Unexpected Synergy (2)
“No, no, this can't be right! What the hell have you done!!”
“My God...!”
Wi Min-jun, the PD of Unbelievable, had gotten exactly what he'd hoped for.
He watched, jaw dropped, as the producer and writer—who'd been glaring daggers at each other and burning with insane motivation—finally teamed up in shock.
But there was one tiny problem.
The man at the center of it all was just as stunned.
What the... what is this...?
Wi Min-jun rubbed his eyes over and over, staring at the face in front of him.
Stefan Geisler.
German-American.
A mid-career actor still going strong on American TV shows.
Not a household name, maybe, but he'd been a reliable supporting player for over a decade—like the panacea of the industry—and even Wi Min-jun knew who he was.
He was not the type to fly to Korea for a reenactment show.
What the hell?
Was this a dream?
I just asked if he could find me one actor with a German vibe...?
Even his boss, the CP, was visibly flustered.
— The timing worked out, and he happened to be in Korea anyway, so I threw it out there, and for some reason, he said yes...
“Sorry, does that even make sense?”
— There might be some other reason too... I don't know, man! What am I supposed to do now that he's here!
“.......”
Never mind the higher-ups fumbling around after landing a big fish on the spot.
An emergency meeting was called immediately, of course.
Even Han Ye-seul and Baek Chae-i, who usually bickered like cats and dogs, looked utterly bewildered.
“I get that I suggested it, but this is too much! You bring in an actor like this and have an East Asian play Hitler?! We'd be better off just filming a comedy skit together!!”
“I-I think it's too much too... this is...”
The writer and producer—who'd been in a subtle feud lately—raised their voices in unison.
They were even considering rewriting the role entirely. Especially when you thought about Stefan being called the next Bruno Ganz—the star of Downfall.
Wi Min-jun thought the same, naturally. With all eyes already on them, did they really have the luxury for something this absurd?
—But of course, Kang Min's thoughts were entirely different.
Heaven is on my side...!
He inwardly cheered.
With an actor like this helping out, viewers won't be able to think anything but 'What the hell is this?!' And any talk that my acting doesn't fit Unbelievable will vanish completely...!
Stefan, naturally, picked up on the bizarre atmosphere right away.
He frowned and scanned the room.
To him, the situation was downright weird.
The crew whispering and looking worried? That makes sense.
Anything else would be stranger.
But,
The other actor staying calm like it's no big deal? That's off.
Stefan stroked his mustache and eyed Kang Min.
An East Asian playing Hitler in front of a renowned German actor.
This wasn't something acting skill could fix. From the jump, it screamed “Are you kidding me?”—inviting curses and mockery.
Yet this actor called Kang Min showed zero concern.
Two possibilities.
One: He doesn't give a damn, not even a speck.
Or two: He's even more cocky than that.
Stefan figured it wasn't the first.
...Actually, assuming the first would be the weird part.
He's a newbie, full of confidence... but guys like that almost never survive this industry.
Stefan smirked.
In this business, distinguishing overconfidence from cluelessness was key.
This kid in front of him seemed a bit short on the latter.
I told him to do what he wants. Might as well humble the young punk while I'm helping out.
Stefan's eyes gleamed coldly.
A mid-career survivor of America's TV industry—a demon's den rivaling Hollywood.
All that pressure zeroed in on the rookie actor Kang Min.
And—
[Junker! The incompetent Junkers and the Jews' tongues have devoured yet another Aryan, Dragovich!]
[I prophesied it long ago! What advanced human history more excellently was never nations, but races!]
[A true Aryan isn't swayed by such nonsense, Dragovich. The spirit of decision blesses not the reckless fool, but the one who hesitates not when inner conviction dawns.]
“?”
Just as shooting began, Han Ye-seul—who'd taken full control—pressed her temples and gave the order.
“Go high contrast.”
“Cut, you mean?”
“No, contrast ratio.”
“.......”
The camera director opened his mouth to argue, then shut it.
High contrast. A go-to for making something pop on screen—or hiding it.
Forcing things into view or shadow. Incredibly artificial and clashing, especially on faces—it usually earned critics' scorn by the bucketful. Less a killer move, more a self-destruct.
