Ten Days of Siege and a Generous Share
Even when I attended the premiere of the immortal Yi Sun-sin after holding out for just ten days, or when I appeared on Can You Believe It? and Find the Little Geniuses!, it hadn't blown up like this.
But right now, I could really feel the characteristics of Korea... no, of people in general. This was the first time the whole country was paying attention to me like this.
"Sora... Mom's scared to even go outside..."
I nodded. "Me too, Mom..."
Mom and I poked our heads out the window. Several black vans were lined up, swarmed by reporters clutching cameras and mics, like a flock of birds waiting for prey. They were desperate for an interview with me.
Mom and I cracked the window open a bit more to peer outside.
Click. Click-click.
Camera shutters sounded from somewhere. They were snapping shots of the apartment entrance. I could feel their dogged determination to get my interview.
I muttered softly, "Whoa... there are really so many..."
The reporters' eyes gleamed like predators stalking prey. Korea was a country especially vulnerable to national pride highs. Other countries were similar, but... Korea stood out a bit more. Because there weren't many nations as collectivist as Korea.
In Korea, individual achievements were often treated as national triumphs. To be honest, Korea was practically a semi-surveillance state. From birth, you got a serial number, and under the guise of a resident registration card, they took fingerprints from both hands and a photo. When moving, you had to report to a government office that you'd entered the new place, and your position and info were constantly tracked in the administrative system. Everyday life had all sorts of elements that made it look like a controlled state.
I'd understand it somewhat in a communist country, but in a democracy like Korea, few nations controlled their citizens so thoroughly. Yet Koreans lived with it as if it were natural.
That control wasn't all bad—it had upsides too. They knew everyone's personal info inside out, so the crime rate was rock bottom. It made sense. Commit a crime, and you were pretty much guaranteed to get caught. Three sides bordered by sea, so sneaking out of the country was impossible. Flee to North Korea? That was suicide.
Basically, the only ways out were passenger ships or planes, both with ironclad ID checks. Get slapped with an exit ban, and leaving Korea the normal way was for ghosts only.
Anyway, because of those Korean traits, winning the Cannes screenplay award was a massive national pride boost and huge news. That was why reporters were camped out in front of our house.
Dad had gotten mobbed by them that morning on his way to work, fielding questions for a few minutes. Luckily, since he wasn't directly tied to the movie, they let him go quick.
But the moment I stepped out, it'd be like chum in a fish tank. Minnows tearing into it.
"Eek..." I made a pouty face.
Being famous was great, but fame came with a laundry list of downsides. I knew sacrifices like this were needed to gain popularity and make money. And I trusted in our country's pot-lid grit—the hype would burn out fast.
"Sora, what do we do...!" Mom looked like she was about to cry.
I kept my face as calm as possible. "Just hang in there a little longer, Mom."
"Huh...? Hang in there?" Mom blinked.
"They'll all leave soon anyway." I shrugged.
"For reals...?" Mom's voice was half-sobbing.
"You've seen it plenty by now." I smiled.
It was the same with Can You Believe It? and Find the Little Geniuses! Public interest faded quick after a bit. I'd learned from multiple experiences that people's attention cooled off fast.
Celebrities stayed in the spotlight because they appeared on TV daily and hit events nonstop. But I was different—no regular gigs. And luckily, Grandpa Seongmin was pulling the aggro for me. The award went to him as the screenwriter, so the focus stayed there.
Grandpa Seongmin was still all over TV as the first Korean to snag a Cannes screenplay award!
I set down the remote and murmured quietly, "Grandpa, you gotta live a long life..."
Thanks to him, I could keep living peacefully.
After enduring that agonizing wait, time passed. Ten days later, the reporters camped in front of our house had vanished like they'd never been there. Dad could head to work smoothly, and Mom could shop without hassle.
There was a reason they'd cleared out, though. I'd done an interview on my way to school, answering most of their burning questions. And as I kept saying, Grandpa Seongmin was stealing my thunder.
Anyway, our family soon regained our peace.
I flopped onto the bed. "Finally, I can breathe~"
That very moment—
My phone chimed. I'd gotten my own cell phone right after returning to Korea—it was essential for business and errands. Living without one was impossible, especially after getting famous.
I grabbed the phone and turned on the screen. Seeing the name, I bolted upright.
"Huh?"
It was from Grandpa Seongmin. Short message: wanted to meet briefly.
He'd summoned me.
The meeting spot was Grandpa Seongmin's house. Going alone felt iffy, so I brought Mom. Thinking back, wandering solo before had been risky. Even if Korea had top-tier public safety, a kid traipsing around elementary school age wasn't ideal.
It made me wonder if we should move. Now I got why celebrities lived in fancy high-rises with tight security. Live in a rundown or working-class apartment, and fans or press showed up daily. And I barely appeared on TV—this much already. Imagine actual stars.
"Sora~ Do you know why Writer Park Seongmin called?" Mom said sleepily. She'd been napping till I shook her awake. Felt a bit bad, but she was my guardian, so she got up without complaint and insisted on tagging along when I said I was going.
"No idea, Mom. No clue why Grandpa Seongmin wants me. Maybe about the parasites?"
"You think? Let's go in first, Sora. We can ask him."
Mom and I headed to Grandpa Seongmin's. As a top screenwriter for hit movies, he lived in a nice place, naturally. Commissioning him for a film script cost eight figures, so it tracked. In the arts, the top 1% raked it in, while the rest scraped by. That's why everyone pushed studying—crack the top 20-30% in scores, and you had a shot at a decent life.
Ding-dong! The door opened at the bell. Grandpa Seongmin's wife appeared.
"Oh, Sora~ And Sora's mom...! Come on in~ Hubby's waiting."
She had a kind face. Mom and I bowed politely and stepped inside.
Grandpa Seongmin waited in his study. "Sora, come on in! Nice to see you too, ma'am."
"Hello~" I bowed and sat on the sofa. Mom settled lightly beside me. Grandpa took the seat across.
Then he spoke. "Sora. And Sora's mom."
"Yes."
"First off, thank you. Thanks to you, I hit ten million viewers for the first time in my life."
He bowed his head, then continued. "And I have good news. Parasite wasn't my creation—it was all yours. The staff knows too."
That was because Grandpa Seongmin blabbed everywhere. He'd paraded me around, declaring me the original author.
But his next words made my eyes widen. "So, I'm splitting the profits from Parasite with you, Sora."
It was a bombshell.