Ice Comes from Water (5)
“Katie. That gay Korean guy's poster again?”
“It's BTS!”
Jack Miller, who ran a hardware store on West 6th Street in Texas and lived a life without envy, had recently developed a bit of a worry.
His daughter, precious enough to place in the apple of his eye, had fallen into some bizarre hobby called K-pop.
To Jack Miller, who fancied himself a macho man, these strange Asian groups looked daintily pretty like girls, swarming around in packs while belting out weird songs. How on earth had she gotten hooked on that?
Miller tried to talk some sense into her.
“Katie, come on, watch the news. Those Koreans are commies. That fat pig Kim whatever's always firing missiles and throwing tantrums. What else would people from a place like that do besides beg?”
“Ugh, seriously! That's North Korea! How many times do I have to tell you?!”
“You're so naive. North, south—it's all Korea! They mix and mingle, influencing each other! Even Texas and Oklahoma right here...”
“Dad, please! You're embarrassing me—shut up!!”
“Hmm...”
Was his daughter's puberty always this painful?
Watching her scream and slam her bedroom door shut, Miller felt a wave of gloom wash over him.
Naturally, his anger toward those gay BTS guys—or whatever WTO they were—and Korea, that Middle Eastern country(?), only grew stronger.
“Those Asians should go read the Quran or something—why come to our United States and cause trouble! What am I supposed to do with Katie?!”
“...Hey, Miller. South Korea's in East Asia. And nobody there believes in Islam. Christianity's the biggest religion. And North and South—”
“East Asia? Isn't that where Vietnam or India is? I know the end's some island nation.”
“.......”
Seeing his somewhat educated friend sigh like he was some know-it-all only made Miller more irritated. Thinking back later, it was Indonesia, but did he really need to look at him like he was an idiot just for missing three letters?
Anyway, he didn't like this K-pop thing one bit. And that started making him dislike Koreans in general.
Fortunately, he had plenty of comrades.
“Damn right, Miller! My daughter's the same! How are those guys not gay—pretty boys caking on makeup and swarming in groups?!”
“I don't get what's so great about their music!”
“The world's gone mad, the world...!”
Truth be told, it was a common phenomenon across America as K-pop gained some popularity.
No popular music—from jazz to rock to hip-hop—had ever escaped the older generation's scorn among “today's kids.” And this came from some country no one even knew where it was.
As the saying goes, “Fandom breeds haters.” The bigger K-pop's influence grew, the more haters it spawned.
Logically, they hated everything beyond BTS and K-pop idols: singers, models, actors—anything with “Korea” attached was fair game.
This extreme polarization was the typical sentiment toward recent Korean culture.
“We gotta snap her out of it.”
“Exactly...!”
“Even Bieber would be better than this crap.”
And that's around when that ad hit America nationwide.
#
When that ad came on, Miller was, as usual, drinking beer with his new buddies. They were busy grumbling about their own daughters or sons.
One guy watching the TV frowned in disgust.
“Damn, it's Kang Min.”
“Kang Min?”
“Some Korean actor who's been getting buzz lately.”
“Never heard of him... Looks kinda decent, though?”
“Shut up! He's just some hack fooling kids with shallow footage! No one sees it's all rigged... what idiots!”
“Whoa, easy, Walter.”
Walter frothed at the mouth, ranting that everything from The Amazing Actor and the Utterly Stupid Broadcaster video was a setup like a rigged go-stop game. Claiming Korea's MBS had colluded perfectly with Kang Min.
If an MBS station chief heard, he'd mutter that'd be a dream come true. The details were suspiciously spot-on about who his daughter was fangirling, but no one pointed it out.
Miller and his friends jumped in, badmouthing like they'd been waiting.
“Now even these nobodies are crawling up!”
“Says he can do action—it's all show. This is America! His level'll show quick, and he'll get booted.”
“And a gun control ad? That damn GVA (Gun Violence Archive) crap again? You know how many DGUs (Defensive Gun Uses) happen a year?”
They downed their drinks, griping nonstop.
Actually, it was a bit welcome. Running out of things to complain about, here was fresh bait.
Gun control ads were predictable: sappy BGM, sob stories about kids, yearly gun accidents, demonizing gun owners.
True Americans weren't swayed by that nonsense. Miller and his crew smirked, eyes glued to the screen.
And just 10 seconds later.
All their jaws dropped slack.
Thud!
Not a gunshot or bomb.
It was the sound of Kang Min stomping his foot as he appeared on screen.
While Miller blinked dazedly, he plunged fearlessly into a squad of heavily armed SWAT cops.
Outmatched, no question.
Seven attacks flying at once.
