With the Southeast Wind Blowing, Why Hesitate to Set Sail? (3)
“Stop it...”
Director Choi Bong-man, the man behind a blockbuster hit, wasn’t some old-school hardass.
No, if anything, he was remarkably tolerant.
When the lead actor whined about being sick,
when a rookie graphics staffer ruined two weeks’ worth of assets,
even when some famous critic slapped it with a “homogenized fun, nonlinear mess 2/10” score—he never blew up.
Hell, when Kang Min, who he’d personally invited at an official event, politely turned him down, he’d only let out the tiniest grunt and moved on.
—But this? This was too much.
Choi Bong-man squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again.
“I said stop...”
In the smoky gambling den, a man casually toyed with his cards.
Or at least, his face was calm.
Blood poured endlessly from the gunshot wound in his shoulder, his body twitching faintly as proof.
The rival gang stared with terrified eyes as the thug screamed.
A flat tone.
Not resignation, not anger, not stubbornness—just stating a simple fact.
The rival broke out in cold sweat, grinding his teeth, but couldn’t refuse.
The other players around them trembled wordlessly as they picked up and played their cards.
It was a bizarre scene.
Pale face.
Endless bleeding that could drop him any second.
A man on the brink of death.
Yet the dying man brimmed with life the more he gripped his cards, while the living ones grew more terrified with each draw.
The pile of money grew.
The man wasn’t satisfied even as the endless stacks mounted.
His gleaming eyes fixed not on the cash, but on his fear-stricken opponents.
The man felt bliss.
The man felt ecstasy.
The man felt alive.
A single number on a card.
It seized fortunes no ordinary person could dream of in a lifetime, then snatched them away—and dragged that ordinary soul to death.
Unfair.
But that’s what made it good—
Madman.
Terror gripped those around him.
But strangely, the fainter the madness curling at the man’s lips, the tighter Choi Bong-man outside the screen squeezed his eyes shut, whispering, “Please...”
And then,
the final card dropped.
Trembling violently, the rival checked his hand.
It wasn’t a losing draw.
His own looked decent too.
A sharp resolve etched into his once-fearful eyes.
The man smiled.
The rival’s eyes widened for a split second, but it was too late to turn back.
Time to reveal the cards.
Climax.
The end of everything.
Choi Bong-man’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
Producers saw countless videos, day in and day out. But that’s exactly why the truly great ones hit them right in the soul.
His trembling gaze locked on the screen—
And as always, it happened.
Kang Min on screen let out a final screech and collapsed.
And didn’t move.
A heavy silence fell.
The characters in the scene stared blankly—
And as the screen faded, massive text appeared.
Gambling.
Will you bet your life too?
You can still turn back now.
— Integrated Gambling Oversight Commission
“..........”
In his beer-can-strewn living room,
Choi Bong-man’s hands shook uncontrollably.
The TV had already moved on to the next ad, blabbering something about “Even our kid can be like Kim Cheol! Unlock creativity with this special 12-week course...” but it fell on deaf ears.
“This...”
The mild-mannered, generous Choi Bong-man.
The director voted #1 by staff as the one they most wanted to work with.
“This f***ing...”
He felt an unprecedented rage boiling up.
It clawed slowly up his spine.
Passed his waist, his chest, reached his throat—
And finally exploded.
“What kind of PSA bullshit is this!!!”
The blockbuster director slammed the table and roared.
#
Two weeks since the first illegal hiking prevention PSA dropped.
The world was still in chaos.
In the past two weeks, Kang Min had shot three PSAs.
Forest Service’s illegal hiking prevention.
Fire Service’s fire prevention.
And now the Gambling Oversight Commission’s gambling prevention—
All of them hooked viewers with overwhelming intros and gravity.
The fire one crammed a kid losing his whole family in 30 seconds, wandering lost, then finding purpose as a firefighter—pure heartstring-tugging gold.
...And every single one ended in anticlimactic fashion.
When Kang Min charged in heroically only to burn alive, followed by Fire: It can be prevented and Let’s relight the extinguished flame, even repeat viewers couldn’t help but feel gut-punched.
Screams—not quite screams—erupted everywhere.
Amid the screams, a strange reverence began to spread too.
If past praise for Kang Min was awe at his acting, now pure respect(?) was emerging.
Their logic went something like this.
Two weeks of hellish chaos mixed with that odd awe.
—And Han Ye-seul suffered alone.
“Kuhaha, perfect again, Min! Who’d believe that acting came together in two hours?!”
“Hahaha! Only you, Director Shim! Without knowing, who’d think that table was one seamless CG shot?!”
The young man and the bearded guy.
Kang Min (26) and Director Shim Yu-hyeon (42), two decades apart, laughed like blood brothers. Meanwhile, Han Ye-seul clutched her head solo.
She had a ton she wanted to say.
Why the hell does a PSA need acting like that?!
You’re all about saving money, so why slather on CG like it’s free?!
And Kang Min, why are you in such a good mood lately anyway?!
At first, Director Shim Yu-hyeon had approached it like “it’s work, so whatever.” But when Kang Min wrapped in just hours, his eyes bugged out in disbelief.
He knew the guy’s rep, but not this level.
“My god...”
And hey, this was the same Shim Yu-hyeon who’d powered through Ottoman... on pure passion.
After gaping slack-jawed and rubbing his eyes, inspiration surged. He didn’t just pinch pennies—he burned his own savings to create... whatever the hell this PSA was.
