What Makes a Genius?
Did I even bother with this? Have you ever seriously pondered talent? Have you ever deeply contemplated the definition of a genius?
There were a few easy phrases to describe those types. "Born different," "You can tell at a glance," "Does what others struggle with effortlessly," and so on. But Han Taekon thought differently.
The benchmark for 'having talent,' for being a genius... means mocking others.
To Han Taekon, a genius was a rolling stone. It mercilessly shattered stones embedded for ages, then seamlessly took their place as if nothing had happened.
What an absurd joke.
Han Taekon let out a hollow chuckle as he watched Kim Donghu—no, the cadet soldier—on the screen.
The cadet's screen time was at most five minutes, no matter how long it felt. He was like the perfect seasoning, placed just right. And Han Taekon knew exactly how tough that role was.
He didn't appear until midway through the film. A few lines of dialogue and simple actions had to convey the entire character. No room for error. One mistake, and it was over. The moment he came across as sloppy, that five-minute character became defective goods.
But if it succeeded?
It turns into something anticipated.
Appearing only in snippets creates that tantalizing itch. You know the moment he shows up, the situation shifts. His presence becomes the switch that flips the film.
And that's exactly what happened. By showing how a young soldier crumbled on the battlefield, it revealed the endless frontline's despair and war's cruelty.
"Sister, what's my name?"
That one line from the boy who had forgotten even his own name shifted the film's atmosphere again. His calm question, as if sensing his own death, scattered into the air. His gaze shifted sideways, and the camera naturally followed.
A dumb-looking officer spouted nonsense like "Revolutionary hill! Great Leader Comrade!" What was the point? Everything became meaningless in death, so why risk life for it? Did they really think victory here meant a great life back north?
A short sigh conveyed utter futility.
He's lost his mind.
Han Taekon gripped the armrest at that impossible expressiveness. Seeing it live versus the edited footage felt worlds apart. He was completely immersed in the movie he'd starred in.
The film pressed on to the climax. Indiscriminate U.S. bombing began, turning the battle from killing enemies to desperate survival. And there the cadet reappeared.
Forgetting why they'd come, they aimed guns at each other just to live.
Bang! Bang!
"Comrade, how have you been?"
"Who the hell's your comrade, you bastard?"
They gave their all to kill one mere kid. No, the boy before them was no longer a child. War's tragedy—a monster born with questions no one could answer.
Clang! As bullets ran out, bayonets clashed.
To survive, he rolled desperately on the ground, rising again and again.
Stab!
The sword pierced the cadet's lung. His brief death followed. His wish to see his sister twisted into asking where rice and beanpaste soup were. But like the sister he'd never see again, no one answered. Bound by his own question, the cadet slowly met his end.
The frontline slowly shifted. ROK forces pushed back the People's Army, claiming the hill. Victory at the very end, but no one smiled. What was this war for? They'd fought so long, they'd forgotten. Should they be grateful just to be alive? The dead weighed too heavily on their shoulders.
The Taegukgi fluttered weakly atop the hill. How many tens of thousands died for that flag?
The movie ended.
"Whoa..."
Riding a wave of admiration, the screen explained Endless Frontline's real background. The brutal Battle of White Horse Hill, their noble sacrifice. Various details followed, but the VIP audience barely registered them.
What the hell did I just watch?
That's him? Kim Donghu? Mise-en-scène quadruple award winner?
What the hell did Director Kang Sanghoon bring to this?
I want to film it. In my own work. Sincerely. I want to find him now, beg him to read my script, and star right away.
Just five minutes of runtime. In that brief time Kim Donghu breathed life into the cadet on screen, the industry insiders were hooked.
...That Hydream performance wasn't even his peak?
Why's his bayonet fighting so damn good? What the hell?
Audience members stole glances at the cast.
Director Kang Sanghoon's grin is ear-to-ear; one more smile and he'll pass out.
The actors look totally stunned...
And Kim Donghu? Munch munch. Quietly popping popcorn into his mouth.
Everyone going mad over him, and he's casually snacking?
No weirdo's this weird.
Are all geniuses like that? Born that way?
Maybe that level's just casual for him.
The theater lights came on amid shock and awe.
I want to act. I want to act even better.
Can't wait to write my review in this mood.
Did actor Kim Donghu leave already? I wanted to give him my card.
Enchanted, everyone hurried off. That very night, the Endless Frontline VIP premiere ended.
Netizens reached one conclusion.
+++++
Ten days before Endless Frontline's release.
Brilliant President Han Seongmun was still shaking his leg nervously.
"...This is our uniform sales, right?"
"Yes, it is."
"How are sales up after the semester started?"
"More people are ditching their old uniforms for ours."
Obviously thanks to Kim Donghu, their current uniform model. Staring blankly at the sales graph as his subordinate explained, Han Seongmun marveled at the line shooting straight up fearlessly.
Was this the same brand that was dead last until recently?
"Whoa, whoa..."
He was so dazed, it felt unreal. Memories flashed of mortgaging his house for a loan to make great uniforms.
Debts all paid now?
One model can do this?
Quality helped, sure. But even an idiot knew this surge wasn't from quality alone.
"Hey, that thing we sent to actor Kim Donghu and Ryu Jaerin's agencies. Any word?"
"The special meeting? Drawing a few buyers for a meet-and-greet."
"Yeah, that... When's the deadline?"
"Tomorrow...?!"
The subordinate, casually reporting, suddenly clamped his mouth shut. He belatedly realized the situation.
"We, we gotta draw! How many applied?"
Brilliant had planned a small event. Ride Hydream's wave: buy a uniform, post proof, win a meet with Kim Donghu. They believed it'd boost sales more.
And Han Seongmun's strategy had worked—in one way.
But isn't he too famous now?
Kim Donghu's fame had skyrocketed. Hydream? A 30% ratings drama, but over. But short film Hero with four Mise-en-scène awards and commercial film Endless Frontline with rave critic reviews? Masterpieces brewing.
In this climate, an official event to meet actor Kim Donghu?
"Ch-check how many signed up. How many slots we got?"
"On it."
Just as he demanded numbers—
Bang!
"President! Site crashed! What do we do?!"
Another employee burst in with the worst news.
A uniform site crashing? Ridiculous.
But the shock didn't end.
"And right before crash, sign-ups hit 30,000."
"...What? Thirty thousand? I hear wrong?"
"Yes, 30K. Phones nonstop, so we yanked the lines for now."
Why pull lines? As he opened his mouth—
Ring ring ring!
His oblivious cell rang.
"Hello?"
-Hey, Seongmun. Your distant uncle here. My daughter's obsessed with Kim Donghu, and turns out you're...
"Ah, yeah yeah, I love Kim Donghu too. Stay healthy, uncle."
Click.
That's why they pulled the lines. Smart.
Praising his subordinate's competence, Han Seongmun suddenly thought:
Special meeting—did I bite off more than I can chew?
It was supposed to be casual! Low sign-ups expected!
He saw the self-inflicted disaster looming.
+++++
While Han Seongmun drowned in chaos, Kim Donghu was currently...
"...So, uh... we're having a little sibling."
"...Ah, uh... yeah."
Via Sims - The Real Life, he'd learned from the source.
"Ahem... Mom and Dad loving each other is great, right?"
"Ah... yeah, sure."
He was hearing the second-child news live. His usually taciturn dad, ears red, announcing it. If he hadn't known ahead, it'd have shocked him silly.