Red or Blue
Lunchtime passed.
A tense atmosphere began to settle over the set.
This was because the highlight of the afternoon shoot and the climax of this music video, the "Zombie Run" scene, was scheduled. It was a massive crowd scene where the idol members ran through a ruined city with a horde of zombies in grotesque makeup chasing them; it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that the entire production so far had been leading up to this single moment.
"Alright, alright! Extras, standby! It's hot today, so let's get this in one take! One take!"
The main director's voice boomed through the megaphone.
But then...
"Ah, damn it... This is driving me crazy..."
"What's wrong?"
"I think there was something wrong with lunch..."
"What do you mean? I feel fine."
"No... Ugh... I'm gonna lose my mind."
The extras coordinator, who was in charge of managing the crowd on set, had been breaking out in a cold sweat the entire time.
Suddenly, clutching his stomach, he bolted toward the restrooms at full speed.
It seemed the lunchbox he ate had upset his stomach.
The problem was that the moment he vanished, the set spiraled out of control.
"Uh, wait a minute. Where do we stand?"
"Excuse me, am I running or crawling?"
"Wait, they said this wasn't the right outfit?"
Nearly a hundred extras began to mill about in confusion. As the people in zombie makeup tangled and bumped into each other, their movement paths became completely snarled, and the camera monitor showed a scene resembling a chaotic flea market.
"Hey, come on! Stand in your proper places!"
"What do you mean, proper places? You have to direct us properly! Are we just supposed to stand wherever we want?"
Ultimately, the main director's patience wore thin.
"Hey, assistant director! What the hell are you doing right now?!"
The director slammed his cap onto the ground and roared at the top of his lungs.
"Get them under control! Don't you know we have to finish before the sun goes down? If we can't shoot this today, are you going to take responsibility? Huh?!"
"Ah, well, you see... the coordinator went to the restroom..."
"I don't give a damn if he went to the restroom! Is the assistant director's job just to sit around and wait? Stop making excuses and set it up right now! Five minutes! If we don't get the shot in five minutes, I'm calling off the whole thing!"
The assistant director stammered, completely panicking.
He raised his megaphone and shouted.
"Excuse me! Everyone! Please quiet down and line up. We need to do a rehearsal before we shoot, so please, just..."
But on a set that was already bordering on total anarchy, his voice was completely drowned out.
The idol members, looking thoroughly annoyed, hid behind their managers and fanned themselves.
A total disaster.
Man... they really don't know how to run a set.
Even when dozens of mannequins were rushing to kill me in the department store lobby, they were more orderly than this.
To think they were struggling so hard just to control a hundred people.
I set down my water bottle and slowly walked out into the middle of the set.
I approached the assistant director, who looked like he was on the verge of tears from a mental breakdown.
"Excuse me, AD. Step aside for a second."
"Huh?"
The assistant director looked at me with a tearful face.
I gently nudged him aside and stood before the crowd.
Then, putting some weight into my voice, I shouted.
"Listen up, everyone!"
It wasn't particularly loud.
But there was a strange, heavy authority to it.
Perhaps because the voice cut right through the noisy set and pierced their ears, the chaotic extras in zombie makeup began to look at me one by one.
"We are organizing the blocking in exactly three minutes. Move only as I tell you."
I raised my hand and divided the areas.
"You over there, starting from the ones in red on the left. You are Zone A. You don't need to run. Just contort your joints and slowly close in. It looks much scarier that way. Take three steps back. Yes, just like that!"
At my command, the people in Zone A stepped back as if they were under a spell.
"And Zone B, the ones in school uniforms. You are the runners. When the signal drops, don't look at the camera. Just look at the heels of the idol members and sprint at full speed. If you fall, crawl. Just don't stop until you hear the cut."
I continued without hesitation.
"The rest of you in Zone C are the background. Don't scream. Just hang your heads low and twitch in place. Don't draw attention away from the main action. The camera needs to capture everything in a single frame."
Concrete, clear instructions.
Perhaps because they finally had clear roles instead of wandering in confusion, the crowd became orderly in an instant.
"Alright, if everyone understands, move to your positions!"
Step, step, step.
The numerous extras moved in perfect unison, like a well-trained army, finding their spots. In an instant, the chaotic mob of zombies transformed into a perfect mise-en-scène straight out of a horror film.
"Whoa... you..."
The assistant director gasped in admiration.
I turned around and nodded to the main director.
"We're ready. You can roll whenever you're set."
Honestly, this wasn't the kind of attitude a mere production assistant should have toward a director. Technically, everything should have gone through the assistant director first.
But strangely, no one on set found it odd.
"Uh... Oh! Great! Let's roll! Ready... Action!"
The clapperboard snapped, and the music blasted.
"Aaaah!"
"Graaaah!"
The idol members began to run, and the zombie horde, following my directions, swarmed behind them.
Zone A slowly closed the distance.
Zone B sprinted like madmen.
Zone C added to the grotesque atmosphere in the background.
Perfect!
A dynamic, terrifying picture filled the monitor.