But,
No choice...
The director swallowed a groan and adjusted the camera.
A middle-aged Westerner with wrinkles, gravitas, and stubbornness etched into his face.
Versus a young Korean thirty years his junior, with some vibe but no match.
Viewers' perceptions would differ wildly, inevitably. Acting skill aside.
Especially with content like this.
No matter how good Kang Min is, this story was doomed from the start. What the hell is this Hitler crap?
Everyone shared the sentiment.
Baek Chae-i—who'd torn apart and rewritten the script a dozen times—clutched her skirt.
The PD and staff sighed.
The Western interpreter/manager looked outright bored. Like he'd wandered into a circus.
Shooting began amid the gloom of an already foregone conclusion.
“Dragovich was once in the Nazi Party. But he was just a low-rank nobody, not even that zealous.”
“After Berlin's liberation, he pitied the vengeful masses. How could anyone hand their guts to one man?”
“Ten years later, on a trip, Dragovich encounters a man eerily like the supposedly dead Hitler and grows suspicious. He decides to stick around and observe...”
Han Ye-seul's words reached Stefan via interpreter, but he seemed to understand some Korean already.
The German mulled it over, eyes closing then opening.
Experience didn't lie.
Suddenly, no actor remained—just the cynical Dragovich.
[Stupid Germans! Walking around brainless, ripe for a con like Hitler!]
[Boom times? Just Nazis piling up debt. Had to pay it back somehow—that's why the war! Giggling over their own blood money!]
[Damn it, shoulda emigrated sooner!]
In modern terms: a “country-hater.”
But in shattered 1950s Germany, it fit the rational, sharp-minded perfectly.
Dragovich was one such.
He had pride. Self-conviction.
[Still, lucky—I kept my money and my neck. Good enough. Now it begins.]
Han Ye-seul directing the shoot, Baek Chae-i who'd penned the script—they found no flaw to critique. Crystal-clear, profound acting. The pinnacle of a pro.
And Kang Min had to overwhelm that Dragovich.
Possible?
...Early on, not looking good.
[You remind me of someone, Father.]
[I get that a lot. No one's nailed who, though.]
[I see.]
Crespi the priest and Dragovich's first meeting: unremarkable.
In Colombia on assignment, Dragovich spots a familiar face in Ecuador's Cuenca village.
A tense standoff.
But Stefan's suspicion-filled glare overshadowed Kang Min's breezy chuckle.
Shallow sighs rippled through the crew.
Not working.
Last week gave a sliver of hope, but...
This time, different flavor of backlash...
The interpreter/manager smirked at the reactions.
Obviously. You think that kid can hang with Geisler?
He'd come reluctantly because his actor insisted, but it was a total waste of time.
Tsk. Whatever, he's a meme now—some buzz at least. Still dumb.
His prediction hit the mark.
Dragovich should've been gradually overwhelmed by repeated encounters, but no emotional build.
Clear skill gap. The classic “got eaten alive” actor joke.
Even Han Ye-seul, clinging to hope till the end, had to give up.
Sigh... out of my hands...
Regretful. A bit disappointing.
But expecting otherwise was laughable from the start.
Han Ye-seul decided to edit it down to broadcast length.
Why'd he have to pick Hitler...
The PD and most staff figured it was over—right when they couldn't help but think otherwise.
The mood shifted.
[You've lost your family, Dragovich.]
......?
Simple line.
Script-vetted a dozen times. Everyone knew it cold.
But everyone blinked.
Could a human voice be that gloomy, that sticky?
Even Stefan blanked out a second, barely recovering.
[...Shaman act now, Father? Don't know where you heard it, but cut the creepy shit.]
[Many ordinary folk struggled to understand me, Dragovich.]
The priest smiled gently.
Oddly transparent—yet chilling.
The camera director instinctively went close-up.
[Those who find answers in reason's realm are sages; those beyond, prophets. But sometimes, pure insight descends from outside both. Nietzsche's Superman, the Übermensch realm.]
[...That crap's the Nazis' distortion. Nietzsche never called Germans Übermensch or Jews Untermensch. Your nonsense got torched as shameful trash long ago.]
