Proposal
“Don’t you know what’s going on?”
“No. They just told me to come.”
“Man. This is worrying.”
“If they’re calling me out in the middle of the night...”
Moo-young headed to the production company with Go Kyung-min. One missed call and a single text message. It said it was important and to reply right away, but there was no word on what it was about.
“Come on in.”
Director Bae Cheol-min was the first to greet him. Jin Lim, Kang Seong-bae, the director, and the production company president. Just the four of them were waiting for him in the dimly lit office, half the lights turned off.
“What’s going on? I was shocked when I got the text.”
“Sorry about that. How was the festival?”
“Haha, don’t even ask. I went through hell because of my friends.”
Moo-young answered Kang Seong-bae’s kind question. His voice was clear and unclouded, but the atmosphere was... off.
“What’s wrong?”
Something was clearly amiss. Sensing it intuitively, Moo-young’s expression hardened as well.
“After you left and we kept filming, this old body of mine just couldn’t keep up.”
Kang Seong-bae spoke calmly, stroking the back of his own hand. About two hours after Moo-young had left, he had collapsed from severe abdominal pain and dizziness.
“Oh my god. Sir.”
Moo-young jumped in surprise and grabbed his hand.
“Truth is, I had cancer before. I got treatment, but it looks like it’s come back. We’ll get the detailed results this week.”
He spoke as if it were someone else’s story. His tone was dry, laced with pity and a click of the tongue.
“Th-then what do we do? You have to get treatment again.”
“That’s why I called you here. You’re the lead, so you have more scenes with me than anyone else. Didn’t feel right discussing this over the phone, so I dragged you out in the middle of the night. Sorry about that.”
Jin Lim, listening beside him, let out a deep sigh and sipped her coffee.
“No, sir. Don’t say that.”
“I want the treatment—me and my family all do—so I’ll go through with it, but...”
He didn’t want to let go of the film either. Once he committed to a project, he saw it through to the end, no matter what—that was his stance after decades in the industry.
“We’ll need to adjust the filming schedule a bit. Shoot all my scenes first, back-to-back. That means you’ll need to rearrange things too. What do you think—can you make it work?”
Moo-young nodded as if it were obvious.
“Of course, sir!”
“You’re the busiest guy in the industry right now! Haha!”
“What are you talking about? I’ve just been goofing off at festivals.”
“I can’t film during treatment, so that’s the conclusion we reached. Luckily, the play has double casting, so I can step out midway no problem.”
He waved his hand energetically, as if it were no issue at all.
“Distribute the schedule based on your stamina. I’ll match everything.”
“Thank you.”
As he expressed his gratitude, Moo-young suddenly recalled the grayish black smog. The smoke that had sprouted wings and vanished. A fleeting thought of what it might mean crossed his mind, but he shook his head to dismiss it.
“Hyung. Let’s redo our schedule too.”
“Huh? Oh, right. Of course.”
It wasn’t just the film shoot. They’d have to film the poster early too, and put everything into every single take to avoid any post-sync dubbing.
Kang Seong-bae murmured with a gentle smile.
“I’ve always approached every project like it was my last, but this time... it might actually be.”
“Sir! Don’t say things like that.”
“It’s the truth. Jin Lim, you watch your health too. Quit smoking! Kekeke. Oh, and keep this from the staff. Don’t want them tiptoeing around me and messing up their work.”
“What about the other actors?”
“Hmm. Let’s see. Bora overlaps with me the most after you, so I’ll give her a heads-up personally.”
“Got it.”
With that, Kang Seong-bae pulled Moo-young into a warm embrace. They hugged tightly for a brief moment. The old man conveyed his thanks in silence, and Moo-young whispered solemnly.
“Sir. I’ll definitely see it.”
“See what?”
“Your sparkle.”
“Haha! What sparkle does an old man have?”
Flower pollen so vibrant it could drive away heaps of smog. Vowing to witness it, Moo-young gripped both of the old man’s hands.
* * *
“Moo-young-ah! Class is over.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Yawn—”
“Heading out right away again today?”
In the quiet classroom, Moo-young dragged his tired body up and nodded. Twenty-four hours in a day wasn’t enough anymore. Outside of fixed film shoots, cramming in other schedules had long blurred the line between day and night.
“Yeah. What time is it now?”
“Twelve-thirty.”
“Manager hyung will be here soon. I’ll head out first.”
“Hey! Don’t forget your assignment!”
“No worries!”
On top of that, finals week overlapped, making him wish he could summon Hong Gildong to split his body in half. How nice it would be to have a working Moo-young and a studying Moo-young separately.
Bang!
“Hyung!”
“Good work. Hop in.”
He slid into the front seat and checked the schedule. He’d gotten it yesterday, but it was meaningless. With everything shifting fluidly, checking just hours before had become habit.
“Let’s see today... Film shoot’s been pushed back?”
“Yeah. Sir’s stamina is struggling a bit.”
