Cameo (2)
“Hmm.”
A pot-bellied, bearded middle-aged man sat buried in thought as he stared at the script. His name was Yu Hui-min. His nickname: the Eccentric Director.
True to the “Hui” in his name—which meant joy—he was the sort of man who simply had to try anything that looked fun. The problem was that he applied that same philosophy to his own films.
This time he had boldly declared his ambition to tackle a genre that almost never succeeded in Korea: a zombie apocalypse laced with horror, disaster, and action.
A field that rarely found success on Korean soil. And now Director Yu Hui-min was the one shooting it.
“Huuuuuum…….”
He had sunk deep into the swamp of his own brooding.
“What is it this time, Director?”
“Something’s missing. We need something fresher.”
“No! What more new stuff are you trying to shove in here? It’s already groundbreaking. Train action—what even is train action?! And in a zombie movie, no less?!”
The film they were about to shoot was titled Train to Ulsan. Roughly speaking, the protagonist flees to Ulsan by train. That was the gist.
“Hmm. Ah! What if we throw in some romance?!”
“Excuse me? Romance?”
The assistant director, who had already endured every variety of eccentric stunt at this man’s side, found the suggestion surprisingly mild.
“Romance sounds fine, actually.”
Love blossoming while being chased by zombies—how thrilling and beautiful would that be?
“You think so too, right? Then maybe a little romance between the zombies……”
“Huh? Absolutely not!!!”
“Aw, why not!”
“The investors will lose their minds!!! Director!!!”
“Ah!”
Investors. There was no arguing with that. They were the ones footing the production bill, after all.
“Can’t be helped. Guess we compromise.”
For him, the word “give up” only ever applied when counting cabbages.
“Whoa! Check this out.”
“Wow…… She’s seriously gorgeous. Who is she? I’ve never seen her before.”
Two young women stood chatting in front of the poster hanging at the salon entrance.
“Come to think of it, I need a haircut soon. Should I try this place?”
“What about your usual spot? You’re a total regular there.”
“Mmm. This unnie’s hair is super chic, though. I can just ask if she got it done here, right?”
“Fair enough. Let’s go in first.”
The two women stopped mid-stride and stepped into the salon.
Ding-a-ling—
“Welcome to Citrin Salon.”
A friendly-faced staff member greeted them.
“Hi. We were wondering if the woman on the poster outside got her hair done here.”
“Yes. She’s our exclusive model at Citrin, and the owner did her styling personally.”
“Oh, really! Then could you show me around too?”
“Of course. Please have a seat and wait just a moment—I’ll help you with a consultation. What can I get you to drink?”
After placing their drink orders, the two women settled onto the waiting sofa.
“This place feels kinda cozy somehow.”
“Right? All this stuff is way out of fashion, but it doesn’t feel tacky at all.”
The staff member who had greeted them was in the break room preparing the drinks for the two new arrivals. She had already lost count of how many people had come through today.
The cause, of course, was that ridiculously beautiful customer who had visited not long ago. That very morning the owner had personally taped the model’s photoshoot poster to the salon window.
“Huh, Owner? What’s this poster?”
“She’s our exclusive model starting now.”
“Whoa! That’s huge!!”
“Please let it actually work. I even broke my savings account for this.”
As both employee and the owner’s apprentice, she already knew the full state of Citrin’s finances.
“It’ll be fine. Don’t worry too much.”
But all she could offer was empty encouragement.
“Yeah. Thanks. Oh, right—we have an SNS account, don’t we? Upload it there too, please.”
“Got it.”
Honestly, the apprentice hadn’t expected much.
What can one measly photo even do……
That had been her thinking right up until opening this morning. She pulled out her phone and opened Insta. Then she checked the post she had uploaded that morning.
Whoa! Holy crap! It grew even more!!
Just yesterday—no, even this morning—the follower count had hovered around six thousand. The reason the account had exploded overnight was obvious: the poster the owner had ordered her to upload.
One truly simple photo and caption. Yet the fallout was savage. Comments kept pouring in nonstop.
Now even the “virtual person” theory had appeared, and beneath it countless people were stacking replies.
Whoa. Full-on flame war.
She understood how people felt. The day she first saw Ara, she had asked for her Insta ID too. Result: none. The girl simply didn’t do social media. Which meant even she still didn’t know the model’s name.
“Unnie, what’s the name of the person on the poster?”
The question came as she delivered the drinks. It was the single most frequent question she had heard all day.
“I’m sorry. I don’t actually know the model’s full name either.”
And every time she gave the same answer, she had no choice but to disappoint the customers.
“Ah. Is she a celebrity?”
“I only heard she’s debuting soon. Shall I help you with a consultation now?”
“Oh! Yes, please.”
Just like that, she successfully landed another customer. Looking over the reservations she had already booked today, she finally experienced firsthand a truth she had only known in her head until now.
No matter how outdated something was, if a beautiful or handsome person wore it, it became fashion. And that fashion rode the wave of trends until ordinary people started copying it.
Cheongdam was the most fashion-sensitive neighborhood in all of Korea. Beautiful and handsome people could pull off any look as if it were their own skin. But if those people had a regular salon? A clothing store?
That place became a holy land.
Riiing—
The phone rang again. In a single day the inquiries had already reached this volume. Once word of mouth truly caught fire, she couldn’t even begin to imagine the scale of the aftermath.
