Feigned Madness
"Miss Ga-eul, please stop now."
"Who the hell are you, you bastard?"
Suddenly Lim Yoo-jun steps in to hold me back.
"Aaaah! Let go! My hair's coming out!!"
When I shake the reporter whose hair is clutched in my hand, it flops around limply. The eyes of the other reporters watching the scene tremble like aspen leaves.
"You know it well."
"Know what, you bastard?"
"There's no qualification required to join a fan club, right?"
"If there were, my kids would all be headed straight for the trash can."
Lim Yoo-jun, having heard my words, takes a step closer and points at his own face with a finger.
"Then I'm a fan too."
"·····."
I'd only met Lim Yoo-jun once. With his noble-young-master looks, I'd assumed he'd be calm and collected, but apparently not. Up close, his personality is far more sly than I expected.
"Ughhh. Please let go·····."
"If you sue me, I'll let go on my own, won't I? Go ahead and sue. Do it twice, you bastard."
"I won't. Please, my hair's all coming out."
When I release the strands of hair wound around my fingers, the freed reporter scrambles backward. He pats his head and lets out a sigh of relief—looks like not too much came out after all.
"If you keep swinging that precious camera of yours around and get caught, I'll cut that useless head right off. Watch yourself."
"Th-that···· the faces of the civilians who happened to be filmed···· I'll mosaic them····."
The reporter, with his ironclad professional spirit, clings to the end of his sentence. Honestly, I probably would've done the same. If he'd just walked away with Lim Yoo-jun standing right there, he'd have been in for a scolding for sure.
"Hup."
When I glare at the reporter still trying to nitpick, he hurriedly turns his head away, avoiding my gaze.
"You hate me just like I hate you lot. I know you wear thick faces and do your jobs outside, but if you pull that crap in front of me, I'll smash your heads in."
Just then, one of the gathered reporters shoots a hand straight up.
"Yes."
When I point at the reporter with the raised hand, every gaze in the vicinity turns toward us. Typical reporter behavior—securing their speaking rights even in the middle of a noisy marketplace.
"I'm Jo Seung-tae, reporter from Yangjin Ilbo."
A comprehensive daily covering economy, industry, entertainment, politics, and distribution. A heavyweight.
"Yes, Reporter Jo Seung-tae. Go ahead."
"Can't we just write a good article?"
"You'll write it with bias, won't you?"
"Hmm····."
After going to such lengths to secure speaking rights, he lets out a groan at my single remark.
"You always do it anyway, so why hesitate? Or do you reporters receive strict control when delivering information?"
"·····."
Of course not. At most, it'd be internal review and censorship within the company.
"Then do you receive state censorship?"
"·····."
That's not it either.
"I've never met anyone more confirmation-biased than you reporters."
Reporters are people too, and members of their companies. Those guys have to tilt their heads in whatever direction their company leans if they want to keep eating.
"S-still, given the nature of the press····."
"Given the nature of the press, their heads tilt left or right?"
"·····."
"That's why I hate you lot."
Continuing any conversation with them makes my blood boil. I pull out a cigarette and stick it in my mouth; a hand shoots out from beside me.
—Pop!
"Hoo—"
"Noona."
He bows at the waist like he's some outdated flip phone. These guys move with perfect organization and strict power dynamics. Like people living alone on a remote island.
"Yeah. Here to smoke?"
"Yes. But that punk Dong-gwang keeps bragging so much my ears are about to bleed."
Man-wook's right-hand man is An Dong-gwang. The only person besides Man-wook who can call that guy "son" is this one, as far as I know. A friend standing right beside An Dong-gwang on the second tier of the organization's hierarchy.
"What kind of bragging?"
"He keeps calling to say he drank the liquor Noona gave him····."
Ring ring—!
"Like right now?"
"Yes····."
"Give it here."
Click.
- Hey, Hyun-woong, why'd you hang up? At least let me smell it!
Grind. Grind.
Looking to the side, the guy called Hyun-woong is grinding his teeth. He must've teased him pretty badly.
"If you're done, get over here quick."
- Gah! Noona!
"Yeah, it's me."
- We're almost there now.
"Good work. Hurry up. I'm in the smoking area."
- Yes, Noona!
Click.
Just then, someone steps forward. The way they're glaring, my relaxed attitude must've rubbed them the wrong way.
"Han Ga-eul! This country has four freedoms. One of them is freedom of speech."
"So what."
Click.
"We have freedom of the press···· Gurk····!!"
"If you're gonna talk, do it properly."
"······No. I won't."
