Even Hell's Gatekeeper Becomes a Welsh Corgi

To him, she was a small, adorable Welsh Corgi.

"Director Cha, any idea why Jenny Kim suddenly started laughing like that?"

Jo Unseok, Team Leader of the 3rd Team, came over and asked.

Telling him straight away would be no fun.

"Who knows. Maybe the joy of catching a bit of wit the producer hid in the work?"

"What did he hide?"

"That's something you have to discover through the work itself. What fun is there if the producer just spells everything out?"

"But producer? Why not just say artist?"

That painting was mine — but I was not its creator.

So calling myself an artist felt a little off.

The storyboards I drew, the animations I one-clicked into existence, the mad movies, the CG… all of it belonged to me. None of it was something I had actually created.

"I just like the word producer better than artist."

"Oho. Ambition for the future packed into a single word, something like that?"

Producer. It suited me perfectly.

If the Future App was the director handling every last bit of staging, then I was the producer who simply held the rights…

Ownership without responsibility.

Appreciation without pain.

Fruit without labor.

Is this how a pro one-clicker makes and enjoys content?

Saying it out loud, it really was a ridiculously comfortable role.

Anyway.

In a world where everyone around me had already mistaken me for a once-in-a-generation genius, this was the last scrap of conscience I could still claim as a title.

Producer.

A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠man whose creative contribution amounted to nothing more than the kind of nitpicking anyone could do — someone who had simply been lucky enough to own the Future App.

That was all I was. A producer.

"Not stopping at director, huh? I like it. Nurture that ambition well — make sure you become the kind of heavyweight producer even Netprince and Songju Film bow down to."

Jenny Kim and CEO Im Haejin joined the meeting.

The CEO was there purely as a symbolic presence; Team Leader Jo Unseok ran the actual session.

And yet…

"The products that appeared in the CF were rendered with such natural texture. The artist must have used the products himself in daily life and woven that experience into his brushwork. There's no other explanation."

Jenny Kim spent a long time heaping praise on "my copyrighted painting."

I honestly couldn't tell whether this was a meeting about an advertising drama or a Sotheby's auction where my painting had just been put up for sale.

Ji Seungcheol, Content Business Director of T-Mind.

The studio people he had brought with him.

All of them were holding their breath, hanging on every word of Jenny Kim's praise — as filtered through the interpreter — and somehow I was the one who felt embarrassed.

This wasn't what the meeting was for.

What was the Future App on about all of a sudden?

A sudden high-pitched ringing filled my ears —

— and then the English Jenny Kim was cheerfully spouting became perfectly, effortlessly clear.

It was definitely English, yet the meaning landed as naturally as if I had spoken it from birth.

And then…

"Every last one of those talentless hacks who catch some bullshit art disease, do nothing but run their mouths, and vacuum up patronage money should be shipped straight to the coal mines and made to dig until they drop!

That way, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠right before they croak, they might at least leave behind a half-decent mural on a tunnel wall, don't you think?"

"The Director says she saw the very essence of contemporary art in the painting and offers her highest praise. She laments that a work of this caliber truly deserves a major patron."

"Rat Mustang, was it? Some guy who used to scrape by in a Paris backwater chewing on dried fish jerky — then after pocketing fifty million dollars he spat out that garbage, and I swear I wanted to cut off every one of his fingers so he could never play artist again…"

So this was the price of taking the red pill?

I now knew there was a far wider gulf between Jenny Kim's actual words and what the interpreter delivered than I had ever imagined.

"Before I leave Korea, I would very much like to meet the artist who painted that masterpiece. I have something important to say to him."

"You're welcome to say it right here."

At Team Leader Jo Unseok's words, Jenny Kim offered a gentle smile.

"It's truly important. I want to look him in the eye when I speak."

"The artist has actually been sitting right here the whole time."

Jo Unseok pointed at me.

Jenny Kim's gaze followed his finger — and her eyes went so wide they looked ready to pop out of their sockets.

Both hands flew up to cover her mouth. She trembled all over, her whole body reacting as if she might burst into tears of pure emotion.

"Oh my God. You're the one from the last meeting… of course — with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠talent like that, of course you'd be close to 30THC… Ah, I see it now! 30THC is your patron, isn't it?"

Jenny Kim shot to her feet and came straight over to me.

She offered a handshake; the moment I took it, she wrapped both of her hands around mine and locked eyes with me.

"An artist's pride, respect for one's patron, and a merciless performance for the public. Those three desires, held in exquisite balance, forged a supreme artistic beauty — and I was deeply moved by it."

"Thank you. I'm glad you understood my intent as a producer."

Did I even have one of those?

But as they say — better a good interpretation than a good dream.

"There's something I absolutely must tell you about the work, somewhere quiet. Please contact me anytime."

Jenny Kim pressed a distinctly special-looking business card into my hand.

I hadn't even gotten a glimpse of one of these at the last meeting.

I could feel the CEO and everyone else from the company staring in open admiration.

It was mortifying — and yet it also felt pretty good.

All I did was pick one logo design out of the 981 the Future App suggested. Getting treated like a master painter is just embarrassing.

What kind of place was the thirtieth century, overflowing with omnipotent video-production apps this absurdly overpowered?

Wait a second.

You've been calling me "producer" this whole time?

I almost felt a little moved.

This thing knew how to deliver a line.

Jenny Kim — the true host of this gathering — returned to her seat, and the marathon of praise for Cha Doyoung's oil painting, a dazzling contemporary reinterpretation of Nike's mass-market brand spirit finally came to an end.

Judging by the atmosphere, I seemed to be the only one who felt even slightly disappointed.

Everyone else was quietly relieved that we were at last getting to the real agenda.

