Threat
My morning greeting froze Team 3’s road managers in place.
Watching them at my leisure, I thought, Who should I start with?
If I followed my temper, I wanted to take them down one by one.
But I also didn’t want to waste my energy first thing in the morning.
It was a good day. There was no reason to get stressed out over and over for no reason.
So I decided to choose the most efficient method.
I’d take down the head of the pack, the one who’d led the charge in bad-mouthing me behind my back.
My gaze settled naturally on Team 3’s Executive Manager Lee Jae-min.
“Executive Manager Lee Jae-min.”
“!”
“I heard from behind that you’ve got a lot of complaints about me.”
I smiled brightly.
“I’m curious what I did to upset you so much. Would you mind telling me?”
Lee Jae-min’s face went pale.
Maybe because it was hot out, beads of cold sweat had already broken out on his forehead.
After working his lips soundlessly for a long moment, he started to stumble through a messy excuse.
“No, Chief Kwon, that wasn’t what I meant. I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding...”
A misunderstanding?
Well.
That was a bit hard to call it a misunderstanding when he’d been chewing me up like that.
I smiled again.
This time with the corners of my eyes lifted all the way.
“Know your place.”
“!”
“You said I didn’t know my place, didn’t you?”
Lee Jae-min’s shoulders jerked.
Meanwhile, my mouth started tap dancing.
“But isn’t it actually you who doesn’t know your place, Executive Manager Lee?”
“...What?”
“Actor Choi Ji-hoon starred in the drama you insisted on last year, and it bombed, didn’t it?”
“!”
“So I’m guessing Choi Ji-hoon still can’t get cast in anything. Am I wrong?”
Lee Jae-min opened and closed his mouth like a fish.
Had I gone in too hard?
A small flicker of regret rose in me, but when I remembered the things I’d heard him saying behind my back, this felt well within bounds.
So I just pressed harder.
“If you’re going to waste Choi Ji-hoon, give him to me.”
“!”
“I don’t shove projects down an actor’s throat and ruin their filmography like some people do.”
“E-executive Kwon!”
“Yes?”
Lee Jae-min’s face flushed like an active volcano.
The pale look from a moment ago had turned into something like a roasted tomato.
He looked like he had a lot he wanted to say, but maybe because he knew he was in the wrong, all he did was glare at me with murderous intensity.
Watching him at my leisure, I dipped my head.
“I’m leaving with a good lesson thanks to Team 3. Take care.”
I patted Lee Jae-min on the shoulder and walked past him.
The road managers of Team 3 stabbed the back of my head with needle-sharp stares.
Without meaning to, I let out a dry laugh.
So a little incident turned into a full-blown scandal.
Still, I didn’t feel especially worried.
If anything, it felt like the looseness in my life had been pulled taut with a fresh kind of tension.
I succeeded because of Lee Ha-eun?
Sure, I wouldn’t deny it.
It was true that I’d benefited from Lee Ha-eun.
But there are idiots in this world who are given the same chance and still can’t make use of it.
Lee Jae-min had just proven that.
Being told by some idiot like that that I was riding Lee Ha-eun’s coattails... Yeah, that made me want to prove something.
That my success wasn’t because of Lee Ha-eun.
And right on cue, the chance to prove my ability was drawing near.
“Busan International Film Festival.”
If I could win a New Actress Award at Korea’s biggest film festival, wouldn’t that be enough to prove what I could do?
Checking the calendar, I drummed my fingers against the table.
“The timing’s good.”
I had about a week free.
The *Black Bride* read-through was at the end of the month.
And To.Any’s live broadcast of Star Observation! was two weeks away.
If I was going to attend the Busan International Film Festival, now was the right time.
I should start paying attention to Choi Go-eun, too.
With Lee Ha-eun joining *Black Bride*, Choi Go-eun had ended up floating loose in the air.
It felt like a waste to let that level of talent rot, and I also couldn’t ignore the Busan International Film Festival New Actress Award title she ought to have received in the first place.
It would be too much of a shame to let a title like that slip away.
Once I made up my mind, my head started working with a clarity I hadn’t felt in a while.
Roughly three months until the Busan International Film Festival.
Considering the schedule, a feature film or indie production was out of the question.
That leaves a short film.
Even a short film would be tight on time if I took the remaining schedule into account.
Still, I wasn’t going to rush it.
