What Exploded? (2)
“Cut.”
The shoot was over.
The rain-soaked staff stared exhaustedly at their equipment under the waterproof tarp, all sharing the same thought.
Finally...
With the last reshoot done, everything was truly finished.
But Song Jeong-woo's expression was grave.
The staff swallowed dryly, tensing up.
No way?
Again?
No! PD-nim, please!
Song Jeong-woo, who had been stroking his chin while glaring at the monitor, finally looked up.
“Seo-hoon, come take a look at this for a sec.”
The staff's faces paled, and Jeong Seo-hoon approached Song Jeong-woo.
Jeong Su-ryeon, looking uneasy, sneaked a peek over his shoulder.
No way his first NG? But it looked perfect to me. No issues...
Song Jeong-woo replayed the scene Jeong Seo-hoon had just performed.
Jeong Seo-hoon donned the headset, eyes fixed on the monitor.
“I told you. I'm going to kill as many as I can right up to the end.”
“What do you think, Seo-hoon? No, forget that—how did it feel when you were acting it out?”
Kim Sang-hee chimed in.
“Was something off, PD-nim?”
“Hmm, it's not the script's fault, but something felt... off-kilter here. Hard to put into words. Like Lee Jin-wook just didn't seem like...”
“Like Lee Jin-wook?”
“Yeah! Exactly!”
Kim Sang-hee shrugged.
“Song Ghost strikes again. How do you pinpoint that every time?”
“Hey, that line isn't original, right? You revised it once?”
“Yeah. You're a ghost. How about you, Seo-hoon?”
Their eyes turned to him, and Jeong Seo-hoon recalled the emotions from the take.
He too had sensed a strange dissonance amid the shifting scenery.
Like the monitor's contrast was slightly warped.
“It felt like wearing clothes that didn't quite fit. Like, this isn't Lee Jin-wook. I wouldn't do this in this situation.”
“You two are both ghosts.”
Kim Sang-hee sighed with a smile, confessing the truth.
“Truth is, this was the viewer-friendly version. A final gift, sort of.”
“Final gift?”
“Lee Jin-wook's a killer, but he set clear rules and only targeted the worst scum, so he kept sympathy to the end. Bad guy, but hard to hate—fatal charm.”
Song Jeong-woo nodded vigorously.
“Held that concept through all 11 episodes. It was razor-thin. Could've turned into pure hate bait.”
“Didn't want to crack that last bit of viewer affection. So I compromised a little.”
“So you erased what real Lee Jin-wook would've chosen?”
“Yep.”
Jeong Seo-hoon gazed steadily and spoke.
“Writer-nim. Let's go with the original.”
“You want the real thing too, Seo-hoon?”
“Yes. I want to see it. The final choice you envisioned for Lee Jin-wook.”
“What do you think it'll be like?”
Kim Sang-hee asked, eyes brimming with curiosity, fidgeting like a kid eager to unwrap a gift.
“I'll show you in front of the camera.”
Jeong Seo-hoon extended his hand for the script.
Lee Jin-wook lay staring at the sky.
A thin streak of lightning silently snaked across the round, ash-gray ceiling thick with storm clouds.
The soldier suddenly thought it resembled the burst veins in his retina.
That realization made the gray sky feel like a massive lens observing him.
Today, the invisible lens that always watched silently during shoots was absent.
Somehow, he felt empty without it.
What if the entire sky had turned into a lens?
—No... no... no...
The lawyer's sobs echoed, fading like a distant memory.
His eyes kept drooping; unnatural drowsiness overtook him.
He'd delivered all lines, done everything required.
But no cut signal came.
Was something wrong? Then suddenly, the lawyer's presence vanished.
As he sank powerlessly into gravity like quicksand, a massive roar erupted.
KABOOM! RUMBLE-BOOM!
Explosions, thunder, screams—every eardrum-shattering sound mixed in relentless blasts.
As the noises of gunpowder and lives bursting sharpened vividly, the soldier bolted upright.
Rashid rubbed his eyes in disbelief, scanning around.
Allied cannons pounded the shore nonstop; enemy trenches only sputtered feeble machine-gun fire intermittently.
Blood and screams littered the scene, until a young rifleman, blood streaming from his face, cried out tearfully.
“Our forces are here! Sergeant, we're saved! We made it!”
The rifleman's voice rang as clear as reality.
***
They finally captured the island after heavy bloodshed.
Despite massive losses, the soldiers' faces weren't grim.
War lingered too long to dwell solely on fallen comrades' pain.
“You're now Lieutenant Rashid.”
Rashid earned merits for rapid promotion to lieutenant and platoon command.
Not a fresh academy grad, but one risen from private through three years of battlefields—his platoon accepted him naturally.
After appointment, Rashid led sweeps of nearby islands.
Memories of filming as Jeong Seo-hoon in Korea grew hazy.
Rashid suspected not memory failure, but transcendental interference locking them away.
The force strained even to conjecture that.
One day, his platoon captured a key enemy officer hiding from escape.
They seized valuables and classified docs too—a major feat.
“Congratulations, captain.”
