t Lee Seobin but Kwak Yeonji, I thought you’d lost your mind for a second.”
People probably thought the same as she did. Casting a so-called “can’t act” actress instead of a trusted, bankable one.
“But what’s the movie title?”
“Jawol (字月).”
“What’s that? Is it a real word?”
She tilted her head at the unfamiliar term.
“No. I made it up. The character for ‘letter’ and the character for ‘moon.’”
“‘The moon’s letter’?”
“Yeah.”
“What does it mean? Because the lead is a reporter, so you used the ‘letter’ character?”
She tried to guess the meaning, thinking for a moment, but couldn’t land on an answer.
“Figure it out while you watch the movie later. You’ll get it quickly.”
“Why do you always make the titles so short?”
“So they stick in your head. But if a good long title comes to me, I could go long.”
After we chatted a bit more, we headed back to the office where Junseong was.
The moment he saw us, he smiled as if he hadn’t been grumpy a minute ago.
“Funding’s done! That last call was it. Now we can finally schedule properly.”
He looked pleased with what he’d managed to secure.
“If that was it, you could’ve asked us to step out for a moment.”
“I told you! I was taking a call!”
“I don’t remember that…”
“That’s because you have a goldfish’s three-second memory!”
Thwack!
“Argh!”
Even as he winced, he grinned, then turned to me.
“We can start contacting the crew. Mostly the same folks as before, right?”
“Yeah. I already reached out.”
“Before funding?”
“Word got out about my new film. They called me first.”
“Fast, aren’t you.”
Smiling, he rubbed his hands together, grabbed the calendar, and started mapping out the schedule.
“Let’s wrap pre-pro quick and start shooting! We’ve spent plenty of time on prep, so like usual, let’s blaze through the shoot!”
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