The Scenario Contest
Watching Vincent Clerc suddenly blurt out "I love Korea," Yeon-woo let out a soft chuckle.
"You fall in love rather easily, don't you?"
"Not at all. Never. If Mister Ryu only knew how conservative a gourmet I am, he would be astonished. My tongue is tingling, yes—but this is truly delicious."
Yeon-woo slid over the plate of fish cakes he had thoughtfully brought along.
"Then try this as well."
Vincent Clerc stared hard at the plate of fish cakes.
"It looks rather like tree bark… One would need a fair amount of adventurous spirit just to attempt it. What is this?"
Seeing the French designer's wariness at the unfamiliar appearance of the eomuk, Yeon-woo scratched his cheek.
"Hmm, how should I explain… In English it's called fish cake."
Vincent Clerc's eyes clouded with even deeper suspicion.
"Fish cake…? That sounds dreadful."
Left with no choice, Yeon-woo picked one up first and took a bite.
Whether it was the skill of the ajumma running the snack truck the fans had sent today, or simply the quality of the big-brand ingredients, the fish cake was excellent—springy texture, rich and savory, with just the right saltiness.
After tasting it, something seemed to occur to Yeon-woo, and he spoke again.
"Ah—do you know the Spanish dish called buñuelos de bacalao? Cod finely minced, formed into balls, and fried…"
At the familiar name, Vincent Clerc nodded vigorously.
"Oh, I know it. I know it well. Are you saying this is similar?"
Yeon-woo gave a quiet nod and finished the rest of the fish cake he had bitten into.
Vincent Clerc hesitated a moment longer, then brought a piece to his mouth.
……!
His eyes went wide; clearly it suited his palate.
He immediately reached for another, eyes rolling thoughtfully. Then he looked back and forth between the fish cake and the tteokbokki, and as if entranced, his hand moved of its own accord.
Watching Vincent Clerc dip the fish cake into the tteokbokki sauce before eating it, Yeon-woo nodded in satisfaction and gave him a thumbs-up.
"You're practically Korean now."
"…This is an extraordinary flavor. Why don't they sell this in Paris?"
"If you look carefully, you might find it. I hear it's become fairly popular in Europe lately."
"Hoo—this is a dish that deserves to be popular. That sharp heat that pricks the tip of the tongue… truly the taste of adults."
Yeon-woo smiled quietly at the designer's words.
The taste of adults, is it… Tteokbokki isn't even that spicy.
He wondered what Vincent's reaction would be if he learned that a survey of tteokbokki shops nationwide would probably show the densest concentration right in front of elementary schools.
In any case, for now the man seemed thoroughly pleased to have come to Korea.
The photo shoot wrapped up cleanly, and in the meantime time marched on until the drama had aired through episode eight.
Parabola had nearly been barred from the tournament by a rule requiring substitute players for entry; only by registering Jeong Cheol-min's neighborhood juniors—and even his daughter Jeong Su-yeon—as reserves had they barely managed to field a team. That was the story so far.
Now, with the drama racing through its midsection, both the production staff and Yeon-woo himself grew busier by the day.
It's about time to leave the country.
The dramas Yeon-woo had appeared in before had all finished filming first and then aired at a leisurely pace. In reality, though, the Korean drama production environment often saw the final wrap come after the first broadcast. That meant a great many series shot their middle while the early episodes were airing, and shot their endings while the middle was on air. The result was the notorious flood of last-minute "side scripts" rewritten on set.
We're not quite that bad, but…
Everything else had already been filmed; only the final scene scheduled for episode sixteen remained.
It wasn't that they had forced an impossible air date the way other dramas sometimes did.
If it really didn't work out, we were going to shoot somewhere else and fake it with CG to look roughly the same…
But permission had come through to film at the basketball arena in New York that carried the nickname "the most famous arena in the world"—Madison Square Garden.
The catch was that the date fell next week, right when episodes nine and ten would be airing, and the allotted time was a mere one hour. Word was that even that brief window had only been granted because one of the team's board members was a fan who had thoroughly enjoyed White Blood.
It's such a famous venue, and the schedule is packed solid years in advance, so the fact that they gave us permission at all is something to be grateful for.
The drama's main theme was the growth of young people, but the overall package was a basketball story; basketball fans were inevitably a large part of the audience. And the protagonist Ryu Yeon-woo's journey to America occupied a crucial place in the plot. Flying over to shoot it for real was worth the effort.
Which means things are about to get hectic.
Next week they would leave for the United States to film; only twenty days after that shoot date, the episode would have to air. There would be no time for sightseeing while they were on location. The moment filming wrapped, the production team would have to fly straight home and start editing.
Of course, that doesn't apply to me.
Since he was going to America anyway, Yeon-woo planned to stop by LA and take care of a few other matters.
First, the drinks I promised Bernard Fenton… check on the progress of Survival Island – Global Match… and if there's time left, I could drop by Chrissy Monroe's place as well.
