First CF (2)
At the director’s cue, Yeon-woo jumped in place and landed right in front of the camera.
It was a scene that would later be edited with CG so that Yeon-woo, who had been floating in midair in the previous shot, appeared to descend and touch down.
Matching Yeon-woo’s movement, the camera operator stepped backward with the gimbal, keeping pace with his stride. Yeon-woo’s face filled the frame in close-up as he flashed a bright grin and handed the smartphone to an extra. The camera followed the arc of his hand, then slipped behind the extra holding the phone, weaving between the performers as if it were tracking the device itself as it passed from person to person.
This scene was built around the concept of shooting an amateur film together with the extras. The complicated blocking demanded total concentration from everyone involved.
“Good. Keep going a little longer—this is the scene where the narration comes in.”
Around Yeon-woo, the extras continued acting as if they were filming, holding reflectors and boom mics. The newly released phone model was being marketed for its video-recording capabilities and wide-angle camera, so the concept had been designed around that. A short voice-over from Ryu Yeon-woo explaining the camera’s specs was scheduled to drop over this sequence.
“Okay, cut!”
Clap, clap, clap!
A cheerful “okay” rang out, and the staff broke into applause.
“Let’s shoot a few more takes with that same blocking.”
They repeated the sequence four more times, making small adjustments to the path and focus each time. When the director finally clapped his hands to signal the end of the setup, he looked satisfied.
“Great. I thought today’s blocking was going to be complicated and picky, but the actors made it easy.”
“Wow. Great work, everyone.”
“Thank you for your hard work.”
Yeon-woo bumped fists with the extras who had struggled through the intricate choreography, smiling brightly. The director’s eyes lit up the moment he saw it.
“Hmm? Did we catch that just now?”
He turned urgently to the rail-camera operator.
“Sorry?”
“The fist-bump greeting just now—did you get that on camera?”
The operator nodded.
“Yes. The camera was still rolling.”
“Perfect. We’re using that shot. It looked completely natural.”
The director walked over to Yeon-woo.
“The concept for this shoot is ‘the bold image of the MZ generation,’ and I think you just nailed it.”
“That’s only because you shot it so well, Director. The storyboards were excellent too.”
Yeon-woo bowed his head modestly, and Director Lee Yong-su smiled.
“Yeon-woo, you’ll still need to do the print ads and panel shots, so hang in there a little longer. Ah—before that, let’s eat first.”
Filming had started early that morning. They had repeated cut after cut, skipping lunch entirely, and it was already nearly three o’clock.
“Yes, Director. Let’s go together.”
“All right, everyone—mealtime!”
At the director’s call, the staff and cast headed for the catering truck parked at the edge of the set. Yeon-woo collected a lunchbox and sat down at a table. That was when the staff appeared from behind carrying a cake they had prepared.
“Actor Ryu—congratulations on your first CF.”
Yeon-woo stood up from the table in surprise. Surprise cakes for the model were common on commercial shoots, but this was Yeon-woo’s first CF, so he had never expected it. The cake the staff brought over had Yeon-woo’s face drawn on it in chocolate.
“Wow, thank you. I never saw this coming.”
His pure, genuine gratitude made the staff—who did this for every CF—feel unexpectedly rewarded and happy.
“Actor, hurry up and try the cake.”
Manager Min-su had appeared out of nowhere and handed Yeon-woo a plastic knife.
“They drew my face so well in chocolate, I almost don’t want to cut it.”
Before slicing, Yeon-woo took a photo with his phone. Min-su watched him and laughed.
“Where are you going to post that? You don’t even do SNS.”
“True. Hahaha. I’ll just brag to my friends.”
Yeon-woo cut the chocolate cake with the plastic knife, took a bite, then shared the rest with the extras and staff.
“Ryu-nim! I’m a fan. I’m from Woo’s!”
With the hectic pace of filming easing a little, the staff began chatting with Yeon-woo more freely.
“Oh, really? Nice to meet you.”
Extras and crew took selfies with him, and everyone ate lunchboxes and cake together in an easy, natural atmosphere. The set, which had been tense that morning, grew warm and lively as they moved on to the print and panel shoots.
Upbeat pop music played on set while “Okay!” and “Looking good!” rang out again and again, mixed with the constant click of camera shutters. The full-body panels of Yeon-woo that would stand in front of ST Telecom stores across the country were shot so cleanly they barely needed retouching. It was simply his real face captured as it was, yet the photographer kept exclaiming in admiration as he worked.
“Oh, that’s perfect. Just smile naturally like that.”
The shoot that had begun early in the morning finally wrapped around six in the evening.
“That’s a wrap for today. Great work, everyone.”
Wheee—
Clap, clap, clap.
The director’s closing announcement was met with whistles and a wave of applause.
“I thought today’s schedule was going to be brutal, but Yeon-woo kept the acting so smooth that we can all go home and eat dinner. Hahaha.”
The director’s hearty laugh drew a smile from Yeon-woo as well.
“Thanks to you, my first commercial shoot was warm and fun. Thank you, Director.”