“Hehehehehe.”
Far across the salon, the corners of Owner Gang Ji-yeon’s mouth showed no intention of coming back down.
One week later.
A van operated by YW Entertainment carried five people toward an unknown destination.
“But why is the CEO coming with us?”
“Ha-yeong. I’m still the CEO. Don’t you think I should at least see how Ara acts?”
“Ahhh!”
“And you should take a page from Ara’s book too, got it?”
They were currently headed to the Train to Ulsan set. It hadn’t been in the original schedule, but this was Ara’s first acting role either way. Even inside the car Ara kept reading the script without pause.
The cameo roles the two actresses had been given in the film were simple. The setup: sisters. The kind of relationship that seemed close yet somehow ambiguous. Ara played the older sister, Choi Su-yeong. Ha-yeong played her younger sister, Choi Su-a.
Caught in a sudden zombie outbreak, they fled the pursuing undead and made it to the train station. They managed to board the train, but during the repeated crises of the chase the younger sister Choi Su-a was ultimately bitten. Citizens who noticed forced Su-a off the train, and older sister Choi Su-yeong stayed behind to comfort her terrified sibling—until she, too, turned. A thoroughly ordinary tale of deep sisterly love.
“Hing. I wanted to play the older sister.”
“Ha-yeong.”
“Yes, CEO.”
“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘Know thyself’?”
“Sure. Who was that again? The soprano?”
“…Socrates. Anyway, the younger sister suits you. Leave the older sister to Ara.”
“Yesss.”
Ara listened to their exchange and barely managed to hold back her laughter.
Pfft.
Blind-sided by the sudden soprano attack, Ara clamped a hand over her mouth. She desperately wanted to laugh out loud, but she couldn’t. After all, there was no one of lower rank than her in this vehicle. One was the CEO. The “soprano” was both her senior and older than her. The manager and stylist were a separate matter. So the best she could do was gently hide her face behind the script.
“Ha-yeong. Just grow up healthy for me.”
“Yes! Thank you, CEO!”
“Haa…… Why are you even thanking me for that……”
Tremble-tremble—
A faint quiver ran through the fingertips holding the script. Ara’s trials were far from over.
“Hey. Yu Ha-yeong’s coming today.”
“Whoa, no way. I’m a real fan of Yu Ha-yeong. Finally get to see her in person.”
On the somewhat chaotic set, two people who looked like bottom-rung staff were chatting during a break.
“But they said one more person’s coming?”
“Huh? Who?”
“No idea. Even the directors looked like they had zero clue.”
“Ah. Some no-name actress, then?”
“Seems like it? Bet someone pulled strings. For total unknowns, face time is everything, right?”
“Man. Whoever it is, they hit the jackpot. Director Yu Hui-min still has some name value.”
“Exactly. Guaranteed they’ll just send some trainee.”
The sudden appearance of an unknown actress was more than enough to become gossip among the crew.
“Director. Are you sure this is really okay?”
“What now.”
“Look, Yu Ha-yeong is one thing. But honestly, if we put out a casting call people would line up around the block. Is it really right to use a complete unknown?”
“Dunno, you bastard.”
“Haa…… This isn’t the time for jokes, Director. One wrong move and this could seriously damage the whole movie, you know that.”
Even if Yu Hui-min got called an eccentric, he knew this industry better than anyone. In film or drama, an actor’s performance exerted the single greatest influence on the entire work. No matter how well-written the script, if the acting was garbage people changed the channel. Conversely, even the most trashy melodrama would keep viewers glued to the end—cursing the whole way—if the acting was phenomenal. Casting was that important. How could Yu Hui-min not know that? The very reason he had become famous while mostly shooting B-movies was his carefully curated actor selections.
“You know Il-gwon, right? Ha Il-gwon.”
“Director Ha Il-gwon? Of course. Why suddenly?”
“He contacted me personally. About the kid coming for the cameo. Said her mask is insane and her acting should be solid? Probably?”
“‘Probably’? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Dunno? He wasn’t totally sure either. Said she seems good at certain kinds of acting, but he never saw the rest so he couldn’t guarantee it. Asked me to take good care of her and not mess with her mood even though she’s a rookie. That Ha Il-gwon said that.”
“What? What kind of nonsense is that, Director?”
Any trace of the director’s authority had already vanished from the conversation. Still, he fully understood the assistant director’s feelings. He had said the exact same thing at first.
Who was Ha Il-gwon? Even though drama was his main field, he was a giant among giants—any project he touched was guaranteed solid ratings at minimum. Acting? Basic competence was enough. It was only a cameo, after all.
The point that had hooked Yu Hui-min was the “don’t mess with her mood” part. Just what kind of arrogant rookie would make Ha Il-gwon say something like that? He hadn’t been able to contain his curiosity, so he had accepted her in the end.
That aside—
“Hey! You little shit, what do you mean ‘nonsense’ to your director? You wanna die?”
“Ack!!”
At Yu Hui-min’s roar the assistant director bolted.
“Hey!! Somebody grab that bastard!!!”
Yu Hui-min hauled his heavy body into a run after the fleeing assistant director.
“Those two are at it again.”
“This set really is entertaining, gotta admit.”
“Facts.”