The reporter who'd been questioning me suddenly looks like he's swallowed rat poison—his condition turns weird.
"Ugh. That's why I hate you lot. Chasing money, you become nothing but sensationalist, provocative one-trick ponies. Called yellow press yet still wearing iron plates on your faces, you capitalist pig bastards····."
Feigned madness. Pretend to be foolish and ignorant, but act with cold calculation. The beating's gone far enough. Time to offer the carrot. Blindly charging in isn't the only way. You have to know how to make allies too.
"Hmm·····. Is this about me?"
"What, you were all trash just like me. Alright, gather around, reporters."
When I suddenly stop cursing and gesture instead, the reporters all stare at me strangely. A few look terrified, wondering what crazy thing I'll do next. Eventually they gather one by one, wearing odd expressions. When I even show them turning off the broadcast phones in front of them, they swallow dryly.
"Good things are good for everyone. Let's keep things friendly, shall we?"
Click.
The reporters who'd been standing awkwardly roll their eyes, gauge the mood, then nod their heads in a hurry.
"Look over there. Lim Yoo-jun's just standing around blankly. Don't you want to interview him?"
Following my pointing finger, the reporters nod their heads again in a rush.
"I told you he's my kid, right? And look back there. See those reporters who showed up late and are now prowling around like hyenas?"
"Yes. I see them."
"Should we share something this good with them? Really?"
Lim Yoo-jun, the one being pointed at, tilts his head while still wearing that sly expression and pointing at himself.
"No."
"Of course not."
The gathered reporters start murmuring, then gradually begin to agree one by one. Lim Yoo-jun is the kind of prey that makes your mouth water just looking at him.
"We don't even have enough to eat ourselves, so why share? Reporter-nim said it earlier—this is a country with freedom. If you want to survive, you should've moved fast yourself instead of blaming others."
The murmuring among the reporters grows louder.
"L-look at those bloodshot eyes. Huh? We reporters came running the moment we heard the news, sweating bullets, but look at those drooling faces. Are those even reporters? They're hyenas."
"Right."
"We worked so hard for this."
"How much money gets burned just to get the scoop first, and those guys····."
"Exactly? Alright, gather up and let's link arms. Let's get along."
While some reporters can't keep up with the situation, several others quickly catch on to this insane scenario and follow along. Eventually, linking arms and putting our heads together with the reporters creates an even stronger sense of camaraderie.
"If you couldn't hunt, you should starve. No need to hand over what's ours. You only share after your own belly's full. This is literally the land of freedom, isn't it? Right?"
"Um·····. Among the four freedoms, there's also freedom from want····."
One of the reporters linked arm-in-arm with us raises an objection, completely missing the mood.
"Starting today, this country only has three freedoms. You understand?"
"····Yes."
As time passes and I gradually lower my voice, the heads that had been slightly apart slowly draw closer.
"If you just follow me, I'll get you that Lim Yoo-jun interview."
—Ooh····
"No need to share with hyenas. It'd only shrink our slice of the pie. Let's keep the good stuff among ourselves."
—Ooh····!!
The reporters' responses grow more enthusiastic by the second.
"And among our kids, there's a debut group called Serenade····."
I trail off, but none of the gathered reporters seem to have missed the implication. Sharp as tacks. That's exactly the phrase for these people. All that's left is to add a little sincerity.
When I pull out my wallet, the reporters' eyes widen dramatically. This is why I always carry plenty of cash. A bundle of joy that lets you navigate the world wisely. And then I just need to use the money-counting technique I learned from Haeng-mang across the table.
Flip-flip-flip—!!
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
I stuff the bundles of joy into the reporters' pockets at a blinding speed. Their mouth corners begin to tremble.
A reporter chasing idols would have a wallet situation just like this. The effect is immediate.
"The kids keep failing and look so worn out. Sigh, I don't know what'll happen if they grow up without any self-esteem."
"Ahem! That won't do···· right? Idols need confidence."
As if seeking approval, the first reporter to speak shoots a glance at the one beside him.
"Th····at's right?"
"Idols need confidence."
In their minds, the person called Han Ga-eul is nothing but a crazy bitch who has to be opposed no matter what. So I have to turn myself from a second choice into the best choice. Slowly enough that they don't even notice they're frogs in a pot. Not just a crazy bitch, but a honey-coated crazy bitch—that's what I need to subtly appeal.
"I was thinking our stylish reporters could cheer them up a bit. What do you think?"
"Ahem! That's our specialty."
The reporters flash me a thumbs-up.
While I'm plotting with the reporters, I start to sense people approaching where I am.
"Unni!!"