CHAPTER 043: Have you been eating well lately?
CHAPTER 043: Have you been eating well lately?
The days of barely hanging on with short naps continued.
The moment Park Juwon’s drama schedule ended, filming for Vacuum State went on without a break.
If I got three or four hours of sleep in a day, that was lucky, and more often than not I handled meals inside the car while moving.
And just like that, it was already November.
Today’s set was especially busier than usual.
The hurried footsteps of staff moving equipment and the urgent voices coming through walkie-talkies greeted me.
“Lighting team! Please check Light Number 5!”
“A-cam, wide shot for the full movement path. B-cam, track the actor’s facial expression tight. C-cam, close-up on the part that breaks.”
“Art team! Set the vehicle glass fragments exactly at the pre-calculated positions!”
All around, the sound of gaffer tape ripping—riiip—rang out, and the cinematographer hurried back and forth along the rails, checking the movement path.
The scene we were shooting today was the car-destruction scene that burned the most budget.
Because of that, even CEO Park Kyungsu of Nine Film had come to the set in person to monitor.
Standing beside Director Ji Seongwoo, he swept the set with sharp eyes.
Then—
A stuntman walked up to me and handed me a prop.
“This is a stunt axe made from reinforced plastic. Since it’s not a metal blade, it should be relatively safer… but are you really okay with this?”
“Yes. I’m fine.”
For this scene, I’d received advance training at a stunt academy for several days.
Practice swinging the axe along an exact trajectory matched to the camera angle, and fixing the strike point.
And since there’s a risk of injury from recoil during actual destruction, I even learned how to control that recoil.
Thanks to raising my physical acting ability to Grade A, I learned the movements so fast the stuntman clicked his tongue.
Why am I doing it myself instead of using a double?
Because me doing it directly helps raise the film’s quality.
If you use a double, you have to avoid face exposure, so you end up relying on back shots, close-ups, and fast-cut editing—but today’s scene isn’t that kind of urgent action scene, so it would ruin the film’s rhythm.
If I do it myself, my face, expression, and movement can all be captured in one frame, making longer-breath long-take shooting possible.
That’s how you clearly deliver Jeong Dogyun’s emotional line.
Of course, I’m not planning to do action on the level of personally hanging off an airplane wing, like someone else.
Still, for safety, I kept practicing.
In the practice space set up in one corner, I placed a mock-up similar to the real setup and ran repeated simulations.
With the background noise of staff moving busily, I focused on nothing but the axe’s trajectory and my body’s movement.
The moment I finished my last practice swing, exhaled, and set the axe down, Park Juwon walked over.
His face looked slightly startled.
“Hey, have you been eating something good lately?”
“Pardon?”
“No, that’s not it—if anything, you can’t eat. I heard you’re dieting because of the role.”
He kept saying things that made no sense.
“No, it’s just—your whole impression feels different lately. Even today, the moment I got to the set, my eyes just snapped straight onto you for some reason.”
Ah. That kind of thing.
“Maybe because you lost weight—something about you suddenly has a vibe.”
Is it because of the aura I got?
I’ve been clearly feeling how people’s gaze toward me has changed.
Before, it was more like they’d glance back once.
These days, it’s like they stare for a moment as if they’re entranced.
“Guess you’ve really become an actor now. It’s not easy to carry that kind of atmosphere.”
Behind Park Juwon as he looked me over, the assistant director approached.
They reminded us of safety points again and guided the shoot.
The flow of the scene we had to shoot today was like this.
Jeong Dogyun, who had been treated like literal air, as if he’d become an invisible man.
Just as he finally resigned himself and was about to give up on everything, Professor Baek—wearing strange glasses—was the only one who recognized Dogyun.
Professor Baek, who explained he was a physics professor.
He took an interest in Dogyun and began searching together for a way to solve the phenomenon.
From here, the turning-point scene where the tone twists slightly into a “buddy comedy” feel.
It was the culprit scene that became the reason it was marketed as a comedy film in my past life.
Of course, that was the distributor’s marketing mistake—the scene itself is charming.
As I read the director’s script, the fun scenes kept forming clearly in my head.
That’s why my expectations were high too.
The chemistry between Professor Baek and Jeong Dogyun exploding.
After finishing all preparations, I nodded to the director.
“I’m ready.”
All the actors took their places.
Watching from outside the camera, the staff whispered anxiously.
“Will he be okay? No matter how much he practiced, the real thing is different.”
“What if the axe slips and he gets hurt?”
