Berlin
"Phew… maybe it's time I finally called it quits."
Seo Ji-eun's character was Nari, the vocalist of the indie band Mocha.
She was the girl who had once taken the stage alone under the band's name at the indie festival Jay had attended.
Money troubles had torn the bandmates apart, their relationships shattered, and in the end she had gone to the long-scheduled festival by herself.
Nari trudged along with a black plastic bag looped around her wrist.
"Grandma left the gate unlocked again."
It was the countryside—people lived with doors unlocked—but the world was growing uglier by the day. She sighed softly at the wide-open, rusted green gate.
Creeeak—
Clack!
She shut the gate, crossed the yard, and opened the front door.
"Grandma, I'm home."
The moment she stepped inside, Nari flinched.
"Is someone here? Whose shoes are those?"
As she moved toward the living room, her grandmother's voice drifted from the kitchen.
"…Child, if you do it like that the cabbage will tear. Like this—gently, carefully."
Nari entered the kitchen and found a young man she had never seen before, apron tied around his waist, carefully spreading bright red kimchi seasoning from a rubber basin onto cabbage leaves.
"…Who are you?"
"Oh my, Nari's back. Did you get the pork?"
At her grandmother's words Nari held out the black plastic bag still wrapped around her wrist and tilted her head.
"I did. Here. You said we were having boiled pork today. But Grandma, who is this…?"
"Mm, picked him up on the way."
"…Hello. I'm Jay. We couldn't really communicate, so it ended up like this."
"Uhm, are you a foreigner?"
Jay's face brightened at the first proper English he had heard all day.
"Oh! You speak English!"
Feeling as if he had found an oasis in the desert, Yeon-woo explained everything that had happened that day to Nari.
"So I asked her to take me to the nearest bus station, but…"
"Aigoo, you have to say 'bus' for people to understand. What's a 'station'? You mean the intercity terminal. I'd have taken you there right away if you'd said that."
With Nari translating between them, the two finally began to understand each other.
"I'm sorry, but do you happen to have a smartphone charger? The one your grandmother uses is a shape I've never seen before."
He had a C-type converter with him, but after the miraculous communication that had taken place before Nari arrived, the charger her grandmother had produced was a thumb-sized plug of a kind he had never encountered.
"Ah, Grandma still uses an old 2G phone… Just a second."
Nari rummaged through her bag and pulled out a C-type charger. Jay let out a breath of relief.
After all, he had gone completely dark after his last call; Mr. Jeong must have been worried sick.
He plugged the phone in, but it was so thoroughly drained that it would need a while before it could even power on.
Then Nari's eyes lit up at the guitar case standing in the corner of the living room.
"Jay, do you play guitar?"
"Ah, I'm a composer. I came to Korea to work."
"Really? I make music too."
Jay had been half-sure from the moment he first saw her. Hearing her words, he asked with certainty.
"Were you the one at the indie festival…?"
"Huh? Yes!"
"What an incredible coincidence."
It was the moment a change arrived in Nari's dull, weary days—days recently made even heavier by a string of misfortunes.
"Jay! Will you listen to something I made? My studio's over there. Well, calling it a studio is a bit embarrassing, but…"
When Jay nodded, an excited Nari grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the room.
"Heh. Kids make friends so fast."
Director Park Chan-hong's voice came from the corner of the living room where he had been watching in silence.
"Okay. Jay and Nari scene—cut."
Two months had already passed since filming began.
Public curiosity about the mysterious production had only grown, and the moment Yeon-woo and Seo Ji-eun started shooting busking scenes while traveling through the countryside, the internet exploded.
Meanwhile, the entertainment reporters were dying.
"Why still no information? Find any investor or distributor—anything—and we can at least get a source on what the script is about!"
"We've looked everywhere and nothing turns up. You checked yourself, chief. How many distributors does this country even have? It's not like this is some indie film."
At Reporter Yoon's words the editor's face hardened.
"Say that again. What did you just say?"
"Huh? No, I was just venting."
Startled by the frozen expression, Reporter Yoon scratched his head and tried to backpedal. The editor shook his head.
"No—indie film? Why didn't I think of that? What if they're shooting this as an independent film without investors? Looking at the online tips, they're just roaming the countryside with no location control at all."
"Uh… maybe they're doing it for realism? Park Chan-hong directing, Ryu Yeon-woo and Seo Ji-eun starring—would they really make an indie?"
Even after hearing that, the editor stroked his chin.
"Yoon, I've got a strong gut feeling right now. This is definitely independent. Dig into it and run a special. Speculative is fine."
"Yes? I'll do it if you order me to, but… would they really make an indie? Master Plan already hit ten million."
Director Park Chan-hong was a major director who had already drawn ten million viewers three times, including his first collaboration with Ryu Yeon-woo, Master Plan.
But the editor let Yoon's words go in one ear and out the other as he picked up the calendar from the corner of his desk and flipped through it.
"Hmm… Yoon. Remember that article Hansan Ilbo ran last year? The one that bashed Director Park and caused a stir."
It had been a near-critical piece claiming that, for all his commercial success, he had never made a film with the artistic merit recognized overseas—sparking accusations of looking down on commercial cinema.
Hearing the editor and seeing him holding the calendar, a thought flashed through Reporter Yoon's mind. He clapped his hands.
"Ah! Film festivals?"
"Exactly. Timing-wise, Sundance or Berlin would be worth aiming for."
"I see. Understood. Have a good day."
Director Park Chan-hong set down the phone and grinned at Yeon-woo and Seo Ji-eun.
