The Fastest Ten Million

Squeeek—! The tires shrieked against the pavement as the supercar spun in wild circles.

"Cause an accident and under the Special Act on Traffic Accident Processing, you're looking at a fine of up to twenty million won!"

The man who had stowed away in his backseat was none other than the captain of the violent crimes unit.

"Distribution of Funny Balloons—three years in prison, five million won fine!"

At Kay's declaration that money could buy anything in this world, the captain barked penalty after penalty at him like a man scolding a wayward son. Every ounce of hardship a working-class beat cop had ever suffered at the hands of the wealthy was written all over his face.

"Even if you swear you didn't know—ten million won!"

After spinning round and round, the supercar slammed into a guardrail. WHAM—! Still, the captain would not release his throat.

"Narcotics is five years to life! A life money can't buy back! I'm ready to stake all of— uurgh."

But Kay pulled a stun gun from inside his jacket. Watching the captain seize up with a crackle of electricity, Kay sneered.

"What's the matter? And here you are pretending to be a real Louis Vuitton."

As Kay opened the car door and left the captain behind, the man chattered through chattering teeth.

"It's-a... it's fake-ay..."

"What? What are you even saying? You talk like a knockoff because you are one."

Kay picked up the black bag resting on the passenger seat, then—mocking the captain through the gap in the open door, as if the supercar meant nothing to him at all—kicked the door shut with his heel.

And the very moment he turned to walk away—

"He said it's the real thing. The captain, I mean."

Detective Yoon had appeared.

Detective Yoon, who had spent the entire film dismissing Captain Gwak's unit, was behaving with unprecedented courtesy. Perhaps moved by his words, the captain opened his mouth again even as he trembled like a leaf.

"It's-a limited... limited edi-shion..."

"What?"

"He said it's this year's limited edition. The captain, I mean."

Once Detective Yoon kindly translated, Kay shook his head in sheer disbelief.

"I'm never buying again. Louis Vuitt—"

The theater filled with laughter all over again. Reporter Wi quietly smiled too.

By all cliché rights, this is where someone should be lecturing the villain about justice—where he should be declaring that he'll never forgive what they've done...

Yet even at the film's climax, there wasn't a shred of solemnity. And somehow, that was exactly what spared the audience their fatigue.

Yoon Hyun-jo took Kay down with style all over again. He caught and twisted his wrist, kicked the back of his knee and sent him collapsing off balance.

After several rounds of trading blows back and forth, the second Kay finally went down.

"Ah, shit! Are cops allowed to beat people up like this? This is way past self-defense!"

"That's not for you to decide."

Unlike Captain Gwak's Kay, who had gone down loud and hard, this one milked every ounce of drama he could.

"I'm gonna have this written up properly, you know that? Huh? 'Police brutality beyond all limits'—that's my headline!"

"Go right ahead."

"Cops are all broke bastards anyway—can't even afford a real lawyer! Eh? Fine, let's do this by the book. By the book!"

At Kay's provocation, Detective Yoon—who never once lost his composure—allowed himself a brief smile.

"Why bother with the law, when something's faster than it?"

POW!

Fist to the face. Somewhere along the way, Detective Yoon had come to resemble that vulgar violent-crimes thug after all. Click. The sound of the handcuffs snapping shut was positively cheerful.

Under the bright morning sun, someone was stepping into a brunch café on Cheongdam-daero. The click of her heels rang out, cute and bright.

—Pretty girl...

By now, Yeo-reum could make audiences laugh with the music alone. Ding-a-ling—. As the door swung open with a little chime, slow motion swept across Yeo-reum's face as she lazily pushed her hair back.

"Unnie-ik!"

The moment she spotted someone, she waved hurriedly and quickened her pace. The table was crowded with girls dressed just like her—they were the women Yeo-reum had rescued during the Funny Balloon incident.

"Girl, you look amazing—"

"You look even better, unnie."

They greeted each other the way women do while touching up makeup in a club bathroom, and the brunch café was instantly abuzz.

"So what happened to those bastards?"

"Ah, well. The news blew up so big, you know how it is."

They chatted about the Funny Balloon scandal. A CG shot appeared: newspapers stuck to the wall beside Yeo-reum like Post-it notes.