While he was sorting through the tasks he would handle on next week's American trip, Kim Min-su's car, with Yeon-woo in the back, rolled into the underground parking garage of a certain building.
Kim Min-su glanced back at Yeon-woo, who had been resting with his eyes closed.
"We've arrived."
Yeon-woo opened his eyes and stretched.
"This is the first schedule of its kind since I started acting."
Kim Min-su nodded in agreement.
"True. A judge, of all things…"
"I'm not sure I even have the qualifications to judge anything."
"More than enough. I've watched from right beside you every time you pick a script."
Not a single one of those scripts had been safe or ordinary. Among them had been a third-rate SF piece in which monsters and spaceships appeared inside the human body, a romance from a commercial-film director who was practically unknown, a low-budget independent film about an adoptee… The surface polish of the scripts had never been the point. Kim Min-su, who had watched closer than anyone, was certain of one thing: Yeon-woo simply had an eye for quality.
"Is that so."
Yeon-woo smiled faintly.
When he had accepted the role of judge for the scenario contest, his strongest motive had been the hope of finding uncut gems that would otherwise be discarded and never discovered. In truth, the scripts that reached Yeon-woo were limited. Now that he had entered the ranks of top stars, nearly everything offered to him came from writers who had already proven themselves with previous hits; the sheer number was small. But a contest, by its nature, would let him face raw, unvarnished scripts that would normally never reach him at all—scripts that would have been tossed into some trash bin somewhere—without the usual rank and polish.
"Well then, shall we go up with light hearts?"
Yeon-woo said as he stepped out. Kim Min-su nodded and guided him toward the elevators.
"Today is just a brief meet-and-greet among the judges and the organizers, plus an explanation of the contest. This way, please."
They rode the elevator to the seventh floor of the building.
Hosted by the Korea Film Commission
8th Scenario Writing Contest
Seeing the signboard standing in the corridor, Yeon-woo and Kim Min-su stepped into the conference hall.
Everyone seated inside turned to look at him at once. A low murmur rose.
Hmm…
The stir that greeted a celebrity like Yeon-woo whenever he entered a room was something he was used to by now—but today it felt subtly different. Ordinarily the whispers came mostly from younger people, the excited "Whoa, it's Ryu Yeon-woo!" variety. Today the interested gazes belonged mainly to the elders of the film and video industry.
And even that interest had an unfamiliar flavor.
Exactly the look people give a monkey in a zoo.
It was a kind of gaze he had felt countless times in his previous life. It resembled the dismissive stares that had fallen on him—the sole Asian instructor—when he had participated in joint UN operations.
Yeon-woo met those eyes with a challenging expression and swept the conference hall with his gaze. He carefully watched the mouth shapes of those who were speaking about him.
Lip-reading was the art of inferring what someone was saying from the movement of lips, face, and tongue—even at a distance or when no sound could be heard.
—The association said they were trying something new, and this is the wet-behind-the-ears kid they dragged in? Honestly, Advisor Kim. This is exactly why I should have been elected chairman this time…
—Aigoo, it's just because interest from the younger generation has dropped, so they want a pretty face for decoration. Assemblyman Han, please just understand this once…
Hmm. So this is the flavor of this association.
After one full sweep of the room, the only impression Yeon-woo formed was that the place was rotten. Among the judges there were certainly a few with upright eyes, but most of them were the sort more interested in the feast than the ritual.
Most organizations in the country that carried the word "council" or "association" in their names tended to rot with time. Unchecked by any real oversight, they exercised only rights; in the end they became nothing more than the currently fashionable phrase "pleasure without responsibility."
After surveying the entire hall, Yeon-woo smiled—a thin, amused smile, as if he found it entertaining.
Meanwhile, Hong Yu-ri—busy with job applications—had found the self-service kiosk on the first floor of the university administration building.
While she was printing documents, her dorm roommate, a younger student, spotted her and snuck up from behind to startle her.
"Unnie!"
"Ah—you scared me! Didn't you say you were heading home earlier?"
"I was going to, for the first time in ages, but when I called, both my parents had gone off to Ulleungdo for a trip. Better to stick around campus than sit alone in an empty house. What are you printing?"
At the roommate's question, Hong Yu-ri shifted slightly so the screen was visible.
"NT's open recruitment is open, so I was pulling my expected-graduation certificate and transcript and things like that."
The younger girl looked at Hong Yu-ri's grades and her eyes widened.
"Wow, unnie, your GPA is really good."
"I clawed for every point like a madwoman. Still keep getting rejected at the document stage, though. Maybe because I'm a Korean literature major? I only came here because my score matched, and I'm starting to regret it a little."
At those words the roommate clapped her hands as if something had just occurred to her.
"You always say you only came because the score matched, but you love writing. That thing you wrote last time was super fun! Did you see the scenario contest poster on the board over there? If you've got something written, submit it! Come on!"
"A contest?"
"You never know—you might win!"
Hong Yu-ri gazed quietly at the poster hanging on one wall of the first floor of the administration building.