The only information I have right now is that Choi Go-eun wins the Busan International Film Festival New Actress Award.
Aside from that, I didn’t know the script, the director, or even the title of the work.
In other words, if I hurried and got things wrong, I might end up missing the New Actress Award title she was supposed to win.
My mouth curved upward.
“This is getting interesting.”
The right amount of trial and hardship always sharpened my sense of challenge.
I moved the mouse and logged into the screenplay bank run by the Korean Film Council.
It was a site where writers and directors somewhere between amateur and professional uploaded short film scripts.
Dozens, then hundreds, of unproven works lined up in front of me.
“Five hundred short scripts, not counting indies...”
Usually, it would have been better to choose from scripts within Baekhak Entertainment that had already passed through a filter once.
But this wasn’t an indie feature, and there was no way a short film script like this would be sitting inside a company like Baekhak.
Which meant if I was going to pick a short script, I had to sort through the hundreds sitting in front of me and find the genuine article.
I scratched my chin slowly.
“This takes me back.”
Maybe other managers wouldn’t know, but I was a pro in this field.
When I’d been a rookie road manager, desperate to prove myself, I’d memorized an entire quarterly stack of scripts word for word.
And now it was time to use that skill.
I moved the mouse and began sorting through more than five hundred scripts.
I used the title and synopsis to make a first pass, then pulled out only the ones with a clear thematic focus.
Fifty works survived the first and second filters.
I divided each script into its beginning, middle, and end, then skimmed the highlighted sections first.
From there, I selected only the ones I liked and read them at speed.
Three days passed like that.
I went back and forth between the office and home, reading nothing but scripts.
On the second day, I hit a moment of mental fog, but I forced myself through it and eventually pulled four works out of the pile.
They were the best of the scripts written by directors and writers somewhere between amateur and professional.
Among those four, one in particular stood out.
“The title’s *Multicultural*...”
The script was as striking in content as its title was strong.
It followed Choi Ji-seon, a high school girl born into a multicultural family.
It showed, without flinching, the life of a girl with a different skin color and racial background in Korea.
What impressed me most of all was this.
That’s exactly Choi Go-eun’s image.
The Choi Go-eun I had in mind and the image of *Multicultural*’s lead, Choi Ji-seon, fit together like pieces made for each other.
Even if I was too busy to call often, I still checked in on Choi Go-eun whenever I could.
She complained with her mouth, but she didn’t seem to hate the attention, and she followed my lead better than I expected.
Proof of that was in her appearance: the rough, overworked state of her skin and hair had been tidied up nicely.
Of course, her natural tendency to walk a little crookedly was still there.
“Executive Manager, am I your actress or not?”
“What’s that supposed to mean all of a sudden?”
“You say you’re managing me, then go two weeks without contacting me?”
Mm.
I had no answer for that.
I’d promised I wouldn’t leave her alone, then promptly gone and done exactly that.
To shut Choi Go-eun up, I took her to a café.
“I’m paying as an apology, so order whatever you want.”
“You’re not seriously trying to make this up with coffee, are you?”
“Is that not enough?”
“...Can I get toppings on it?”
“On a drink?”
“Executive Manager, were you born in the Joseon Dynasty?”
“Is it weird to put toppings on a drink?”
Instead of answering, Choi Go-eun started jabbing away at the kiosk with grim determination.
Curious what she was ordering so seriously, I leaned in and saw the price: over ten thousand won.
No, was this really right?
At that point, wouldn’t it have been better to just eat soup and rice?
I didn’t get it, but I also didn’t want to be scolded for acting like I’d been born in the Joseon Dynasty, so I paid quietly.
Choi Go-eun, sipping on a mint chocolate drink that looked less like a beverage than a pile of calories, finally dipped her head.
“Thank you, Executive Manager.”
So now that I’m spending money, kind words actually come out of that mouth.
Shaking my head, I went back into the meeting room with her.
I laid out the four scripts I’d prepared over three days.
“What are these?”
“Scripts that might become your next project.”
“!”
For a split second, Choi Go-eun’s eyes turned cold.
Seeing that change, my mouth lifted.
“Do you want to do a reading right now?”
“Right now?”
“Yeah. I just want to get a feel for it, so don’t get too tense.”
I picked up one of the four scripts and handed it over.
Coincidence or fate, it was *Multicultural*.
As Choi Go-eun opened the script, the usual sharpness in her face slowly melted away.
