Who on Earth Is Coming?
Just who is coming for you to say that?
“Wait, cut!”
Go Dongbin, the filming director for Welcome to Cafe Violet, threw up the NG sign.
Right now, with his face twisted into a deep scowl, Director Go Dongbin was the sort of man the industry called a hardass for his relentlessly exacting style. Whether it was the atmosphere on set or an actor’s performance, if it failed to meet his standards he would call infinite NGs—and once that started, the set became a living hell gate.
For a scene that lasted only a moment, a minute at most, he would demand hundreds of takes, burning through most of a day. If they actually walked away without a single usable shot, production costs would plunge straight into the red against labor alone. Yet that very style was clearly a path to high-quality drama. Every series Go Dongbin had directed under his ironclad principles had, for the most part, ridden a wave of success. Lasting that long in the industry with such an uncompromising approach meant he had always proven himself with results. That was why Studio NMIX had paid a premium to bring him on.
A once-in-a-generation script meeting an outstanding filming director. If those two forces truly synergized, the outcome needed no prediction. In practice, the staff and actors who already knew what kind of man Go Dongbin was adapted quickly, and he himself had continued the shoot without major complaints—until now.
“Cut.”
Honestly, NGs were common enough on ordinary days, but never dozens in a row like today. And all on a single take. What should have been five or six NGs at most had just hit the fortieth. Forty times in name; in real time it had already stretched nearly six hours. And the cause of every single one of those NGs was one person alone.
“Ha… Soyoung-ssi, come here a moment.”
Unable to watch any longer, Go Dongbin called over Seol Soyoung, who sat blankly on the set.
“Is your condition especially bad today?”
“That… probably isn’t it.”
“Then what’s the reason? If something’s uncomfortable or not to your liking, don’t worry about anyone’s feelings—tell me anytime.”
First work. Young. Ordinarily Go Dongbin never made allowances for such things, yet this once he spoke gently, taking care to consider the other person. As filming had moved into its latter half, he himself had watched the young actress’s skill with his own eyes. From the very first day her acting had been too polished to believe it was her debut. And as she grew more familiar with the set, the girl had gradually become the character Gyeoul itself. For a filming director, that was the highest praise one could give a performer: it meant she was inhabiting the role so completely that the performance flowed without a single awkward seam. Frankly, Go Dongbin had found himself wondering where such a raw gem had suddenly appeared from. That was why he could afford to be generous about the present situation. Even the top-tier actors the public knew sometimes faltered when their condition or routine broke down.
“We’ll stop filming here for today.”
“What?!”
Seol Soyoung’s eyes went wide at the sudden wrap call.
“Director, if this is because of me—”
“It isn’t. The day is already dark, and we’ve made better progress than first expected, so we have a little room. Rest today and we’ll try again tomorrow.”
Faced with the director’s firm decision, Seol Soyoung could only nod.
…But for the next two days after that, filming made no progress at all.
“Eunwoo! We’re in real trouble!”
“Hm? How urgent does something have to be for you to show up during school break time?”
And the news was serious enough that Jo Yongseok had come all the way to Seo Eunwoo’s school in person.
Friday evening, the second day that Seol Soyoung’s consecutive NGs had disrupted the shoot.
The principal directors and PDs in charge of producing Welcome to Cafe Violet delayed leaving work and gathered in a conference room at headquarters for an emergency meeting.
“Na PD-nim. What do you think of the proposal I submitted?”
Go Dongbin fixed Na Yeongjin, who held overall production authority, with a hard stare as he spoke.
“You mean rewriting the climax of episode fifteen?”
“That’s right. At this rate we won’t finish filming on schedule. You know that as well as I do, Na PD.”
“Hoo… Director Go. Do you really think it’s impossible?”
“Then let me ask you the reverse. If the female lead who has delivered perfect performances until now suddenly looks third-rate on screen, what will the audience think? And right at the climax near the very end, no less.”