“Injury is a problem, but the cost is big too. Every take, we have to bring in a new car.”
“And it’s not just any car—it’s a sports car…”
“If we get a few NGs, today’s the day the production budget becomes fireworks.”
CEO Park Kyungsu, listening nearby, also had a stiff face.
His head was packed with nothing but numbers.
Ten million won per junked car. If you add the one-day location permit fee and crowd-control costs, double that. Then add high-speed camera rental, extra labor… One NG and tens of millions just vanish.
He clutched at his throbbing head.
Please… let it go in one take. Please…
The stuntman also watched Ryu Sunho with unease.
He was good in practice. Honestly, good enough to shock me. But the set is different. Lights, cameras, dozens of staff. Under this pressure, one mistake becomes an accident.
A stunt set was a place where even veterans made mistakes.
And with a body that skinny, could he really control the axe’s recoil?
If it looks bad, I’ll have to persuade him.
It was already agreed with the director.
No matter how tempting the shot was, the opportunity cost was too high, so they’d have to compromise:
the stuntman would do it as a double, and they’d use intercut editing.
The absolute limit was two.
If more NGs happened than that, the stuntman would go in immediately.
The stuntman loosened up, slightly tense.
Everyone watched with tight eyes.
Director Ji Seongwoo brought the megaphone to his mouth.
With his voice, the cue dropped.
In the crowd flowing toward the downtown street,
the camera moved low, brushing through the crowd, then caught Jeong Dogyun walking side by side with Professor Baek.
A presence seen only through Professor Baek’s eyes behind those strange glasses.
Ordinary people passed by without recognizing Dogyun at all.
Then Professor Baek spoke while walking, his face excited.
“Vacuum isn’t empty. It’s a state where virtual particles constantly fluctuate. I’ve summarized your condition as the ‘vacuum state’ of quantum mechanics.”
“So what?”
Dogyun’s tone was indifferent, but if you looked at his fingertips, his nails were faintly digging into his palm. Tension was being forced down.
Professor Baek pulled out an electronic device like a tablet and showed it to Jeong Dogyun.
A trembling vibration graph. In the irregular waveform, a few peaks stood unusually high.
“What is this?”
Dogyun asked.
“It’s you. A record of the waves from the moments when you were about to be seen, then vanished.”
Professor Baek’s hand swept across the screen.
“Observation changes depending on the magnitude and frequency of the wave. If you stay still, the wave weakens, but…”
He struck the peak of the curve with a bang.
“If a strong, violent vibration occurs, the surroundings detect you. When the wave is intense, the vacuum state gets disturbed.”
Dogyun’s lips were bone-dry.
“…It didn’t work no matter how much I yelled and ran around.”
“That’s not enough.”
Professor Baek’s eyes flashed.
“Noise, visual shock, unpredictable movement. You have to bombard all senses at once. Only then can this indifferent world no longer ignore your existence. That’s what I’m saying.”
The light turned green, and the camera crossed the crosswalk with the crowd.
“So today we’ll run an induced-observation experiment. The location is here.”
Where Professor Baek pointed—
Gangnam Station intersection, packed with people.
Beside the sidewalk, a parked sports car. Next to it, Professor Baek set down the bag he’d been carrying on his back. Heavy.
When he opened it, there was an axe, a sledgehammer, and a baseball bat. Dogyun stared at them for a long time.
The camera swept the weapons along with Dogyun’s gaze, then returned to his expression.
A face mixed with surprise, fear, and a strange thrill.
“Remember. The stronger the wave, the higher the chance of observation.”
Professor Baek handed him the axe.
Jeong Dogyun quickly scanned people’s gazes.
“…So you want me to smash a car? Here? With all these people.”
“I’m not smashing a car. I’m smashing indifference.”
The professor’s eyes sparkled.
“Sound, impact, visual stimulation. Bombard all senses at once.”
Professor Baek’s corners of his mouth lifted.
“Now, start.”
Dogyun let out a breath and climbed onto the parked sports car.
He still hesitated.
A feeling of, Is it okay to do this?
“You know you’re insane, right?”
“Science advances because of lunatics. Galileo, Tesla, and me.”
Dogyun steadied his breath and gripped the axe handle tight.
The first strike.
The camera captured the instant the metal plate crumpled in slow motion.
Bam!
The reverberation spread through metal and air.
The vibration that started at his fingertips climbed his shoulder and seeped into the back of his neck.
Bam! Bam!
The second and third strikes had less hesitation.
