Qualifications for the Award (2)
A truly excellent producer doesn't just marvel at masterpieces.
They chew through every element—
actors,
direction,
scenarios.
They digest it all thoroughly, and above all, they burn with the desire to surpass it. That's the essential quality of a great producer.
Lloyd Gonzalez was no different, of course. At first, he dove in with full enthusiasm, analyzing William White and the Flying Saucer frame by frame, scrutinizing every detail.
...And for the first time in his life, he hit a wall.
"Kuh...! The more I watch, the less I understand!"
"What the hell is this! What were actor Kang Min and CEO Kim Chul thinking...!"
"It's like they weren't thinking at all...!"
He had nailed it. His boss would have applauded if he'd heard.
But no one could view a work that had turned America upside down and even snagged an Emmy nomination as mere trash.
Even the key S&W staff on set had felt the same, so how much more lost must Lloyd Gonzalez have been, stuck self-reflecting and missing the whole thing?
In the end, he clutched his head.
'I can't grasp it properly because their level is leagues beyond mine. Director Kim Chul could pull that off, but an actor too...? No way...!'
This unfortunate misunderstanding led to an even more unfortunate situation.
If he couldn't understand the work's structure, he couldn't imitate it. And to surpass something inimitable, there was only one way.
With no other choice, Director Lloyd shifted his sequel PSA plan. Instead of inheriting the strengths of the first, he'd maximize his own as director.
Of course, it wasn't easy in practice.
'I can't deploy S&W's full force here. Thanks to the MBS deal, I can borrow their gear and staff, but it's all subpar.'
'Even Shirakawa and the writers I brought aren't fully reliable this time. They're all intimidated by the first one's massive success.'
'But above all, the actor. This project needs someone who can stand shoulder-to-shoulder with that Kang Min, even if I pour everything into direction. Is that even possible...?'
It was a chain of adverse conditions, things even the great Lloyd Gonzalez couldn't confidently dismiss. He sighed, forced to shelve the plan.
Until Kang Min barged in a few days ago with his pitch-perfect logic.
"My God, I can't believe someone of your caliber, Director Lloyd, is being so passive!"
"I looked into this Harry Gordon actor. Impressive career! No wonder you're so confident."
"Worried if he'll take it seriously? Haha, you're overthinking. Just scale it up so he's desperate to compete."
"Short on top staff? Hire more! Pull in relay trucks from every station— that budget's covered, right?"
"Hoo..."
It was a string of quotes that would make any PD foam at the mouth calling him insane, but Lloyd Gonzalez didn't bat an eye.
No, he felt his vision clear, like a fog lifting.
This is it.
This is the vision of the man who played William White...!
"Brilliant! Ideas flowing so naturally! A perfect plan, hahaha!"
"I wouldn't have dreamed it up without you, Director Gonzalez, hahaha!"
The two men roared with laughter.
Naturally, the ultimate victim bearing all this fallout was actor Harry Gordon.
After the briefing, he blinked blankly.
"So, let me get this straight... an anti-drug PSA?"
"That's right."
"And... you and I take turns dying as pathetically and realistically as possible in a showdown?"
"Exactly."
"...And broadcast it live?"
"Yes. Not sure why you're repeating yourself. Didn't you get the documents?"
"......."
"?"
Crazy bastard—
Harry shuddered, watching Kang Min stroke his chin like nothing was wrong.
#
Thirty minutes later, in a private waiting room.
Alone, the actor and manager unleashed on each other.
"My God, what the hell was the agency doing?!"
"Who'd think that lunacy was serious! It's all your fault anyway, Harry!!"
Of course, it wasn't just SNS chatter that greenlit this shoot. Kang Min had consulted Lloyd and submitted details officially early on.
But no one took it seriously until Harry arrived in Korea. It was too insane—bluff, they figured, him and his agency alike.
Yet the world has its share of utterly sincere madmen.
"W-what do we do? Any ideas?!"
The manager's tirade fizzled into panic.
"B-buy time first! Get the company to smooth it over somehow!"
"Y-yeah! Call them now!"
Even the usually cocky Harry Gordon had no bluff left. They frantically contacted their agency, UTA, America's biggest.
The reply was curt.
"What?! You're okaying this madness?! Block it somehow!"
"My God...!"
With year-end hype craving spectacles, the William White vs. Harry Gordon clash drew insane attention—like a weirdo billionaire vs. reptilian tycoon boxing match.
Too late to back out with the world's eyes on them.
At this point, even rattled Harry Gordon steeled himself.
"Hah, it's grand, but it's just an acting battle, right? Actually perfect."
"...You sure? Opponent's that William White guy."
"Debut less than a year ago. Never even led a show before this TV gig. Just smash his smug nose with some shorts and ads!"