"Cut!!! O-kay!"
The director cheered. It was a wrap in just one take.
"Whoa!"
The extras and staff members burst into applause.
At the center of the applause stood not the idols, but me—a one-day production assistant.
When all the shooting was over and the pack-up was in full swing.
Someone tapped my shoulder while I was cleaning up.
...?
I turned around to see the main director.
He was a big shot in the industry, notorious for being incredibly picky.
"What did you say your name was?"
"Kim Minjun."
"Kim Minjun? You're a student, right?"
"Yes, film major..."
The director scanned me up and down with interest, then pulled a cardholder from his pocket.
"I knew it. Your experience is no joke. You've worked on sets before, haven't you?"
"Well, since it's my major..."
"I saw how you handled the extras earlier. Your eye for detail is extraordinary. Your command of the set, too. You're much better than the assistant directors we have these days."
He handed me a luxurious business card.
"How about joining our directing team? I have no intention of making you start from the very bottom. With your skills, if you learn the ropes on set for just three months, I can promote you to second assistant director immediately. I'll guarantee it, so come on board."
I could hear the surrounding staff members catching their breath.
A direct scout offer to the main director's team.
And with such an unprecedented promotion offer.
For students aspiring to work in film or video production, it was a dream-like offer.
I accepted the card. The paper felt heavy and textured.
And it carried the weight of a structured, fast-tracked career path.
But...
It doesn't really make my heart race.
Saving people despairing in the darkness, straightening out twisted stories, and creating a true ending. My own "set"—unrecognized by anyone, yet heavier and more precious than anything else in the world.
It felt as though that set was already waiting for me.
I spoke politely.
"I'm sorry, Director. I don't think I can do it right now."
"Why? Are the terms not to your liking? I can make sure the pay is generous..."
"No, it's a more than generous offer. Thank you so much. I'll definitely contact you someday."
I carefully slipped the card into my pocket and said,
"But right now... I have several works I'm preparing... ones where humanity is... ah, no... works that I absolutely must do."
"Works? A personal project? A graduation film?"
"Yes. It's... on a rather large scale, a project I have to stake my life on. I think I need to focus on that for the time being."
"Hmm... Well, alright. Anyway, I've seen how incredible you are, so I'll be waiting. Please make sure to contact me."
The director couldn't hide his disappointment.
But perhaps reading the conviction in my eyes, he smiled wryly and nodded.
"Contact me once that project is finished. I'd love to see what you've made."
"Yes, I'll definitely invite you."
Just like that, I finished my day's work and left the set behind on my commute home.
On the express bus heading back to Seoul from Namyangju, I stared out the window the entire time.
The bus drove on and on, finally dropping me off at the stop near Minhae's house around midnight.
The alleyway leading to our hideout.
The night air felt exceptionally cold, and the atmosphere was dark.
I stopped walking at the entrance of the alley where a streetlight flickered.
I pulled my smartphone out of my pocket.
"...Ha."
A dry laugh escaped my lips.
The next assignment?
[The Red Toilet Paper, Blue Toilet Paper Urban Legend]
A notoriously famous and cliché classic ghost story that absolutely everyone who went to school in South Korea knew.
The question asked by a hand popping out of the toilet bowl.
'Do you want red toilet paper, or blue toilet paper?'
A ghost story that people might laugh off as a tacky, outdated legend from the eighties.
But to me, the very person who wrote the screenplay, this title carried a completely different weight.
I remember...
Back when I was writhing in the agony of creation.
At the time, I was obsessed with the theme of "the horror of choice." If you chose red, your entire body was torn apart; if you chose blue, your blood was sucked dry. The primal terror of an absurd, forced choice where death was unavoidable no matter what you picked.
I had adapted this simple urban legend into a closed-space thriller.
A restroom with no exit, endless stalls, and a voice forcing a choice.
But in the end, I had given this screenplay a 1.5-star rating and shoved it into a dusty corner of my hard drive.
The reason was simple.
It was too contrived and in bad taste.
Perhaps because I was so dissatisfied with the world back then, I hadn't given the characters any salvation or hope. An ending where they died horribly regardless of their choice.
It was a so-called "no-answer" scenario.
A failure filled with the author's self-righteousness, leaving no room for the protagonist to even use their wits.
This is crazy. I have to solve a problem with no answer that I created myself.
The rule that the scenarios proceeded in order of their star ratings had never failed. Since the previous one was 1 star, it was only natural that this 1.5-star one would be next.
But the problem was that this screenplay was the one with the most lacking "solution" among everything I had written.
This one is really going to rot my brain.
I walked straight down the dark alleyway.
My teammates—Minhae, Deokhu, and Seyeon—came to mind.
Our sweet break was over.
During the break, I had earned some money and even got a business card from one of the country's top directors, so it was a success in its own right.
Now, we had to put our heads together again and find the answer to this horrific conundrum I had committed in the past.
I clenched my fists and took another step forward.
Let's go and talk first.
No matter how absurd the choices forced upon us, if we were together, we would be able to create a new color of answer.