I'll Be Back
“The Busan International Short Film Festival? With a different project?”
The CEO of CT Entertainment asked it with a note of puzzlement.
Yang Ha-rin only gave a quiet nod, as if she couldn’t begin to see why he was asking again.
“I already told you. I don’t want to just sit around and rest.”
“I remember. But you could fill the gap perfectly well with prime work — dramas, commercials, that sort of thing.... Ah. Don’t tell me.”
Something seemed to occur to him a beat too late.
“...Director Park. You’re planning to trample him with another project?”
“Of course. What else would it be?”
Even as she said it, Yang Ha-rin recalled Kim Seonil’s words.
“Then you should’ve just gone and clashed with her.”
“Wonder which one of you would’ve broken.”
Kim Seonil — an actor she respected. And words of his that had struck her hard. She had taken them for nothing but absurd delusion and hadn’t bothered to answer. Handing a lead role over to a raw rookie just to meet her head-on? It didn’t make sense to begin with. Wasn’t simply being linked to someone like that an insult to her pride?
But if we clash through different projects, that’s another story.
A chance had come to prove the gap in their class without ever getting tangled up at close range. A chance to trample her without mercy.
...I’ll make her learn it in her bones.
Once she was crushed thoroughly enough, Lee Sua would understand at last — how enormous an opportunity it had been to share a project with Yang Ha-rin, and how far above her station it had been to covet Yang Ha-rin’s role. All of it.
“Hmm. But I’m not sure the conditions will even allow for that.”
The CEO tilted his head.
“For there to be a contest, Sword has to finish production first, and the odds of that are awfully slim, aren’t they? However you look at it, this thing is going to keel over at the production stage.”
“Mm.”
“The hit pieces are pouring out so thick that nobody even wants to show up for the audition, and that bastard Park Joon has been thoroughly dumped by the investors. There’s not a single opening left to scrape production money out of.”
Even to Yang Ha-rin, it was a thoroughly sound assessment. And yet—
“No. Even so, we have nothing to lose.”
Her attitude did not change.
“If Director Park falls on his own, that’s fine. If he somehow manages to finish it, then we step on him ourselves. Either way works.”
“Hmm. If that’s really how you feel....”
The CEO jerked his chin toward the staff on the far side.
“All right, you lot. Spread out everything I told you to gather before.”
“Yes, sir!”
In moments the desk before the sofa where Yang Ha-rin sat was heaped with paper. Every last sheet was a script.
“Quite a pile. All that networking paid off. These are all top-shelf, yes? Anything else unusual?”
“Not sure it counts as unusual, but lately Director Park has been going around begging other directors for scripts.”
“Director Park? These scripts?”
“Yes. Pleading, apparently. Please, I’m begging you.”
The CEO burst out laughing.
“Pathetic. Sniffing around because he was curious how everyone else’s projects were coming along. The man who can’t even make his own.”
Listening, Yang Ha-rin gave a quiet nod.
“He doesn’t know his place. Not even close.”
Why had CT Entertainment chosen Sword in the first place?
Because they thought the work was good?
Because they thought it stood a chance of winning something?
No. Simply because it was easy to seize and shake.
Directors shoved to the edge of a cliff, like Park Joon, could be handled like marionettes so long as you slipped a single collar around their necks: CT Entertainment covering the entire production budget. That was exactly how they had been using him — a puppet, nothing more, a lure to draw in some rookie who could serve as Yang Ha-rin’s prey.
...And he went and lost his head over some nobody of a rookie. The nerve.
Now the situation had changed. Yang Ha-rin, who had only meant to join a short film out of idle interest, had revised her goal: crush her opponent completely.
“Clear out every script where the director’s name doesn’t carry weight, or the investment isn’t high enough. We’ll press them flat starting with the money.”
“Ha-rin, that’s the right attitude. Tear them apart with your acting, too.”
“That doesn’t even need saying. It’s a given.”
“Good. Then take your time and pick a script first.”
