Chapter 33
I’m translating the chapter directly and shaping the in-universe readouts as styled HTML blocks where they appear. I’m keeping the paragraphing natural rather than mirroring the Korean line breaks.CHAPTER_TITLE: Tempo (2)
The protagonist of the déjà vu Kang Jaeha saw was the cinematographer.
At the anchor’s words, the key staff murmured among themselves.
While they were talking, the anchor on the news kept going.
As the anchor was speaking in earnest, the world before Jaeha’s eyes swayed again, and his vision slowly returned to reality. The moment the déjà vu ended, Kang Jaeha turned the information over in his head and went straight for the core of it.
He had to buy land.
Today was April 10. The semiconductor cluster would be officially announced as Yongin on May 1. That was about three weeks away.
Right now, there’d be several candidates besides Yongin for the semiconductor cluster, and land prices in those places would already be creeping up.
The scale alone was over one million pyeong, and the investment alone exceeded 110 trillion won. A conglomerate that ruled the country was involved, along with the promise of more than 50,000 jobs. If he looked into it, there would probably be even more to it than that. Still, even that much made it an enormous deal.
Which meant that even if a place was only a candidate, its land prices would already be inching upward on expectations.
I’m the one who knows exactly where it’ll be finalized.
Yongin, Baekam-myeon. Kang Jaeha immediately started calculating how fast he could buy the land. For now, he had close to 2 billion won in capital. In a few days, another 700 million would come in as his third pension payment. That brought him to about 2.7 billion.
Take out a little for operating expenses and put the rest in.
Kang Jaeha planned to invest most of the 2.7 billion. No matter how much it rose, it was guaranteed profit, and once the land price spiked, he’d sell fast and step away. His idea was to strike while the iron was hottest and get out clean.
Besides, I can’t keep money tied up forever.
He had already planned to buy the land the moment the third 700 million pension payment came in, and while Kang Jaeha’s mind was racing, the Gyeollo team was busy celebrating the end of filming.
Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap!
“You worked hard!!”
“Hahaha, thank you for your hard work, Director!”
“Isn’t there going to be a little after-party? An after-party!”
Applause rang on and on. It was almost as if they were applauding Kang Jaeha, who had smelled the money.
Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap!
It was a scene of celebration.
After filming wrapped, the Gyeollo team gathered with Director Kwon Seongmin, Lee Chanhoo, CEO Jeong Taewoo, and other key figures for a closing meeting. Most of it was about the Busan International Film Festival, and two days later, on Monday, Director Kwon Seongmin would enter the editing room for post-production.
He’s really here to edit, not for a tour.
Perhaps because it was the place he had only imagined, Director Kwon Seongmin looked deeply moved. Jeong Taewoo then asked him,
“Director, are you going to get started right away?”
Pushing his glasses up, Director Kwon Seongmin nodded with a determined expression.
“Yes. I’ll start right away.”
A few days after editing on Gyeollo truly got underway, around the 15th, rumors about Gyeollo began spreading through Leon Entertainment in a fairly quiet, matter-of-fact way.
“That short film wrapped filming.”
“Short film?”
“You know, the one Yoon Dayeon shot.”
“Oh, that? That thing was actually getting made??”
It looked like everyone had heard about it once before and then forgotten, only to remember again now.
“It is kind of strange, though. Yoon Dayeon actually shot a short film.”
“What, Chief Manager Kim Daeyong probably begged behind the scenes.”
“So where’s that short film headed anyway?”
“Beats me. Seoul Short Film Festival? Or Mise-en-scene?”
“Nah, that’s a bit much. They’ll probably just submit it to some niche indie festival or something.”
“Man, is Yoon Dayeon really at the end of the line now?”
“Team 4 too.”
“That Kang Jaeha guy who got moved to Team 4 recently? How unlucky can he be?”
“What, they sent him there from the start because they wanted to cut him loose, didn’t they?”
Whether they talked or not, Kang Jaeha was calm. No, he was smiling.
His third salary, and pension payment, had come in. Kang Jaeha moved at once to buy land. That was another good thing about Team 4.
Because no one pays attention, nobody bothers me.
