The Worst Apology Money Can Buy
Alex looked thoroughly flustered. Not that it was any of my concern. "(…Okay, understood. Could you give me a moment?)"
Apparently realizing that I was absolutely not going to speak English even if it killed me, Alex picked up his phone. While Alex urgently called someone in, Noah silently glared at me. Glare all you want—honestly, I'd lost interest at this point. What workout should I do after this?
Maybe I'd extend my cardio time today. I was lost in these idle thoughts when, a few minutes later, a man entered the conference room. Startled by the frosty atmosphere, he introduced himself awkwardly.
"Hello. I was told an interpreter was needed…."
"Yes. Please, take a seat."
When I asked if he wanted something to drink, the man frantically waved his hands no.
"(Now, I can speak freely, right? What I want to say is—.)"
With an interpreter in place, Alex launched into his speech with considerably more confidence. He was sorry about the little 'incident' that had occurred during my conversation with Noah, his son was 'sincerely' regretful about the whole thing, and so on. In plain terms: let's pretend none of it happened.
"(We're honestly not racists, you know. You're aware of that, right? Your stylist was my protégé. I have tons of Asian protégés. There's even a Black one, if you can believe it.)"
He carried himself with such brazen confidence that it was hard to believe he was supposed to be in an apologetic position. The interpreter, who had apparently been briefed on nothing, belatedly rearranged his expression and began translating. He's good at this.
The man's interpretation skills were genuinely impressive. Interpretation hinges on faithfully conveying the speaker's intent. Grasp the meaning of the words quickly, then deliver them in the most effective way possible. In other words, an interpreter wasn't merely someone who converted speech word for word. Great use of expression, too. Smooth with his emphasis and pacing.
In this industry, it was such a critical ability that there was an actual term for it—performance. The man interpreted Alex's blunt words, softening them as much as possible. He'd even arranged his face into the polite demeanor befitting an apology. My eyes darted busily back and forth at this unexpected spectacle. I should ask if he has time after this.
I'd read a book about interpretation a few days ago, so I had plenty of questions. The thought of talking with this man put me in a slightly better mood. He's working this hard, and I feel bad for him.
Unfortunately for all his effort, I understood every word Alex was saying. I flashed the interpreter, who was kindly rephrasing everything, a smile.
"Thank you for interpreting."
Alex's message was simple. Judging by the fact that he'd come all this way, he wanted the recording deleted. His request that I consider the impact this would have on his business was so shameless it was almost astonishing. The worst apology I've ever heard in my life.
He actually came all this way to say that. I couldn't help but sigh at the sheer waste of airfare.
"Interpreter-nim. Could you please tell him that I have absolutely no intention of deleting the recording? And that seeing the expression his son is making right now has only made me want to keep it more."
Hearing the interpreter's translation, Alex immediately turned to look at Noah. He hastily restrained his son, who was glaring at me venomously, then cleared his throat with an embarrassed face.
"(You know what I'm trying to say. This situation puts me in a very difficult position too. What's done is done, so how about we wrap things up here? Naturally, I'll compensate you handsomely for your trouble.)"
Alex beamed at me. The moment I so much as nodded, I got the feeling he'd hand over a bag stuffed with cash. How bitter.
I hadn't expected a proper apology, but I hadn't imagined it would be this bad. To be fair, Noah's behavior had been less about racism and more about linguistic discrimination. Despite being a so-called 'nation of immigrants,' America harbors a deep aversion to any language that isn't English. And I already know why they feel that way.
Dig deep enough and you could trace it back to World War I. During that period, the US strictly banned the use of any language other than English. It was the same reason Koreans were forbidden from speaking their own language under Japanese colonial oppression. Perhaps traces of that legacy lingered still. But even without dragging World War I into it, there was a very simple explanation for why Alex and Noah recoiled from other languages.
Because it's speech they can't understand.
When English exists—the world's lingua franca, a language they themselves understand—why would anyone need another? Don't speak that gibberish, speak English! I can't understand you, and it's putting me in a bad mood for no reason!
It was astonishingly self-centered thinking. So what should I say to people like this? I tapped my fingers against the table, thinking. Would any conversation actually get through? No.
My head shook before I realized it. Language is a form of heritage. It's a symbol of a nation's identity, and a vessel that preserves its culture. Learning another country's language demonstrates not just learning ability, but a genuine capacity for communication. So refusing to learn another language—failing even to respect one—can be read as a shortfall in that very capacity. And attempting a dialogue with someone who can't communicate? A waste of time.
Right. Let's finish this quickly. I organized my thoughts cleanly and lifted my head.
"Interpreter-nim. Excuse me for a moment."
"Yes?"
Looking at the puzzled interpreter, I spoke.
"(I don't need compensation. The file won't be deleted anyway. But since you've come all this way, I'll make myself perfectly clear.)"
At the fluent English pouring from my mouth, the interpreter's eyes went round for an instant. I shot him a brief look of apology, then shifted my gaze to Alex.
"(As long as your son never gets tangled up with me again, the recording will never see the light of day. You can consider that satisfactory.)"
"(Wait—.)"
"(Stop wasting my time.)"
