Jackpot
Jackpot.
Applicant number twelve walked into the audition room, and the waiting applicants lifted their heads at the mellow piano music drifting out.
“Piano?”
“Must be a classical major.”
The audition room wasn't a proper recording studio, so the soundproofing wasn't great. You could get a rough idea of what the applicant inside was doing.
According to the synopsis of Intermission, the protagonists were band singers, so most applicants had performed band songs. Classical was unusual, and the other applicants' attention converged on it.
“Is that—drums?”
Then came the drums, the guitar, and finally the bass, one after another. The applicants murmured among themselves. In all their years of waiting for their own turns, they had never seen anyone play that many instruments so skillfully.
“Damn, what the hell?”
“Who is that guy?”
The commotion died the moment the audition room door opened. The completely wrapped-up applicant, face hidden behind an unidentifiable disguise, felt every eye on him and simply gave a polite bow.
“How'd it go?”
“Pretty well, I think.”
Yeah, that's what it looked like. Even with most of him covered, Kang Hajun stared at Yoon Jay in fascination—the aura of a celebrity leaked through no matter what.
The more you know, the more you hear, as the saying goes. Kang Hajun could tell that Yoon Jay's playing was far beyond a rank beginner's. Add in the excited voices of the people who were presumably the judges, and Yoon Jay was almost certain to pass.
‘That's fine, though.’
I just have to aim for the one spot that's left. Kang Hajun took a deep breath.
“Next, applicant number thirteen.”
“Oh—yes!”
“You've got this.”
Yoon Jay offered a word of encouragement to the nervous Kang Hajun and stepped out of the audition room, where Han Jin-woo was already waiting. Once in the car, he peeled off the suffocating mask and sunglasses.
“Hyung, how'd the audition go?”
“Went fine. I guess?”
“I guess?”
Even with his full confidence in his hyung, Han Jin-woo couldn't help feeling a little anxious about such an unfamiliar genre—a music film, of all things.
At Yoon Jay's breezy answer, Han Jin-woo stole a glance at his face in the rearview mirror. This hyung isn't the type to do anything half-heartedly. So he probably did well.
“Can you drop me off here?”
“Got somewhere to be? Call me before you head home, hyung.”
“No, no—just get off work. Get home safe.”
“Will do.”
Han Jin-woo's eyes swept over the restaurant Yoon Jay was entering. Wait, I know this place. It was so popular that it wasn't even taking reservations for the foreseeable future. And yet, on a weekend, the parking lot was empty.
Did he rent out the whole restaurant? As Han Jin-woo looked around, his gaze happened to land on a car pulling up near the entrance.
‘Director Lee Young-chang…?’
Lee Young-chang was the kind of legendary director anyone would recognize, industry insider or not. When the man walked in through the same door Yoon Jay had just entered, Han Jin-woo narrowed his eyes.
‘My hyung knows this director?’
No way. They'd never even crossed paths at an awards ceremony, as far as he knew. Or was it a connection through the CEO? Puzzled but resigned, he turned the wheel and pulled out of the lot.
“Look at this poor thing.”
The moment Lee Young-chang saw Yoon Jay, he launched into a scolding. Probably about the stripper rumors swirling around him. Yoon Jay read the worry that never seemed to leave the director's face.
“Are you holding up all right?”
“I'm really fine.”
No matter how much Lee Young-chang regarded Yoon Jay as his equal—as a true actor—the worry was still the worry.
But Yoon Jay looked genuinely untroubled, and that let Lee Young-chang breathe a little easier.
“So. What have you been up to lately? I haven't heard anything about you settling on your next project.”
“I went to an audition.”
“An audition?”
Lee Young-chang and Cho Youkyeong stared at him in astonishment.
“You went to an audition? While I'm right here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Which studio's film? I'll make a call right now—”
“That's exactly why I didn't tell you.”
Yoon Jay let out a small laugh at Cho Youkyeong's theatrics.
At the sight of him like that, the two of them exhaled in relief. He was so much softer than when they'd first met. Even questions about his private life—ones he'd once answered only if pressed—he would now sometimes bring up on his own.
“If the results are good, I'll let you know.”
“They'll be good. It's you we're talking about.”
The boundless trust radiating from the two of them warmed Yoon Jay's heart.
“By the way… I heard from a senior of mine. Something happened on your set?”
“You two have no secrets, do you?”
