The Gears Begin to Turn

What the hell, Myeong Je-ha?

You never said anything about that.

But it seemed Myeong Je-ha's analysis had landed dead-on. Director Jjang was wearing the expression of a man who'd just been read like an open book.

"Oh, uh, well… it's just that being a director means every possible scene lives in your head already. I'll polish it up and show you properly."

His flustered moment lasted only an instant. Like the seasoned adult he was, Director Jjang knew how to smooth things over.

"Haha! So it's true — Je-ha's really my fan, huh? You're itching to see it right now, aren't you?"

Director Jjang clapped Myeong Je-ha on the shoulder, laughing.

…There's more to this than meets the eye, isn't there?

Just as I suspected, Myeong Je-ha looked straight at Director Jjang and spoke.

"You were planning to add a scene where Yeo-reum gets possessed by the spirit, weren't you?"

Director Jjang froze solid.

"I figured it out from the intro sequence. In Gimyo-dam, the gut ritual as a storytelling device is going to hit incredibly hard. The instruments layering in one by one also show the ritual progressing, but—"

The status window above Myeong Je-ha's head glittered and shone.

"The child who becomes the Saetani is the sacrifice. The scene after that shows a talisman summoning the god, a gong struck to mark the one to be cursed, the screen darkening along with the god's descent — and the shadow of the curse begins to move."

Only now did I realize the scenes in the intro flowed into one another organically. The depth of Myeong Je-ha's background knowledge was razor-sharp.

"And you directed it so that when the god takes hold of her, the bells in the shaman's hand shake like mad… and in the final act, the sound of the bells quickens — that's what you did, right?"

Which meant the Seoryeong of the finale wasn't simply venting her fury and leaving it at that.

A sequence on par with the great set pieces of film itself had been waiting there all along.

If all we have to do is show her divine power utterly overwhelming Yeom-ga, then this…

If I had to explain just how hard it is to break the ten percent ratings mark on a cable channel, it's this: in ten years, barely twenty dramas had managed it.

And the most recent of those was… that drama that ran a full three seasons back to back.

Even that series — hailed as the biggest cable hit of its era — averaged a mere eight percent. Its peak rating was eleven.

And that's a work that was credited with an unprecedented nationwide syndrome….

And now I had to surpass even that.

I quietly studied Director Jjang's face. Catching my gaze, he grew sheepish, turned his head away, and scratched at the back of his skull.

"See, Pachehi was fully pre-produced, but… from the midpoint on, Gimyo-dam has to shoot live. Around episode eleven, the set is going to be complete pandemonium."

Factor in editing time and the shooting schedule might be unbearably tight. Come to think of it, I did remember live-broadcast productions letting editing slip-ups slip through now and then.

A cameraman caught in the corner of the frame, subtitles that never got stripped before airing, a wire line visibly cutting across the shot….

The moment it's exposed that the drama in front of their eyes isn't at full quality — just those few seconds of mistake are enough for viewers to turn their backs on the whole show.

"Pulling the best script out of the material is a director's job, sure. But steering the story so the actors can give their complete focus — that's a director's job too."

Only when Director Jjang laid the reality out plain did it all come back to me. A length I'd never once tackled, a character entirely different from everything I'd spent my life analyzing, vocal work demanding study on an even deeper level….

There's far too much to handle in too little time.

Can I actually do it? It's my first drama lead, and I want so badly to do it well….

"So, to sum up — you're saying you can't bring yourself to trust Han Yeo-reum?"

That was when it happened. Dokgo Min, sprawled across the sofa, finally spoke.

"No, look, if you pile that much pressure on the lead alone—"

"Exactly. Same difference, that. And here I was… being wary of him for nothing."

Dokgo Min flopped bonelessly and stretched, as if Director Jjang's worries were beneath boring.

