A Duel to the Death? For Real?
The short film Sword had gone into production in earnest.
A hinoki cypress forest in Wanju, North Jeolla.
They had gathered at the thatched hut that served as their point of departure: actors already dressed in costume, crew with their equipment strapped on. At last, the entire production team of Sword stood assembled.
The change in the air was impossible to miss.
It bore little resemblance to the bleak mood of the morning. The difference showed most starkly across the faces of the bit players—people who, until now, had written this shoot off as nothing more than a well-paid side gig, and who were suddenly wound tight with nerves.
Any number of things had brought that on, but the greater share of the blame belonged to two actors.
The twin pillars of Mystic Entertainment. Seo Yeon-ju and Kim Seonil.
No way. That's actually Seo Yeon-ju. That's actually Kim Seonil.
I just managed to unwind, and now I'm tense all over again...
Everyone had taken Seo Yeon-ju for bait.
A scrap of gossip thrown out as a lure, that was all—something to haul the bit players in. Even if it proved true, they had been certain she would cut and run. There was no reason for her to take part.
Reality, however, had turned out very different.
Unlike the bit players, who had nothing to lose, she carried a golden filmography and stood in a position where every project had to be chosen with care. Even so, Seo Yeon-ju had shown up—and she had brought Kim Seonil with her.
There was nothing for it but to stand there, jaws unhinged.
That was when Park Joon took out his phone. He pulled something up on the screen and held it out for each of them in turn.
"A Golden Filmography." A Blemish at Last?
"The articles about them joining have finally broken. There's no taking it back."
He looked over the actors and the crew, one face after another. The weight a director had to carry was, of course, in a class of its own, and his voice was deadly serious.
"As you all know, merely taking part in one of my films is treated like a crime. You've seen them, I'm sure. The endless stream of articles tearing me apart."
Everyone listened in silence.
"I know what I am. A director without power. A director who's been walking nothing but a downhill road. But every one of you gathered here anyway, fully aware of that. So there's one thing I mean to promise you."
He took off his cap and bowed his head with careful courtesy.
"I will give this everything I have. I'll take the full weight of it, finish it no matter what, and submit it. Thank you. Truly."
Those listening applauded, and right after, the actors took a moment to introduce themselves in a line or two. When Sua's turn came she shook her head, and they skipped her. The last turn belonged to Kim Seonil.
"I don't do 'good enough.' I'll see it finished."
With those few words, the introductions were over.
Looking at the bit players, so changed from before, Park Joon seemed to be turning over a tangle of feelings. He went on, his expression complicated and hard to read.
"I've booked the best hotel in Wanju for lodging. Exactly one week. We'll shuttle between the hotel and the forest and shoot this short and hard. If something unavoidable comes up, please tell me ahead of time, so we can rearrange the order of the scenes."
Having said that much, his head snapped around.
"And the role of Wi Ji-hye—Ms. Sua..."
Director Park, on the verge of giving Sua some instruction, stumbled over his words.
It came with a sudden shift in the room. The bit players' faces, which had been taut with nerves, turned subtly uneasy all at once.
The reason was simple.
The lead. The master, Wi Ji-hye: Lee Sua. The lead. The disciple, Haryeong: Seo Yeon-ju.
They could not forget the single minute of free acting the two of them had matched together—the sight of Lee Sua moving as Wi Ji-hye.
It had been nonsense. Garbage acting. It was simply a shock, and the shock had been far too great.
"...Well. Ms. Sua, you'll just need to stay faithful to the role you've been given. The first scene is with Ms. Son Jia, so get your makeup done together. For now, we'll go ahead and shoot the other scenes."
Sua nodded, quiet, and the unease settled over the bit players' faces only deepened. A large part of it was the way Park Joon had hurriedly tied off his words, as if brushing something aside.
"All right! This is it—we're starting! I'm counting on every one of you!"
"Yes! Counting on you!"
At any rate, Park Joon's shout was the signal, and the whole crew scattered in every direction. The director had announced the true beginning. From here on, they were meant to drive straight ahead without a single glance back.
And yet there were those who could not leave.
None other than the ten or so extras and bit players.
They waited only for Lee Sua to step into the dressing room, and the instant she had vanished from sight entirely, they broke into a run. Their destination was, of course, the spot directly in front of Director Park Joon.
Surrounding him, they shouted.
"Excuse me, Director. What exactly is the deal with the person playing Wi Ji-hye?"
"You saw it earlier, didn't you? The acting was kind of off."
"Are we really going ahead like this?"
"As far as I know, Wi Ji-hye is the most important role..."
"I thought she was a master! That face had me completely fooled!"
Every shout was equally urgent.
The truth was that until this morning, whether the film succeeded had been none of the bit players' business. Now the situation had changed completely. They, too, were wishing with everything they had that the work would do well.
The reason for the about-face? The trickle-down effect, of course.
They'd had nothing to lose in the first place, so a few hit pieces hardly mattered—but Seo Yeon-ju and Kim Seonil, of all people, had entered the game. If the film happened to do well, they themselves were certain to benefit.
A gamble with no risk and a high return had, in effect, been handed to them.
Who wanted to close out an acting life as a bit player? Of course they hoped for a good chance. They wanted their fortunes turned around.