Her expression turned blank, like a dried-out wax doll, and a faint chill ran up my spine.
How long had it been?
Choi Go-eun asked in a slightly husky voice.
“Should I act as the lead, Choi Ji-seon?”
I nodded.
The next moment, Choi Go-eun possessed Choi Ji-seon without warning.
“I’m a victim of bullying. For the crime of being born into a multicultural family.”
“!”
A shiver ran down my back.
I rubbed at the goosebumps on my arms and kept watching her performance.
It had barely been thirty minutes since she’d looked at the script, but there she was, nailing the emotional texture of Choi Ji-seon’s isolation and acting it out with frightening precision.
A dry laugh escaped me.
She really is the real thing when it comes to acting, at least.
But method acting usually comes from blood, sweat, and endless research, doesn’t it?
How was Choi Go-eun tossing that kind of performance out so easily?
She’s beyond common sense.
And people beyond common sense are called...
geniuses.
By the time Choi Ji-seon’s performance ended, Choi Go-eun looked at me and asked casually,
“How was it, Executive Manager?”
I collected myself.
Should I praise her? Or act indifferent?
The performance itself had been excellent, but Choi Go-eun’s personality made me hesitate.
If I built her up too much, she’d get unbearably arrogant.
So I just dangled the carrot.
“It was good. What did you think of the script?”
Choi Go-eun smiled with a faint pout.
“It was fun.”
“You like it?”
“Yeah. I like Choi Ji-seon’s character, too.”
“There are other scripts, so take your time and look them over.”
I leaned forward.
I’d been trying to hide it, but Choi Go-eun’s absurd performance had set my body alight, and I’d moved without meaning to.
My eyes began to ripple with desire.
“You’ll go into a new project with the script Choi Go-eun chooses, so take your time, look them over, and give me an answer by tomorrow.”
I was beginning to think I wanted to raise this genius properly with my own hands.
The next day.
I got a call from Choi Go-eun.
My mouth curled.
Choi Go-eun.
Your eye for scripts is pretty similar to mine, isn’t it?
I’d also thought *Multicultural* suited Choi Go-eun best out of the four scripts.
Then Choi Go-eun said something I hadn’t expected.
That offhand remark struck my ear like lightning.
Keeping the surprise off my face and out of my voice, I answered, “Then I’ll push for *Multicultural* as your next project, Go-eun. Is that okay?”
“I’ll call you again when the results are out.”
“Yes?”
The call clicked off.
I blinked and stared at the phone’s black screen for a moment.
“...That kid just said thank you?”
But why was she so embarrassed over a simple thank-you?
Amused and exasperated all at once, I let out a laugh.
Somehow there isn’t a single normal actor among the ones I’m managing.
There had to be normal actors out there somewhere...
So why did these kinds of actors keep ending up in my lap?
I shook my head and muttered, “Well, both I and Choi Go-eun picked this script, but...”
Was *Multicultural* really the script that would win Choi Go-eun her award?
The feeling was good, but I still wasn’t certain.
Out of the five hundred short film scripts, *Multicultural* was the best script, yes, but only among those written by the amateur-to-professional crowd.
Whether it would hold up at the Busan International Film Festival was still an open question.
This isn’t easy. Once I meet the director and get the project moving, there’s no pulling out.
A shame.
If I’d had more time, I would have chosen more comfortably from a wider set of options.
I wish I had a little more certainty.
...Ugh.
I hated this kind of indecision, but maybe because Choi Go-eun’s New Actress Award was tied up in it, I kept hesitating without meaning to.
My choice now could keep her from getting the award title.
What are you doing at a time like this, Future Text Messages?
The thing that used to fly in so reliably had been awfully quiet lately.
Huh?
Wasn’t this exactly the time it should have come through and given me certainty?
Then a strange hand suddenly clamped down on my shoulder.
Startled, I turned my head and found Seo Tae-jun, the prince of thrillers, narrowing his eyes and staring at me.
“It’s been a while, Executive Manager.”
My eyes widened.
“Tae-jun, what are you doing here?”
“What do you mean, what am I doing here? I came looking for you because our Executive Manager wasn’t answering his phone.”
“...Mm. Tae-jun.”
“Yeah. Come up with an excuse.”
“I’ve been a little busy.”
“Busy enough to ignore an actor you’ve already signed?”
“I told you I was filming a variety show.”
