He'd Suit It, Wouldn't He? (1)
Song Jeong-woo PD was walking down the hallway with his assistant director, Kim Hyun-tae.
He was on the phone with screenwriter Kim Sang-hee.
"Writer Kim, does it have to be a private first class? Can't we just make it a 30- or 40-something for simplicity? Like a sergeant or master sergeant or something?"
-No way.
"Don't just shut it down like that. Why not? It's a haeguk murder case at an overseas base. What's a regular grunt doing deployed to the Middle East to go on a shooting rampage?"
-You know that. But there's a bigger issue.
"What's that?"
-It won't resonate with viewers. How many people have family in the military? But every household with a son can relate to a private.
Song Jeong-woo softened a bit.
"But this is a lawyer-led courtroom drama, not some military hazing exposé. Why put so much effort into a one-episode supporting role?"
-The devil's in the details, you know.
"Why bring up the devil all of a sudden?"
-I've been hearing you've been calling me one behind my back.
"...No, that's not... You're the one pulling demonic ratings every time like you've sold your soul. It was a compliment."
Lies.
He'd let it slip at a drinking session that her artistic stubbornness made her devilish.
But you couldn't say that to her face.
"And finding an actor who looks young and innocent like a real private—easier said than done. You think some rookie kid can nail this character?"
-That's why we're holding open auditions. To find someone young-looking, talented, and cheap.
"We're not holding auditions just for one private role, right? We're tacking it on while casting the others."
-In a drama, every role is the protagonist with their own story. That's how I always write.
"Just age him up, come on?"
-Talk later. The muse is hitting; gotta write.
"Writer Kim! Writer K—!"
The call cut off before he could finish.
Song Jeong-woo didn't notice Kim Hyun-tae muttering under his breath, They're like two peas in a pod fighting their own reflections.
He pocketed his phone with a defeated look, and Kim Hyun-tae ventured cautiously.
"PD-nim. No dice?"
"Man, Kim Sang-hee's stubborn this time too. Hot-headed as ever. She's gonna stroke out before fifty."
"It's just a minor supporting role, barely above extra..."
"Hyun-tae, watch it!"
As they walked while glancing around, Kim Hyun-tae was about to crash into the man standing ahead.
Song Jeong-woo grabbed his arm just in time—but the next instant, a loud thud echoed as Kim Hyun-tae was slammed against the wall.
The man had eyes in the back of his head or something; he'd grabbed Kim Hyun-tae by the collar and shoved him to the wall with one hand.
Song Jeong-woo blinked at the man's gaze up close.
"Oh ho...?"
***
"Wait here a sec."
Jeong Su-ryeon slipped into the crowd of the indoor studio after those words.
Dazzling lights, the screech of metal, casual curses bursting from everywhere.
And people hauling massive filming gear back and forth.
Jeong Seo-hoon felt like he'd stepped onto a warship deck mid-battle.
Landscapes that dredged up soldier memories.
But the sight of glamorous female celebs strutting by in sleek figures shattered the grim scene.
Uncomfortable.
Too many people milling too close, nonstop.
Of course, no enemy soldiers, snipers, or spies among them aiming to kill him.
His rational prefrontal cortex knew that—but battlefield-scarred neurons fired anyway, overexciting his nerves.
Footsteps approaching close, brushing past, then receding.
Jeong Seo-hoon stood frozen, zeroed in on the sounds from behind.
Not by choice; his hyped-up brain cells demanded it.
Invisible steps drawing near then fading spiked his tension.
He knew they were just staff, celebs, crew passing by—yet his fingertips twitched with impulse.
He knew scanning every direction nonstop would calm him.
But his prefrontal cortex warned that it'd make everyone stare like he was crazy, so he clamped down on the urge.
Passing.
Passed.
Gone.
One hundred fifty-two footsteps had approached from behind, grazed past, and moved ahead.
Jeong Seo-hoon knew counting them one by one wasn't normal.
This was a safe country, far from war.
But the 'soldier' in him saw it as natural.
Who knew when an enemy might lurk among them.
"PD-nim. No dice?"
Five meters.
"Man, Kim Sang-hee's stubborn this time too. Hot-headed as ever. She's gonna stroke out before fifty."
Two meters.
"It's just a minor supporting role, barely above extra..."
"Hey, Hyun-tae!"
The moment a hard, pointy object jabbed his back.
The taut bowstring he'd been holding snapped.
Jeong Seo-hoon moved on pure combat instinct.
He swatted away the 'rifle' aimed at his back, twisted its direction, and slammed the 'rebel disguised as civilian attacking from behind' chest-first into the wall.
Then jammed the seized 'rifle's' muzzle right under the 'rebel spy's' chin...
Ah!
His battle-honed reflexes exploded before reason kicked in late.
A panicked 30-something man's terrified face, frozen in shock.
Reason scrambled for damage control, eyes rapidly scanning the man.
What he'd pressed to his back wasn't a gun barrel—a mic pole.
Paunchy gut, flabby limbs without a hint of muscle, face pale with fear, ragged breaths.
No soldier, that's for sure.
Even a boy soldier would be braver.
Shit.
***
The instant assistant director Kim Hyun-tae, distracted, lightly bumped the young man—everything flashed and flipped in a heartbeat.
Suddenly, Kim Hyun-tae was pinned, the young man throttling his throat while shoving the mic pole like a gun barrel under his chin.
Normally, you'd panic, intervene, apologize, or call it overkill.
Hoo?
But Song Jeong-woo PD took half a step back instead.
Shifting to the perfect angle for the young man's profile. Director's instinct.
He raised the script binder to eye level like a viewfinder, palm over his eyes for the top frame.
Well, well?
The young man glared ferociously at Kim Hyun-tae from inches away.
Not forced overacting—raw, natural menace.
Camera.
Suddenly, he craved a camera.
How would that gaze look through a lens on a monitor?
Fiercer? Colder? Hotter?
The young man's eyes scanned up and down methodically, slowly.
Like a hunter eyeing trapped prey.
Or a soldier debating whether to kill a captured foe.
One thing was clear: he wanted a closer look at that face.
No thought of overreaction to a mere bump crossed his mind.
A script scene he'd memorized to death unfolded naturally.
S#21.
Prosecutor: You fucking retard.
Soldier: (Silence)
Prosecutor: Eyes front. A private who shot his buddy thinks he can glare? You punk, I'll make sure you get the death penalty. Trash like you belongs rotting in prison.
Soldier: (Glare) They deserved to die. They killed innocent kids and elders too!
Prosecutor: Guerrillas ambushed out of nowhere, unavoidable accident in the dark! You moron!
Soldier: (Scoff) It was bright noon.
Prosecutor: Talking back, you little shit!
(Prosecutor slams thick file on forehead, but soldier doesn't blink, stares straight.
Prosecutor feels eerie chill.)
Song Jeong-woo PD murmured, imagining the young man framed in a virtual camera.
"He'd suit it, wouldn't he?"
He'd Suit It, Wouldn't He? (2)