Seoul Short Film Festival (2)

By this point, even people who normally paid the short film festival zero attention couldn't help but wonder why everyone had suddenly gone so completely insane over it.

Of course, massive popularity always brought negative eyes along with it. That much was inevitable.

Under the public's relentless attention, the weekend vanished in a blink.

Today, the judges and contestants would screen the finalists of the Seoul Short Film Festival here, after which the awards ceremony would take place.

Which was why Ara had come to Citrine for her awards-ceremony makeup.

"?"

"……."

And there, she ran into someone she had absolutely not expected to see.

"Sunbae-nim?"

It was Ryu Mi-so, already in the chair getting her makeup done. The moment she spotted Ara, she tried to hide behind a book — but beauty like hers was not so easily concealed, and she was caught immediately.

"Ah, huh? Wait—!?"

Ryu Mi-so froze for a second, flustered.

"W-what? You come here too? Th-this is, wow! What a coincidence?"

"Ah… yes…?"

Ara glanced briefly at her own pictorial hanging on the wall.

"I just came because I heard they were good. I had no idea you came here too."

"Ah? Is that so?"

Well. She didn't really get it, but if her sunbae said so, she figured she'd just go with it.

"Ara-ssi. Please sit next to Mi-so-ssi and wait a moment."

"Ah, yes."

Citrine's director, Kang Ji-yeon, guided Ara to the seat beside Ryu Mi-so.

As always, Ara sat down and started fiddling with her phone. Ryu Mi-so, left alone, fidgeted restlessly.

"……."

"……."

And so the two of them sat in silence, receiving their makeup, until—

"…Hey."

"Yes?"

A dry voice called Ara's name.

"Th-that is, um…."

"?"

She was starting to stammer.

"You have Instagram, right……."

"Instagram? Ah!"

Ara caught on to what she was trying to say.

"Want to follow each other, Sunbae-nim?"

"W-what?! A-absolutely not! A junior being that forward!?"

"Ah, never mind then. Sorry."

Ara looked a little dejected.

"B-but! If you want it that badly, I'll follow you back!! Since it's a junior's request!"

"Huh? I'm fine, though…?"

"What?!"

"No, never mind. Let's follow each other."

"Hmph! You better be grateful!"

"Yes ma'am."

Ara opened Instagram.

"What's your ID, Sunbae-nim?"

Ryu Mi-so showed Ara her Instagram handle.

smile_you

Pfft.

In the end, people really were all the same.

And just like that, Ryu Mi-so was added to Ara's Instagram following list.

By the way, what the hell is this?

This was Ara's first time opening Instagram since the live stream, and she was inevitably stunned.

Uh…. Are my eyes a little blurry?

Ara rubbed her eyes and looked again. The number was still the same.

Whoa…?

The absurd figure sitting right in front of her was genuinely fascinating. Her Instagram account was a complete empty shell — not a single photo, nothing. And yet hundreds of thousands of people had followed her anyway. That alone was wild.

How many does Sunbae have?

Curiosity got the better of her, and she went poking around Ryu Mi-so's account.

!!!

T-two million?

She'd been running into her a lot lately because of work, and she was such a weird sunbae that Ara hadn't really thought about it — but it turned out Ryu Mi-so was extremely popular.

Ara scrolled further through her account.

Tons of photos.

Mostly selfies, with the occasional shot with other people mixed in. And surprisingly(?), she seemed to treat her fans pretty well.

Should I post a photo too?

Come to think of it, aside from live streams, Ara had never really put herself out there for people on her own. Maybe that was why people kept sticking weird frames on her?

Ara arrived at a strange conclusion.

She was about to take a selfie when a sudden question hit her.

How do you even take a decent one?

Aside from pictorials and profile shoots, she barely had any memory of taking photos at all.

What kind of photo do people even want?

And on top of that, she was a complete amateur in this department.

This is the kind of thing you ask a veteran about.

"Sunbae-nim."

She decided to ask Ryu Mi-so, who was grinning at her phone beside her.