“Promotion?”
“Yes. You've set unprecedented merits. Exemplar to all Imperial forces.”
The six-star colonel personally flew escort to the front for one lieutenant's ceremony.
“Indefinite leave. Forget war, rest fully—you and your men. Stay at rear resort for secrecy.”
“Grateful, sir.”
Rashid departed for the ultimate rear resort with his battle-hardened platoon.
Indefinite leave—no return date; just rest till orders.
The resort was a vast city, wanting for nothing.
A massive tourist hub for troops; more young women than soldiers.
Lieutenant Rashid partied nightly with his men.
Drunk, they boasted of capturing the enemy commander.
The merit granting rapid promo and endless leave—brag fodder for life.
Before ladies, the colonel's rank inflated to general within a month.
Adventure tales of raiding hideouts drew roaring laughs and pours.
“Platoon leader, you look down. What's up?”
“Nah. Just too comfy—feels off.”
“Hahaha! True war hero! Rest harder than battle?”
“Enjoy now, sir! Brass could shove us to die anytime!”
This detached comfort felt alien.
He didn't deem it fake, nor Korea mere dream anymore.
To cling fading Jeong Seo-hoon memories, the lieutenant relived them daily.
On stage, a scantily clad woman and clownish man synced a play.
Drunken soldier-audience guzzled, clapped, roared deafeningly.
The lieutenant stood frozen, gazing at the performers' breaths.
His heart suddenly pounded fiercely.
Unfamiliar thirst clawed up his throat outward.
I'm longing... for what, exactly?
This place he'd yearned for; comrades he'd craved.
Yet thrashing inside to break free was Jeong Seo-hoon's heart.
The lieutenant murmured unwittingly.
“Am I... missing the camera now?”
Air before the lens, fans' cheers, jealous male fans of the actress burning with envy.
Yearning for the taken-for-granted there exploded, piercing his chest from within.
That instant, surroundings blurred like a lie.
The lieutenant didn't panic.
As if he'd foreseen it.
A subordinate, giggling drunk, sobered toward rising him.
—Platoon leader, where you going?
Voice echoed faintly despite proximity—not ears, but brain-deep.
Familiar sensation whispered: time to go.
He knew he couldn't will it away.
—Be back soon.
—We'll wait. Don't be late—hurry back, sir.
***
Song Jeong-woo couldn't speak, eyes glued to the lens.
Should call cut, but Medusa-cursed mouth froze.
Dead Lee Jin-wook's cheek welled a teardrop like a beauty mark.
Struggling at lash-tip, it succumbed to unseen gravity, rolling to scatter on a weed leaf.
Song Jeong-woo felt it quietly.
A man's silent tear could be so beautiful.
And gratitude swelled.
For capturing this frame in his work.
He shouted the final cut.
“Cut!”
Kim Sang-hee, fists clenched in suspense, exhaled explosively.
She bolted to 'Lee Jin-wook' before anyone could stop her.
“Perfect!”
“It's really over! Yes, truly done—no more reshoot!”
Song Jeong-woo bellowed hoarsely, but boos rose everywhere.
Feigning ear-plug in mock tears, he squeezed eyes shut and yelled.
“Argh, for real! Right here! On my name, Song Jeong-woo! Illegal filming complete! Shooting's done!”
“Song PD. Truly the final final shoot?”
“Yes, ma'am! Done—over!”
“I've been burned enough. I'll trust for now.”
“Aigoo, it is. Alright, everyone—to dinner!”
“Ooooh! Dinner!”
“Guess it's really over!”
No wrap party till Song Jeong-woo says so—meme, jinx, math in dramaland.
“Su-ryeon. Dinner spot?”
“Shop's blowing up—'when you coming?' chaos.”
“Tell 'em we're set.”
“Already done. Reserved us; no customers since afternoon. Hurry—meat on grill awaits.”
Rain showed no sign of worsening.
Spray trucks withdrew; staff packed gear fully.
Progress was swift—no forced march—but nonstop 12 episodes taxed.
Jeong Seo-hoon stood, surveying quietly.
Amid fatigue, actors, manager, staff joyful at final dinner.
The end of a world built together.
Kim Sang-hee tapped his shoulder.
“How's it feel?”
“Dazed. Doesn't feel real. Like expedition shoot tomorrow...”
“Cherish that feeling. You just completed a world—a life.”
Kim Sang-hee winked.
“Not everyone gets that.”
Jeong Seo-hoon tossed a sudden question.
“You must, often, writer-nim?”
“Me? Daily, multiple times. How many worlds end in my laptop?”
***
Dinner buzzed lively yet warm.
Veteran actor Lee Min-soo tended from leads to PD, ADs, lowliest staff, easing vibes.
His seniority relaxed everyone.
“Alright! Group photo for official! Look here!”
Jeong Su-ryeon raised phone; all lifted glasses, necks craning.
After posting the group shot, Jeong Su-ryeon's face hardened while surfing the web.
Her eyes flicked to her brother, trapped between PD and writer, then diagonally to gleeful Yoo Jeong-ah.
She fired urgent texts.