Ice Comes from Water (3)
S&W's co-CEO Kim Cheol apologized, and even Lloyd Gonzalez grumbled but ultimately acquiesced.
Everything wrapped up nice and tidy.
—Of course, in a world that's not some fairy tale, things never go that smoothly.
Staff at a world-class production company like this one naturally carried a sense of pride befitting their status.
Even as they prepped for the shoot, they were busy grumbling and airing complaints one after another.
"Honestly, this doesn't sit right with me."
"Oh, be a little more honest, James. You're pissed at that arrogant punk."
"Gonzalez might be out of his mind, but he's not someone who bows to some rookie who's barely debuted. The boss went too far this time."
"That 'Anha-Muin' kid... Uh, is that the right pronunciation, Shirakawa?"
"Yes, well..."
At first, when the S&W staff heard Lloyd Gonzalez was obsessed with this actor named Kang Min, they figured it was just another one of his crazy episodes.
Sure, anyone he fixated on had to have some talent, and this guy probably had a bright future ahead.
But S&W didn't need to chase after prospects like that. This was a company packed with creators at the absolute peak of their careers right now, not just in the future.
That was why most of them brushed off Lloyd's eccentric antics as no big deal.
But the situation shifted before long.
"Hmm..."
"This is..."
Even if they weren't thrilled about it, they had to acknowledge the guy's skills as a producer.
For a near-rookie actor to butt heads with someone like that and force an apology? Sure, Lloyd had been rude, but considering his position and track record, it was downright infuriating.
Even those who disliked Lloyd couldn't hide their displeasure this time.
"Sure, he's got some talent, but he's just some actor who blew up off a cheap meme! He's way overhyped!"
"At the very least, he's not on a level that warrants us going through all this. Not even close."
"Calm down, what can we do? The boss gave the order."
"East-Asian premium, huh... That the right way to say it, Shirakawa?"
"Pardon? Oh, yeah... Sounds about right in Korean, I think..."
And well, Steel & Wiztone was the kind of production company whose motto was "creative and autonomous" in polite terms—or "do whatever the hell you want" in cruder ones.
In other words, they didn't have the guts to outright defy CEO Kim Cheol, but spitting seeds while carving pumpkins on the side wasn't exactly a problem.
That simmering staff discontent soon boiled over into something utterly unprecedented and bizarre.
"Anyway, I just want to see that cocky punk's nose get smashed—in a way that won't cause any real issues, of course."
"Agreed."
"Who wouldn't?"
"Then, obviously, we'll need an actor who can throw a solid punch?"
The staff were pros through and through. They meticulously set up the gear, fine-tuned the lighting depths, double-checked the audio echo levels, and completed every preparation to perfection.
And in true pro fashion, they pooled their own money on top of the budget, jacked up the pay tenfold, and requested stunt actors from America's top agency, UTA.
"We're looking for someone on the level that suits this hotshot debutante who thinks he's all that."
"Oh, that shouldn't be hard."
It was a downright insane situation.
But UTA—who had recently pitched to Kang Min and gotten shot down—didn't bother refusing.
No, they even laced it with a hint of grudge(?) and shipped over a slew of top-A-grade talent within half a day, like it was express delivery.
For a video that was barely a few dozen seconds long, Hollywood stunt actors who commanded top-tier treatment poured in like candy. It got so ridiculous that Shirakawa Saito, the screenwriter, gaped in shock—"This is nuts!"—and rushed to find Kim Cheol.
But of course, the CEO knew exactly what was going on.
"Eh, let 'em have their fun. Like you saw, guys who aren't total assholes need to eat some hazing when they're young if they wanna make it big. This is just a bit of mean-spirited mischief."
"B-but!!"
"And hey, I've got my own ideas brewing too."
"You have to tell us what those ideas are!"
Whether the sole voice of reason screamed or not, things rolled on.
The stunt actors—who boasted film credits anyone would recognize and averaged over twenty years of experience—couldn't help but let out hollow chuckles when they heard why they'd been summoned.
"Unbelievable."
"I've bounced around this industry for petty reasons plenty of times, but this is a first."
"Well, as long as the pay's good..."
Of course, that amusement didn't last. The longer your career in this biz, the more you knew how childish even the big-name producers could be.
Take the money, do the job—that was it.
They snapped into serious mode and flipped through the script.
"So, it's a PSA ad to prevent mass shootings...?"
"What's the exact role?"
"Basically, this Kang Min actor plays a kid who snaps after a traumatic school experience and goes on a shooting spree. We're the cops taking him down. The original plan has even trained officers struggling against an armed high school punk, that vibe... but..."
"...This is gonna look pretty damn funny."
Not that it lasted long—some cracked wry smiles.
Kang Min had a pretty solid build, sure, but these guys made him look downright slender with their massive frames.
To overcome that physical mismatch would take near-superhuman acting chops, and the actor in question was a rookie, while these stuntmen had decades under their belts.
The odds of it turning into a childish mess were sky-high...
"Too bad, but what can ya do."
"Yeah."
Rather than looking down on him, the stunt actors shook their heads with genuine pity.
"Heh, should be a show."
"One thing's for sure: we mess around a bit at first, then go dead serious."
