The Premiere of Moon
Sitting in the waiting room of the theater hosting the premiere, Yeon-woo checked the message that had just arrived on his smartphone.
Yeon-woo nodded at Han Hae-un’s message.
It’s finally here.
Juliet meant J—Jeju. In other words, the goods had come in through the southern waters of Jeju. Likewise, Hotel (H) stood for the Mokhwa Building (Home), and Oscar (O) for Okinawa. The items ordered from Brazil had crossed the Pacific and arrived safely. They had said it would take roughly two months after the arms deal to reach Korea; it had run a little over the delivery date, but close enough. Now that they had successfully opened the channel once, there would be no need to go all the way to Brazil again. Future transactions for other equipment could be handled the same way. Counter-surveillance gear such as radar detectors had been brought to headquarters; the materials for the upcoming Okinawa operation had been sent straight there without ever entering the country.
Right now the release of the film Moon was imminent. Today was the VIP premiere ahead of opening day. If the movie performed reasonably well, Yeon-woo planned to use a reward vacation as a natural pretext for entering Okinawa. With the sports drama Parabola already scheduled to crank in afterward, he could not travel far; he had already laid the groundwork by floating the idea of a short break at the nearby resort of Okinawa.
Well, for a reward vacation to look natural, the film will have to do at least decent business…
Yeon-woo scratched his cheek as he looked at the Moon poster on the waiting-room wall.
“It’ll do well… right?”
Box-office success was never guaranteed by confidence alone, yet from the perspective of someone who had actually performed in it, he felt certain about the film itself.
Just then the waiting-room door opened and two familiar faces walked in.
“Hey. How are you feeling?”
The one entering with an easy, good-natured smile was Son Jin-uk. Behind him appeared Jin Yu-han. Yeon-woo rose from his seat, glad to see them, and went over.
“Thank you both for coming all this way.”
“What are you talking about? Of course we had to come.”
Jin Yu-han quietly nodded in agreement behind him.
“Having romance-movie seniors drop by like this is making me a little nervous, though.”
Son Jin-uk and Jin Yu-han were undisputed masters of the romance genre. Yeon-woo had in fact watched a great many of their films for reference before shooting this one.
“I still can’t picture you doing romance, Yeon-woo. You barely show any interest in girls.”
Son Jin-uk had watched him ever since his high-school debut days and had never once seen so much as a dating rumor, let alone a real relationship. Yeon-woo scratched the back of his head at the remark.
“It’s not exactly like that. I just never had the chance to meet anyone.”
“Hmm, that so? If you get a girlfriend, you have to tell hyung no matter what.”
“Yes. If I get one. By the way, isn’t it more surprising that Yu-han does melodrama? He’s so blunt in real life.”
Yeon-woo smoothly redirected the arrow toward Jin Yu-han. Jin Yu-han merely shrugged, as if the question itself were odd.
“That’s acting. You’re not a con man either, but you still nailed Pierre Choi.”
“Well… yeah.”
In his previous life he had been an unidentified spy who threw more than a few national intelligence agencies into chaos—well beyond the level of a mere con artist—so Yeon-woo could only smile awkwardly.
At that moment Kim Min-su knocked and entered.
“Actor-nim. Oh, the others are here as well. We’re about to begin.”
Yeon-woo nodded and looked at the two of them.
“Shall we head in? You have to watch my first romance film.”
“Sounds good. This should be fun. From the trailer it didn’t look like plain romance.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Yeon-woo smiled at Jin Yu-han’s quiet addition to Son Jin-uk’s words.
When Yeon-woo stepped onto the stage with Hong A-yun, cheers and applause erupted. Familiar faces from the film magazines were already present, and the Saebyeol actors sat in the front rows, looking glad to be there.
Ah, Yuri noona came too.
Hong Yu-ri was seated a few rows back. Her boyfriend Kim Jun-su had enlisted the previous month together with Woo Seong-sik, so one might have expected a lonely expression—yet with so many celebrities around she simply looked excited.
“Following the director, shall we hear a few words from our actors?”
The on-site MC’s voice came from the side. Director Lee Yong-su finished speaking, smiled, and passed the microphone to Yeon-woo. Yeon-woo took it and began.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Ryu Yeon-woo.”
A fresh wave of cheers and applause rolled through the seats. He waited for it to settle before continuing.
“It’s been quite a while since I’ve invited you all to a premiere like this. While shooting this film I genuinely felt, for myself, that acting is fun. They say you can’t beat someone who’s enjoying themselves, right? Because I filmed while enjoying every moment, I believe the sincerity of this movie will reach you fully. Thank you for taking the time to come.”
Waaah—
Amid the cheers he handed the microphone to Hong A-yun beside him.
Sketch and White Blood had never held separate premieres. The last one he could recall was for Master Plan, so even Yeon-woo felt a little nervous.