The late-arriving agency team backed his confidence.
Shaken at first by the insanity, they now saw Harry's edge.
"No clue what he was thinking, but Kang picked the worst matchup! Drugs?!"
"Any basis for that?"
"Not really. Korea bans even weed outright. How's he act drugs without knowing them? Meanwhile, our Gordon's done coke— even jail time."
"It was meth! And I swear I didn't know! That bastard lied, said it was marijuana—"
"Sure, great courtroom excuse. Point is, real experience helps, right?"
"......."
Harry griped, but most agreed.
Even on-site watchers like Han Mi and global netizens tilted their heads.
Pure chaos.
Harry Gordon's performance drove the nail in.
[Kugh! Hngh! Kraaaagh!]
"Huh."
"Hoo."
As an ex-user, Harry nailed the OD junkie gasping out—flawlessly.
He'd effectively sealed Kang Min's signature move.
Dilating pupils.
Lips twitching nonstop.
Nostrils flaring, contracting.
Throat gurgling desperately—
Too real(?), but no one complained. Murmurs spread, light applause erupted. That convincing.
Even megaphone-wielding Lloyd Gonzalez beamed.
"Excellent! Couldn't be better!"
"...Thanks."
With the warm reception, Harry regained poise—then cockiness. Bad habit.
'Right. This topic's overwhelmingly mine! He straight-up underestimated me!'
'Time to pay for pushing this!'
Harry grew smug; his manager relaxed.
Others eyed Kang Min with doubt.
Top that?
'Kang's no slouch, but...'
'That was insane. Peak life performance.'
'He a real junkie or what?'
'This is a done deal...'
Even PD Han Ye-seul on support, and grumbling Kim Ho-jin ('that lunatic won't lose'), blinked with 'maybe?' vibes.
Forums flooded; even Kang fans voiced worries.
Amid the skepticism, Kang Min closed his eyes, then opened them.
His parched voice began.
[It wasn't my kid.]
"?"
Harry tilted his head.
Solo act...?
#
[It wasn't my kid.]
Those were the man's stammered words when the detective found him.
Bean curd skin from trauma.
Pneumothorax in the chest.
Limbs dangling limp, blood gushing like a tide.
Rushed first aid, ambulance called—but even basic knowledge said slim odds. Shock from blood loss, or drowning in lung blood—which might edge it.
But the man ignored his state.
He just spoke.
[It wasn't my kid, detective. I just slipped—]
[Got it, noted for the investigation. Stay calm. Ambulance is coming.]
Futile exchange.
Detective had seen it plenty: strung-out son beating, choking dad. Dad begging on knees, ignored till too late.
'And this happens.'
Didn't witness the fall, but neighbor statements matched; suspect fled. Detective just nodded.
Man smiled faintly, like he was fine. Maybe oblivious to his state, detective thought.
Or maybe the opposite.
The man kept talking—rarely.
[Detective, got any cherished memories?]
[I do.]
[Folks say memories warm your heart just thinking of 'em. But mine? Try happy ones, and rage, injustice, gut-twists flood back. Chase 'em away, they return. Forget with others, they resurface. That's been my life—with them.]
Detective knew the man's backstory roughly.
Orphaned young. '60s Korea couldn't house all strays.
"Better family than export," official mercy dumped him on uncle.
Wiser? Detective unsure.
[Started hauling coal at seven. Beat a lot. Plenty drifters worked for bed and board then, but 'you gotta do more.']
[Waterlogged. Hands cracked bad. Once fell sick; auntie screamed 'four-year-old pollack meat?' Worthless for rice.]
[Bundled coal sold for 1,500 won then. Huge price. Japs paid top dollar. Still no meds for me.]
Man's low voice held no emotion.
If any, rotten, twisted traces long scentless.
[Meeting my wife was luck. Good woman. But my fate cursed.]
[She overcame life's bends like me, then measles took her sudden. My bad luck. Couldn't grieve—just feared.]
[What'd I do to her?]
Stammered tale evoked withered branch to detective.
No future for deadwood. No leaves, fruit, growth.
Man born stumpless.
And so, emotion shift hit fierce.
[Detective, please. Don't want that for my son. Too cruel.]
[...Investigation will proceed. Appropriately.]
[Please, detective... for my sake...]
Man struggled up to kneel—collapsed.
Death-rattle cough exploded.
World shifted abrupt.
One man made it so.
Lolling head.
Shuddering torso.
Gurgling throat.
Desperate amid it all: raw, pleading desperation.
Please,
please—
Withered husk flailing transcended pathos; onlookers stared dazed.
Only actor Harry Gordon blinked blankly.
"······."
"······."
'?'
Drugs irrelevant, huh?