"Obviously. We're specialists, after all."
The staff, led by the DP and others, snickered.
"Kuh... How's this even gonna...!"
The screenwriter—the voice of reason—and a few soft-hearted folks fretted anxiously.
In short, everyone figured Kang Min was in for a humiliating beatdown.
It wasn't a rash judgment. Who'd bet on a young actor not even a year into his debut against a squad of Hollywood stunt vets averaging twenty years? Anyone would sigh that it was immature.
Even Han Ye-seul blanched when she saw the lineup.
Everyone except one.
'Something's off.'
An hour before shooting started, Kang Min arrived on set and scanned the surroundings with a peculiar expression.
'This feels really... weird.'
Once upon a time, after surviving countless deaths and first landing in Unbelievable, he'd felt a near-perfect calm.
It was so serene that Russian slipped out unbidden.
Nothing like it had happened since, so he'd chalked it up to some freak occurrence—but now, that exact same sensation washed over him.
'Why, though...'
Was it because a behemoth like S&W was prepping his death acting for him?
Or had he leveled up somehow from dying so damn much?
Maybe it was just his imagination?
'Whatever. Worth a shot—it's free.'
Ignoring the dismissive stares and snickers, Kang Min stroked his chin.
Maybe now, of all times.
Maybe now, he could summon that without even dying...
'Hmm.'
'Hmm...'
'......'
A few minutes later, the stunt actors in question cleared their throats and approached Kang Min for introductions.
They extended hands, hiding a twinge of guilt over the childish setup.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Justin Gilbreth, this is Kenny Stewart, and over here Gilford Langs. Let's make it good, Kang."
"......"
"...Mr. Kang?"
Kang Min said nothing.
The stunt actors exchanged awkward glances, perplexed.
Overwhelmed by how blatant this was?
Makes sense.
Still, this was getting awkward—
But it didn't drag on.
"Mm."
Kang Min silently clasped hands in a firm shake. His eyes—sharp enough to chill—swept over them coolly.
Then he opened his mouth and introduced himself.
"William White."
"?"
"...?"
What?
Crazy?
Naturally, none of the blinking onlookers grasped the true weight of that name.
...Not until shooting began.
#
"We'll use paint rounds for the shoot."
The stunt coordinator—what they'd call a martial arts or action director back in Korea—explained.
Of course, the positions weren't even comparable in stature.
"Gotta keep some natural chaos here—overdo it and it'll show. Actor goes on his shooting rampage, we lay CG over the trajectories later."
"...You sure that's okay?"
"Oh, no issue. Our VFX team's flawless. It'll look better than real—I guarantee it."
"No, I mean... Never mind."
Han Ye-seul, assisting as AD, let out a long sigh as the coordinator walked off, head tilted.
Seeing that absurd stuntman lineup made her grit her teeth.
'Goddamn it, this is straight-up hazing...!'
World-class studio or not, Han Ye-seul had twelve years in production. She couldn't miss the malice in the snickering staff and those ridiculously seasoned stuntmen.
Hell, the senior crew like the DP were openly cackling.
"Our actor here's been quiet for a while now?"
"Oh, probably cooking up some epic scene. No way he's frozen stiff."
"Exactly. His debut was that Goryeo warrior, right?"
The more she heard, the more her blood boiled—but what could she do?
This whole mess stemmed from Kang Min stepping in to get her an apology instead. Jumping in again wouldn't help.
Han Ye-seul could only clench her fists and grind her teeth.
She even spat barbed words at her revered mentor, Kim Cheol.
"Director Kim Cheol seems... very different from what I'd heard. Extremely."
"I... I'm truly sorry..."
The poor screenwriter, the last sane one, groveled.
Han Ye-seul trembled with rage.
Staff snickered, stuntmen sighed but composed themselves—
Shooting kicked off in an atmosphere where the ending felt obvious to everyone.
The stunt coordinator stepped up first.
"Let's check action sync first. Start from the final scene."
"The final scene...?"
"Yeah, the part where the rampaging shooter gets taken down by the cops. We'll gauge the lead's handling and set the action difficulty accordingly... Might need a double if it's too much."
In other words: public execution for Kang Min, first up.
The staff beamed with satisfaction; Han Ye-seul's face crumpled.
But before she could protest, gear whirred to life.
Million-dollar drone cams claimed the skies, motion-control rigs and pricey lights rose on cranes.
Equipment worth 350 million won made even the RED Monster look cheap, all primed to capture Kang Min's "humiliation shot" crystal clear.
Justin, the stunt lead, sighed and whispered to Kang Min as he approached.
"Actor. Let's just play along."
"......"
"You get it—these clowns just wanna rag on you a couple times and laugh it off. Bunch of kids. Humor 'em, wrap it up happy. Easier for both sides. Think of it like that initiation ritual back in Korea."
Justin figured Kang Min would agree.
What choice did a young actor have here? Felt a bit manipulative, but it was best for everyone. He justified it to himself.
But Kang Min's response wasn't quite what he expected.
"William White doesn't tolerate insults."
"?"
What the hell—
Five minutes of blinking disbelief later,
Justin Gilbreth—21-year stunt vet and martial artist—went flying through the air.