It might’ve been fine up to there, but when his skills fell short, he even outsourced(?).
“Pardon?”
“...You don’t need to repay anything. You’re using your own money, Director.”
“.......”
Yeah right, Han Ye-seul thought, exasperated. But she couldn’t bring herself to be the bad guy(?).
Swallowing her tears like mustard, she pitched in on this monstrosity.
Perfect direction.
Perfect acting.
And a moronic story—
The trifecta birthed three flawless PSAs into the world.
Every time MinLove posts screamed “Who the hell made this?!”, loyal member Han Ye-seul’s chest stabbed with guilt.
And that wasn’t all.
Meanwhile, one honest, kind young man was getting corrupted too!
“...Um, Min hyung, Director.”
“Hm?”
“What?”
“Is this script really okay...?”
“Perfect.”
“What’s wrong with it? The ads are killing it!”
“Doesn’t feel good...”
Rookie writer Yoo Ji-min eyed the laughing director and actor warily.
Shockingly, he’d executed even Kang Min’s bizarre demands to the letter.
Meaning, torching the hard-earned firefighter kid in one cut after all his struggles? Or revealing the gambler’s final card after hooking viewers with madness? All his ideas.
Kang Min was one thing, but to Han Ye-seul, this guy was an even bigger lunatic.
...At least he felt bad about it.
“Dunno why, but scenarios just end up like that.”
Yoo Ji-min grumbled.
“They write themselves to get hate, turn into trashfires. Ease up a bit and boom, characters drop dead... My noona dropped a masterpiece first try...”
“Yeah, your family’s stacked, right? Big-shot writer sis, actress lil sis...”
“Yeah... Makes me wonder why I’m like this. Maybe no talent at all.”
Yoo Ji-min sighed again.
Normally, you’d cheer him on: “You got this,” “It’ll improve,” “Keep tweaking.”
Han Ye-seul held faint hope.
Maybe these psycho scripts where protags die per episode will change...!
That sliver shattered.
Kang Min grinned and patted Yoo Ji-min’s shoulder.
“Nah, that’s what makes it good.”
‘?’
“No matter how stupid, people gotta do what they can do. No forcing change.”
‘...?’
As Han Ye-seul blinked, the rookie turned blankly.
Kang Min’s eyes were dead serious.
“What matters is not breaking against obstacles (Hong Ji-ho, Yu Ho-hyeon, Baek Chae-i, Jo Yun-a, William White, et al.). I’ve tried other paths. But I couldn’t change myself (dying).”
“You too, hyung...?”
“World’s like that. Ignore the stares, do your thing. I, for one, like your scripts.”
“Hyung...!”
Yoo Ji-min teared up.
Touching scene.
If you ignored the part about protags dying ten times an episode.
‘...???’
Into this heartwarming(?)-whatever, Director Shim Yu-hyeon jumped in, eyes misty.
“Yeah, that’s what makes it good.”
“Director...”
“No matter what, I’m an Ottoman and Byzantium stan. People mock kebab and knockoff Rome, but I love Constantinople. That’s me. Can’t change that.”
“Kuh...!”
Yoo Ji-min finally bawled like a baby.
Han Ye-seul wanted to lose her mind.
Can’t keep up at all...!!
She even missed snippy Baek Chae-i. At least she was rational...!
No wait, Shim had forgotten that Ottoman grudge in hours!
But regardless, Kang Min and Shim busied themselves prepping another tragedy...
“Director Shim, where’s the last ad from?”
“Reading promotion. KOBACO (Korea Broadcasting Promotion Corp) commission. Show cases of stuff going wrong from not reading.”
“Hm.”
“Got an idea?”
“Stranded youth on a desert island tries everything but dies pathetically? Tie it to books in his bag and Robinson Crusoe at the airport lounge.”
“Nice! Solid! More?”
“Or pure reading deficiency tanks project understanding, leads to pathetic death.”
“Ooh, expand on that—”
“Why does everything end in pathetic death?!”
Han Ye-seul finally snapped.
Glancing at the two—who eyed her like emotional instability?—her stomach churned.
This couldn’t go on.
As the sole sane one here—and reluctant overseer producer—she had to fix this madness...!
“Pls, at least make the last one normal?! Buzz is great, but as PSAs they’re problematic!!”
“Really...?”
“Yes!!”
She pounded her chest at their tilted heads.
Sure, interest and awareness were off the charts. Beyond any prior PSA.
But the “don’t do this” restraint was zilch.
Who’d take those absurd stories and endings seriously? Total failure as PSAs.
“The agencies won’t like it either! At least from now, let’s save face—!”
As bottled-up Han Ye-seul geared for a rant,
her phone rang.
Of course—she barely kept her tone civil and hit accept. Ready to hang up on most callers.
But,
“Yes, got the call.”
“Y-yes...”
“......Wh-where did you say you’re from?”
The caller was... off.
#
Two weeks later,
Sejong-ro Government Seoul Office.
Click.
Click.
Han Ye-seul stood dazed beside Kang Min on the podium.
Heavy hitters lined the seats—obvious from their hats—and approved reporters snapped away gleefully.
The MC boomed,
Thunderous cheers and claps erupted.
Even the Prime Minister clapped with a pleased smile.
Hugging hefty plaques, commendations, and a massive flower bouquet, Han Ye-seul blinked blankly.
‘?’