My First Video
In any field, the more expensive the tools, the higher the quality of the finished product tends to be. There's a saying that true masters don't fuss over their tools, yet those same masters almost always possess excellent ones. Video editing was no exception. Paid programs were simply better than free ones. Movie Maker couldn't even be compared to the Premiere Pro or Final Cut I'd once used. Still, video editing—an art in its own right—had a unique quality that set it apart from other creative fields. Unlike disciplines where intuition and flair dominated, editing could reduce those very elements to sheer, honest labor. For instance, if you wanted to track subtitles in a paid program—the function that makes text follow a specific spot—you only needed a quick setting. Free programs had no such feature. Yet that didn't mean subtitle tracking was impossible. You simply moved the text frame by frame, attaching it to the video, and the result was identical. Without a black subtitle bar, you could cut and paste a matching black image. Without a rotating transition, you could rotate the frame itself, one by one. The more you polished a video, the more you edited it, the quality rose in direct proportion. That honest climb was exactly why I had fallen for video editing.
“It's a dance to a hymn, so I'll place clean lyrics in the left corner…. Especially zoom in on the younger kids who look like they're having fun. Use dissolves for the transitions so nothing feels jarring…. Ah, and for the parts where the recording is off, I'll just lay the original track over it.”
My hands moved quickly. Since the program lacked almost every feature I wanted, everything had to be done frame by frame. At this point it felt less like editing and more like stop-motion animation, yet I felt no fatigue. If anything, the long-awaited work made my heart race; I couldn't bring myself to stop.
“At least the built-in effects are decent. The picture and frame rate were a little lacking, but a brightening filter should fix that. It's Christmas and New Year's season anyway, so it won't feel out of place.”
Little by little, the footage took shape. The children's dance video, originally shot on an old camcorder, was reborn under my hands as a polished promotional piece for the orphanage. Tap, tap-tap—my small fingers drummed across the keyboard like piano keys. Plip, plip—sweat drops slid from my forehead and dotted the desk. A child's naturally high body temperature, the warm room, and the excitement of the work had beaded perspiration along my hairline. I only noticed it once I finally leaned back, satisfied with the result.
“Whoa, it's hot. I must've gotten too worked up.”
I wiped my forehead with my sleeve. The thin shirt felt slightly damp against my skin.
“Encoding's done too…. Now what do I do with the video?”
Showing the finished piece to the director and asking for help was one option. But that would likely draw unnecessary attention. I wanted to leave the orphanage, not become its center of interest. So there was only one path left.
“I'll upload it to YouTube.”
The orphanage already had its own channel for promotional videos. Even so, views were dismal—only the occasional person who stumbled across it through the algorithm or the website. Uploading content that didn't match current trends usually led to exactly that kind of slow death. And no matter how many videos you posted on such a channel, YouTube's algorithm decided it wasn't worth promoting. That was why I needed a personal channel. New channels starting from zero tended to get a surprising amount of algorithmic push. If the quality was good and viewers responded well, the platform would plaster the video across banners with terrifying generosity.
Good thing the school made Google accounts for that “positive comment” campaign around this time.
Creating an account normally required a guardian's consent, but the director and teachers would never have allowed it. After logging in, I made my channel. The name I chose was the same as before.
Dancing Raccoon
It had been a meaningless nickname at the time, yet in my previous life it had grown quite well-known. Reusing it now sent a faint, bittersweet pang through my chest.
“…I should just upload the video.”
That past was gone, unreachable. Shaking my head, I posted the file. When the upload finished, I let out a long breath and lifted my gaze.
“Whew…. Huh, it's already this late?”
Only then did I check the clock on the desk. Dinner time had long since passed. Far more time had slipped by than I'd expected. It was lucky the director hadn't come looking for me.
“If I'm late again, I'll get hit…. Tch. For a woman, her hands sure pack a punch….”
The memory made the spot she'd struck before throb dully. I hated the thought of another beating, so I bolted out of the director's office and sprinted toward my room.
“Brr, it's cold!”
The winter wind cut through my sweat-dampened clothes. I clutched my coat tighter and kept running.
***
“Aaargh! I want to stop editing already!”
“Please don't shout, PD-nim….”
“What's the big deal? How many people are even in the building at this hour? Song, you've got the heart of an ant~”
“The department head's been pulling all-nighters and early mornings trying to bring back the old vibe, you know.”
“Aish, that old man should act his age instead of doing this!”
“PD-nim! Shhh!”
The two of them had been working in the cramped side room for hours; dark circles of exhaustion already ringed their eyes. Equipment and papers were piled everywhere, so any large movement from one forced the other into an awkward posture. Song, the head writer, shot the PD a weary glare and glanced toward the hallway, relieved that no one else had overheard the outburst.
“Haa…. Sunbae, if the network's most successful variety PD acts like this, what are the rookies supposed to learn?”