"I thought I'd picked up another rival after that director — So Ye-sol, whatever his name is… but he's hardly worth watching out for. Hey, Han Yeo-reum. Looks like this director here doesn't even know what a muse is. Mm-hm. Oblivious, thick-headed ajusshis, the lot of them."

At that, Director Jjang's kindly voice rose a few decibels.

"No! You can't say it like that! Forget 'muse' — our Pachehi team is family, family!"

"Family, my foot. What you just said is that I'm not your muse. Mm-hm. At this rate you'll never manage to make anything worth watching with Han Yeo-reum… I'm leaving."

The nape of Dokgo Min's neck was seized once more as she tried to climb off the sofa. This time it was Director Jjang.

"Student. It seems our student doesn't quite understand, but a set like this doesn't turn just because I want it to, you see…? Countless people's livelihoods are riding on it. Believe me, I'd love nothing more than to just—"

"Then just do it?"

An impossible man to hold a conversation with, honestly.

Dokgo Min, brows knitted, launched into a full-blown speech about the butterfly effect that a single scene's gamble could set off.

I don't know anything about all that.

Filming Not Interested At All came back to me. That moment when my face was drenched through with rain and tears.

Han Yeo-reum is a genius.

But it would take an immense stretch of time before the public ever caught on to it. Plenty of celebrities shoot to fame off a single work — but the public doesn't watch every work there is.

At the very least, a few hits would have to land back to back.

The time it took to become familiar to the eyes, the ears, and finally the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lips was simply too long, too tedious.

Even at this very moment, people desperate to rise would be slicing Han Yeo-reum into pieces and picking her apart.

Look how many people started shooting their pictorials like Han Yeo-reum's….

My iconic profile shots had become half public property. And once that happened, imitators were mass-produced by the drove.

Cool blue lighting, crisp sunlight. Those could no longer belong to Han Yeo-reum alone.

…Every other actor went and shot theirs that way too.

Because the rest of the industry had since pivoted to that same fresh-and-clean aesthetic, the public never came to associate the style with Han Yeo-reum's name.

Even Do Gyeo-ul went and took her photos against a blue backdrop.

No matter how much of a Rising Star Han Yeo-reum might be, this industry brimmed with bigger names who could crush her under their sheer fame. A world where only the larger, heavier, more glittering name tips the scales.

"Feeling unsure of yourself?"

"No! It's not like everything works out just because I say I'm confident!"

One thing was certain: for something recognizably Han Yeo-reum to take root in the public mind, the work had to carry her there.

A 'decent' work isn't enough. The character has to be stamped into recognition, the way Pi Chae-won was.

The public isn't a genius like me — they can't just hand Han Yeo-reum their acceptance outright.

Now I understood why Myeong Je-ha had brought Dokgo Min here. This blockhead of an ajusshi was, in an entirely different sense, a director who didn't sit well with me.

"Even so… I have a duty to look after Yeo-reum properly, all the way to the end."

Director Jjang, having collected himself again, spoke calmly.

"Do you know what it means for a rookie with no manager and no car to show up at a set hours before anyone else? I've been watching Yeo-reum since those days."

It was an excessively pragmatic thing to say. The kind of talk that could only come from a director's point of view.

"We have to travel for location shoots out in the provinces, and on top of that comes the CG — the costs are staggering. On set, every minute and every second is money. So if the lead keeps racking up NGs one after another, what do you suppose happens to the atmosphere on that set?"

Not a bad excuse, all things considered. Insofar as he genuinely cherished Han Yeo-reum, Dokgo Min awarded him a few extra points.

Not that it matters, since it still nets out to minus five hundred billion. Mm-hm.

For the record, Director So sat at minus one hundred million.

"Even if she never lets it show, an actor can't help but feel it. The set is where endless variables erupt in between the most carefully planned schedule."

Dokgo Min looked for a while at Han Yeo-reum, sitting motionless with the script clutched in her hands — then turned her head to meet Director Jjang's eyes, which were brimming with worry.