The CEO, who had been watching her with a satisfied look, turned his head — toward the woman lying on the sofa opposite.
“Hey. Son Jia.”
“...Huh?”
Only then did the woman called Son Jia lower the magazine she had draped over her face. Languor filled her expression; everything about her suggested a thorough layabout.
“Quit loafing around and go scope out this audition.”
“What audition?”
“Director Park’s Sword audition. That garbage audition nobody’s even going to look at. I’m telling you to go check it out, damn it! We’ve got to plant at least one spy if we want the intel coming in fast!”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. What’s with all the yelling....”
Haaahm. Son Jia rose with a yawn.
Time flew after that. With every preparation for production complete, Special Task Force 808 was charging forward at a blistering pace. Not only the cast, but every filming location had been locked down, promotions of one kind and another lined up, and the meetings for the poster and teaser shoots wrapped in fine style as well. And then there was covering fire from a host of reporters.
Writer Lee Geumsuk’s Magnum Opus? She Returns with a Crime Drama
Staff, writers, actors, direction, circumstance — every gear meshed and began to turn like a precision machine. An impeccably smooth start. And it truly was running smoothly.
One.
Just one.
A single gear had refused to turn. Even now, when every other actor had already received a script and plunged into rehearsal, there was one lead who still hadn’t been given theirs.
Writer Lee Geumsuk’s studio rang with the clatter of laptop keys. Tak-tak-tak-tak—! Writer Lee and her assistant writers sat huddled around a single monitor, dressed in sleep pants with washing headbands shoved up on their heads. A thoroughly shabby sight. They could have passed for high-school seniors days from the college entrance exam, or civil-service hopefuls cramming on the eve of theirs.
But every one of them had forgotten even how they looked, absorbed solely in the footage on the screen. What was playing there were the clips of Lee Sua’s acting.
“Here, here — pause this part.”
“Looking at that expression, a scene like this would work in the office sequence too.”
“With a face like that, wouldn’t a line like this suit her?”
“The arrest, done this way. The way Kim Yu-han would do it.”
It looked like conversation. In truth it was a collective monologue. Watching the footage, they wrote down whatever surfaced, without the slightest filter. Somewhere along the way, Lee Sua’s acting had become the engine of their work.
Whirr—! Whirr—! They set down every idea the moment it came, and printed every line the moment it was written. Such was the result of Writer Lee Geumsuk’s camp pooling their strength for days.
“...That’s a lot.”
Someone said it, astonishment thick in their voice. They weren’t wrong. A script of truly staggering bulk had been born, as if an entire drama called Kim Yu-han existed.
The assistant writers each offered a word, looking dazed.
“Why did this get so long?”
“It’s because Sua’s acting is too good. Watch it and inspiration keeps hitting you, so before I knew it I just kept writing....”
“We’re going to have to cut this down. There’s way too much. It’s nearly three or four times the other actors’ scripts.”
“But what do we cut? There’s genuinely nothing we can take out!”
Right then, PD Choi Heewon, who had been watching all the while while rubbing his chin, spoke.
“What if we gave this to Sua just as it is?”
“...?”
Every gaze turned to him at once, but the man himself received them without a flicker of concern.
“I mean we hand over everything we’ve written, and then leave Sua free to express it as she sees fit.”
“Mm....”
The looks were mostly bewildered, and understandably so. The schedule was already tight — wasn’t it too much to dump a script this thick on her now? Just memorizing it would border on a miracle.
“Just reading through it looks like it would take forever.”
“I hope we’re not being too cruel....”
And yet Writer Lee Geumsuk cut in.
“I think it’s fine?”
“If it’s Sua, I think she’d actually like that. Finding her own answer somewhere in all that sprawling prose.”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I thought. And....”
PD Choi Heewon smiled.
“Somehow, I have a feeling that if it’s Sua, she can do it.”
A short remark. No one argued. If anything, they agreed — because the Lee Sua they knew seemed quite capable of managing it.