His consistent humility and easygoing manner completely dismantled the prejudice of Director Lee Yong-su, who normally disliked working with young performers. The director now looked at Yeon-woo with genuine fondness.
“Would you sign something for my daughter, Yeon-woo?”
“Of course.”
Lee Yong-su had no idea whether his daughter was actually a fan, but he got the autograph anyway. When he returned home and saw his middle-school daughter’s face light up from ear to ear, he nodded to himself, certain he had made the right call.
Three days later, Yeon-woo shot a commercial for the outdoor brand Tapers. The concept was relatively simple—walking through a special-effects set in hiking gear—so compared to the telecom and smartphone combination ad, the shoot finished easily.
With the two consecutive commercial jobs, a larger sum of money than he had expected landed in his account. Just as he had originally planned, Yeon-woo transferred half of it into his parents’ account. When they firmly refused, he insisted again that they should take up hobbies and live comfortably without worrying about money. Over the phone, Lee Seon-ok’s voice trembled with tears.
He had finished one drama and already shot two CFs, yet Seoul’s runaway housing prices still made buying a home of his own out of reach. He could have stretched for a loan, but there was no urgent need for a nest of his own, so for the time being he decided to stay in the officetel provided by the company.
“In this life I’m going to earn money like Jin-uk hyung and live in a nice place. You come into the world empty-handed and leave the same way.”
Having experienced firsthand that no matter how hard you work, everything vanishes when you die, Yeon-woo had decided that this life he would flex a little.
The next day, Yeon-woo waited for Min-su in the officetel.
Ding-dong—
The doorbell rang right on time. Yeon-woo went to the entrance and opened the door.
“Min-su hyung, come in.”
“First time I’ve been inside here. Haha.”
Min-su stepped into the officetel carrying a document bag and a pack of tissues.
“Have you eaten? Want me to make something?”
“Ah, I’m curious about that cooking skill I’ve only seen on variety shows, but I already ate. Here, take this.”
“Come on, this isn’t even my place. You didn’t have to.”
“Still, first visit—I should bring something. I bought the supplies on the company card anyway, so I’m not sure it counts, but just take the thought.”
Yeon-woo laughed and led him into the living room. He went to the kitchen, poured juice, and handed the glass to Min-su.
“Ah, thank you.”
Min-su took the cup and opened his document bag.
“Quite a few offers came in. Your last project did well, but right now you’re especially hot because of the CSAT issue.”
What Min-su pulled out were film scenarios and drama scripts that had arrived as casting offers for Yeon-woo’s next project.
“Hmm, that’s a lot.”
“The industry wants you now.”
Yeon-woo read through the titles one by one.
“Hmm. But they’re almost all rom-coms in the same vein as my last work.”
“Well, your image has been shaped in that direction, so it’s not surprising.”
Yeon-woo flipped through several projects, thinking. Watching him, Min-su reached deeper into the bag and brought out a few more scenarios.
“If you’d like to try a different kind of role, these are available too.”
Yeon-woo took the scripts Min-su handed him and began looking them over. Min-su added,
“These ones didn’t come as direct offers for you, though. We’d have to do some preliminary talks, and you might need to audition.”
Hearing that, Yeon-woo smiled.
“If it’s an audition, I’m confident. I can definitely land it.”
He clenched both fists as he spoke, and Min-su laughed. Yeon-woo continued scanning the scripts until one title caught his eye.
Master Plan
The subtitle read: “Those Who Deceive and Are Deceived.”
“Ah, Actor—that’s Director Park Chan-hong’s film. Casting is probably in full swing right now.”
Yeon-woo knew the name. Park Chan-hong was one of the most successful commercial directors in Korea, a star filmmaker who had already drawn ten million viewers with a previous work. Yeon-woo nodded and began reading the scenario.
Hmm? This…
The deeper he read, the more he was pulled in.
Kwak Ji-cheol was a once-brilliant programmer from a cyber-security firm that had thrived in its heyday. Meanwhile, a mid-sized construction company called Gangwoo Construction—currently expanding its influence from Seoul into Gyeonggi Province—was in reality a criminal organization running illegal gambling dens. Hearing that a gifted retired programmer was available, the Gangwoo faction approached Ji-cheol and demanded he write the control program for their illegal gaming operations. When he refused, they began harassing his family. He went to the police, but the collusion ran so deep that the investigation fizzled out with nothing more than a slap on the wrist.
For revenge, Ji-cheol staked his entire fortune and hired a fixer through the dark corners of the internet. Then a bold problem-solver named Pierre Choi—someone daring enough to scam even the Italian mafia in an arms deal—arrived in the country. Genius programmer Kwak Ji-cheol and genius con artist Pierre Choi began constructing a massive scam designed to strip Gangwoo Construction bare from the ground up.
This feels like an homage to the 1973 classic Hollywood film The Sting… and more than anything, it looks fun.
The plot, so similar to a classic masterpiece he had enjoyed in his previous life, stirred Yeon-woo’s interest.
“Min-su hyung, please look into this one for me. I want to try for the role of Pierre Choi.”