Reactions
The spark that ignited the flood of hate comments was none other than Movie Fact reporter O Seung-hwan.
In order to invite members from Yeon-woo’s fan cafe Woo’s as well as those of the other actors, they had no choice but to cut back on the number of press seats normally allotted to reporters. Pushed down the priority list and left without a ticket, O Seung-hwan’s pride took a hit.
“Come on, this is a Park Chan-hong movie and our company doesn’t even get a single ticket? After all the praise I heaped on his last one? What kind of bullshit is this…?”
He set his hands on the keyboard to draft the piece.
Messing with a master like Park Chan-hong is a bit much. And Maseok Do’s already got too many hits under his belt.
As O Seung-hwan scanned the lineup, a relatively unfamiliar name caught his eye.
“Ryu Yeon-woo. Perfect.”
The more he dug into Yeon-woo’s filmography online, the higher the corners of his mouth climbed.
Director Park Chan-hong’s box-office track record needs no introduction.
Expectations for the crime-caper action film Master Plan—set to dominate this fall—are climbing higher by the day.
But will the movie opening tomorrow actually succeed?
And if it fails, what will be the cause?
This paper suspects a serious weak point may exist.
That weak point is the chemistry between Maseok Do and Ryu Yeon-woo—the pairing Director Park himself called “the perfect casting.” Yet a look at actor Ryu Yeon-woo’s career is startling.
This is an actor who, with no real acting résumé to speak of, landed a lead role from his very first project. Examining his work so far reveals little more than formulaic performances.
According to the materials released, Pierre Choi is a role that demands considerable acting skill and charisma. Can Ryu Yeon-woo truly pull it off? This paper is skeptical.
So why did Master Plan pass over countless established actors to cast Ryu Yeon-woo? In the end, it is simply the current industry’s naked desire to exploit the ticket-buying power of a young fanbase…
What followed was a concentrated analysis of Ryu Yeon-woo that veered into outright attack.
“Damn. Even if I do say so myself, this is some fine writing. And honestly, this is probably how it’ll go down. That role on Ryu Yeon-woo is a pearl necklace on a pig.”
The moment the article hit the internet, members of Yeon-woo’s fan cafe flooded the comments section with counterattacks.
At that, people who had long been simmering with envy over Yeon-woo’s sudden rise without any real period of obscurity crawled out of the woodwork and began siding with the article.
Defenders and attackers. Once the two camps formed, the internet erupted like wildfire—curses flying, threads degenerating into inquiries about each other’s parents’ health in the blink of an eye.
And the very next day, Master Plan opened.
CEO Kim Ju-seong had come to the theater first thing in the morning.
He had of course received an invitation to the VIP premiere the night before, but he had declined. He wanted to sit among real audiences, feel their reactions, and watch the film with them.
Alone, he bought a popcorn-and-cola set and sat at a table in front of the ticket booth, waiting. Being National Foundation Day, a holiday, a surprising number of people were already buying tickets even this early.
“Babe, did you see the internet blow up over this movie yesterday?”
“Huh? Why? I missed it.”
“Some reporter dropped an article before opening day saying if Master Plan flops it’ll be because of Ryu Yeon-woo, and the fans and antis went to war.”
Hearing the couple, Kim Ju-seong’s head turned their way.
They must have reserved tickets for Master Plan as well; the man was holding tickets and flipping through a pamphlet as he spoke.
His girlfriend tilted her head and frowned at his words.
“But isn’t that going too far? Why trash-talk before the movie even opens?”
“Because Ryu Yeon-woo’s the softest target in the cast. Pure clickbait for views.”
“I hope the movie’s good and Ryu Yeon-woo acts so well he flattens that reporter’s nose.”
The man nodded at his girlfriend, who was already holding tickets for the soon-to-start screening of Master Plan.
—Theater 3 is now boarding. Please have your mobile tickets ready on screen.
Everyone sitting near the ticket booth rose in a wave. All of them, it seemed, had been waiting for Master Plan.
Kim Ju-seong, hair neatly pomaded and dressed in a suit, nodded and entered the theater as well.
What followed was a storm of two hours—gasps, admiration, laughter, and shock all tangled together—until the ending credits rolled up the black screen.
…I thought I’d already rated him highly enough, but young Ryu Yeon-woo is a prodigy beyond anything I imagined.
Kim Ju-seong still hadn’t fully surfaced from the film.
When the credits finally finished, a mid-credits scene appeared.
A handful of audience members who had stayed just in case, or who simply couldn’t shake the afterglow, widened their eyes at the rare appearance of a cookie scene in a Korean film.
Kim Ju-seong tilted his head at the mid-credits teaser that seemed to hint at a sequel.