“...If she pulls this off too, she’s actually insane.”
One of the assistant writers muttered it.
Once the script meant for Sua was finally finished, Writer Lee Geumsuk and PD Choi Heewon moved at once. This time the place was an upscale Japanese restaurant. Upon the stately wooden table, exquisitely prepared dishes took their places one after another, but the two of them had yet to pick up their chopsticks. The guest of honor had not yet appeared.
A moment later—
“Ah, CEO Kim Iseo! Over here!”
Writer Lee Geumsuk welcomed her with a smile. Today’s guest of honor: Kim Iseo, CEO of Mystic Entertainment.
“Good to see you.”
Kim Iseo gave a small wave and came over, her steps tiny. Her frame was so small that even her movements were small, but her clothes were dressed with nothing short of adult sophistication — like a professor about to hold a liberal-arts seminar on some autumn afternoon. At least, that was how she looked to PD Choi Heewon and Writer Lee Geumsuk.
“The sushi just came out. Please, go ahead.”
“You could have started without me. I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t give it a moment’s thought.”
And so the meal began. The purpose of the gathering was simple: a chance for the two of them to host Kim Iseo, CEO of Mystic Entertainment. The two leads of Special Task Force 808 were Kim Seonil and Seo Yeon-ju, both of them actors under Mystic. From Kim Iseo’s side, it was gratifying to have her actors cast; from the other two’s side, it was gratifying to have secured two high-caliber performers. A warm atmosphere followed as a matter of course.
...Awkwardness, however, was a separate matter.
A wordless meal went on for a while, until Kim Iseo finally broke the silence.
“The truth is, I feel rather apologetic toward the two of you.”
“Pardon? What could CEO Kim Iseo possibly have to apologize for? You’ve given us two excellent actors.”
“Seonil and Yeon-ju don’t even have enough hours to focus on Special Task Force 808 alone, and yet they keep pestering me about doing a short film.”
“A short film?”
Kim Seonil and Seo Yeon-ju, interested in a short film? This was news to Writer Lee Geumsuk and PD Choi Heewon as well.
Kim Iseo nodded.
“It’s a short film called Sword. Do you happen to know it?”
“Of course we do. We’re quite close with Director Park. But that project should have fallen through completely, shouldn’t it?”
“Interest in that film, of all things, at a time like this? Public opinion isn’t favorable, and those two are about to get incredibly busy.”
Writer Lee Geumsuk and PD Choi Heewon each put in a question, and Kim Iseo could only tilt her head.
“...What is this reaction?”
“Sorry?”
“Seonil and Yeon-ju were both spellbound because of the person cast as Kim Yu-han. So I assumed you and PD Choi would naturally already know....”
“...?”
Choi Heewon and Lee Geumsuk exchanged glances, and those glances were full of bewilderment. They hadn’t known. A moment later both of them shook their heads at once.
“No. We had no idea either?”
Kim Iseo was thrown by the unexpected turn — but this was only the beginning. An even rarer sight was about to unfold.
“Sua showed interest in the Sword script? Is that what caught their eye? Was it actually a decent script?”
“You’re telling me. If we’d known, we would have looked into it ourselves beforehand. Fascinating.”
“...?”
Kim Iseo was thoroughly at a loss.
What on earth is this reaction? Far from finding it unpleasant, they’re nothing but fascinated at the mere mention that Lee Sua is involved?
An actor already committed to your project sniffing around another one. For a writer and a PD, that could only be deeply unpleasant. Wasn’t it only natural to want an actor focused solely on your own work? That was where Kim Iseo’s play had been aimed.
I was sure the PD and the writer would push back as a matter of course. After that, I meant to talk them down just enough to sink the short-film plan....
If Writer Lee and PD Choi objected, she had intended to feign reluctant surrender and keep both Seo Yeon-ju and Kim Seonil out of Sword.
But.
“Shall we call Director Park even now?”
“I’m torn. Suddenly I’m very interested.”