The conversation turned to the capture of Kwon Min-jae's stalker. The moment they heard Yoon Jay's plausible reconstruction of events, both of them marveled.
“You could have a second career as a detective.”
“It's just random trivia, really.”
“Why did you help Min-jae? I understand helping a friend, but surely you know that's not the kind of thing you do casually.”
Even a ten-minute delay on that set meant real financial loss. Yoon Jay knew that as well as anyone.
“I'm not sure myself. Maybe it's some leftover sense of kinship from when we brushed past each other as kids.”
“It's because you're kind.”
“Me?”
That was the most absurd thing he'd heard all day. Yoon Jay shook his head with a self-deprecating smile.
Watching Yoon Jay rate himself so low, Cho Youkyeong sighed. Thanks to him, the shoot had ended without incident. An attempted arson—even now, the thought of it gave her chills.
“Because of you, filming wrapped safely. As for that stalker and that Park Wonho person or whoever—I'll personally run them into the ground.”
“You really don't have to go out of your way.”
“It's for you, yes. But it's for our film, too.”
Having secured Yoon Jay's power of attorney, Cho Youkyeong had retained all three of the country's top law firms and gone on the offensive herself.
Park Wonho, the origin point of the first rumor, had allegedly panicked, uploaded a follow-up video, gotten down on his knees, and begged forgiveness—but that was no longer her concern. And anyone who'd been swept up in the frenzy and spewed vicious words was fair game for a lawsuit too.
Even after wading through every conceivable insult, Yoon Jay himself had come out largely unscathed. But he welcomed the suits. After all, had those people only cursed at him? They might have cursed at his little brothers, too.
“Now then—”
Cho Youkyeong flashed a sly grin and pointed at the bar built into the wall beside them.
“Let's call your gratitude for me even if you mix me a drink over there.”
“Oh—am I actually allowed behind there?”
“Why else do you think I rented the place? I have full permission to use it.”
The moment Yoon Jay stepped behind the bar, Lee Young-chang and Cho Youkyeong settled onto the stools with expectations written all over their faces.
“I'll have—”
“I'll just take care of it, if you'll trust me.”
“I'm a demanding customer, you know?”
“We've only shared a handful of meals, Auntie.”
She's my precious investment-and-distribution partner—a little charming effort like this is the least I owe her. Yoon Jay roughly gauged her palate from the foods and drinks Cho Youkyeong usually favored, and the side dishes she always reached for.
“Ohhh…”
“He's good, isn't he?”
Yoon Jay moved through the liquor selection without a moment's hesitation, and for ingredients he was less familiar with, he dabbed a little on the back of his hand to taste as he built the cocktail.
“There you go. And yours will be just a moment, Director.”
“Fine. I'll look forward to it.”
“Feel free to keep talking while I work.”
When Cho Youkyeong tasted the cocktail he'd made, her eyes went wide and she stared at Yoon Jay. It was as good as his skill was polished.
Lee Young-chang stole a glance at his junior, who was drinking without a word. If she's forgotten to talk while drinking, it must be good…
“Did you learn this properly somewhere? Like after your service?”
“Yes. I told you—I lived a nomad's life for a while.”
“So what else did you do?”
“Anything I could earn with my own two hands. I was a mechanic for a time. Did carpentry too—there's a townhouse in Wisconsin I built myself.”
“Really?”
Yoon Jay had long been aware of the look in Lee Young-chang's eyes—the way he slyly, persistently probed at his past.
‘What is he hoping to learn from me…?’
Still, if it was the Lee Young-chang he knew, there'd be no bad intent behind it. Yoon Jay handed over the cocktail he'd mixed specifically for the director.
“…This really is excellent.”
“Right? Jay, you must have seen some strange customers tending bar.”
“So many. If you want to hear all the stories, one evening won't be enough.”
“What? Hahaha!”
Around then, Yoon Jay's phone, sitting on the table, briefly lit up.
***
After the first round of auditions ended, Choi Sujin and Shin Ji-won summoned a staffer who had been waiting behind the curtain.
“Applicant number twelve? He was something else. Hat, mask, sunglasses—the guy was fully armored.”
“His entire face was covered?”
“Every last bit.”
“And no one has any guess who it might be? With skills like that, you'd think he'd be someone from a famous indie band or something along those lines…”
“Hmm…”
There was one suspect that came to mind—but not a famous indie musician. An actor who had swept last year and this year. The staffer deliberated for a moment, then shook his head. No harm in keeping it to himself, just in case.