"Domestic OTT platform T-Mind will be joining as a partner."

"Yes."

"T-Mind's studio infrastructure will also be brought on board. Production capacity is not an issue."

"Yes."

"And also…"

No matter what Team Leader Jo Unseok said, Jenny Kim simply kept smiling and repeating "Yes."

Ji Seungcheol and the executives from the small production houses affiliated with Songju Film — who had been wound tight under the weight of the Nike name — began to smile as well.

I leaned over and murmured to Manager Kim Gyeonguk beside me.

"Everyone was really tense, huh?"

"A Nike headquarters director is sitting in on the meeting. They're all feeling like colonels attending a Joint Chiefs session chaired by the president."

"At least Director Jenny Kim turned out to be pure-hearted and straightforward. That's a relief."

"…"

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Director Cha, about Jenny Kim… no. Never mind. Forget I said anything."

I had a pretty good idea what he had left unsaid.

Of course Jenny Kim probably had a cold side I didn't know about.

But not just anyone got to be an executive at a multinational conglomerate's headquarters, right?

A little frostiness came with the territory.

"…Director Cha, for someone that simple to just brush it off — Jenny Kim is so… no. Never mind. In front of you she's consistently an angel, so, well…"

The meeting was winding down.

It had been a largely ceremonial session from the start — essentially a report to Nike that we've prepared this much — so as long as Jenny Kim didn't say "No," there was no reason for things to drag on…

"A script contest? Wouldn't that just be a waste of precious time?"

It was nothing more than an ordinary "suggestion."

Her smile never left her face. Her voice didn't sharpen, and her intonation didn't rise.

You could have swapped the line for Nice weather today, isn't it? and it would have sounded exactly the same.

And yet the warm, cheerful atmosphere froze solid in an instant.

So this is Nike?

She had only offered a light opinion, and every face in the room changed on the spot?

Incredible. So this was power.

"The journey toward painting the final pair of eyes can often look like a waste of time."

The moment I spoke, Jenny Kim's smile vanished.

She studied me carefully. Had I offended her?

Given the intense goodwill she had shown earlier, I had figured this much would be fine.

"Whether we land a great script or fail, the fact that we refused to shy away from trying different approaches will focus positive attention on this project. We're making an advertising drama, after all, aren't we?"

Jenny Kim's bright smile returned.

"What an excellent point. You're right. I forgot for a moment that this is an advertising drama. The Mermaid and Sneakers CF simply has such independent artistic merit that it made me lose sight of that."

"I understand completely. When I'm working, there are moments I forget why I first picked up a pencil."

"And that blank space of forgetting…"

"…is what brings about a better result."

I was starting to get a feel for the kind of things Jenny Kim liked to hear.

The important part was confidence.

Carry yourself with conviction, string together a few plausible lines, and you could pull off a con with surprising ease.

"From this day forward, Nike will not interfere in any way until the finished product is delivered. We will simply wait — quietly, and without a word."

A vast look of liberation spread across the faces of Ji Seungcheol and the Songju Film people.

Jenny Kim had, at the very end, properly demonstrated the weight of the Nike name.

Even watching from the side, I found it fascinating.

I exchanged a few perfunctory goodbyes with Jenny Kim and the others, then slipped off somewhere quiet — only for Team Leader Jo Unseok to follow right after me.

"You saved us, Director Cha."

"It was nothing. Everyone just seemed to be struggling to answer, so I overstepped a little."

"Nothing? One wrong word in that spot and the gates of hell open. But in front of our archangel Cha Doyoung, even hell's gatekeeper turns into a well-behaved Welsh Corgi."

"Is Jenny Kim really that terrifying?"

"No idea. I've never heard of any Korean company actually working with her. But the rumors coming out of Japan… aigoo, don't even get me started."

He didn't know, and yet a single word from her had everyone on edge.

Nike must throw its weight around pretty hard just because it made good money.

"You've gone past being a totem that drives out misfortune and summons luck — now you're even making the client bow?"

"Do you know how much money I've spent on Nike over the years? As long as you keep a consumer's calm state of mind, there's nothing to be intimidated by."

We lightly exchanged thoughts on the advertising drama production.

Now all that remained was to prepare the scenario and the director.

Plenty of people on the Songju Film side were eager to take the director's chair themselves — but this was such a massive project that we intended to proceed carefully and methodically this time.

"About that personal card Jenny Kim gave you."

"What do you think she wants to talk about? Any guesses?"

"Hard to say. Probably not a scouting offer. Maybe she wants to arrange future patronage or commission work?"

"Patronage, commissions…"

"Or she might want Nike itself to purchase the Mermaid and Sneakers painting. That piece is worth holding at the corporate level."

Chae Seoyun suddenly came to mind — smiling as if it were nothing while casually naming a price of ten billion won.

"Do you think Nike would try to buy it for more than ten billion? I doubt it."

"Why, would you sell if they offered ten billion?"

"Of course I'd sell. Wouldn't anyone?"

"You know you have to give Seoyun a chance first, right?"

"That was a joke, wasn't it? No matter how much money Seoyun has, I don't think she'd actually pay ten billion for it…"

It was such an unreal sum that it rolled off the tongue far too easily.

"One moment. It's Hyejin's mother."

"Sure, take it."

Jo Unseok walked off, and I answered at once.

"Yes, ma'am. This is Manager Cha Doyoung."

"Of course. Please go ahead."

Hyejin's mother always treated company people with calm, meticulous courtesy.

Today, though, her voice was even more careful than usual.

"Pardon?"

That couldn't be right.

Just this morning when I picked her up, her face had been bright as ever.

"Ma'am — you said lately?"

Strange. Had something happened on set?

And if so — why hadn't she told me?