“They'll learn by watching greatness and making great shows themselves.”
“Your ego is actually unbelievable, you know that?”
“Me?”
“Augh….”
Lee Seongbeom chuckled at the sight of Song clutching her head. Geniuses were often eccentric, but this man was a breed of eccentric the station had never seen before. He had stepped out from behind the camera to appear on his own programs. He had become nearly as famous as the cast themselves. At the time it had been shocking; now it felt almost normal. Of course, that same eccentricity had produced hit after hit, and he was still steering the network's most popular shows.
“From now on, please don't make any more bets, PD-nim. A Lamborghini, seriously—I still can't believe that happened.”
“…It made for good footage, though.”
“PD-nim?”
“Fine, fine….”
He agreed, but Song knew he was the type to break such promises without a second thought. Rubbing her temples, she returned to the remaining work.
Hours later, Lee Seongbeom tapped her shoulder.
“Song, doesn't this part feel a little flat? I want to add something….”
“Just do it the usual way. We already got roasted last time for approving that new subtitle style. What are you planning now?”
“No, that was because we would've had to redo every existing file. This scene just feels plain. Isn't there some nice effect we can use?”
“Hmm…. Nothing comes to mind. I think it looks fine as is.”
To Song, the scene was already perfectly serviceable. Contestants betrayed one another in a game the staff had prepared, and the betrayal was revealed. Close-ups of the betrayed faces cut to the betrayer's smiling face in the next shot. The contrast alone made the joke land. It was solid editing, yet Lee Seongbeom remained unsatisfied.
“Mmm…. There's something, I know there's something….”
“Haven't you been staring at the timeline too long? Take a break and clear your head.”
“Huuu…. Yeah, maybe. The caffeine must've worn off—my brain's not working.”
He tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash and stretched. The room was so small that Song had to lean away from his swinging arms, frowning.
“Song, seen any funny videos lately? I could use a laugh.”
“There are plenty. Oh, have you seen Funniest Home Videos? That one's pretty good.”
“…That's in English. I don't do foreign languages.”
“You film overseas all the time. You should learn.”
“Listen to you, acting all superior because you know English….”
Lee Seongbeom pouted, but his English skills didn't magically improve. He was willing to study because of the overseas shoots, yet picking up a new language at his age felt like a heavy burden. Then a particular video caught his eye.
“Huh? Editing practice?”
The upload was recent. The title was simply Editing Practice. Without a custom thumbnail, one of the video's own frames served as the preview. It looked like footage from an elementary school talent show.
Probably made by a student or teacher.
These days everyone was on YouTube, so maybe someone was just practicing. He clicked the video out of idle curiosity—and a small, faint hope that he might find something useful while his own creativity was stuck.
Music began to play the moment the video started.
“A hymn?”
Children were dancing to a familiar hymn. Behind them hung a large banner bearing the orphanage's name. The video was clearly meant to promote the orphanage. Lee Seongbeom was genuinely surprised.
An orphanage produced a promo of this quality?
He had volunteered there often enough to know their budget was tight. Most orphanage videos looked like amateur UCC submissions. This one, however, had the polish of a television commercial—flawless execution.
“Did some editor donate their time…?”
Yet the editing style was unlike anything he'd seen. It was clean, textbook-perfect, and somehow fresh. Effects were used sparingly, never overwhelming the footage, yet the video never felt dull. As he watched more intently, a realization struck him.
“Hah. Would you look at that.”
“What is it?”
“The person who made this… used Movie Maker.”
“What?”
The watermark in the bottom right corner was unmistakable. He hadn't noticed it while focused on the content.
“They made something this good with that clunky program? Who the hell is this person?”
Lee Seongbeom could only shake his head in disbelief. Even he wasn't sure he could achieve this level of quality with a free editor. And the direction—the way the simple dance footage drew viewers in—was exceptional. He wanted this person close. If possible, he wanted to bring them into the station and nurture that talent to its fullest. The desire surged through him.
All I know is the nickname and that it's an orphanage video….
Fortunately, the orphanage wasn't far. He had a day off coming up; he would visit then. As he was thinking this, Song spoke with a tired expression.
“PD-nim, shall we get back to work? At this rate we'll be greeting the cleaning lady at dawn.”
“Ah, right. Since that problem's solved, let's pick it up again.”
“What problem?”
He replayed the video he had just watched. Bright, smiling children appeared one after another in close-up, the cuts flowing smoothly.
“Let's go with dissolves. The overlapping faces will make the betrayed expressions and the smiling ones contrast even more.”
“Ah…. You're right.”
It was such a simple effect that Song wondered why she hadn't thought of it. It had to be the accumulated fatigue from the all-nighters. She blamed her exhaustion and wished she could go home soon.
***
“Achoo!”
I caught a cold. Damn it.