Pen and Paper Translations

Go Sangwoo hesitated to answer for a moment.

What if he ended up looking like a crazy person?

Maybe that worry showed plainly on his face, because to ease it even a little, Gyeong Chanhyeon smiled and said,

“It’s fine even if it sounds impossible. Anything. If someone heard what I’m thinking right now, they’d probably call it insane too. I mean, up until just a few months ago most people said even being invited to Cannes was impossible, didn’t they?”

At that, Go Sangwoo gave an awkward smile, took a deep breath, and answered.

“I think the core of soft power is music.”

He knew full well that wasn’t the sort of thing you say in front of a film director.

But he couldn’t lie.

For once there was someone in front of him who would seriously listen to what he had to say.

“Music, huh? Haha.”

As if he wanted to hear more, Gyeong Chanhyeon even pulled his chair a little closer and looked at Go Sangwoo with eyes full of curiosity.

That made Sangwoo feel a bit burdened; he actually leaned back a little from the table.

“Why music?”

“Because music doesn’t need content. There are lyrics, sure, but if the melody is good you’ll listen even if you don’t understand the words. People are inevitably captivated by good music.”

“Then, do you think our country’s music is competitive?”

This question…

It was one Sangwoo had repeated to himself countless times.

Can Korean music work on the world stage?

Sangwoo’s thoughts on that question had recently borne fruit.

“Yes. Maybe not right this second, but within the next ten years we can aim straight for the U.S.”

Aiming for the U.S.

In other words, aiming for the world.

Even as he said something that audacious, Sangwoo watched Chanhyeon’s expression, worried he might get laughed at.

But Chanhyeon only smiled wider and replied,

“What’s your basis?”

“Eminem and America’s macho culture.”

“Pardon?”

“Eminem is at the center of American culture right now. People in their twenties are especially crazy about him. They imitate everything about him: his actions, expressions, clothes, without thinking.”

At Sangwoo’s words, Gyeong Chanhyeon looked puzzled and asked,

“And how is that a basis?”

“Do you know what Eminem hates most?”

“No…”

“Male groups that sing while dancing.”

Sangwoo then asserted that thanks to Eminem, who smashed idol culture, there wouldn’t be any idols breaking out in the U.S. after Backstreet Boys.

And the idol culture that had withered in America was now booming in Korea, and it would keep getting refined and develop even further.

“The best route into the U.S. market soon is to raise idols.”

“Hm, and the macho culture?”

“Strong masculinity. Men shouldn’t primp. Most American men have that mindset. Once that thesis takes hold, a desire naturally arises for the antithesis.”

“You’re saying demand will grow in the U.S. for beautiful, well-groomed men?”

“Yes. I’m sure of it.”

Gyeong Chanhyeon pulled his chair as close as it would go and asked Sangwoo,

Already knowing the future, he couldn’t help being even more intrigued.

If this kind of insight was what had carried the man that far, experience didn’t matter.

You’re recruiting a general to command from the rear, not a foot soldier. How well he shoots is irrelevant.

“Could you raise them yourself?”

“Me…?”

“Yes. I’ve talked with Junseong about a talent agency focused on actors, but I’d like to scale it up. An agency operated with you, Mr. Sangwoo, at the forefront.”

“Sorry, what!?”

Sangwoo stared blankly at Chanhyeon for a beat, too startled to speak.

His eyes sparkled with a conviction so strong it felt almost burdensome.

“But why me…”

“Because you’re worth betting on.”

“Me? I’m just…”

“For now, you’re a manager. But I see something in you.”

“…?”

Gyeong Chanhyeon spoke with the certainty of someone who’d already made up his mind.

But Sangwoo still couldn’t grasp what was happening.

“If you don’t want it, well. There’s nothing I can do…”

“Huh?”

“I drew up this plan with only you in mind. And today I got the confirmation I needed. If you can’t do it, you don’t have to accept.”

They say a person gets three chances in life.

Could this be one of them…?

Looking at Chanhyeon waiting for his answer, Sangwoo’s head spun with thoughts.

Is this a scam?

The mere fact that Director Gyeong Chanhyeon was suddenly asking him for something like this made no sense.

But a director riding a runaway hit with scamming him made even less sense.

A long silence stretched out, so long they both lost track of time.

“If you want to take your time…”

“I-I’ll do it! I’ll live up to the trust you’re placing in me and do it right.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ll carve what you said deep into my heart.”

When Chanhyeon smiled and reached out, Sangwoo took his hand and smiled back.

He had no idea why this person believed in him, but he had never been able to open up like this to anyone.

He had never imagined he’d meet someone who would really listen to what most would dismiss as a pipe dream.

But then a less pleasant thought flashed through his mind.