Everyone who had handled the supply and distribution of the Funny Series was marched away in handcuffs—and among them were higher-ups who had tried to shut down the investigation.

"Honestly, they should all get the death penalty!"

"Right? Totally."

Just as Yeo-reum was getting seriously worked up, the older sister who owned the scarf draped around her shoulders suddenly grabbed her.

"Hey, hold still a sec."

"What?"

"Don't turn around."

Keeping her from twisting her head, the woman raised her phone. Click—! A crisp shutter sound rang out.

"That angle was insane. You looked unreal."

"Oh my god, really? Then film a video for me too! Quick quick quick!"

And so our Influencer 1 returned to her everyday life. Repair costs, medical bills, rental fees—every last one of them paid off in a single stroke.

"They say you lost twelve men?"

"Can't say I blame 'em. Tsk. We spent five years on that investigation—if it hadn't been for those bastards, we'd have wrapped it up in one."

"Oh, come on. Give it a rest."

Amid the murmurs of the assembled officers, the police commissioner's address rang out loud and clear.

"Using this case as our turning point! Reform within the police will not stop—it will continue!"

In the very front row sat the narcotics unit and the anti-corruption division, impeccably dressed, seated together. As if they were one team.

"We pledge, once more, to become a police force worthy of the people's trust."

When the commissioner's speech ended, words appeared on the screen behind him. White letters on a blue background—the colors of integrity and incorruptibility—read as follows.

Medals were hung around the necks of all who stood in a row, and turning about-face in perfect unison, they saluted the crowd.

The applause never stopped.

It was as they were leaving the imposing building that it happened. They weren't bickering the way they usually did. It was as if, at the moment of parting, they wanted at least this to end cleanly.

"Take care of yourself out there."

"You're not going anywhere."

"All the way to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠very end, huh..."

Detective Yoon brushed off Captain Gwak's farewell with practiced indifference. Just as they were about to turn their backs on each other—

Thud-. Thud-. Thud-.

The sound of dress shoes echoed from far off. It was the Deputy Commissioner of the National Police Agency, in a crisp suit.

"Congratulations."

"Aw, what now, another one?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Smiling, the commissioner handed them a rectangular velvet file.

"We already received our awards, though?"

"..."

As Captain Gwak and Detective Yoon frowned, wondering what this could be, the commissioner simply smiled again and waved his hands, urging them to open it.

Inside the file lay yet another appointment certificate.

Detective Yoon blinked as if he couldn't believe it. Gwak Cheol-sik's mouth hung open. Only the captain smiled, as if he'd known all along.

"Ah, come on—what kind of law even is this!"

Captain Gwak's voice boomed clear across the police compound. In front of the stately headquarters under the clear blue sky, a banner fluttered in the wind as it did every day.

The screen went dark.

BANG!

Faster Than the Law.

As the film's title blazed onto the screen one final time, the end credits rolled to the sound of exhilarating sirens.

"Not bad."

The senior reporter seated beside Reporter Wi delivered his verdict with tidy finality. This was the man who had predicted Beyond the Closed Door's ratings with uncanny precision, all the way back at Do Gyeo-ul's script reading.

"Right? It doesn't drag. It's clichéd, but it twists the clichés in such a clever way."

As they filed out of the theater, the two reporters rapidly sorted out the headlines for their articles. Even before they'd left the screening room, several journalists could already be seen hammering out articles at nearby tables.

Reporter Wi opened her laptop as well. Writing an extra piece alongside the draft she'd prepared from the trailer, she asked:

"What's your score prediction, sunbae?"

Our Yeo-reum is adorable, isn't she? Our Yeo-reum was great in it, right? Our Yeo-reum acted so well, didn't she...? Reporter Wi swallowed the dozens of questions she actually wanted to ask and kept it strictly professional.

The senior reporter, who had been studying the screen thoughtfully, glanced around the room. The other journalists were all giving lukewarm reactions.

"Ten million."

But he tossed it out flatly.

"T-ten million?"

At Reporter Wi's astonishment, the senior reporter replied as if wondering what there was to be surprised about.

"It's easy watching. No heavy lifting required."