[Ah, Junker! The incompetent Junkers and Jews' tongues devour another great Aryan, Dragovich!]
The priest pitied him.
[A true Aryan isn't swayed by nonsense, Dragovich. The spirit of decision blesses not the reckless, but the unhesitating when conviction dawns.]
[What the hell are you spouting?!]
[Dragovich, how did you lose your family?]
[Why?! Damn Nazis!]
Dragovich shot up.
His plan to gather proof and snag the scoop crumbled instantly.
His face twisted in rage as he bellowed.
[Damn Nazis dragged my kid away! Ink not even dry on his Christmas notebook gift! That good boy died a bullet sponge, my frail wife wasted away after! All your fault!]
[You know who I am, Dragovich.]
[Think I wouldn't?!]
Click.
The loaded pistol pressed to the priest's nape.
Killing intent filled the twisted face. Trembling hands clenched like they'd pull the trigger any second.
The pressure of a 20-year American TV survivor dominated the room.
But the priest stayed calm.
No, he wasn't even in that league.
He just murmured softly, face serene—like a snake coiling slow and tight.
[Of course, I know you too, Dragovich.]
[Wasted on begging.]
[Naturally, I know about your son, Matthias, as well.]
[.......]
For a split second,
Dragovich's face turned feral.
The priest grew solemn.
[Fine boy. Bursting with will to protect parents and siblings from encroaching evil Jews and their Slavic minions.]
[...You.]
[Even among crowds, his racial purity and ideological conviction shone fierce. Blinding, almost. But foolish Stalin crushed it all. Tragic. Truly tragic.]
[You bastard—!!]
Bang—
No sound.
But viewers felt the gunshot.
Dragovich's fury embodied it; the cheap prop pistol visualized it.
But,
The priest didn't flinch.
Just his brows furrowed in melancholy.
No “territory battle” between actors—even possible.
No reason for it.
[Kill me, no matter, Dragovich. I failed. Even if those visionless Junkers caused it, I can't deny responsibility for Matthias Dragovich's death. My deepest condolences.]
[.......]
[But your revenge can't end with me. Our German race fell to fools trading Aryan purity for greed. Humanity groans in pain. As you say, no supermen exist. But any true Aryan can become one. You too, Dragovich.]
[All bullshit, nothing but...!]
[Then let me tell a story you'll care about.]
[More bullshit...!]
[I'll tell you who killed Matthias.]
[.......]
Quietly,
Dragovich swallowed.
The priest whispered reliably.
Where Matthias Dragovich's Jugend unit had been,
And—what those wicked Allies did.
[Th-they killed them...? Kids surrendering unarmed, by those bastards? You expect me to believe that?!]
[No need to believe me, Dragovich. Pull the trigger, then investigate yourself. Loyal Dirlewanger survivors would be ideal, but even treacherous traitors can testify. I'll give you names of those worth knowing.]
[.......]
Dragovich looked conflicted. The priest didn't dodge the barrel.
One twitch: instant death.
Yet he recited names methodically.
Just pity on his face.
No pleading.
[Why... why tell me that? Just to twist my guts before you die?]
[Hm.]
The priest paused.
His eyes drifted outside.
After a beat, slow words.
[Once, I held Europe. Crushed that cursed France, tore the Versailles Treaty. Glorious. Truly glorious.]
[I remember. You ruined it yourself!]
[Of course, Dragovich. Had it ended there, glory eternal. Right? But it couldn't.]
[...Why?]
[Freedom.]
The priest whispered.
[Our race's freedom.]
Kill the enemy, and they'd kill Germans.
Enemy kills him, they'd kill Germans.
Germans die—meaning Aryans' extinction. Even if not in the Superman's lifetime, someday.
Humans can understand each other. But interpret only themselves.
Thus, the priest acted.
Cold sweat beaded.
[...You're insane.]
[If you truly think so, Dragovich, do what must be done.]
Dragovich couldn't pull.
To the sweating, grinding Dragovich, the priest said softly.
[Go rest now. Chance tomorrow too.]
[.......]
[I'll wait tomorrow as well.]
That marked one man's fall.
Dragovich returned with pistol next day, and the next.
Always leaving with words, not bullets.