If he wasn’t at his desk, they’d probably just assume he was out on business. Kang Jaeha had secured land in Yongin’s Baekam-myeon area about a week later.
2.5 billion, 5,000 pyeong.
At 500,000 won per pyeong, with MEG’s operating expenses and acquisition tax taken out, he put in 2.5 billion won. That bought him 5,000 pyeong. Now all he had to do was wait for the land price to skyrocket. 2.5 billion had turned into dirt in an instant, but Kang Jaeha wasn’t nervous at all.
“Investing with advance knowledge? No matter how many times I do it, the dopamine never stops.”
There were still other taxes and fees left, but those were next year’s problems. For now, Jaeha was focused on making money grow.
Meanwhile, inside a luxury sedan speeding down the road, a familiar figure was receiving a report. It was Leon Entertainment’s CEO, Han Taeseong. As usual, he had the presence of a magazine model, and his chief secretary gave him a serious report.
“All three short films from the New Business Team have entered post-production.”
The quiet Han Taeseong spoke.
“Put a little pressure on the Busan International Film Festival committee. Not too much. They’ll take care of a short film if it’s worth paying attention to.”
The implication was that even if winning an award was uncertain, selection as an invited entry was within reach. The chief secretary nodded at once.
“Yes, sir. But, CEO, are you planning to keep Director Kim Cheoljung on ice? He’s been strangely quiet lately, but since he already has his habits, there’s a good chance he’ll start building his funding channels again.”
Han Taeseong smiled faintly.
“Leave him there, for now. More importantly, how’s the Gyeollo side looking?”
“We’ve confirmed that editing has already begun. It’s been a little over a week.”
“Do we know yet where it’s headed after editing?”
“No. It seems the Gyeollo side hasn’t made a final decision yet.”
“I see.”
After a low hum, Han Taeseong brought up Kang Jaeha.
“What about Kang Jaeha?”
“Other than Yoon Dayeon and An Jihee, there hasn’t been any notable movement.”
“I thought he’d be reaching out in every direction besides them. Maybe he’s catching his breath, or maybe he’s looking for the next target.”
Interested now, Han Taeseong asked,
“What about the invitation from the Busan International Film Festival?”
Han Taeseong’s answer came fast.
“Tell them we’ll go.”
Late morning on April 24.
Director Kwon Seongmin, holed up in the editing room, was sleeping there almost as much as he was working. If Jeong Taewoo wasn’t keeping an eye on him, he wouldn’t even get up to stretch.
We’re almost there. I can see the finish line.
Gyeollo had already been in editing for over two weeks, and there were fewer than five days left until it was done. That was just Kwon Seongmin’s own estimate, of course, but judging by the editing flow, it was almost certain.
As Kwon Seongmin sat there in a trance, Jeong Taewoo of Moonbug Film carefully asked,
“Director, when do you think we’ll be able to submit to the Busan International Film Festival?”
His eyes still fixed on multiple monitors, Director Kwon Seongmin replied softly,
“Once editing wraps in a few days, we should do a final check for about two days and submit right away. I think it’ll be faster than expected. We can definitely get it in before May 1.”
For reference, submissions for the short film category related to the Busan International Film Festival had already begun. Plenty of shorts that had been lying in wait were probably being thrown into the ring now. Jeong Taewoo, handing him coffee, murmured,
“Understood. Then I’ll prepare the submission form in advance.”
Around this time, Oh Jongman’s day, after finally deciding on his direction, was surprisingly ordinary. He had chosen to abandon acting and walk the path of a writer, but even now he was still doing loading and unloading work for a delivery company.
Well, changing direction didn’t turn your life upside down all at once.
Still, Oh Jongman’s mind was full of one thing.
Hmm. This idea’s pretty good.
It was packed with ideas for a new one-act drama script. The synopsis had already begun, and right now he was shaping the characters and laying out the structure. Whenever he got a chance to rest between shifts, he was busy jotting down whatever came to mind on his phone.
That was when it happened.
Huh? A call.
While he was busy making notes, his phone buzzed with a long vibration. It was a call from an unknown number. Wiping sweat from his head, Oh Jongman pressed the phone to his ear.
“Yes, hello?”
A man’s voice came through the phone.