I cut him off with a bored expression. "(What you want is the complete erasure of the recording. I understand. You don't want to leave anything that could threaten your business, and you don't want to punish your son by acting against him yourself.)"
"(…….)"
"(But trying to kill two birds with one stone is just greed. Whatever you think of me is your business and none of my concern—but whether I delete the recording is mine.)"
I told him coldly that I hoped never to see him again, then rose from my seat. Ignoring Alex's rigidly frozen face, I addressed the interpreter.
"Do you happen to have some time after this?"
"Sorry?"
"There's something I'd like to ask you. Feel free to decline if you're busy."
I wore the most harmless smile I could manage, worried I might come off as suspicious. The man looked terribly flustered by it. What was with him? Is it awkward?
Well, fair enough—if a stranger asked me whether I had time, I'd find it a bit strange too. Fortunately, the interpreter nodded.
"Thank you. Then I'll see you in another conference room."
"Yes, yes…."
Making a mental note to apologize properly later, I opened the door. Just before stepping out of the conference room, my eyes met Noah Patterson's. "(…….)"
His glaring eyes brimmed with disgust and anger. I barely stopped myself from snorting. That's much better.
It was a considerable improvement over the look he'd given me at the party. Not the gaze one reserves for a worthless insect, but one reserved for filthy refuse. Thankfully, it was a look I knew all too well. Let's not cross paths again.
He seemed so ridiculous now that I almost felt embarrassed for ever having lost my composure over him.
[You fought with that Noah Patterson and the whole thing spread through Hollywood! I even heard Noah flew all the way to Korea to apologize to you? LOL. What did you say to him? I'm dying to know.]
"……How does this kid know all this?"
I clicked my tongue after reading one of the countless emails from Mia. Can people please, for the love of god, stay out of other people's business.
Why was everyone so invested in strangers' lives? It wasn't even productive. It genuinely baffled me. I shouldn't reply to this one.
I'd sent Mia my first email about a week after returning to Korea. A casual how've you been, sent without much thought—and her reply had come in under five minutes. Along with an angry emoticon, it was a scolding about why I'd taken so long to reach out. She said she'd been waiting to hear from me the whole time. I typed back, then why didn't you message me first—and deleted it at the last second. Girls can be a little… intimidating, after all.
Mia said everyone was curious about me. One of the party guests that night, she told me, had belatedly realized I was the H from Killing Horn and nearly fainted. Apparently they'd only failed to recognize me because their hair hadn't turned white. She added that her friends wanted to meet me too, and wrote that I should hang out with them all if I ever came to LA.
After reading the last email, a sigh escaped me before I knew it.
"Haah… a sitcom."
The thought of relaying this to Team Leader Woo made my stomach twist. I don't want to go overseas for a while.
I knew it was a good opportunity, and I knew CEO Jang wanted me to break into international markets. I didn't want to act high and mighty either, and whining about not wanting to work disgusted me even more. And yet…. I want to stay in Korea for at least a few months.
Thanks to steady lessons and review, my English was gradually improving. But naturally, it didn't feel as natural as Korean did. Even the lines I delivered in Lily's MV were only a handful of phrases.
That much, I could practice a few hundred times and speak like a local. But a sitcom was a different beast. Even a cameo would have far more lines than a music video. My skills still fell short of fully owning English dialogue and building a character on top of it. Let's talk to the CEO tomorrow first.
Settling my tangled feelings, I got ready to go see An-gae.
The next day, astonishingly, CEO Jang nodded without a moment's hesitation.
"Sure. Let's put the Hollywood push on hold. Talk to me when you feel ready."
"……Really?"
Can I actually? Even after the words had left my mouth, I couldn't believe the answer and asked again.
"You said it's what you want. Then I guess your next project should be a Korean one. Team Leader Woo, sort through the scripts and bring me some from serialized dramas."
"Understood."
"Manager An, keep looking after the serialization like you have been."
I stared at CEO Jang as he addressed Team Leader Woo and Jinbae. Feeling my gaze, CEO Jang made a puzzled face.
"…? What."
"You're really okay with me not going abroad? You wanted me working overseas."
And all those times you lectured me about how it would raise my profile.
At my words, CEO Jang laughed with a deflating, psshh sound.
"Did you forget I promised to do things your way? When are you going to start trusting me?"
"It's not that I don't trust you…."
"It wasn't an empty promise, so do what you want. You seem to do better the less I touch you, anyway."
CEO Jang was waving me out the door when he went, ah, and stopped short. Then his face suddenly turned sheepish.
"It's embarrassing to say this seconds after telling you to do whatever you want, but, hm… could this next role maybe be something easygoing?"
"Easygoing, you say?"
"Yeah. You know, something a little healing. Bright, not too grim. Everyone's tearing into me for making you do nothing but brutal stuff."
CEO Jang grumbled on, looking downright aggrieved.
"Pick something from a director with a hit or two under his belt—something bright and healing. Oh, skip anything by that writer who's celebrating a birthday this month. Something that'll do decently at the box office, and whatever appeals to you."
"……."
I searched for a response and simply nodded. That's exactly why I can't trust him. What do you mean, do whatever I want? Do scripts like that even exist?
But two days later, I found myself staring at one particular script and murmuring.
"……Here it is."
In a slightly sheepish voice.