"Still—ten million? I mean, War on the Rule of Law just hit ten million, what, days ago? And again?"

"Yeah. That one's a bit heavier, comparatively—it put real weight on the crime side of things. Faster Than the Law, if you want to be strict about genre, is an action comedy. Expected rating, what, 3.5? Right around there."

He knew. He knew that audiences turn out in far greater numbers for a film that keeps them laughing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nonstop and light on their feet than for something deep and slow.

"If you ask me..."

And this Faster Than the Law—

"Fastest ten million in history."

It was the perfect movie for the kind of viewer who books a ticket without thinking twice.

A short while later, as if his prophecy had come true, the critics' average landed at exactly 3.5.

I was standing beside Director Gong in the empty theater. This was the stretch of time when industry guests stopped by one by one to offer their congratulations before leaving.

"Wow, that was fantastic! You know I've been watching Strange Tales these days too. My oh my, you're frighteningly good—"

"Thank you so much!"

"My daughter said, Whii! Whin! You know, that parfait thing? She told me to tell you she loved it."

"Oh, really? Would she perhaps like an autograph? Or a selfie with me? Or—even better, I could record a video message!"

A fan. I had a fan. That made two, and no way was I letting this one slip. I was just seriously deliberating whether to turn on the bunny-ear filter on the elderly gentleman's phone and take the photo with him when—

"Hello! There!"

A hearty voice rang out from somewhere. I turned my head for a moment—and froze solid.

Director Ja Seok-hwan...?

No, wait. Why was that man here? To see me? Of course not, why would he be—Gwak Cheol-sik and Yoon Hyun-jo were here. But then why...

He's looking at me, isn't he?

Could he have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠recognized Han Yeo-reum, the finest actress of this era, destined to represent the Republic of Korea itself? Here for my autograph? For a photo together? For a video message? Or if not that, then perhaps...

"I watched Strange Tales yesterday!"

"Yes, Director. Thank you very much."

"Oh? I could tell you were the director the moment I laid eyes on you."

"Well, of course. You're Ja Seok-hwan, the greatest drama director of our time, aren't you? A master of the republic whose name suits him perfectly—pulling viewers to their screens like a magnet. I grew up watching your dramas with all my heart since I was a child, so in a way, you could say my dream of becoming an actress began with you, Director. You're one of the people I respect most in this world."

To court me for his next project? To discuss casting me in a Ja Seok-hwan production? To offer me the female lead?

The gears of Han Yeo-reum's Snob Calculator were spinning a hair's breadth from full detonation. Compliments flowed straight out of me without so much as passing through my brain.

"To think you'd like me this much! Perfect timing, then. Here, take this."

"Hyung... we're not doing 'yes or no' on stealing actors from each other's screenings, are we...? What do you even think of it, hyung. This insane situation, if it were your screening—tell me at least whether my movie was any good..."

"See this part I highlighted? It says Yeon Hee-jae. Nothing's confirmed yet, but I'd like to talk."

The meaning of a non-answer's answer. What could it possibly be? That our movie wasn't good?

Director Gong clung to Director Ja's arm, desperately fishing for validation about Faster Than the Law, but the man remained steadfastly committed to his own agenda.

So that's what the dignity of a master looks like...

Not the slightest regard for anyone else's eyes or opinions. Something like Professor Geum Bit-gang of the Light, I supposed. Though that one belonged to the Darkness.

Anyway, I accepted the shopping bag Director Ja held out. Inside were a screenplay and a character description sheet.

The Great M1 Garand!

I blinked. No way. The name Yeon Hee-jae surfaced in my memory instantly. That Yeon Hee-jae—the one who would earn the title of Nation's First Love.

"Oh, right! You two—child actors—introduce yourselves. Perfect timing, everyone's here, so shall we talk again after the screening wraps up?"

"I definitely never agreed to share my schedule with you, hyung..."

Over the top of Director Gong's hollowed-out muttering, Director Ja beckoned to someone across the room.

"I enjoyed the film, Yeo-reum. Director. Truly, thank you."

And with that, Myeong Je-ha—the man who would become Ki Tae-seok of The Great M1 Garand—walked toward me.