The screen slowed to slo-mo.
But the camera zoomed on Kang Min's steely gaze.
BGM slowed.
Elements dropped one by one, leaving solo cello to amp the tension.
Fists and kicks closing in slow.
A do-or-die moment—no escape.
Then percussion crashed in, flipping the vibe instantly.
Sounds layered in one shot.
Blocks overhead strike, parries two mid blows, dodges leg sweep, twists past baton, redirects upward punch, slams foe's groin.
All in about one second.
Seven cops down simultaneously.
Pure single take—no camera tricks.
[Guh!]
[Keurk!]
[What the...!]
The cops on screen gasped in shock.
But nothing compared to those off-screen.
“?”
“?”
“···???”
That—
Does that even make sense?
Miller's friends—and even the table that pitied them—gaped speechlessly.
After blinking blankly for a while, Miller and his crew turned to Walter.
Walter, who'd just claimed the guy couldn't act to save his life and faked his fame, was beet red.
“It's all graphics!”
Walter snapped.
“You all got fooled! You think that's natural? Obviously slick CGI—”
Bam!
“.......”
Walter shut up.
The next scene played out raw, as if anticipating that reaction.
No—even more intense.
“······.”
“······.”
Legends like Richard the Lionheart vs Saladin, Alexander Nevsky vs Teutonic Knights, Sun Ce vs Taishi Ci—fought dozens or hundreds of bouts.
So what do you call a fight repeating razor-edge seconds?
No one could speak.
Even Walter just flapped his mouth silently.
What.
What's happening—
One cop voiced their shock.
[Why, why did you throw the gun away?!]
Kang Min's reply was simple.
[William White does not rely on extraneous material.]
[What?!]
Who the hell's William White! The shouting cop flew next.
The fight after was eye-spinning. William White crushed twenty masters overwhelmingly.
No edits—even raw staff on set were stunned. With deliberate staging, it became absurd.
Simultaneously, viewers on TV, billboards, phones stared blankly.
Miller and friends too.
“Holy Jesus...!”
“What... what the hell is this...”
“Bruce Lee? Holloway? Jackie Chan? Eastwood? Damn, no one moves like that...!”
William White,
Who the hell is he!
“Guh...!”
Even Miller unconsciously clenched his fist.
Setting aside personal feelings, he saw himself as a cool guy. No way his heart wouldn't race at that relentless fight.
Korea—not a fan.
But that actor... different!
[Grah!]
[You bastard!]
[This time...!]
The cops got craftier.
But William White's eyes sharpened more.
Reinforcements sneak from behind.
Cool guy William White, of course he knew—sliced the traitorous weapon.
“Yes!”
“That's it!”
Cheers erupted.
Booze-flushed faces threw air uppercuts, roaring.
Even the warmly buzzed turned red-hot. That intensity in the action.
What next?
William White wins? Obviously.
After victory—what?
Why fight cops anyway?
Nothing simple...!
All watched expectantly, sneers forgotten.
S&W's ad seemed destined for rave reviews.
Until a weirder cop reinforcement appeared.
“?”
“?”
“...?”
Unease rippled.
The new backup? A gun.
Looked like an M38, but bigger. Human-sized.
...With arms and legs.
“That...”
“Huh?”
Anyway, these bizarre reinforcements waddled toward William White.
What.
The hell—
Blinkers refocused.
Whatever, William White handles it ea—
Rat-tat-tat!
[Guhk.]
William White crumpled in 0.5 seconds.
And didn't move.
“???”
“??????”
Silence fell.
Then massive subtitles overlaid the daze.
[Not even William White can beat a gun]
[...So are our kids]
Comic sans-like font—Korean's rounded style.
Long silence.
“······.”
“······.”
Ad ended, restaurant ad played, then familiar actress Lee Do-na topped grilled cheese pizza with pineapple—still quiet.
But not forever.
[──!]
Miller's jaw dropped first, cartoonishly.
#
“I can't believe it, Director Kim Cheol! Watch this video!”
“.......”
Lloyd Gonzalez teared up in awe.
He was watching YouTube: bar patrons going wild, freaking out.
“To manipulate emotions with just one ad! Oh, I was a fool! That producer's a genius! How did I not know this method?!”
“.......”
“Honestly, forcing the apology hurt a bit, but I'm grateful! If I hadn't apologized, how could I face this?!”
“.......”
“Oh, I must apologize to Producer Han again! And discuss next projects more...”
“...She used to be so proper.”
“Pardon?”
Director Kim Cheol trailed off gloomily.
...Until a New York Times reporter showed up at S&W the next day.
Ice Comes from Water (5) End