Immersion would collapse, and the quality of the work would drop with it. High expectations always brought equally high disappointment. When the rise and development were flawless but the conclusion felt off, the only word people used was anticlimax. Well… the story itself was so compelling that it might still paper over the cracks, but that was the sort of talk that never landed with a perfectionist like Go Dongbin.
“Tsk. When a beginner hits a wall in their acting, overcoming it is harder than they expect. In cases like that, giving them another path to choose can actually help the actor a little.”
…Give them another path?
Na Yeongjin found the remark unexpectedly out of character. Under Go Dongbin’s usual style he would have driven an actor into the ground until a result that satisfied him appeared. Offering a choice framed as concern for the performer was something the man nicknamed a hardass simply did not do. Why the change in behavior? Na Yeongjin formed two hypotheses. One: he had been captivated by Seol Soyoung’s acting and rated her far higher than expected. The other: he had sensed that the heart of the girl performing had already broken. Perhaps both were true.
The first point Na Yeongjin himself conceded. Until the current NG crisis, the staff had called Seol Soyoung the goddess of early wrap-ups for the god-tier performances she delivered day after day. He could barely even remember whether she had ever taken an NG before this. The second possibility was simply unfortunate. Endless NGs were brutal even for first-rate actors. You feel certain you performed well enough, only to watch yourself deliver awkward work on the recorded footage, and an inexplicable disconnect sets in. As the NG count climbs, the director’s voice grows sharper, and the staff can only heave heavy sighs at a situation that refuses to improve. All those negative factors lock together, loading the actor with crushing pressure and stress until the performance itself begins to deteriorate. That was almost certainly Seol Soyoung’s present state. She was not even a first-rate actress; she was a pure beginner with zero prior set experience. Of course she had never faced anything like this and had no idea how to handle it or climb out of it. And the role she carried was the single most important one in the drama—the female lead, Gyeoul. Had she been a minor player or an extra, some minimal compromise might have been possible; for the female lead, as Go Dongbin had said, compromise was out of the question. That very problem was what had worried Na Yeongjin when Seol Soyoung’s casting was first discussed. But he already knew that dwelling on such thoughts now was pointless. So he decided to focus solely on what came next.
“Na PD. Has there been any further contact from the story writer since then?”
Go Dongbin asked. “Since then” meant the moment the writer had declared they had not the slightest intention of altering the climax scene.
“Yes. It seems their position hasn’t changed.”
“Huh. A guy who never even shows up on set, who doesn’t know the situation, making shameless demands. This was never in the contract to begin with, Na PD. I clearly took the job on the condition that I could handle everything my own way.”
After the slightly heated words, Go Dongbin let out a long breath. His own habit of cutting like a knife the instant a crack appeared in the raw gem had surely played some part. Ordinarily he would never have gotten this worked up, but this time he felt a measure of guilt over the whole affair.
“Anyway, Na PD. If it’s going to be like this I can’t work togeth—”
Bzzzzz—
Just as Go Dongbin was about to continue, the phone lying in front of Na Yeongjin vibrated hard, as if a text had arrived.
“Excuse me a moment.”
Na Yeongjin hurriedly checked the phone so the meeting would not be disrupted. The moment he read the message from someone, his eyes went wide.
“Everyone.”
He spoke urgently.
“We’ll need to prepare for filming starting early tomorrow.”
“…Filming?”
Go Dongbin frowned as though the words made no sense at all.
“You know perfectly well that continuing to shoot in the current state is nothing but a waste of time.”
“Yes. I’m well aware of that. However, they just texted that they want to come to the set themselves and confirm firsthand why the NGs keep happening.”
Na Yeongjin’s face looked distinctly troubled. Seeing it, everyone reacted with open puzzlement.
“Just who is coming for you to say that?”
Go Dongbin asked on behalf of the room. Na Yeongjin gave a bitter smile. That smile carried a great many meanings—most of them positive.
“Probably the one who will break through this situation.”