"Don't underestimate the crushing weight of a live set. If the drama's doing well, the pressure is enormous — ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and if it's doing badly, it's just as enormous. And the work we'll be going head-to-head with is an SBC prestige project, no less…. Aigoo, I don't know why I'm even saying all this — anyway!"

Honestly, people who work in teams are hopeless.

From setting the composition to positioning the lights, the angle of the subject and the exact instant the shutter is pressed — Dokgo Min, the solitary photographer who calculated it all alone, had a take-action streak in her.

"I can't direct you according to my own ambition while you're carrying that kind of weight. That's my duty, and my loyalty. So, student…."

"What if it's not the ajusshi being pushy — what if Han Yeo-reum herself wants to do it?"

Dokgo Min pointed at the computer.

"The final episode script. You have the finished version, don't you?"

"Uh, well, yes, I do have it, but…."

"Print it out and give us thirty minutes. Whether this is the ajusshi's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠greed or not — Han Yeo-reum will be the one to decide."

To Yeo-reum, who stared at her wide-eyed, Dokgo Min flashed a triumphant grin.

And then she bellowed at her:

"You can do this!"

What hung at the end of Dokgo Min's sentence was not a question mark. It was an exclamation point.

The final episode script….

Dokgo Min left Director Jjang and Myeong Je-ha behind in the workroom and stepped out. Can I actually do it? Me.

Carrying all those costs and all that pressure, could I really embody Seoryeong in between?

…Sixteen episodes.

It felt like walking along the very edge of a tightrope.

Should I back out now, while I still can? The original script isn't bad, after all.

I was on the verge of retreating, one hesitating step at a time, when—

The instant I read through the final episode's script, the set bloomed vividly before my eyes. Yeom-ga, masked and standing atop a blade of cold blue steel. And Seoryeong, standing against her.

My fist clenched all on its own.

Now I understood why Seoryeong saved the sin she most wanted to interrogate for last.

You could feel her stubborn refusal to let anyone see her cry — her unwillingness to bare a weak face to the world.

And you could feel the hidden sincerity of Seoryeong that I had never once noticed.

"…It's love and hate."

Because before she learned that Yeom-ga had tried to use her divine power, the two of them had been family.

Because to Seoryeong, at the very least, Yeom-ga had been her entire world.

"…No matter how wretched the ending became, remembering the moments when you were kind…."

What one fleeting, trivial memory ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with a guardian means to a child — that's something only those who've lived it can ever know.

Something hot seethed in my gut. I let Seoryeong's line spill out of my mouth.

"How dare you… how dare you… HOW DARE YOU!"

I widened the space inside my mouth and set my strength into my abdomen. A voice that scraped up from somewhere deep within rang out, raw and aching. My head swam from the sudden switch into head voice.

And Seoryeong's heart came through it, exactly as she carried it.

The betrayal of Yeom-ga, whom she'd believed to be family. Jeong-an, the guardian she met in the aftermath. The nun's quiet, unhurried, but unmistakably warm affection. And in spite of it all — the self who would one day have to die for the sake of revenge. The years spent deliberately holding everyone at arm's length. The cold corpse of Jeong-an. The regret and rage of never having managed to open her heart. The memories of childhood that surged up unbidden the instant she faced Yeom-ga….

Now I understand why Director Jjang fought so hard to leave this scene out….

The lines that followed were of a difficulty no rookie could hope to digest — because Seoryeong had to return Yeom-ga's curse ritual upon her, measure for measure.

It felt as though Seoryeong was slowly, slowly being layered over me….

The murmur spilling from my lips quickened. Lines I had never once spoken in my life flowed out without a single hitch.

I can do this.

Now, truly… I can become Seoryeong….

No longer did I feel the responsibility that would be heaped on me on set, the crushing weight of carrying sixteen episodes, or the anxiety of whether my Seoryeong was truly the right one.

Emotion came crashing over me like a wave.

Clack—.

The gears that had never once lined up meshed together at last — and began, slowly, to turn.