Middle (1)
Before official filming began, a ritual was underway. It was something rarely done these days, a sign that this film set still carried the old traditions.
The more experienced staff and crew members wore faint smiles. Memories were resurfacing. They were reflecting on what the ritual truly meant.
“Should we go with fifty thousand won…?”
“Yeah?”
“I brought ten-thousand-won bills.”
“A nice thick stack should make them happy, right?”
The entire set dissolved into laughter. It was the lead actors’ playful back-and-forth. The severed pig’s head was grotesque, of course, but the act itself carried real meaning.
Whether superstition actually worked was unclear, but it was still valuable for easing the weight on everyone’s hearts.
At any rate, Woo Dan-wol was in an excellent mood. The filming atmosphere was far more relaxed than a drama set.
A harmonious set without a single annoying presence always brought good fortune. They might have dressed it up as “luck” or “instinct,” but right now Woo Dan-wol genuinely felt a strong positive omen.
Once the ritual was complete and the actors had finished their bows, Director Park Soo-yeon began to speak.
This was her feature debut as a director. Her words were both a declaration of war and a statement of intent—what mindset she would bring to leading the production, what philosophy would shape the film she intended to make.
Park Soo-yeon worried she might ruin the pleasant mood. Even so, she felt she absolutely had to say this.
“The subject we’re tackling is sensitive… and heavy.”
“……”
The atmosphere grew noticeably quieter. The bright laughter and casual chatter vanished. Only the sound of breathing remained, drifting across the set.
Park Soo-yeon didn’t glance around for approval. Her concern was simply that—concern. She neither gauged reactions nor softened her message. Her words continued.
“It may not be popular. It could even spark controversy.”
Everyone’s eyes were on her. Even though this was a commercial film, she had voiced a philosophy that weighed the project’s broader impact.
“However.”
“……”
“It is something that must be done. A message that must be shouted.”
For a moment, the same question took root in the minds of the staff. The genre was already proven. Entertainment had been proven. In an industry where commerce trumped lessons, did they really need to do this?
As if she had anticipated the doubt, Park Soo-yeon opened her mouth to answer it directly.
“One person.”
Just one person. That was what Park Soo-yeon meant. Her argument was simple.
Even if it was only one person. She hoped that after watching Middle, their thoughts on organ donation would change. That because of that change, new life would gain vitality. And that the noble sacrifice which had planted the seed would not be in vain.
To create one more miracle, she had written the screenplay.
“I am a director.”
I will work to reach even one more person. So that more people can create even more miracles.
Her words struck the hearts of everyone present. Sincerity. The emotion carried by those two simple letters resonated deeply.
“Let’s give it our all. Let’s make a good film. I’m counting on you.”
-Clap.
-Clap clap.
-Clap clap clap!
Applause followed. She scratched the back of her head in slight embarrassment. The black cap she had received as a gift to commemorate becoming a film director hid her awkward expression.
“Let’s fight hard!”
“Yeah!”
“I like it. Creating miracles.”
Woo Dan-wol smiled as well. He had learned a great deal from the volunteer work he’d done before. The realization that he could express those same feelings through film taught him even more.
He was a finished actor, yet still an incomplete human being. And so today, Woo Dan-wol took another step forward. He made a vow.
He would do his absolute best. He would repay them with the finest performance possible.
Woo Dan-wol and Han Da-sol were the two lead actors of the film Middle, the vital performers who would carry the story. Their acting ability had already been proven, and they were more than capable vessels to deliver the film’s message.
Sweat and passion filled the practice room at Haesung Entertainment. Han Da-sol, who would normally be bubbling with excitement, now wore a completely serious expression.
“In this scene, shouldn’t I come across like a villain?”
“We’ll know once we’re on set, but it seems that’s what the director is aiming for.”
“It’s difficult.”
“We have to express it properly.”
Before character analysis came scene analysis that required endless thought. The difference between a scenario written on paper and the reality captured by a camera was vast, so actors had to agonize again and again.
“Let’s run the lines together.”
“All right.”
The two began to act. To show the best possible scene on set, they worked hard today as well.
They continued without noticing the night slipping away, not stopping until Lee Hye-ri came to drag them out, insisting that all the staff had already gone home.
