Choosing an Agency

'I've been getting a lot of these calls lately.'

Park Chul-woo, the CEO of Wings Company, had deflected yet another roundabout phone call probing for information about Yoon Jay. The repertoire never changed — word was everyone at that firm came from special forces, so which unit did Yoon Jay serve in? Where did he go to school? Now that the old photos of him working as Emma Stewart's bodyguard had surfaced, was his nationality Korean or American?

'How long has that kid even been working for us?'

Less than half a year. In that time, Yoon Jay had become something close to a half-celebrity, and requests flooding into Wings Company had exploded because of it. Hard to believe it had all happened in under a year.

Yoon Jay had first become known online purely for his face, but it turned out he was far more than just striking looks.

These were hand-picked men, the kind who could hold their own in any special forces unit, and yet not one of them could land a finger on Yoon Jay. In all the time he'd been there, no one had ever beaten him. Not once.

And to top it off, his talents were suspiciously numerous.

"A little" was modesty — the man was genuinely top-tier. Later, when they ran the translation past a professional, the translator asked who'd done it and whether he was a native speaker.

'He's definitely not just some ex-Navy SEAL, is he?'

Everyone wondered about Yoon Jay's true identity. Jung Seung-woo kept his lips sealed, swearing he'd never talk unless his hyung said so himself, and Yoon Jay rarely spoke about his own life anyway — at most, he might mention his younger half-brothers.

Work together long enough and personal topics inevitably come up, and with a crew of ex-military men, the conversation always drifted back to army days.

But Yoon Jay only ever listened. What he had actually done, he never said — as if there were some private reason it had to stay buried.

Now that mysterious new hire had suddenly asked for a private meeting, and the reason behind it could only be one thing.

"Sir."

"Ah, right. You can drop that now, remember?"

It was the same easy answer as that day he'd asked whether Yoon Jay wanted to grab coffee from the place down the street. Yoon Jay, whose eyes had gone wide with surprise back then, calmly recovered his composure now and gave a small nod.

"Yes."

"Knew it'd come to this. You've done a lot for our company's reputation. I'm grateful."

'A lot' hardly covers it — it exploded. Yoon Jay smiled and shook the hand Park Chul-woo offered.

"And thank you for being so accommodating with me."

He'd genuinely miss them — Park Chul-woo, and all the good-hearted men on the team. They'd let him take leave on a moment's notice, and now they were letting him go like this without asking a single question.

'Reminds me of the firehouse, actually.'

The same feeling hung in the air there. He'd quit that job in a rush, too — maybe he should reach out to Oliver sometime.

Park Chul-woo threw open the office door and made the announcement to everyone.

"Boys! Today's Yoon Jay's last day, so come say your goodbyes."

The bodyguard colleagues who'd been working out and drilling martial arts in the training room swarmed around him.

"...Don't tell me it's because we kept feeding you spicy food?"

"I looked it up online, and apparently that qualifies as workplace harassment."

"H-h-have mercy, sir..."

Sure, they'd made him eat spicy food a few times, but hardly enough to call it bullying. Yoon Jay chuckled and played along with Choi Tae-yang's bit. The bodyguards let out a chorus of cheers as they crowded in around him.

"So he's making his debut after all."

"Good for you. Don't forget us."

"Hyung, I told you this would happen!"

Despite the abruptness of the resignation, nobody looked especially surprised. The man was already famous anyway, so leveraging that fame into a debut seemed like the obvious move.

They thumped him on the shoulders and back with encouragement. All of them figured he wouldn't wash out in the industry — the man had single-handedly boosted an entire company's business volume, after all. If he could do that as a civilian, he'd do fine over there too.

"When you get big, hire us."

"Yeah, and I'll give my old coworkers a discount."

Yoon Jay beamed and bowed his head.

"Thank you, all of you, for everything."

Despite being a re-release, The Child was pulling in excellent numbers.

Cho Youkyeong, who practically had the market in a headlock, had pushed it with real intent, and the name value of Director Lee Young-chang — fresh off the Best Director win at last year's Academy Awards — did the rest.

Naturally, a flood of reviews of The Child followed.

Interest in Yoon Jae-hee was climbing again as well. It had been overshadowed by The Child's award sweep, but a new fact had also come to light — he'd played the childhood role of the lead in a drama that had topped a 50% viewership rating.

Yoon Do-jun's scrolling finger came to a stop. A moment later, he clicked on a post.

It was a post chronicling Yoon Jae-hee's story from beginning to end.

There had been whispers that Yoon Jae-hee's performance in The Child was too real — that he might actually have cerebral palsy — but the DVD bonus footage showing him roaming the set put the rumors to rest, and the praise poured out by the film's cast and crew in later articles and interviews only confirmed what an extraordinary talent he'd been.

He'd won awards at two of Korea's three major film festivals for The Child, and after sweeping various international and domestic festivals, the post reexamined just how remarkable Yoon Jae-hee had been in his day.

He had all the makings of a great actor if he'd only grown up — so why did he disappear? Because of people's excessive attention.

Everything after that point was the poster's speculation.

It was an analysis of why Yoon Jae-hee had vanished so abruptly, when he'd shown a clear will to keep working, making brief appearances in child roles on TV dramas after The Child.

The theories ran the gamut — excessive public attention had given him a fear of cameras, he'd been ostracized at school, relatives had extorted his earnings.

These analyses had all but hardened into accepted fact.