"Y-yeah?"

Ryu Mi-so hurriedly put her phone down and answered.

"I have a question. How do you take photos?"

"What kind of photos?"

"I was thinking of posting one on Instagram, but I don't really know what I should put up."

"Instagram photos?"

"Yes."

"Don't you just take them casually?"

Ryu Mi-so kept it simple.

"Why overthink it? As long as it's nothing problematic, just post some everyday shots."

"Ahh."

A reply that reeked of sunbae experience.

"Here, look at this."

Ryu Mi-so held up her phone. Both Mi-so and Ara filled the screen.

Click—

"Something like this…."

"I see. Thank you, Sunbae-nim."

"Hold on."

"?"

Ryu Mi-so looked at the photo she'd just taken, then called Ara again.

"This one came out kinda awkward, don't you think? Let's retake it."

"Huh? I think it looks fine?"

"When a sunbae says we're retaking it, we're retaking it!"

"Ah, yes ma'am."

Only after several more photos with Ryu Mi-so was Ara finally released.

Bzzzt—

Ara's phone vibrated.

"?"

The sender was Ryu Mi-so, sitting right next to her. She'd sent one of the photos they'd just taken.

"Sunbae-nim?"

"I-if you're gonna post, post that one…."

Hmm—

Ara thought it over carefully, and then something from the past floated up.

"Ah. For promotion, right?"

"Uh, uh? R-right! There's the awards ceremony later, so we should promote!"

"Understood."

Even at a time like this, she's working hard for the project.

She already knew the Seoul Short Film Festival and Stalker, the film they'd both starred in, were riding a massive wave of buzz. So she'd figured personal promo like a live stream wasn't really necessary — but apparently Ryu Mi-so thought otherwise.

As expected of Mi-so Sunbae. She might be a bit of a hardass, but she's never wrong.

Ara realized her own inexperience.

And so she completely misunderstood.

Watching the whole scene, Kang Ji-yeon and Kwon Min-ji — the vice director handling Ryu Mi-so — held back laughter and thought the same thing.

Aren't these two playing way too cutely?

People really are all the same. But Ryu Mi-so is a real surprise.

They still remembered how tense Ryu Mi-so had been on her first visit. Ever since Citrine started using Gil Ara as a model, other celebrities and industry people had begun coming back. And of course, they'd caught fragments of the rumors about Ryu Mi-so filming a movie with Gil Ara.

They said her personality wasn't great.

Apparently she was sharp-tongued with juniors and seniors alike if they rubbed her the wrong way — but the reality was different.

She just feels like a cat, somehow?

The way Ryu Mi-so treated Ara came off so tsundere it only looked adorable.

"I posted it! Look at this, Sunbae-nim."

"Huh?"

Ara turned her phone screen toward Ryu Mi-so.

The first post had gone up on Ara's Instagram. Comments started pouring in at real-time speed — but that wasn't what mattered.

W-what is with this caption and these tags… they're so cringe….

For a second, Ryu Mi-so looked at Ara and thought she was a total boomer.

"I-it's fine."

"Thank you. The comments are pouring in like crazy!"

"Yeah, that's great…."

Still, she forced herself to say it was fine, worried Ara might get hurt. Separately from that, she was extremely satisfied with the photo itself.

"Alright, Mi-so-ssi, you're done."

Ryu Mi-so, who'd arrived a little earlier, finished her makeup first, and Ara's followed right after.

"See you later, Sunbae-nim."

"…Whatever."

The Seoul Convention Center, better known as the SCC.

Inside, the renowned directors serving as judges were exchanging pleasantries. Among them were people who had worked with Ara before.

"Il-gwon, isn't this a bit much? At this point I should just quietly bow my head, shouldn't I?"

A warm, bearded man sniped at Director Ha Il-gwon.

"Hahahaha, why would you say that? If a ten-million-viewer film director talks like that, I'm the one who ends up embarrassed. Congratulations on Train to Ulsan's success."