Choi Sujin let out a mournful wail.
“He has to be handsome, right? He has to be handsome…”
“Well, he seemed like it. Good proportions, at the very least.”
“See? Didn't I say so?”
Shin Ji-won regarded his friend, whose happy circuits were running at full tilt, with pure incredulity.
“Aren't you being a little too mercenary?”
“So what? If this movie's going to sell, we have to bank on visuals. You want it to do well too, don't you?”
Shin Ji-won silently nodded. His family had produced world-class performers and conductors, but in the film world he was a nobody, a rookie director with nothing to his name.
This was the production company backing his first film despite him having nothing to offer. This movie would have the commercial flavor they wanted folded into it. If the two young leads were good-looking, that was a plus, never a minus.
“At that level of skill… maybe it's better for your mental health not to expect much in the face department.”
“You mean, like, the ‘looks like he'd sing well' face? Ha—no, that won't do…”
“By the way, when applicant number twelve chose his instruments, did you notice any hesitation at all?”
From his silhouette you could vaguely tell what he was doing, but that was nothing like seeing it from inside the room. At the director's question, the staffer scratched his head.
“About that—it honestly felt absurd just watching him. It was like he'd just grab whatever instrument happened to be nearby.”
“Seriously?”
“He can play all of them?”
Behind the curtain there had been the drums, bass, and guitar for the band parts, but classical instruments as well. There had even been a few traditional Korean instruments—a daegeum flute, a pirie, and more.
“And at the very end, he reached for the violin right next to him, so I had to cut him off because of time.”
The violin, of all things… Shin Ji-won's expression turned peculiar. He frowned at the look on Choi Sujin's face, which was about to bore a hole through him.
“What?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Choi Sujin said, rubbing her hands together.
“I can't wait. Round two.”
Time passed, and the day of the second audition arrived. Six candidates had been winnowed out of the first round, and from these, two would be chosen.
“Please be handsome. No—even just clean skin would be fine, I'll take it—”
“What are you doing?”
“Praying. You do it too. Pray that number twelve is a jackpot.”
Choi Sujin searched her heart for Jesus, Buddha, Shiva, Allah, and any other deities on the roster.
“Get a grip. We have the next applicant to see.”
“Oh. Right.”
Shin Ji-won sighed. It wasn't that he couldn't understand her antics. The first four applicants had been decent enough in their own way, but none of them had made him think, That's the one! Two remained. He'd have to pin his hopes on the ones who'd caught his eye earlier.
Before long, the fifth applicant, Kang Hajun, sat down before them, and Shin Ji-won's eyes sharpened.
‘Number thirteen… he was quite good in the first round.’
He fit the profile of a former idol hopeful, and his face was clean-featured, handsome. Shin Ji-won spoke up.
“What made you decide to sing during the first audition?”
“Honestly, part of it was that my funds had run dry… but I also think of my voice as an instrument in its own right.”
Kang Hajun had played guitar, bass, and drums. Though it was a beginner's touch, the fundamentals were rock-solid.
Give him some training before shooting begins and he'll hold his own. What's more, the sheer nerve of launching into song out of nowhere—scat singing on top of it—had raised the director's estimation considerably.
“This audition is over. Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you!”
And that answer—his voice as one more instrument—had real resonance to it. Having finished their questions and sent Kang Hajun on his way, the two whispered to each other.
“Good face. And he sang decently last time—how was the playing?”
“A little polish and it'll hold up just fine.”
“Really? Then let's flag number thirteen, and that number twenty-three from earlier—”
Mid-exchange, both of them froze, staring at the door. The final slot. At last, number twelve. Just who could the mystery applicant be, the one who'd played every instrument at a professional level?
“Come on in!”
Click. The door opened, and the tall, striking man who walked in was someone they both knew.
He had swept last year and the first half of this year, his name raised—whether in praise or in scandal—across every media outlet there was. Even now, flick on the TV and you'd catch his commercials from time to time.
“Gasp…”
Why is he here? Choi Sujin and Shin Ji-won's eyes went wide.
“Hello. I'm applicant number twelve, Yoon Jay.”
Choi Sujin, both hands clamped over her mouth, swallowed hard. Was my prayer to all those gods actually answered?
‘A j-jackpot. It's a jackpot.’