More than that, I’m really looking forward to the film myself.
Chrissy Monroe’s score. Jeong Yo-han’s CG. With those two—every bit as crucial as the director and cast—joining the project, the final cut would be far richer. Today was the first time Yeon-woo, like every other audience member, would see the completed version.
Once Hong A-yun and the supporting cast finished their greetings, the stage presentation ended. Yeon-woo left the stage and took a seat in the front row. Moments later the theater lights dimmed. In the pitch-black darkness the title appeared quietly on the screen.
The film began still in darkness, accompanied by Yeon-woo’s soft, unhurried narration.
My summer at twenty was too vivid to be called a dream, and too tangled with colorful emotions and memories—like water-soaked colored paper—to be called reality. It left me thoroughly confused about myself.
Film critic Jin Jeong-cheol felt something like electricity run down his spine. It was not a creepy voice, nor a particularly profound line, so “goosebumps” did not quite fit.
Hmm. The actor just poured pure emotion into that single line.
A shade brighter than loneliness, a touch more regretful than longing. After a moment’s thought he realized the feeling was wistfulness—that delicate, lingering ache. While the audience sat steeped in that bittersweet mood, the screen brightened and the story proper began.
South Korea’s first lunar orbiter, Danuri, was successfully launched in 2022. Now we are preparing to go beyond that glory: a manned exploration vessel built entirely with our own technology will soon set sail into space. Foreign media interest is…
“Ah, HQ. Can you please turn the radio off? I’m so nervous I feel like throwing up.”
Hong Yu-jeong laughed at her fellow astronaut’s complaint.
“I wanted to say the same thing.”
Inside the spacecraft perched at the tip of the enormous rocket that would carry them skyward, the astronauts lay strapped into their seats, facing upward. In a few minutes this vast structure would belch a torrent of flame from its base and hurl itself into space. Hong Yu-jeong’s heart pounded with a complex mixture of fear that she might die, the crushing weight of her mission, and the thrill of achieving something no one else ever had.
From the Korea Aerospace Research Institute came the final radio checks of various readings.
Final confirmation. Six check.
“Line seven check. Eleven green.”
After a few more verifications the countdown began.
Four, three, two, one—launch.
A deep rumble. A metallic groan. Violent vibration surged from behind them. The crushing acceleration that shoved the entire massive structure upward transmitted itself straight through their bodies. Under that tremendous force the rocket seemed ready to crumple; aluminum and titanium screamed from every direction. And every bit of it reached the audience through the screen with startling realism.
Reporters who had come expecting a romance film watched with unexpected fascination.
I thought Director Jeong Yo-han only joined because of his connection with Ryu Yeon-woo, but it wasn’t that simple. Without him, this sequence could never have been made in Korea.
They had wondered why a romance needed such high-end talent; the rocket-launch sequence on screen answered the question instantly. For those few minutes it was impossible to tell whether one was watching a film or a documentary—the CG was that precise.
The spacecraft punched through the atmosphere; the interior shook in proportion.
Stage-one rocket separation.
“Separation confirmed!”
Following the programmed sequence the booster detached. Hong Yu-jeong, who had been clenching her fists, felt a measure of relief. The greatest hurdle was past.
We’ll be in orbit soon.
Then it happened.
A massive boom from behind, followed by a rapid series of explosions. At first she thought it was backfire from the fuel combustion—until emergency alarms began blaring throughout the ship.
A continuous high-pitched wail. Red lights flashed from every direction; the sirens were pure terror.
“HQ! Center!”
—static—
The spacecraft began to spin violently; enormous G-forces slammed into them.
“Hup!”
To keep the blood from draining from her head under the extreme acceleration, she started the L1 breathing technique she had trained for. But as the ship tumbled and fell at tremendous speed her limits approached and her vision narrowed. That was Hong Yu-jeong’s last memory.
After losing consciousness Hong Yu-jeong dreamed for a long time. It was a dream of going to an amusement park with her parents, who had died when she was young. From high atop the Ferris wheel the people below looked no bigger than ants.
“Mom, look. Our car’s in the parking lot too.”
All the cars were either white or black, so she could not tell which one was her father’s, but it had to be among them. Then the Ferris wheel shook violently, and a voice reached her.
Hey. Are you conscious?
It had been more than twenty years since she last saw her late parents. She did not want to wake from this dream.
Looks like the alcohol’s worn off. Get up already.
The Ferris wheel shook harder. Hong Yu-jeong opened her eyes.
“…Umm? Hek! Wh-who are you?”
“That’s what I should be asking. You were drinking, right? When I first found you I thought someone was dead in our front yard—nearly gave me a heart attack.”
A handsome young man was looking down at her. Across a vast gulf of time and space.