[Even simplest ideas need a thousand repetitions for the masses to grasp. Great movements expand not by great writers, but great orators.]
[Cultural heritage! Art! What explains Slavs' indiscriminate destruction but their base nature? They crave only wilderness and barbarism.]
[A nation's sole true assets: great men! Systems? Bureaucrats? Useless. Only a great Superman steers the helm forward!]
[We divide races not by physical traits, but deeds. How great one's works—that decides racial rank. If lesser races emulate Aryan excellence, what's the harm? But inferiors always envy and destroy superiors. That's tragedy's root.]
[Democracy, majority rule, conscience, solidarity, peace—implanted notions crumbling our racial consciousness, breeding self-loathing.]
[Will—will is all. Will to remake humanity! If not me, I'd gladly yield to the called Superman!]
[No need now for 'I pledge loyalty.' 'I fight'—that's the warrior's oath.]
[Dragovich.]
[Can you fight?]
“.......”
“.......”
Everyone watched, speechless.
The Kang Min they knew was Hui-yul, Dr. Kremer. Cool exterior, burning will inside. Right ideals, justice.
No one,
no one foresaw this sticky, coiling evil...
Even the smirking agency manager stared, dazed.
[Fight...]
Slow, but sure—
Dragovich was dyed.
One man could drag another down.
Sharp reason,
keen judgment.
All Dragovich's tools became worthless under a new master.
Two weeks later, his gun finally fired.
[Well done!]
The priest beamed.
Rarely, he clapped, laughing.
[He defiled Aryan purity—a traitor! On Jews' orders, mission to corrupt the greatest race!]
[...Not for you. One of my son's killers.]
[You'll see soon those aren't so different.]
[Then you'll burn in hell.]
[Ah, not so fearsome, Dragovich! Death matters less than failing my mission in it!]
Flashing eyes.
Flesh-crawling zeal.
Stefan Geisler bit down unconsciously.
What.
What the hell is this guy...!
Stefan's back soaked in cold sweat.
The priest's eyes held conviction. Every line before too.
All words rang utterly true—even death rhetoric.
Situation clear.
Either real Hitler before him,
or a 26-year-old punk recreating a monster beyond his reach.
As if that insane shit happens...!
Stefan's follow-up was near-desperation.
Ironically, his struggle against overwhelm meshed with the devil's whispers into magnetic conflict.
The camera captured it all.
My God...!
Stefan's interpreter/manager—and UTA team lead Thomas Gilbreth—gaped, stunned. No trace of his earlier yawns.
Unlike Korean agencies, American ones don't manage daily. Thomas tagging along meant high regard for Stefan.
And before him, a 20-something kid overwhelmed that Stefan.
In this shoddy setup,
in non-native English.
What did it mean—
Fuck yeah, obvious! This trash show's just a stepping stone! Kid's the real deal! Obviously aiming bigger!
He gulped.
Then—
Maybe I'm witnessing the chance of a lifetime to propel myself...!
As Thomas sweated and mentally crunched numbers, Han Ye-seul blinked blankly.
This... works...?
Absurd setup.
Absurd backstory.
Acting anyone would call nonsense.
Yet happening before her eyes.
.......
Suddenly, Han Ye-seul glimpsed what she'd truly wanted.
As she solidified her conviction, Baek Chae-i stared wide-eyed.
She felt déjà vu at the evil's bloom.
Partly because it was her script—but also some revelation.
What if,
What if Hui-yul agreed with the Left State Councillor—wouldn't it be like this?
Her scalp prickled.
She frantically checked her “perfect” King and Sovereign episode 18 script—and gasped.
Mess.
No! Totally wrong! Why'd I write this crap...!
Bloodshot eyes.
Absolutely,
absolutely not letting herself drag them down...!
Write better! At least matching that...!
And so,
as Stefan sweated, Thomas calculated, Han Ye-seul yelled “Reverse! Contrast reverse!”, Baek Chae-i slashed her script madly, and the camera director and Wi Min-jun spaced out—
Kang Min glanced at the reactionless room, chuckled satisfied.
Looks like my Unbelievable spot's locked!
Two days later, airdate arrived—with everyone's schemes in tow.
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