As the body of the car crumpled more and more, losing its shape, his breathing grew faster and his eyes sharpened.
Then the camera swept the passing crowd.
A passerby briefly stopped and tilted their head.
Professor Baek’s excited voice shot up.
“See? They hesitated! Now—harder!”
Dogyun clenched his teeth and swung the axe in rapid succession.
Glass shattered into pieces, and the car body collapsed.
Professor Baek played music on his phone, and ear-splitting metal music exploded from a Bluetooth speaker beside them.
“This isn’t science—it’s a crime!”
“Crime? No! It’s humanity’s first induced-observation experiment!”
Professor Baek’s voice was soaked in madness.
Jeong Dogyun also got caught in a strange exhilaration.
Either way, for the first time, someone recognized him.
A rush rose up. He couldn’t stop.
It wasn’t insanity. It wasn’t crime. It was a struggle to survive.
Dogyun drew another breath, leaned his body far back, and brought the axe down with full force.
BAM!!
At that moment, on the opposite road, a delivery motorcycle slowed down. Behind the helmet, two eyes looked straight at Dogyun.
Like a frozen frame, the world paused for a moment.
He saw me. He really saw “me.” My heart pounded as if it would explode.
This sensation.
The instant someone clearly recognized me shot through my whole body like electricity.
More. I wanted to feel more.
As he gathered his strength for one last blow—
a police siren wailed in the distance.
“…Huh? Professor, what do we do n—?”
Professor Baek was already running off in the distance.
“This son of a bi—”
Jeong Dogyun also scrambled to chase after him.
The camera followed their feet as it pushed into the crowd.
All that remained was the crumpled car with an axe stuck in it, the ear-numbing music, and the faces of confused people.
“C-cut! Okay! That was so good…!”
When the car-smashing scene ended in a single take, CEO Park Kyungsu—standing in front of the monitor—let out a sigh of relief.
Then he turned his back to the monitor for a moment and clenched his fist in a small gesture where no one could see.
We did it… one take.
While he silently celebrated, the staff on set also let out short cheers.
“Check the replay!”
“Wow… we finished the cut we were most worried about in one shot.”
“Then we can pull all the stunt shooting allotment out of the timetable.”
“So that’s like four hours saved?”
“We’ve got plenty of time for retakes within the control window.”
“Whew, today’s schedule is saved. Thank God.”
Nearby, the assistant director shouted,
“I’ll check the multicam!”
“A-cam, B-cam, C-cam all okay.”
“Both main and sub are good.”
“Nice! Great!”
In the middle of that, only one person—
the stuntman—stared hard at Ryu Sunho with an expression closer to shock than joy.
Most rookies freeze under set pressure, or they tense up and their movement breaks… but he got calmer.
He replayed the movements in his head again and again.
He didn’t smash down with strength—he loaded his weight and used centrifugal force. That can’t be taught. That’s innate sense…
The stuntman looked at Ryu Sunho’s skinny body.
His eyes were full of greed.
If he just puts on a little more muscle… we might get a monster action actor.
Meanwhile,
that afternoon, same day. Mate Beverage headquarters in Jongno-gu, Seoul.
Marketing Team Leader Park Hyunsik’s fingers were pounding the keyboard like crazy.
The submission deadline for the Korea Advertising Awards was right around the corner.
“Team leader, what are you submitting for the video category?”
The country’s most authoritative advertising award, in name and reality.
There was no need to agonize over the first submission.
“What’s there to think about? Obviously Ryu Sunho’s one-take commercial. It’s our company’s best output this year.”
Ryu Sunho’s one-take commercial.
Seeing Ryu Sunho’s face smiling fresh and bright on screen, Park Hyunsik smiled without realizing it.
There’s no room for doubt. Cinematography, story, message—everything was perfect.
After confidently finishing the video-category submission, he opened the submission page for the PR category next.
“And… we should put the Mate Heroes Campaign into the PR category too.”
“That campaign response was really good. Even ad critics praised it as a great example of brand activism.”
That was true.
From the beverage truck to “Mate Station,” where they donated refrigerators filled with Mate beverages to fire stations nationwide—
the campaign was a massive success.
Feeling proud, Park Hyunsik wrote up the campaign overview and entered the names of participating staff into the form one by one.
The ad agency, the production company, and the advertiser—plus our team members’ names too.
His fingers, tapping the keyboard, paused for a moment.
Because one thought flicked through his mind.
But the one who came up with the idea was Sunho. Wouldn’t it be weird to leave Sunho out…?
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