There was no talk of a sequel when we signed the contract…?
Then he nodded to himself.
Right. Once they started shooting, even Director Park Chan-hong must have felt it. This thing is guaranteed to be a hit.
A sequel hadn’t originally been in the plans, but he guessed that during production they had grown so certain of success that they had rewritten the ending to leave Kwak Ji-chul considering joining the team.
Finished with his thoughts, Kim Ju-seong stood to leave—only to catch the conversation of the couple following him up the aisle.
It seemed to be the same pair he’d overheard before the screening; like him, they had stayed through the cookie scene.
“Oppa, that reporter guy is so screwed.”
“No kidding. Weak point, my ass. Ryu Yeon-woo ate the whole movie alive.”
“Holy crap. I had no idea Ryu Yeon-woo could act like that.”
“And the story itself is just ridiculously fun, right?”
As he walked out of the theater, the corner of Kim Ju-seong’s mouth lifted slightly.
Articles from the reporters who had attended the VIP premiere the night before had already begun trickling out; once opening day arrived, they poured in like bamboo after rain.
Blue-Chip Ryu Yeon-woo Is No Longer Merely a Blue Chip
Master Plan Hits the Mark Perfectly
Box-Office Numbers for Master Plan Already Looking Promising
The Fall Blockbuster Master Plan: Maseok Do and Ryu Yeon-woo’s Dream Chemistry
By afternoon, mockery had begun flooding the comments under Movie Fact’s article, and hardcore fans even started calling the company directly.
Because the internet had been white-hot only the day before, the fresh kindling sent the flames roaring in a far better direction this time.
Even without the controversy, word of mouth about the movie spread almost instantly. Combined with Director Park Chan-hong’s name value and the extra buzz, every screening after the early morning ones was already sold out through the following day.
While all that chaos unfolded, Yeon-woo lay in bed replaying the previous day’s meeting with the fans and browsing the posts on the fan cafe.
The way they wrote was so entertaining. He had been in the same space with them just yesterday and had fretted that the atmosphere felt a little awkward and dull—yet the fans were uploading lively, packed reviews that painted a completely different picture.
Reading the recaps, Yeon-woo drifted back to the day before.
The restaurant meal that had somehow turned into an impromptu fan meeting.
“Oh my god, I feel like I’m dreaming. Getting to see him this close for this long…”
“Ji-yeon, take some pictures for me later.”
“Me too, me too.”
Having bonded while watching the movie and chatting, the fans were already calling each other by name and acting like old friends.
Those same fans kept staring at him alone with sparkling eyes even while they ate, and Yeon-woo’s gratitude only grew.
How lucky am I that people like me this purely.
He nodded to himself as he ate.
“Thank you so much for liking me. All I do is act, really…”
The fans felt the sincerity in the words he suddenly offered mid-meal.
“Holy crap. Even his personality is perfect.”
Fans who adored him no matter what he said.
After the pleasant meal, before heading over to the private room where his colleagues and family were waiting, Yeon-woo felt the urge to give them something and opened his mouth.
“If it’s something I can do, I’ll do anything except sing. Acting, selfies—whatever you’d like?”
The fans tumbled over one another requesting selfies, hugs, and more.
One mischievously asked for a song, but he shook his head firmly at that alone.
Anything but singing, sure.
That was when “CosmicSeohee”—Han Yu-kyung—shot her hand up.
“Yeon-woo-nim. Do the deer antler aegyo from the movie today.”
“…Excuse me?”
A major crisis had just crashed into Yeon-woo’s life.
More cold sweat poured down his back than when he had been cut off on the eastern Bakarai front during the Sri Lankan civil war.
Remembering yesterday, Yeon-woo’s face flushed all over again.
Whew. Yesterday was rough.
Then, scrolling past today’s posts into yesterday’s, he found the furious messages from the fans.
“O Seung-hwan? What did the article even say?”
The board was packed with raw curses aimed at the reporter.
The managers seemed to be deleting personal attacks in real time, yet plenty of posts still remained.
Yeon-woo followed the link, read the article about himself, and soon let out a short laugh.
Attacks this low-level were nowhere near enough to shake the mental fortitude forged on the hell-roads he had already walked.
Reading the almost adorable sniping, Yeon-woo even found himself nodding in partial agreement.
“Yeah, even I think I got lead roles way too fast. It is abnormal.”
Still—someone had gone and written something like this.
“Hmm. Kindling like this just makes the fire burn hotter. Much obliged, sir.”
Meanwhile, in a building in Gangnam, that “much obliged” gentleman was currently unable to clock out, summoned before a disciplinary committee and wishing he were dead.