“Writer Oh Jongman?”
“...Yes?”
Unaccustomed to being addressed as “writer,” Oh Jongman was flustered.
“Ah, yes, I am Oh Jongman, that’s right.”
“Hello, I’m calling because I saw the short script you wrote. I’d like to meet with you. Would that be all right?”
“M-me??”
“Yes. I’d like to talk about a contract.”
At that instant, Kang Jaeha flashed through Oh Jongman’s mind, and his eyes widened.
A contract?! Th-this is real??!!
A few hours later, in the afternoon.
The location was one of the halls in a five-star hotel. The vast space was crowded with people in suits and dresses. Even a rough count made it look like well over a hundred. A piano melody drifted through the room, expensive-looking food was laid out here and there, and hotel staff moved briskly through the crowd.
At a glance, it looked like some kind of party or formal event.
Men and women in suits and dresses stood in small groups, each holding a champagne glass in one hand and talking among themselves. Those clusters were scattered all over the hall.
What was interesting was this.
She had just entered the party, but her face was oddly familiar.
...
Silently scanning the entire hall with wide eyes, she was Ha Yeonji, who had recently been taken on as one of Kang Jaeha’s subordinates. Unlike her usual casual clothes, she was in a suit now, her brown hair let down. She looked like she had made a point of dressing up.
Lifting a champagne glass from a nearby table, she murmured to herself.
At a glance, this looks like a normal party. No, that’s the cover. In reality, it’s more like a meeting of a cult.
Ha Yeonji wasn’t here just to drink champagne at a party. She was conducting a covert investigation into a cult she had been watching for a long time. She had come because intelligence said that the cult she’d been keeping an eye on was hosting a party. Of course, she wasn’t diving too deep yet; for now, she was just quietly taking in the internal details.
She wasn’t ripping open the cult all at once.
That was because it was a cult spread across multiple industries. Naturally, the entertainment industry was one of them. Ha Yeonji took a sip of champagne and rolled her eyes, studying the hundred or so people in the hall.
They could all be cult members, or maybe only half of them are. They might even be in the middle of recruitment.
The cult she was investigating was called Saebit Jinrihoe. According to her research, the number of believers within it was in the hundreds of thousands. And that was only an estimate.
If you add up all the little ones, there are probably more.
There was also information that many of those believers included well-known figures from various industries. In fact, there were plenty of celebrities mixed into this hall, from entertainers to heads of production companies. Of course, nothing was confirmed yet. Everyone knew the name Saebit Jinrihoe, but there was almost no hard information about it.
Still, its existence was certain.
By every calculation, Saebit Jinrihoe has been around for decades.
Ha Yeonji ran a simulation in her head. A cult of that size would naturally have its members connected to one another and quietly exert influence across all walks of life. They could hide behind a screen and carry out illegal acts and crimes. If even a fragment of that iceberg were blown open to the public, it would be a guaranteed scoop.
But there was no point in just throwing a few jabs at it.
More than anything, Saebit Jinrihoe would be airtight. Otherwise, how could it have grown this large over the years?
Who was at the top? Who was running Saebit Jinrihoe? What was its goal? Who were the executives?
With question marks piling up in her mind, Ha Yeonji fiddled with the phone in her pocket. She was dying to take a picture, but she held back. She had already taken a few shots before entering the hall, and inside, it seemed to be nothing more than a normal party.
Her head full of Saebit Jinrihoe, she took careful steps forward.
She drifted toward a cluster of two, three, and more people gathered together. Where should she fit in? Since it was a party, there was a good chance there were other reporters here besides her, and there would definitely be reporters who belonged to Saebit Jinrihoe as well.
So.
I can’t stick out too much. I need to blend in naturally.
Ha Yeonji kept any eye-catching behavior to a minimum. Infiltration and reconnaissance were her specialty. Back in the other world, she’d spent more than ten years as a scout.
Then it happened.
“Huh?”
Ha Yeonji, who had been moving along calmly as though everyone here were part of Saebit Jinrihoe, suddenly froze. Ahead of her, among the group that seemed to have the most people gathered around it, she spotted someone who stood out immediately.
That person is... Han Taeseong?
It was Leon’s Han Taeseong.