An Extremely Global MBS
Like so many tales in this industry, actor Harry Gordon had once been a struggling theater actor on the brink of ruin.
The difference from the scorching-hot sensation Aislinn Lewis, who seemed ready to burst into flames, was that while she had been a promising talent on Broadway, he had lacked the gift and switched paths early on.
If there was one more irrelevant detail worth adding, it was his favorite play: Man of La Mancha.
...Of course, from his manager's perspective, that wasn't irrelevant at all.
"Behold! The schemes of those wicked giant's minions!"
"Fear is the enemy of the mind that confuses and blinds us to reality. Those fiends wield it like a weapon!"
"But to this knight blessed by my Princess Dulcinea, their petty tricks shall not prevail!"
"......"
"......"
On the day Broadway's Sir Bennett angrily released the video in a fit of rage, Harry Gordon spent a full day silently replaying it over and over.
Manager Jessica swallowed hard, staring at his bloodshot eyes.
She felt like stamping her feet in frustration.
'Dangerous! This is dangerous...!!'
Harry Gordon was an emotional guy. Hadn't the whole "Chun-sik" fiasco started because he impulsively picked a fight on SNS just because he didn't like Kang Min?
Already grinding his teeth in revenge fantasies over that.
And now, the very target of his vengeance had butchered his favorite work—only to win rave reviews for it. How would that feel? Jessica was on pins and needles, terrified her charge might cause another incident any second.
"H-Harry? Don't take it too hard."
"......"
"Broadway's buzzing about it anyway. They know he's good, but is he lead good all of a sudden?"
"......"
"The more people who know Man of La Mancha, the more they say that! So..."
"...Right."
"Harry?"
"...He's good, damn it."
"?"
A few seconds later, the manager shut her mouth.
Not out of fear from her actor's bloodshot glare.
...Well, maybe a little, but something else took precedence.
Harry Gordon was weeping openly, tears streaming down his furious face.
"He's filthily good, damn it...!!"
"......"
#
Honestly, the manager couldn't tell if the video was even that great.
To her, the story was just Kang Min falling and rising over and over until the audience sang along at the end—nothing more. The video quality and audio were so abysmal she couldn't judge much else.
You needed decent faces to critique expressions, right?
...But her actor was foaming at the mouth over such critiques.
"Damn it, this isn't about expressions, Jessica!! It's the atmosphere!!"
"...Is it?"
"Of course! Man of La Mancha starts differently from the original: Cervantes gets thrown in jail after the church seizes his stuff for taxes. The prisoners mock him for clinging to his foolish ideals, so he decides to tell the story he crafted from them! That's the Man of La Mancha!"
"......"
"Embodying that ideal is ridiculous, a bit mad, grotesque! But it's also brimming with romance! The hardest—and most vital—thing in this play is the power to draw people in with that absurd romance—!"
Naturally, all she could say to her ranting actor was one cold thing.
"Didn't you swear revenge on his William White?"
"Kuh...!"
Harry Gordon squeezed his eyes shut, trembling.
He was visibly, genuinely torn.
Burning with rage at Kang Min, then euphoria at the video; rage again, then euphoria. Days of this.
Finally, Harry Gordon reached mental victory.
"Revenge... Does revenge have to mean screwing him over?"
"Pardon?"
"Maybe not. Hiding a knife while building rapport, learning how William White thought during his performance, even getting an autograph—couldn't that count as revenge?"
"...Doesn't sound like it."
That sounded more like fandom.
Social convention and all.
"My intent is to steal his acting secrets!"
"Still no."
"Kuh...!"
Clutching his head before his glaring manager, Gordon writhed.
A bit idiotic, sure, but dead serious to him. And it seemed like it might drag on for weeks.
Until the Golden Globes discreetly informed them of his short film win.
"......"
"......"
"...Harry?"
"This is humiliating."
Harry Gordon's face was uncharacteristically solemn as he clamped his lips.
Not like the old days when he'd trash-talked Kang Min for awards.
"Obviously. If they'd picked my film, fine. But nominating Unfilial Son Chun-sik and giving it to him instead of me? Laughable."
"...You were great too, Harry."
"Bull. I was just dragged along in that play. Golden Globes aren't idiots. They know it'll blow up over Kang, so they're sacrificing me upfront... Obvious."
"......"
"I earn awards through merit. Handing them out politically to avoid backlash? Insult."
Jessica sighed softly at her furious actor. Well, that's why she stuck with this walking disaster.
But that lasted only a moment.
Musing, Harry Gordon began stroking his chin.
"Humiliating, sure... but maybe an opportunity. Screw them over and do Kang a favor..."
"Pardon?"
"Golden Globes aside, Kang's sweating that recent scandal. Help there, and he's indebted. Build from there, steal his tricks..."
"God, Harry! Don't meddle in romance! Rumors say he and Lewis go back to age seven—"
"Bullshit."
"Pardon?"
"I saw their first meeting at the Emmys. They were strangers."
"...?"
Kang Min or Aislinn might've forgotten, but Harry Gordon had overheard it all, shoved aside by some racist prick.
More objective than arguers like Lloyd Gonzalez, even.
And he judged the scandal a headache for both Kang Min and Aislinn Lewis.
'In other words, a chance to indebt them both.'
Perfect judgment as always. Gordon grinned.
"Alright, I've got a flawless plan."
"Um... can't you just skip it?"
"Relax, Jessica. I'll score points with Kang without provoking Lewis!"
"Usually it's the opposite..."
Long time together. His bold claim sparked her usual ominous dread.
