Cumulative Pressure (2)
Several men in suits rode the elevator, and Kang Jaeha’s gaze stopped on one with thick eyebrows, a man who looked to be in his late forties.
He saw Déjà vu from him.
A room that looked like a conference room. A thick-browed man was staring at a laptop screen, his expression oddly unreadable—lighter than worry, but heavier than simple concern. Then someone entered the room.
"Director! Congratulations on reaching three million viewers!"
The thick-browed man receiving the congratulations gave no reaction.
"What’s wrong with you? Every article is talking about how Director Hong Manseop struck gold, and here you are acting like this? Come on."
"It’s good that Natdaljib became the first of its kind to hit those numbers. But—during the latter half of production, we were so short on investment that we had to bring in Chinese capital. That still bothers me."
"Ah... that."
"And the fact that those bastards kept pushing and made us shoehorn in a Chinese character is infuriating. If Leon’s investment had gone through properly, none of that would’ve happened."
That was as far as Déjà vu went. Jaeha’s queasy vision cleared, and he immediately sent Lee Chanhoo a text, telling him that the next investment target after Gyeollo had been decided.
The moment he finished sending it, Jaeha lifted his eyes again.
Men in suits. Or rather, more precisely, the thick-browed man from the vision. A hard face.
So that old boy’s Hong Manseop.
His mind immediately kicked into gear, sorting through the key information from the Déjà vu he had just seen.
Director Hong Manseop, three million viewers, title is Natdaljib, first-of-its-kind success.
A movie? No, not a standard movie. There had been that line about being the “first of its kind.” For film, three million viewers was already well within reach. So maybe an art film? Or a documentary, maybe animation?
Anyway, this “Natdaljib” project is currently in the latter half of production.
But they were short on production money and still had to pull in more investment. That was why he was out here meeting people left and right. Which meant he had probably come to Leon for the same reason. Jaeha could have looked into it more thoroughly from inside the company, but.
Why bother?
He didn’t seem inclined to. If word got out that he was suddenly sniffing around Natdaljib, it would only become a nuisance. One way or another, in the end, Natdaljib would solve its funding problem before long.
Chinese capital.
So that’s why Chinese money stepped in at just the right time.
Or maybe the Chinese side had already contacted them. That Hong Manseop had delayed and delayed until he had no choice but to take the money. Jaeha thought it was the sort of thing that happened all the time.
And it made sense.
Chinese capital was already everywhere in the Korean entertainment industry.
Films, dramas, variety shows—Chinese money was easy to find if you looked. At a glance, you couldn’t always tell, but if you dug deeper, it was often Chinese capital behind the scenes. There were even major agencies whose largest shareholder was Chinese capital.
Usually, Chinese investors liked to put their hands on a project and start twisting it around.
Hong Manseop was no exception.
They even made him add a Chinese character.
Among investors, they were one of the worst offenders when it came to interference. They would even try to change the flow of the work itself. And yet, despite all that, Natdaljib still drew three million viewers. Which meant—
If it weren’t for the Chinese money, the audience could have been even bigger.
Just then—
-Bzzz.
Lee Chanhoo texted back. The message was roughly that they should meet at MEG tonight. Jaeha replied that he understood, and by then the elevator had reached the underground parking lot.
-Swish.
The thick-browed Hong Manseop and the other men in suits filed out one after another. Jaeha followed behind them and let out a small laugh.
If the timing works out, our MEG will be their savior.
More accurately, Jaeha’s money would be the savior.
That same night, at the MEG office near Yangjae Station.
It was late. The mornings and afternoons had gotten a little warmer, but it seemed nights were still cold. Jaeha, wearing a short padded jacket, opened the door to the MEG office.
MEG had already become surprisingly well put together.
A representative’s desk, a six-person table, and so on. It had been arranged to actually feel like an office. And Lee Chanhoo, wearing a dress shirt, had both feet up on the representative’s desk. The moment he saw Jaeha, he quietly lowered them.
Jaeha smiled as he said, “What, keep them up if you want. You’re the CEO. So what?”
Lee Chanhoo, his eyes half-mooned, answered with casual ease.
“Aw, still, that’d be rude in front of the commander. A paper CEO can’t act all high and mighty in front of the real power.”
Rising from the chair, Lee Chanhoo brushed off the seat he’d been using and gestured toward it with both hands.
“Have a seat.”
“No.”