After Yoon Jae-hee's disappearance, the film industry had gone so far as to draft new guidelines for child actors, and even political circles had argued for stronger protections for young people who entered working life early.

'He's probably not coming back, huh.'

Yoon Do-jun, who knew none of the details of Yoon Jay's actual situation, glumly closed the browser window.

Truthfully, he'd wanted to ask his older brother directly rather than learn about it through posts like this, but his half-brother rarely talked about himself. It was as if he were wrapped in an aura of mystique.

'I mean, that's kind of cool in its own way... but still.'

The quiet gravitas was genuinely impressive — Yoon Do-jun had come to see him as the kind of man he wanted to become. But he couldn't help feeling a little wistful. I really like our hyung, you know? He even wanted to brag about him to people.

"I'm going to try acting again."

That was why Yoon Jay's declaration made him so happy. Yoon Do-jun shot to his feet and shouted.

"Seriously? Whoa!"

"Hey, Yoon Do-jun. What did I tell you? He said he'd do it. Pay up."

"You two — did you seriously bet on this behind my back?"

Park Hyun-ah smacked both twins on the thigh, but Yoon Jay burst out laughing.

'Cute.'

It was amusing, how delighted they were over something that wasn't even their business. Well, since it had come to this, maybe he should lay the groundwork a little for them.

"Actually, I don't know much about the industry. Would you mind filling me in?"

"Oh, absolutely! Where do we even start?"

"Shouldn't we figure out oppa's agency first?"

The twins excitedly chattered about everything they'd picked up here and there, and whenever they got a fact wrong, Park Hyun-ah corrected them — she'd heard plenty through her work as a drama screenwriter, and through Yoon Su-heon as well.

"Do-jun's right. In the content market like this, capital comes first."

"Huh. I see."

"Back when I was a rookie, I saw people shoehorn product placements into scripts by any means necessary..."

Park Hyun-ah let out a long sigh, then collected herself.

"Hmm, and also..."

Since the production company managed the overall on-set environment, even a supporting-role audition could fall through if the company decided an actor wasn't to their liking after a passing grade — castings got canceled that way more often than people realized.

Park Hyun-ah told the story of an unknown actor who learned he'd been replaced through a news article, then shared anecdotes about other productions' mishaps.

'Back then I did it all because the praise felt good...'

To Yoon Jay, everything sounded fascinating. In his Yoon Jae-hee days, his mother had trailed him to every set, and before that his father had stepped in to select his roles, insisting that even a child actor had to manage his filmography carefully.

"So it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠helps to pick an agency that's well-connected with production and investment companies — or if the actor himself can ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠draw in investors. That way you can even get into the projects you actually want."

'That part should be doable.' After all, he had Cho Youkyeong — the endgame boss herself — behind him.

"You haven't told Director Lee yet, have you?"

"I figured if I did, he'd drag me straight onto a film set. It's been a long time since I acted — I need to show him what I can still do first."

"...You might be the only person alive who worries about that."

The twins nodded along at Park Hyun-ah's remark. A master director asking him to make a film together first...

"Anyway, we're getting off track. The agency contract comes first."

"Oppa, you still have those business cards, right?"

Yoon Jay emptied the business cards he'd collected over the years onto the table. The fact that he hadn't thrown them away — that he'd kept them all this time — said everything about the lingering attachment he still held toward acting.

There were fewer than fifty agencies in Korea with genuinely usable actors on their rosters, and the stack of cards Yoon Jay had received was impressively thick.

"Whoa... okay, should we start by tossing out the obviously terrible ones?"

"I was worried I'd have nowhere to go, and now that there are this many, I'm even more conflicted."

They sorted through them, moving the names they'd at least heard of to the right, the borderline cases to the middle, and searching up the unfamiliar ones one by one online.

"Why is that one out?"

"The CEO's face reads badly."

Kim Joo-hwan's company went straight into the trash pile.

"Now this part, this is tricky."

"Hmmmm..."

When the sorting was done, only the heavyweights remained.

"Jay, what do you actually want? Do you want to build a strong filmography? Or do you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠want to get famous by any means necessary?"

"I'd like as many chances as possible to stand in front of a camera soon."

He simply wanted to act. Right now, on a set. Which meant finding the best possible environment.

He hadn't planned it, but he'd already built up a modest pre-debut buzz for himself. And on top of that, he had Cho Youkyeong and Lee Young-chang standing behind him like pillars.

When opportunity walked up to you on its own, choosing instead to claw your way up from the bottom was, to some people, nothing short of a deception — of themselves. You had to use every card you were dealt.

"Oh, wait a second. Hand me that card, will you?"

"This one?"

It was the only personal card in the pile — not a company card — which was why it had ended up in the middle, and only now did it catch his eye.

Park Hyun-ah turned the name on the card over in her mind, and her eyes went wide.

"You know this person?"

"I do. He knew your father, too."

"I don't remember seeing him at the funeral..."

"He was probably overseas on business. Where did you meet him?"

Jay remembered how differently Cho Youkyeong had reacted when she'd spotted him. She'd seemed sharper, more businesslike than the others ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠around her — that was his impression, at least.

"I was working her security detail."

"That's not an easy gig to land..."

"Is she someone famous?"

The way Park Hyun-ah's gaze kept drifting back to the card suggested this was no ordinary connection. Yoon Jay picked up his phone.

"Should I give her a call?"