And as usual, it hit the mark.
The result? An acceptance speech for the ages at Golden Globes: "Sorry, but I'm not qualified for this award."
#
"I did nothing. That video was all thanks to Mr. White... my friend pulling me along."
"He even elevated my acting on his own. I was mad thinking he messed with it, but that was shortsighted. The result was astonishing."
"Kang is a genius! His Man of La Mancha is a masterpiece! See it! Vote for 'Must Go to Broadway' if you can!"
"Honestly, no clue why you gave this to me. Unless you didn't know the name 'Min'?"
The venue fell deathly silent as Gordon spoke.
Not deliberate—pure dumbfoundedness.
This went beyond praising Kang Min. It was straight-up flipping off Golden Globes.
Even jaded actors blinked blankly; organizers' jaws dropped cartoonishly. Flashes targeted them, naturally.
But the hush broke as reactions aligned with Gordon's scheme trickled out.
Actors knew the rigged intent.
"Ha, straight talk! Those racist pricks did ignore him blatantly."
"Thought he was just a hothead brawler—turns out he's got class!"
"Pushing it that far? Guess Gordon and Kang are tight."
"SNS beef was staged for fun, right?"
"Even if not, young actors can vibe."
"Heartwarming!"
'Plan's working.'
Harry Gordon smirked inwardly.
Everything to script.
Screw Golden Globes for screwing him—now reversed.
Win over peers, public opinion.
Force debt and friendship on Kang Min.
Board set: Kang couldn't brush him off. Meetings, autographs inevitable.
Maybe even the "Golden Helmet" part from Man of La Mancha—
'Nah, not that.'
Flashes caught ashen-faced organizers; cheers answered every word, silence forgotten.
For manager Jessica, a shocking first: her actor's intent nailed perfectly.
She dazedly tallied mentally.
'Incredible... Harry flipped his unlikeable image in one move!'
'Public'll love the upright vibe, post-that scandal.'
'Feuding Golden Globes? Minor. Boosts other awards' favor; they'll avoid bias post-overhaul. Masterstroke!'
'He planned this far...?!'
Indeed. Up to here, flawless.
Excited netizens spread word of near-collapse Golden Globes; Gordon topped trends.
Near-perfect play.
Problem: what followed.
"Oh, and while I'm at it, clearing a minor misunderstanding."
"...?"
"As a friend of Mr. White, I assure you: my friend and actress Lewis met for the first time at the Emmys. Ignore the recent nonsense."
This line itself? Fine.
Mild stir, then "What?" "Knew it." "That interview—Aislinn was pissed." "Heh." Murmurs filled; burning communities simmered.
Miraculous effect, but a friendly actor's word at Golden Globes carried weight.
Aislinn's manager, watching live, patted her chest.
"Phew, saved. We can contain it now."
"......"
"Gordon's not half bad. Owe him. Send a gift?"
"......"
"Aislinn, next time you meet, thank him at least—"
"I'll kill him."
"?"
Plain common sense:
No plan trumps survival.
#
Korea's reactions proved it: the scandal raging for two days was dying down. Gordon's clarification helped, but Golden Globes' mess hogged the spotlight.
Kang Min was grateful, naturally.
That's why he greeted Gordon with booming laughter.
"Great to see you! And thanks, Harry!"
"Ahem, no big deal. More importantly, about calling you a 'friend'..."
"God, if we're not friends after filming together, who is?!"
"Ahem, ahem!"
No regrets from Kang Min's side, so they bonded fast.
He apologized deeply to Aislinn too.
"Sorry. Should've been more careful, regardless."
"...No."
"I'd offer help as amends, but realistically, parting quick clears rumors best. Apologies again."
"......You mean that, you bastard?"
"Pardon?"
"Nothing."
Anyway, soon Kang Min and Harry Gordon were arm-in-arm pals.
Gordon beamed, though eerie chills made him flinch sometimes.
Kang Min worried.
"Not feeling well, Harry? Try my red ginseng. A gift."
"Oh, the famous Korean red ginseng! Thanks!... Who sent it, btw?"
"Ms. Lewis. She's into health foods."
"Hm...?"
No clue why American Aislinn sent Korean ginseng, but Gordon accepted gratefully.
His ailment didn't improve—worsened, even—but friendship trumped all. Daily bliss for Harry Gordon.
Then sweeter: "Any role, I'd love shooting with you again, Min!"
"Tricky, but... Fancy Korea? Director Gonzalez wants you for Die to Live. Not huge, but..."
"That one?!"
Gordon thrilled.
Thrilled enough to fly to Korea same day as Kang Min's departure.
Jessica suspected he'd forgotten his original goal entirely, but stayed mum.
The day before departure, though, lip-biting Aislinn grabbed Kang Min.
"...Sorry, can you delay by one day?"
"Pardon?"
"Just one day."
"Hm..."
Eyes burned with resolve.
Gordon fled instinctively from the vibe.
"Sure, I guess..."
Even unflappable Kang Min felt the pressure, nodding.
Then an international call.
Kang Min excused himself, answered.
"Yeah, what's up."
"Yeah, flying home tomorrow... might delay."
"No real reason..."
"......What?"
Kang Min's face hardened.
Air froze.
Not just nearby Aislinn—even distant Harry Gordon, stroking his chin curiously with Lloyd Gonzalez, held breath.
Soon, a stiff voice emerged.
"What bullshit is this about Bom hospitalized."
Aislinn Lewis let out a soft "Hm," lifting her head—exactly then.
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