A Serious Problem

"Thank you for what you did back then."

"Oh, it's nothing. It's simply what any doctor is obliged to do."

Those who had gathered at the rebels' hideout were Kook Min-han, Kim Myung-woo, and Professor Im.

All of them had stood against the monster at the rally, and as a result, all of them had been marked by a government that had yet to relinquish its grip on power.

"The election has been postponed again. Ha, honestly... stalling like this isn't going to solve anything."

"They're probably just waiting for the vaccine."

"What did Dr. Bae have to say?"

They had come together to discuss what needed to be done next.

"Boss, you need to see this."

Just then, Yoo Hyun—who had rescued Jung Yu-na and returned—set down a small box.

"This is..."

The prototype vaccines and cures Chae Seol-hwan had developed, along with a hard drive containing everything.

The four of them looked at one another.

And then the scene changed.

In the film's opening act, Seoul's air—once thick and yellowed with haze—was now crystal clear, as if hinting at a hopeful future. The sky was blue, the air clean.

Construction equipment and workers bustled energetically through the ashen ruins. The snowplows no longer scraped the flesh of monsters off the streets.

The people who had once slept rough on the pavement now lived in reasonable comfort at temporary shelters.

Watching the city slowly recover, one could sense that a considerable stretch of time had passed.

Though countless lives had been lost, a memorial monument had been raised in Gwanghwamun Square—the place where people had ultimately joined forces to slay the monster—and the news was full of it.

Dr. Bae had released the recipe for the vaccine and the cure to the entire world in honor of his protégé. He attached exactly one condition: that the products be named after Chae Seol-hwan.

A woman laid down a bouquet of flowers before the memorial and looked up.

"Who actually goes all that way just to die, honestly..."

Professor Im gazed at the name Jin Young-do, carved at the very front of the heroes' monument—and at the names carved beside it.

The members of the expedition who had died at the Antarctic base five years ago were written there as well, her own husband among them.

And there, too, were the names of Chae Seol-hwan and Jung Yu-na.

Professor Im stood before the monument for a long while before turning away. The expressions of those who had removed their gas masks were bright. For the first time in ages, birds that no one had seen before wheeled through the sky above.

The long winter had passed at last, and spring had finally come.

The film ended, and the ending credits rolled to the sound of the main theme.

The actors and director, who had been watching from the back rows, slipped out of the theater behind them as applause began to erupt from every corner of the audience.

"Not bad, huh? Or am I the only one who enjoyed it?"

"I liked it too."

While the staff arranged a table and microphones in front of the screen, the journalists in the seats murmured among themselves.

The verdict from those who had watched the film was broadly the same.

A well-made commercial film.

As for things like mise-en-scène or artistic flourishes—no, it naturally wasn't exceptional in that regard. But every other element was superb.

The lavish CG from a domestic studio that could rival Hollywood stood out, along with directing that felt sharp and fluid rather than dated.

And the cast, every one of them a lead-quality performer when gathered together, had strong characterizations and impeccable balance.

"Is this the first time Im Ji-hwan has played a villain?"

"He was pretty good, actually."

Moon Chang-min as Kook Min-han was, of course, peerless. Im Ji-hwan, a member of the lineage of flower-boy actors, had taken on the rapacious Assemblyman Park Chul-moon in an attempt to transform his image.

Chae Seol-hwan, who by nature belonged firmly on the side of good, was surprisingly never stifling—his radiant conviction shone through—and Jung Yu-na was, in a word, a fully three-dimensional character.

"Yoon Jay's screen time isn't as big as I expected, is it?"

"You noticed that too?"

Heo Sung-ik as Kim Myung-woo, leader of the rebels, was short on scenes but devastatingly intense.

Where the brigadier general's performance showed a commander's poise—raising questions about her history with him, leading the charge against the monster that descended on Gwanghwamun alongside the people—Yoon Jay showed the face of a warrior.

From his very first scene, he seized the audience's attention with kinetic action, and carried it through a heartbreaking backstory all the way to the end.

"Great character, that one."

"When this releases, the reactions to Yoon Jay are going to be insane again."

He single-handedly brought the members of the Antarctic team—each of them bought by a different faction—to their knees with overwhelming force, and in the end, he united them.

And it was Jin Young-do who was the reason Jung Yu-na, initially on the villains' side, changed her heart and, after her vengeance was complete, was given the motive to take her own life.

"When you really think about it, it doesn't seem like all that much screen time. So why does it stick in my memory like this?"

"His character got lucky with the material. Not that his acting isn't good, of course..."

There was the political power struggle unfolding in Seoul, and strictly by screen time, Yoon Jay hadn't been given a particularly large share.

But every time Jin Young-do appeared, he delivered dazzling action or ran psychological warfare on the ragtag Antarctic team.

And because his role resonated all the way to the final frame, it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠somehow left the illusion that he'd been onscreen far more than he actually was.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the cast and director are entering."

At the moderator's announcement, the reporters raised their cameras. Soon the actors and the director came through the front doors. Camera flashes fired from every direction.

Wow, those three together make quite a picture.

Choi Wooju and Kwon Min-jae—the reigning top actors among male leads in their thirties—and Yoon Jay, the rising star of the moment.

With the three of them seated side by side, the cameras naturally tilted their way.

"Let's have a word of greeting from each of you, please."

"Hello, everyone. I'm Lee Han-lim, director of Permafrost."

The reception seemed far from bad, and Lee Han-lim broke into a broad grin. Moon Chang-min as Kook Min-han, followed by Im Ji-hwan, Go Gwang-il, Heo Sung-ik, Choo Young-mi, and Chun Se-hee, offered their greetings in quick succession.