“What, did you go abroad or something? You must’ve filmed variety all week?”
Seo Tae-jun dropped onto the chair beside me.
Naturally, this self-absorbed man had come without a hat today, too.
His polished, jade-like head immediately drew the attention of the managers around us.
I got him back on his feet and dragged him into the meeting room.
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to contact you.”
“You could at least have told me you’d cast Lee Ha-eun.”
“I don’t have ten mouths, but I still have nothing to say.”
Seo Tae-jun folded his arms.
“Why Lee Ha-eun, of all people?”
“What?”
“I mean, the attention that should’ve been on me. Lee Ha-eun has taken it all.”
...Ah.
That was what he was mad about?
Meanwhile, Seo Tae-jun kept grumbling like he genuinely hated it.
“Ha... I even shaved my head down to a buzz cut on purpose, and all I got was a single article about it. Is this right, Executive Manager?”
“...”
“And from the look on your face, all your attention seems to be on Lee Ha-eun, so yeah, I’m disappointed. Hm?”
Mm.
So there were two things he was mad about.
My attention and Lee Ha-eun.
Still... this one was honestly my fault.
The situation had suddenly become so urgent that I’d paid less attention to Seo Tae-jun, who was relatively safe.
Should I ask Ma Seok-du for more road managers?
We were starting to run short on hands.
Maybe I should talk to Team Leader Ma Seok-du... Hm?
My eyes widened and my mouth fell open.
“...Tae-jun.”
“Yeah?”
“Want to look at a script?”
“Why are you suddenly bringing up a script?”
“Just take a look and tell me what you think.”
“?”
At my abrupt request, Seo Tae-jun tilted his head.
In a hurry, I found the *Multicultural* script and handed it over.
Seo Tae-jun’s eyebrows twitched.
“What is this, a short film?”
“Yeah. I just want your honest feel on it.”
“...You’re not telling me to do a short film, are you?”
“Of course not. I just want to hear what you think.”
Seo Tae-jun tilted his head again, but soon enough he was reading through *Multicultural*.
Watching him, my heart began to pound.
How long had it been?
Seo Tae-jun opened his mouth.
“Ugh.”
“!”
“No, seriously... what even is this script?”
...Heh.
A shiver raced over my whole body.
Seo Tae-jun frowned and complained.
“This is the least interesting script I’ve ever read.”
At his scathing review, I finally let out a breathless laugh.
Our Tae-jun is certain.
Seo Tae-jun, the human lie detector.
Hearing him, I became convinced.
*Multicultural* was the script that would win Choi Go-eun the New Actress Award.
Kim Jun-su, a fourth-year student in the Department of Theater and Film at Korea University, was an ordinary college student on the verge of graduation.
The movie that had left the deepest impression on him was *Parasite*.
His favorite actress was Lee Ha-eun.
Like any ordinary college student, he was the kind of aspiring film director you could find anywhere.
But now... in front of him stood the former manager of the top actress he had once dreamed of casting as a lead someday.
Ex-executive Kwon Chan...?
Executive Kwon Chan of Baekhak Management Team 5.
Among Lee Ha-eun’s fans, he was actually pretty well regarded as a manager.
For one thing, he’d worked with her longer than any of her previous managers, and he’d been the one to recommend *Queen of Joseon*, one of the standout works in Lee Ha-eun’s dazzling filmography.
That, of course, was the image of Executive Kwon Chan that an ordinary college student who liked Lee Ha-eun would have of him.
From the perspective of aspiring film director Kim Jun-su, Baekhak Management Team 5’s Kwon Chan was...
a heavyweight it was hard to even meet eyes with.
And now that heavyweight was smiling brightly as he made an offer.
“Let’s work together, Director.”
Maybe it was because of his cold-looking face.
Or because of the title of a manager who was doing well at Baekhak.
His mouth was smiling, but it didn’t feel like he was smiling.
So to ordinary college student Kim Jun-su’s ears, the offer had just sounded like a threat.
A threat to hand over his work.
“You’ll work with us, Director Kim Jun-su, won’t you?”
Director Kim Jun-su squeezed his eyes shut.
This isn’t me imagining things, it really is a threat!
What kind of manager smiled that menacingly while making a proposal for collaboration?
A chill started to spread down the back of ordinary aspiring film director Kim Jun-su, who had just been threatened by a heavyweight manager.