As if it didn’t matter, Jaeha pulled out a chair at the six-person table instead. Lee Chanhoo gave a soft cough and sat down across from him. He spoke first.
“So, where’s the next investment target after Gyeollo?”
Jaeha took something out of his padded coat pocket. A yellow Post-it note. There was writing on it. He handed it to Lee Chanhoo.
“Look into this director and the title of the work. I know the rough situation already. Just gather whatever information you can.”
Lee Chanhoo read the Post-it—Hong Manseop, Natdaljib—and answered lightly. Research was his specialty, whether back in the other world or here. He had Search, after all.
“Easy. But, Commander.”
“What.”
“You loaded?”
“Loaded with what.”
“No, I mean, just investing in Gyeollo alone means several hundred million won, and now you’re asking me to dig up the next one right away. I was wondering if you were always rich or something. You’re only in your fourth year as a manager, after all.”
“I’m rich enough that I won’t miss your salary.”
Jaeha, legs crossed, changed the subject.
“How’s the Gyeollo situation?”
Lee Chanhoo’s expression turned serious in an instant, and his answer came quickly.
“Like I said, our MEG, Director Kwon Seongmin, and the film company Munbak Film have already finished the contract work.”
Munbak Film was the company handling production for Gyeollo.
“Pre-production has started, and Munbak Film is assembling the crew. Director Kwon Seongmin is revising the storyboard.”
“First production meeting?”
“Tomorrow. We’ll probably get the broad shape of everything nailed down there.”
Jaeha nodded and issued an order.
“Start with talent recruitment. Since it’s a short film and the director’s still a complete nobody, there’s a good chance either he or the film company will personally go around to theaters and agencies looking for actors.”
“Even then, they probably won’t land many. So—auditions?”
“Right. An audition format is better. Saves time too.”
“Yes, Commander.”
“Have the auditions run first, and make sure the final decision is made directly by Director Kwon Seongmin.”
Lee Chanhoo, quick on the uptake, grinned.
“You’re training him, huh? Making him the ultimate authority on set, the final decision-maker.”
“The more decisions you make, the more responsibility piles up. He’ll naturally have to commit to it. We’re just giving him a little help.”
“Well, it’d be pretty embarrassing if the director looked flimsy. And I guess this is also about locking down a talented rookie director before anyone else does. You’re setting the groundwork now so you can pull him in later, right?”
“If he’s competent, I don’t care whether he’s a director or something else.”
Jaeha, already imagining MEG’s future, spoke again.
“And as for the Busan International Film Festival—only you, Director Kwon, and the film company president should know about it. Keep it quiet and handle it carefully.”
“So you want us to keep our heads down and only open the card later?”
“Exactly.”
And the next day.
The date was March 1. Lee Chanhoo could be found in the meeting room of Munbak Film.
Three people were there for now: Lee Chanhoo, Director Kwon Seongmin, and Jeong Taewoo, the president of Munbak Film.
Jeong Taewoo, with his broad, flat face, flipped through some transparent folders as he spoke.
“The production crew is set. We’ll finish the contracts within the week, gather the key staff, and hold the production meeting.”
Sure enough, for a company fairly well known in the short-film and indie scene, they were quick at putting crews together.
“And after coordinating with the director, we’ve set the first investment at fifty million won. Gyeollo runs about forty minutes. Estimated production period is somewhere between three weeks and a month. But... Director.”
Director Kwon Seongmin, who had been listening intently, pushed up his glasses in mild surprise.
“Yes??”
“Are you really planning to submit Gyeollo to the Busan International Film Festival? That place is basically the final boss of festivals, so maybe—maybe you should lower your sights a little.”
Director Kwon Seongmin glanced at the easygoing Lee Chanhoo and shook his head, his eyes steady.
“No, it’s fine. We’ve decided on the Busan International Film Festival.”
“...I see. Understood. Then we’ll have to move in step with that.”
Lee Chanhoo, who had been listening the whole time, cut in.
“About that Busan International Film Festival thing.”
“Yes?”
“For now, let’s keep it to ourselves until the cast is set.”
“You mean we’re hiding it for now?”
“I’m saying there’s no need to make a fuss before we have to.”
“Hm. Understood.”
Director Kwon Seongmin, who had already been briefed by Lee Chanhoo, continued.
“We’ll handle the casting through auditions. I want to pick the leads, supporting roles, and even the bit parts myself. There aren’t many of them anyway.”
Jeong Taewoo nodded immediately.