“So what’s first? Hyung, what about my lunch?”
The film schedule was always top priority. Everything else shifted around it, making things a total whirlwind.
Moo-young glanced around, searching for bread or snacks. Hyung always prepared some, but not today?
“We’re going to eat now. Netflix meeting over lunch.”
“Nice. Killing two birds with one stone.”
“Told you last time? Plague reactions have been killer.”
Especially overseas. But for Moo-young, the popularity surge from You Are a Star, I Am a Star felt bigger. It was more mainstream, domestic, and recent.
“So they’re producing a Netflix original series and want to meet with you.”
“Not casting yet?”
“They’re scouting around. They’ll take our input and decide up top. Just think of it as schmoozing the execs over a meal. If not this one, there’s always next. Make a good impression.”
The landscape was shifting. Theaters were still the iconic outing spot, but streaming at home was huge these days, especially with explosive market growth signaling the future.
“One original wouldn’t hurt. Their series top out at seven episodes anyway.”
If reactions were good, it might get a season two. Slots usually ran five to seven episodes. Compared to a broadcaster’s sixteen-parter, the efficiency on time and energy was top-tier.
“Heard what it’s about?”
“Nah. But sounds like fantasy. They do a lot of that. Stimulating stuff too.”
No broadcast censorship, so anything went. Moo-young nodded and slipped his phone into Go Kyung-min’s pocket.
“Wake me when we get there.”
“Eat light, though. Photoshoot right after.”
“Got it.”
With that, Moo-young plunged into deep sleep. After a few dozen minutes’ drive, they arrived at a famous Seoul Chinese restaurant. Heads down in caps and masks, they followed the server’s lead.
Drag.
“Ha Moo-young has arrived.”
“Hello!”
“Nice to meet you.”
“I’m manager Go Kyung-min.”
Three people were already waiting in the small dining room. As Go Kyung-min exchanged greetings, a sense of déjà vu made him tilt his head.
“Nice to meet you. I’m team lead Kang Ok-kyeong, investment responsibility team.”
Super stylish, with an elegant voice. Where do I know her from? But the memory wouldn’t come.
Investment exec—probably saw her on the news.
He pushed down the curiosity and took a seat. They exchanged business cards politely. Moo-young examined each one carefully before setting them lightly on the table.
“I don’t have cards. Sorry.”
“No worries. We know who you are. Haven’t eaten yet? Anything you’d like?”
“I’m good with anything.”
The meeting flowed warmly. With Kang Ok-kyeong at the center, her staff chimed in supportively. Moo-young picked at the side dishes, chatting casually.
“Actually, I’ve seen you before, Moo-young.”
“Really? Where?”
“I was invited to the Plague GV.”
“Ah!”
It was Go Kyung-min who exclaimed, not Moo-young. Now he remembered. She’d just passed by once, but her aura was no joke—it had stuck.
“Something wrong?”
“Sorry. Thought I’d seen you somewhere, and it was there.”
“I see. Anyway—”
She smiled and pulled out a proposal. A file with a brief synopsis and script.
“You left a strong impression back then. It was modern, but you felt like you were in another world all by yourself. That unique vibe and charm of yours. I was just thinking that when this project came up.”
“Thank you.”
Moo-young bowed deeply and took the paper. Flipping through, the title read...
“The Only Landlord?”
“Apocalypse story. The protagonist’s the owner of the only building still functioning normally in a ruined world. He builds a safe shelter and fights to survive. Experimental stuff, so aiming for about six episodes. Heavy on CG.”
Six episodes... About three weeks of solid work. Filming alone would take that, with post-production on the rest.
Hmm...
What to do? He was swamped right now—
“Filming starts in about three months.”
“Ah. I see.”
By then, the movie shoot would be wrapped. Kang Ok-kyeong smiled as if reading his mind.
“We can share more details once we hear your thoughts.”
The big one: pay. He was about to say he’d think it over when—
Poof!
Flower pollen scattered in all directions with Kang Ok-kyeong’s smile. Like a fairy pausing mid-stroll. Moo-young sensed its essence.
“...You said you were at the Plague GV?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Same texture as back then. Couldn’t put it into words, but instinct told him. A warm something wrapped around him.
“...It’d be an honor.”
“Can I submit the proposal to upper management then?”
Planning team handled budget and casting; upper brass approved everything.
“Does that mean it’s confirmed?”
“Well, I can’t promise. I’m pushing for you, but other teams have their own priorities.”
“So there might be an audition.”
“I believe you’ll nail it.”
Kang Ok-kyeong pressed her palms together lightly. Why was she pushing so hard for him? When Moo-young gave her a puzzled look, she just smiled.
“I trust my eye.”
She’d make a project that elevated Netflix’s status in Korea. That was Kang Ok-kyeong’s daily mantra.
“I trust me too.”
“Perfect.”
More precisely, these eyes that saw the sparkle. Munching on a big bite of sweet-and-sour pork, Moo-young chewed away.