“Ah… but I don’t think this’ll fly with Junseong… if you two are doing this together…”

“It’s fine. Leave convincing him to me. Mr. Sangwoo, just focus on what you need to do next.”

---

A few days later.

Thanks to <Jawol>, Junseong was grinning from ear to ear at the Seonghyeon Production office… until he heard my idea, and his face twisted in disbelief.

“What? You lunatic. You’re saying we make Go Sangwoo the CEO of the new talent agency?”

“Yeah.”

Convincing Junseong wasn’t easy.

He rolled his eyes and shouted before I’d even finished.

“Have you lost your mind? Are you sane?”

“Yeah.”

“That makes no sense. Put a guy with barely any time as a manager in charge of a company? If he becomes CEO, the rank-and-file will probably have better résumés than him!”

“We’re not hiring him as a manager. A CEO’s job is a different thing.”

“Even so, that world runs mostly on connections. He’s a total rookie! I only agreed because you’ve got a great eye for actors!”

He wasn’t wrong. The initial goal had been an actor-focused agency.

But when a gold nugget rolls in front of you, why limit yourself to actors?

“We don’t have to limit it to actors.”

“What are you saying? Are you going to make idols or something?”

“Yeah.”

At my answer, his eyes went wider.

“Hey! You’re the guy who reeks of ‘old man music’ and never even listens to idol stuff. What bug bit you? And can you actually survive in a market that’s exploding like this?”

He sprayed words and even a little spit in pure exasperation, then heaved a deep sigh.

And he still wasn’t done.

“How’s a guy who managed actors supposed to know what kind of music blows up? You don’t even know that market! Maybe if he’d worked in music.”

“We can hire composers. And specialists will be everywhere now. Like you said, the idol market’s getting huge.”

At that, he thumped his chest and said,

“If it were that easy, every mutt would be producing idols! What kind of wind is blowing through your head!”

“A wind that says we should put Korea on the map?”

“Suddenly? Did melt your brain? Where’s this burst of patriotism coming from?”

A nation’s clout affects my footing too.

It also makes the request the god of cinema gave me that much easier.

And it’s a perfect justification to wrap in patriotism.

“If we’re going to ignite a revolution in world cinema, this is the only way.”

“What… what does that even…”

“Spreading my films across the world.”

All culture is one living organism.

Music, film, dramas, fashion.

They influence each other, create a single trend, and that becomes a culture.

If Korean music spreads worldwide, people won’t find “Korea” so foreign anymore, and then their resistance to Korean films will naturally lessen.

And if that happens, my footing rises on its own.

“Ha… and you think Go Sangwoo can do that?”

“Yeah. To be precise, he won’t be doing it alone. The plan includes me… and you.”

He clutched his head and grimaced.

But when he heard he was in the plan, the corner of his mouth twitched up for the briefest moment. I caught it.

He must have wanted to hide it, because he snapped again right away.

“Do you even know anything about Sangwoo? How can you be so sure? Do you ‘see’ something in him or what?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“He’s a sharp kid, I’ll grant that. I just don’t know about dumping something this big on him out of nowhere.”

“He’s way more than sharp. The guy might be on his second life.”

“What…?”

Worried eyes.

But now he was just too tired to answer.

Time to go deeper, only then could I win him over completely.

“Remember what we talked about with Chester?”

“We talked for like two hours. What are you getting at?”

‘Trash who act like skin color is some kind of privilege.’

“And?”

“Imagine me in Hollywood. How much racism do you think I’ll face?”

“Oh boy, here we go again…”

I hopped up to sit on the edge of his desk and said,

“Who do you think did the most to reduce anti-Black racism?”

“Michael Jordan?”

“Wrong.”

“Martin Luther King?”

“Wrong.”

He thought a moment, tossed out a couple more names, then gave up.

“In my view, Michael Jackson.”

“…”

He couldn’t deny it.

A titan who changed the world with music.

The vanguard who drew attention to Black music.

The crumbling of racial barriers.

The first non-white superstar.

Words can’t encompass his greatness.

“So you want to produce someone like Michael Jackson for Korea… because that helps your films?”

“It’s worth hoping for. For now, the immediate focus is managing actors; idols are the long game.”

“Good grief…”

His eyes were wobbling now. He was starting to lean my way.

“And think about it. The only one who kept holding on to Kwak Yeonji was Go Sangwoo.”

“If you hadn’t held on, both Yeonji and Sangwoo were finished.”

I grinned at him.

He’d walked into the trap.

“You’re the one who said there’s nothing more pointless than counterfactuals. Don’t you remember?”

“Sigh… fine. Let’s try it. If it bombs, you’re my slave. Got it?”

“I’ll crank out three -level films a year. Don’t worry.”