“An audition is probably the right call. But if it’s already a short film and now you’re hiding the Busan International Film Festival too, then whether we send notices to agencies or open up public applications, the number of audition applicants is going to be very small.”
“That’s fine. We’ll just have to work with the situation.”
“Understood. We’ll do everything we can to bring in as many applicants as possible.”
Jeong Taewoo seemed to be doing some calculations in his head when he let out a low hum.
“Hm. In that case, including pre-production, principal photography would finish in early April. Three weeks for editing. Submission to the Busan International Film Festival in mid-May. That kind of schedule, then. It’s awfully tight.”
The festival organizers had not yet announced an exact date, but speculation placed it around the end of June that year. Which meant Gyeollo had almost no room to breathe.
“We’ll set the audition schedule as quickly as possible. It needs to happen within this week.”
Not even the smallest problem could be allowed to surface.
Morning of March 2. Leon Entertainment.
The location was the office of the New Business Team director inside Leon. A familiar face sat alone there. His jaw was long. It was Director Kim Cheoljung. Desire and greed still overflowed in his eyes.
Then—
“Siiigh...”
He exhaled a long breath and fell deep into thought. After a knock, several people entered the office. Director Kim Cheoljung immediately stood, donning a smile.
“Welcome, welcome. You directors look great today!”
The ones who came in were directors. The winners of first, second, and third place in the short story contest hosted by the New Business Team. Jaeha had once read their scripts and called them complete crap.
Either way, Director Kim Cheoljung, seated with the directors around the meeting table, called out with high energy.
“So, directors, are you ready to make a real splash at the Busan International Film Festival?”
The first-, second-, and third-place works had also begun production. Kim Cheoljung had called the directors in to boost their morale before filming began in earnest.
“Our CEO’s got high hopes too, believe me.”
The news had already reached Han Taeseong’s ears, so they had to step onto the threshold of the Busan International Film Festival somehow.
“We’ll pick the actors from Leon’s rookie development team, haha. I’ll put some weight behind it!”
The meeting lasted about an hour, and after the directors left, the smile vanished from Kim Cheoljung’s face.
-Swish.
Seated at his desk, Kim Cheoljung did not move as he turned over ideas in his head.
About five minutes passed like that.
Once his thoughts had taken shape, Director Kim Cheoljung’s lips curled up slightly.
Burn down Team 4...
Right. I can use Yoon Dayeon.
In fact, what he’d been thinking through all this time was how to get rid of Management Team 4, the team packed with washed-up nobodies and rejects who had always irritated him.
Team 4 is already out of the CEO’s favor.
Han Taeseong hated one thing more than anything else: tacky, embarrassing nonsense.
If I toss that Yoon Dayeon into the porno market and then let a rumor spread that she received an offer for adult films—there’s no way the CEO will just sit still.
With even a slight push—careless management, a little fuel on the fire—Team 4 would be erased. Kim Cheoljung picked up his phone and called someone.
“Ah, President Park! Long time no see!”
One of his cash cows.
“Haha, it’s nothing major, I just wanted to make a proposal. What kind of proposal? I’m thinking of recommending a female actress for your adult film business.”
Kim Cheoljung’s greasy smile deepened, and his voice dropped lower.
“Yeah, how about Yoon Dayeon? That Yoon Dayeon. No, I’m serious, man. Tonight? Great, then I’ll see you there. We can talk details when we meet.”
Kim Cheoljung had no idea that someone might be listening to this call.
Meanwhile, in Management Team 4.
Kang Jaeha was looking at his laptop and yawning. He was in the middle of searching—Hong Manseop, as seen in the Déjà vu, and Natdaljib related material. He had checked search engines and even Leon Entertainment’s internal network, just in case he could dig up something useful.
About five minutes later—
-Bzzz, bzzz.
Jaeha’s phone, lying beside the laptop, gave off a long vibration. The caller was Lee Chanhoo. Jaeha answered without much fuss and put the phone to his ear.
“Yeah.”
“Commander.”
Lee Chanhoo’s voice came through the phone.
“I checked on Director Kim Cheoljung with Search.”
For some reason, a faint spark of interest flickered in Jaeha’s eyes.
“He’s talking about Yoon Dayeon. Something about an adult film offer.”
Adult film?
As the scattered pieces clicked rapidly into place, Jaeha let out a small laugh and answered lightly.
“I figured he’d start acting up soon. Fine—let’s put a leash on him.”