That same night, a secret rendezvous was taking place in a Seoul hotel. A man was shedding just as much sweat as Woo Dan-wol and Han Da-sol had during their rehearsal—though of a very different kind.
“Haa…”
“Huu.”
A man and woman lay on the bed. The man whispered while resting against the woman’s chest. He was an actor anyone with even passing interest in the entertainment industry would recognize.
Jang Seon-woo. And an unidentified woman. Their relationship was far from ordinary. They were not lovers, and this was not a bed born of affection.
Well, a fifteen-year age gap would hardly make for appropriate romance. But responsibility was the furthest thing from their minds right now.
Pleasure and desire. The only transaction taking place on that bed was exactly that.
The shadows of the entertainment industry are complicated. Schemes and cold calculations flow back and forth. In a way, the relationship between Jang Seon-woo and this powerful woman was simple.
She took pleasure in embracing a recognizable male actor. He sought pillow talk that would help him soar even higher.
It was an honest relationship to the point of being raw. Because they understood each other better than anyone, the transaction worked.
“Noona.”
“What?”
The wrinkled woman was staring at her smartphone. The young male actor leaned his head on her shoulder and whispered softly. Her appearance suggested she should be called auntie or ma’am, yet he was honest about power.
“Can’t you get me into just one drama?”
“I already got you a movie.”
“…It feels bad. It’s the role Woo Dan-wol turned down.”
“The director has a reputation, you know?”
The woman smiled slyly. Knowing her position, she toyed with him like a cat with a fishing-rod toy—dangling what he wanted, then pulling it away.
“It feels like I’m beneath Woo Dan-wol.”
“You are beneath him.”
“Noona!”
A sharp cry rang through the luxury hotel room. It should have been frightening, but the woman still glued to her smartphone simply giggled. This wasn’t their first or second time together, so she knew exactly where the line was. Any more teasing and he would sulk. She decided to offer a sweet carrot instead.
“Do you want to act well?”
“…Of course I do.”
“You have star quality. You’re not a master actor.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ll introduce you to a teacher. Do your best.”
She subtly changed the subject. Jang Seon-woo poked her. Even though it was only a verbal promise, nothing was more important than confirmation.
“Noona, what about the drama?”
“Ugh, huu. I’ll get you that too.”
Jang Seon-woo’s hand began moving slowly beneath the blanket. Like a snake, it started crawling over her body.
The woman slowly set her smartphone down and closed her eyes. Once again, their bodies began to intertwine.
“This can’t be right!”
It was a mother’s roar. Inside the hospital, in a crowded hallway where people constantly passed by, no one paid her any attention.
But she kept shouting without pause.
“Did we do something wrong?! What did my daughter ever do wrong?!”
She collapsed to the floor, sobbing out desperate pleas. The pain of a mother who had lost her child echoed through the corridor. Yet no one paid her any attention. She wasn’t even crying out to the world.
“How can you people still call yourselves human!”
Brows furrowed. Troublemaker. Nuisance. That was the look in their eyes. But the parent who had half-lost her reason could not care less.
She slowly rose to her feet. On the bed lay a corpse. It was covered by a white sheet, but it was her daughter.
“My… my daughter. My daughter… huk…”
Her daughter had sown a miracle before leaving. An unexpected accident. After being declared brain-dead, the girl had made a beautiful promise to share her life.
Someday, when she left the world, she would donate her organs. She was a young person who had registered as an organ donor.
The middle-aged woman gradually filled with rage. Her trembling legs looked dangerously unsteady. Even so, she slowly stood up to see her dead daughter’s face.
The daughter she had given birth to with love and raised with devotion. To the woman who had been forced to send her child away because of an accident, the hospital had said this:
We cannot transport the body for you.
What are you saying? That…
There are no ambulances left, and we have no obligation to do so.
No, no…
There’s nothing we can do. Then, if you’ll excuse us.
The white sheet began to peel back. Her daughter lay with eyes closed.
The surgical scars and cold skin were proof that life had ended. Was this human decency? Was this truly something a person should do?
When someone left the world with good intentions, hoping to create a miracle—was this the proper treatment?
“Th-this…”
Once again, the mother’s tears burst forth. It was so unfair, so unbearably unfair. She cried without end.