"Hello, I'm Baek Da-eun, playing Jung Yu-na."

"I'm Choi Wooju, making a special appearance as Yoo Hyun. A pleasure to meet you all."

"I'm Kwon Min-jae, playing Chae Seol-hwan."

At last, Yoon Jay, seated at the very end, lifted the microphone.

"I'm Yoon Jay, playing Captain Jin Young-do. It's a pleasure."

Flashes suddenly erupted from all sides. Yoon Jay was the hottest name in the industry these days. Truthfully, there had never been a time when he wasn't.

Come to think of it, there was news about LIS this morning.

It surfaced belatedly; he'd been so absorbed in the film. The reporters strained to capture even one more photograph of him.

"Good afternoon, this is reporter Choi Young-soo of Channel T. I thought the film was truly excellent. I have a question for the director, please."

"Yes, go ahead."

"Watching the film, the conflict between the vested interests and the people is very clearly drawn. I'm curious whether you intended to embed a message of social critique."

Last year, when the corruption scandal among the privileged class had broken, The Swordsman—which dealt with a similar theme—had its release postponed, and Intermission had taken its slot.

The question was clearly aimed at that. But Director Lee Han-lim kept his poker face.

...I'm sorry, what? Social critique? Me?

It was pure coincidence.

When the elitist scandal had broken, Permafrost had already finished filming and was deep in post-production. The timing had simply lined up rather well.

"Well, I didn't set out with any such message in mind."

"Surely you were at least aware of last year's prosecutor scandal?"

"Hmm..."

Permafrost had begun with a single news report.

As global warming worsened, the glaciers of the Arctic and Antarctic would melt and sea levels would rise. It was after reading that melting glaciers might unleash ancient viruses locked in the ice, with consequences no one could predict, that the idea came to him.

Besides, zombie films had been ruling the box office at the time.

People transformed by an ancient virus, a post-apocalyptic setting, a hard-hitting disaster action film—the conflict between the privileged class and the rebels in the early draft had simply been a well-blended serving of familiar tropes.

It's just an unexpected windfall...

If The Swordsman had suffered from the political scandal, the distributor expected Permafrost to quietly reap the benefits instead.

"I'll leave that to the reporter's imagination."

Lee Han-lim raised the corner of his mouth with perfect composure. Soon the next questioner rose from their seat and gave a brief introduction.

"I have a question as well, Director. This is your first large-budget production, and the cast is made up of truly formidable actors. Did you feel any pressure? What mindset did you bring to the shoot?"

"It was genuinely exhausting."

At Lee Han-lim's blunt reply, laughter burst out around the hall. Im Ji-hwan was notorious for barging into the editing room uninvited, and Heo Sung-ik was famous for his fierce temper as well.

He went on at length about how hard it had been, yet how rewarding and how wonderful it was, his eyes drifting over the actors seated beside him. In Lee Han-lim's gaze, the figure at the far end—Yoon Jay—lingered the longest.

He ate it up so well I couldn't afford not to use it.

Yoon Jay had completely mastered Jin Young-do—so thoroughly that the edit points had been rewritten around him.

It looked as though sparks were about to fly from Im Ji-hwan's and Heo Sung-ik's eyes, but for the sake of the film's quality, Lee Han-lim figured it couldn't be helped.

The next questioner rose and took the microphone.

"Hello, I'm reporter Kang Chang-hoon. I'd like to direct my question to actor Yoon Jay."

"Yes."

Yoon Jay lifted the microphone. That reporter... something about him felt familiar.

"Intermission released first, of course, but judging by production dates, Permafrost was the first film shoot of your career, wasn't it, Mr. Yoon Jay?"

Strangely, the words first film seemed to carry extra weight. Yoon Jay answered with an even expression.

"Yes, that's correct."

"And how did it feel?"

It wasn't your first shoot, though, was it.

Kang Chang-hoon lobbed a few probing questions, and Yoon Jay offered only the plain answer that he had simply tried not to be a burden to his seniors and the director.

"Hmm, I see."

As he lowered the microphone, Yoon Jay ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠studied Kang Chang-hoon's face carefully. His tone was off, somehow.

Looking closely, the man's face was exactly the same as the person who had once tailed him. What was he trying to dig out of me?

Meanwhile, the next questioner stood and gave a short introduction.

"This is similar to the previous question—in the film's early acts, Captain Jin Young-do survives alone and suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder."

Yoon Jay, having already anticipated where this was headed, put on a wry expression.

"It was such a realistic performance that I couldn't help but wonder... was that scene based on personal experience? You may not know this, but there was news that surfaced before the press screening, wasn't there?"

The theater fell briefly silent. Yoon Jay held the microphone and kept his mouth shut for a moment. How was he supposed to answer this?

When he had filmed that scene...

I deliberately cracked the mask.

Yes—it was based on experience. A faint sigh threaded through Yoon Jay's reply.

"Yes, I did draw on it to some extent."

"Was choosing Permafrost as your film debut also thanks to your past career as a soldier?"

"No. The scenario was simply excellent. The chance to work alongside so many great seniors was a big part of it too."

"Still, your immersion was at least partly—"

"Excuse me—questions about the film, please. We'll be taking questions about other people."

The quick-witted moderator cut in before things could go further.

One by one, the reviews came rolling in after the press screening ended. By and large, they were all positive.

Lee Seo-won, CEO of Astra, couldn't take his eyes off the monitor—until a knock at the door made him look up.

"Sir."

"Oh, Director Kwak. What is it?"

Kwak Dohyun, whom the industry called a demon of a managing director, wore a face that was, unusually, tense with urgency.

"We have a serious problem."