"You two had better pack. We're going to Berlin."
The faces of Yeon-woo and Seo Ji-eun, who had been holding their breath while watching him take the call, lit up.
"Kyaaak! We got invited?!"
"Heh. We did. Competition section, no less."
Hearing the director's answer to the excited Seo Ji-eun, Yeon-woo was startled as well.
"Competition section? Then we might even win something?"
"We might, of course—but let's not get greedy. Being invited is already enough for me."
Yeon-woo felt the same.
Film festivals were places where key figures gathered; whenever he had been stationed in Europe he had always infiltrated under diplomatic cover.
And now I'm attending as an actor.
It felt strangely new.
Even if we don't win an award, the invitation alone is an honor.
Of course, Korean films had been winning overseas more frequently of late, so he wasn't ready to write off the possibility of an award either.
Just then Seo Ji-eun clutched her head with both hands and stood up.
"Uwaah, this is bad! I have to diet. I have to wear a dress!"
Yeon-woo snorted at the sight of her fretting while stroking her already slender waist, as if there were any fat left to lose.
"Berlin's in February—you'll freeze to death in a dress. Compared to Cannes or Venice, most people dress comfortably without much skin showing. It's less formal too; the red carpet is simpler, and you rarely even see men in bow ties and tuxedos."
"Really?! Phew, thank god. I've been planning to eat rose tteokbokki for dinner tonight since last night."
Deciding tomorrow night's menu the day before… Yeon-woo, who had never been particularly food-obsessed, let out a dry laugh.
"Have you been to a film festival before? You seem to know a lot."
At Director Park's words Yeon-woo broke into a cold sweat.
"Ah, I saw it in a documentary. Haha."
"Well, that makes sense. Film festivals are every actor's dream."
Director Park nodded at Yeon-woo's answer.
Of course it wasn't only actors who dreamed of film festivals.
Having received the call from the Berlinale selection committee not long after submitting the rough cut, Director Park Chan-hong was happier than anyone.
Just then the assistant director opened the office door and came in.
"Director, an article just dropped."
Yeon-woo tilted his head at the AD's words.
"We only just got the call ourselves—how is there already an article?"
"Oh, you got the call? Oh yes!"
Director Park looked equally puzzled.
"What does the article say? I just heard from Berlin."
"Ah, it's a speculative piece. Says our film seems to be shooting as an independent and is probably aiming for Berlin or Sundance."
"Hoh, impressive detective work. Then we'll make the official announcement ourselves. Time to drive the nail in."
At the director's words the AD saluted with a glowing face.
"Yes, sir! I'll tip a friendly reporter. Heh heh. We're going to Berlin."
"Oh my, oh my."
Yu Mi-yeon, packing up to leave the Sejong Government Complex, clicked open a portal site and casually glanced at the main page.
When Yu Mi-yeon let out a gasp of admiration at the monitor, her colleagues looked over curiously.
"What's wrong, Mi-yeon?"
"Something good happen?"
Yu Mi-yeon looked across at Section Chief Ryu Cheol-ung.
"Section Chief Ryu, congratulations in advance!"
Yeon-woo's father, Ryu Cheol-ung, who had been filling out paperwork, widened his eyes at the sudden remark.
"Huh? Congratulations? All of a sudden?"
"Oh my, you haven't heard yet? It's plastered all over the portal main page."
At Yu Mi-yeon's words her colleagues also opened internet windows to see what was going on—just as Ryu Cheol-ung's phone rang.
Bzzz—
"Oh, son. What's going on at this hour? Are you home?"
"No. I called to share some happy news with you, Father."
The other civil servants who worked with him, seeing the flood of articles, naturally turned their heads toward Cheol-ung on the phone.
After hearing Yeon-woo's explanation, Ryu Cheol-ung's mouth stretched into a wide grin.
"Aigoo! This is a family celebration! Congratulations, son. I'm so proud."
"We haven't won anything yet. But just being invited makes me happy."
"Of course, of course! It's something to be grateful for."
This year alone Master Plan had drawn ten million viewers and Star Beyond the River had posted strong ratings, but the KBC year-end awards hadn't even been held yet, and the film awards wouldn't come until next year's Korean Arts Awards. The only award Yeon-woo had received so far was the Best New Actor prize for his debut work, Summer's Closet.
His father kept that trophy in the most visible display case in the living room like a household shrine and polished it carefully every day after work.
Knowing that, Yeon-woo had called his father first.
"All right. Good work. Go rest."
When Ryu Cheol-ung hung up, his office colleagues approached.
"Section Chief, congratulations."
"It's amazing having such a famous celebrity so close by."
"Aigoo, it's nothing. Haha. Thank you. Thank you."
From the driver's seat, Min-su's cheerful voice came through.
"Haha. Your father must be thrilled, right?"
"He is. I think he's happier than I am."
"Man, walking straight into Berlin in one shot—I'm proud of you."
"It's thanks to Director Park Chan-hong's script."
Yeon-woo scratched the back of his head, a little embarrassed.
Just then his smartphone rang again.
Hmm? Mother?
Thinking it would be his mother or his younger sister So-hyun after hearing from his father, Yeon-woo checked the screen and saw it was Han Hae-un calling.
"Yes, Mr. Han. I have your call."
"Ah, it seems you have company. Team Leader Ryu—I've found one of Baeksol's connecting links. Working backward slowly from the Plus10 Entertainment CEO so they wouldn't notice, a name finally came up."
At Han Hae-un's words, Yeon-woo's eyes gleamed.