Choi Heewon and Lee Geumsuk showed nothing but endless curiosity, as if it were a given that any project Lee Sua chose must hold value.
Lee Sua — just what kind of rookie is she?
Even Kim Iseo couldn’t help but wonder. Just how extraordinary did you have to be to draw a reaction like this?
As she pondered, certain words surfaced in her mind: the things Seo Yeon-ju and Kim Seonil had said about Lee Sua. Praise and explanations that, at a casual listen, had sounded like pure nonsense.
...Don’t tell me all of that was actually true?
In the end, Kim Iseo asked.
“I’m curious about this rookie called Lee Sua.”
“Honestly, we don’t know her all that well either.”
Writer Lee Geumsuk shrugged, and Kim Iseo’s brow furrowed. What kind of answer was that supposed to be?
“That she’s impossible to predict, and just as sensitive as her acting is outstanding, so she isn’t easy to approach? Something like that.”
“Just how good is her acting, exactly.”
“We do have footage. Would you like to see even that?”
“Yes. Please.”
Writer Lee Geumsuk played the video on her phone.
A moment later, Kim Iseo’s chopsticks did not move again.
The next day, Sua and Park Joon were together at the audition site. Calling it an audition venue was generous; in truth it was nothing more than a temporarily rented office, and a fairly shabby one at that.
Park Joon offered her a sheepish smile.
“It’s rather humble, isn’t it? I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to worry about it.”
If anything, Sua found Park Joon’s constant checking of her mood more uncomfortable. At this rate, she half expected him to start putting her shoes on for her. They sat in that awkward air until Park Joon carefully opened his mouth.
“Sua. The situation right now is, well, I’m afraid....”
“We still haven’t found an investor. I’m looking as hard as I can, but it’s difficult, as I feared.”
“Mm.”
“The reason I’m being honest even about the bad news is so that, if your heart cools, you can leave whenever you wish.”
“Aha.”
He could easily have hidden every weakness and tried to rope her in no matter what. Park Joon did no such thing.
“My heart isn’t cooling. Hang in there, Director Park.”
Sua answered only briefly.
Right. As long as it says Grade 1, my heart isn’t cooling.
“...Thank you, truly. Since you believe in me like this, I’ll keep running around as hard as I can. For today, let’s do the auditions.”
“Yes. Auditions, for today.”
Today was the day to cast the people who would fill out the short film Sword, besides Sua herself. Honestly, she felt a little uneasy too.
This is a Grade 1 script in its own right, so what happens if we can’t even get it produced? Does the chance just vanish? Or is it Grade 1 because it’ll get resolved somehow...?
The current state of Sword was far from good — starting with the fact that Sua, still a raw rookie, was sitting in the auditor’s seat.
“Director, how many people are coming to audition today?”
“Five, at most. Frankly, considering how many roles the film needs, we’d have to cast every one of them.”
“...That’s a problem.”
“Yes. That’s why it’s good to have a famous actor in a film. Applicants come swarming just to see that name.”
Five. Only five people to audition....
Sua grew anxious and started sipping at her water, and then, with Park Joon’s words, the audition finally began.
“Yes, yes. Just all come in at once.”
“Hm.”
“Hmm.”
Park Joon and Sua had fallen into a quandary.
“We only managed to cast one.”
The reason was exactly that.
Son Jia.
Aside from her, not a single passable applicant existed, and so it had come to this. Only Son Jia passed. Everyone else fell short.
“What do we do....”
“Mm....”
As their worry deepened, Sua tilted her head.
“Um, would it be all right if I called in someone I know?”
“Someone you know...? I don’t see why not. We haven’t even filled the roster with this audition, after all.”
“All right.”
Sua promptly placed a call. Honestly, she wondered if it was all right to call over something like this. She was afraid she might be crossing a line. Still — trying was better than not trying, wasn’t it?
“Hello? My, my — to what do I owe the pleasure?”
The voice on the other end belonged to none other than Seo Yeon-ju.