Unexpectedly, that chance had come. It had come, and yet...
They had promptly found themselves staring at an enormous obstacle.
None other than Lee Sua. Wi Ji-hye.
Even to their eyes, her free acting had been beyond saving.
"Director. If you could just say something..."
"That's right. We've made up our minds to work hard, but we're anxious."
Wi Ji-hye. A lead whose weight could not even be compared with a handful of bit parts. However hard they rowed, it wouldn't amount to much. The moment she staggered, the boat would capsize.
But Park Joon only shook his head, slowly.
"...Let's each give our best to the work we've been given."
"No matter how well the rest of us do, if Wi Ji-hye goes wrong..."
"Wi Ji-hye. I saw her myself, and I cast her."
He cut them off clean.
"Let's not jump to conclusions. Until we've seen what's captured on camera, we don't know a thing. And acting is something the actor does. However much I hold forth about it, what exactly would change?"
At Director Park's words, the bit players could press no further. But even as they scattered, their lips kept working, and they never managed to wipe the doubt from their faces.
After everyone had withdrawn, the cinematographer who had stayed at his side spoke.
"Director Park, about what you said—that you saw Ms. Sua yourself and cast her. Wasn't the role of Haryeong the only thing you actually witnessed in person?"
"...Right. The Wi Ji-hye acting, I only saw a little of it. And only the recording."
When Sua and Park Joon had met at the café, he had watched the recorded Wi Ji-hye performance once, on her phone.
In truth, that was the whole of what he had confirmed.
"So you brought her on after checking a video and nothing else.... Mm..."
The cinematographer let the words trail off.
"...She was a time bomb, after all. A film set is nothing like the waiting room, and newcomers don't have much real experience. They hesitate all the time—in front of the other actors, in front of the camera."
Looking like a glittering uncut gem, only to lose every bit of color the moment they arrived on set. In the film industry, it was an everyday thing. As natural as the sun coming up in the morning.
Usually it was the actors who had come up as idols who were especially like this.
In their own minds they had plenty of camera experience, and they believed they had honed their acting to perfection—but the moment they stepped onto a set, they couldn't hide how out of place they were. They drifted, stranded like an island cut off from everything.
And Lee Sua was a newcomer who was also a complete outsider.
Idols, at least, had no shortage of stage experience. A pure civilian...
The cinematographer scratched his cheek.
"I think a little more cross-checking was called for."
"Hmmm..."
But Director Park Joon was deep in thought.
It was true he had encountered Sua's Wi Ji-hye acting on nothing but a small screen, and yet that acting had given him a conviction that was almost uncanny. Something that declared it could chew up a real set, and everything else besides, and swallow it whole.
So the one most confused right now was Park Joon himself.
What had that feeling been, back then? Had he simply overestimated Lee Sua? Had she, in truth, been nothing more than a talented newcomer—the sort for whom wavering on set was only natural?
He said nothing. But soon he shook his head.
The truth was, back then, what had mattered most to him was something else entirely.
"I know it perfectly well. The role of Wi Ji-hye is the most important part in this film, and I should have scrutinized her more carefully than anyone before bringing her in. But at the time, I just didn't feel like doing it."
"Why not?"
"Because Ms. Sua was the only one who acknowledged my work."
"Ah."
The cinematographer's mouth fell open, a beat too late.
"My work, which everyone else had written off. This work they'd tried to seize and bend to their own ends. The only person who came to it with nothing but genuine love was Ms. Sua. She even brought Seo Yeon-ju and Kim Seonil, and she drew the production money out on top of that. What, exactly, was I in any position to interrogate?"
"That's true, I suppose..."
"Even if Ms. Sua falters on set, I can't find it in me to cut her. This was her film from the start."
Park Joon's voice grew firmer as he spoke, as if the act of saying it had only hardened his resolve.
"Mm..."
The cinematographer had something he'd meant to say. He let it die.
He had been about to suggest that perhaps they ought to shut it down even now, while Lee Sua's limits were out in the open—but one look at Director Park's face, and he couldn't bring himself to do it.
The man already wore the look of someone who had set himself apart from the world's verdict. What he had done was finish preparing to run, for the sake of the person who had believed in a work that even he himself had abandoned. The weight of responsibility sitting on him was proof enough.
The cinematographer shook his head, slowly, again and again.
"...This is hard. A truly hard problem."
Push ahead like this, and he would have done his duty as a director—but nothing guaranteed how the film would land. The filmographies of Seo Yeon-ju and Kim Seonil, who had been good enough to join him, would take a serious scar. That much was already counted.
Fold here, though, and that was a problem of its own.
It would be the safe choice. Director Park would simply spend the rest of his life carrying a debt in his chest: the guilt of having failed to finish, of having betrayed the faith of the person who believed in his work.
That was when it happened.
"Do the two of you have a moment?"
A voice cut in from nowhere. Kim Seonil.
The cinematographer asked, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"...A moment? My head feels like it's about to split."
"I'm not so sure."
Kim Seonil quietly folded his arms.
"From what I heard, it sounds like a waste of time."
He tipped his chin toward somewhere off across the way.
Toward Sua, stepping out of the makeup team's tent—changed, in some way no one could quite have named.