"Well, that's thanks to you. You practically handed me those excellent actors for free, didn't you?"

"Come on. That's all your skill as a director. Still, if you're grateful, hurry up and treat me. When are you actually going to buy?"

"Hahaha, soon enough. But you've made more money than I have, haven't you?"

"That's that, and this is this, Director."

"The fact that you don't even deny it makes it even more annoying."

Ha Il-gwon and Yu Hui-min exchanged friendly greetings.

"Ah! Director Kwon!"

"Director Kwon. It's been a while."

"It's been a while for both of you."

Director Kwon Ha-ryong stepped between them. He was already counted among the absolute masters of the industry.

"Oh my, look at me. I've been holding my head far too high. My apologies. Heheheheh."

"Please don't, Director. Hahahaha."

"Director Kwon. What have you been up to lately?"

"I should start working again soon myself. I've been loafing around too long."

"Ohh. Looking forward to that."

The directors serving as judges traded greetings and updates among themselves. But one of them stood a little apart from the rest.

Takashi Nagisa, who'd come from Japan. Wearing a baker boy cap and round glasses that screamed "film director" to anyone looking.

"I hope they start soon."

Fluent Korean rolled off his tongue. He was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a Zainichi Korean — born in Japan, but thoroughly familiar with the Korean language and culture.

.

.

.

When the time came, the center announced the start of the festival, and Takashi along with the other directors began taking their assigned seats. The participating actors and directors followed, settling into seats prepared much farther back than the judges'.

Naturally, the most eye-catching group was the cast of Stalker — though they didn't particularly catch the judges' eyes.

Oh! Director Ha Il-gwon and Director Yu Hui-min?

Ara felt a quiet spark of delight, but there was no way to convey it to them right now. Maybe they could exchange greetings during the awards ceremony, once all the screenings were done?

A massive screen lit up with an explanation of the Seoul Short Film Festival and announced the start. Pens and evaluation sheets had been laid out in front of the directors-turned-judges.

Click—

Every light went out.

The title of the first film appeared, and the screening for evaluation began.

.

.

.

Quite a lot of time passed.

Streeeeetch—

Someone stretched.

Yaaawn—

Someone yawned.

Scribble scribble scribble—

And the judges were busy writing something on their evaluation sheets.

Director Takashi Nagisa took off his glasses and massaged his eyes.

That last one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was pretty good.

A story of an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠independence fighter set during the Japanese occupation. In a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠way, as someone of Japanese background, he could have found it unpleasant — but fortunately, he was Zainichi Korean.

Unless something unexpected happens, this film will take the award.

Only one evaluation remained.

Stalker, huh……. Hmm…….

A painfully common title greeted him.

So this is the last film of the festival?

A thin disappointment radiated from Takashi.

In the end, I won't find it in Korea either…….

As he sat with that peculiar thought, the other directors were thinking in completely different directions.

Stalker. The film everyone's been talking about — and arguing about — lately.

Director Bong is back. Not sure if I should get my hopes up.

Ara's in it, so it'll definitely be interesting. Given the recent buzz, too.

I'm jealous of Director Bong Jun-seo. Using Ara-yang as the lead. I wanted to cast her first.

While each of them was lost in their own thoughts—

The MC announced the start of the screening.

Director Bong Jun-seo's Stalker began, and a moment later—

Huh?

Director Takashi was deeply startled. The reason: a woman who had recently become a massive issue in Japan had just appeared on screen.

So she was an actress. Not an athlete after all. No — an actress from an athletic background would be more accurate.

Even he had to admit her looks were wasted if she wasn't in entertainment. Especially in Korea, where the entertainment market was so large.

A case of someone who rose on looks and athletic ability, then. Nothing special to expect.

With physical ability like that, she obviously wouldn't have had time to practice acting, so her skill would be nothing to write home about. So he didn't particularly expect anything.

And that assumption—

Hmm?

Ohh? Not bad?

This is good.

Just three lines of dialogue.

That was how long it took for Takashi's opinion to change.