Nam Yiwon blinked, his eyes wide, and countered. Seungjun couldn’t discern if he was being sarcastic or genuinely curious, making it impossible not to ask.
“What do *you* want to do?”
“The theme of ‘marginalized groups’ is fine, but if we’re going to critique reality, wouldn’t it be better to portray it more dramatically?”
“How so?”
“Hmm.”
He set down his coffee and rolled his eyes, as if deep in thought. As if he had prepared in advance, a fluent answer followed.
“How about a story about someone who, feeling marginalized, becomes enraged?”
“Enraged?”
“Whether they’re enraged at the world, at corrupt power, or at a specific individual, if it encapsulates societal injustice, the message will be conveyed effectively enough.”
“Even anger needs a proper narrative arc. Could we really capture it convincingly in a ten-minute video?”
“What if we start with a protagonist who is already enraged from the beginning, to spark interest? Like the protagonist smashing someone’s shop, or kidnapping someone? Ah, kidnapping is good. Or maybe a robbery.”
“…Kidnapping, suddenly?”
“Yes. We can start with a crime scene and then unravel how that person ended up in such a situation. Everyone already knows and empathizes with social problems, so we don’t need to elaborate excessively; we can convey it sufficiently within ten minutes.”
“Why would they commit a crime?”
“Because they’re marginalized and exploited in an unequal society?”
Nam Yiwon chuckled as he tossed out the idea. Coming from someone so far removed from concepts like marginalization or exploitation, his words sounded flippant, as if he were simply suggesting something ‘fun’ without considering the gravity of the subject matter. Seungjun’s expression turned serious as he questioned him again.
“So, you’re suggesting a protagonist who commits crimes out of anger provoked by a flawed system?”
“Exactly. They’re seeking revenge.”
“And the ending?”
“They’d have to die, wouldn’t they? It’s a tragedy, after all.”
Watching him shrug casually and repeat the question, Seungjun let out a sigh. What was he supposed to learn from such a thoughtless fellow? Patience?
Despite Seungjun’s sour expression, Nam Yiwon didn’t avert his gaze. His eyes gleamed with an almost delighted excitement, betraying a strange thrill.
‘Is this guy insane?’ Seungjun wondered. ‘Did I make a mistake agreeing to this?’
‘No, I can’t back out now that I’ve committed.’ Seungjun put forth his opinion forcefully.
“It’s unnecessarily provocative. And if we can’t convincingly explain the protagonist’s situation when dealing with such crimes, there’s a risk it’ll be interpreted as a personal problem rather than a critique of society. Ten minutes isn’t enough. Kidnapping, robbery, death… those might grab people’s attention, but we need to see the bigger picture.”
“Understood.”
No sooner had Seungjun finished speaking than Nam Yiwon readily agreed. Having grown up accustomed only to praise, Seungjun had expected the young master to be offended by criticism. Instead, Nam Yiwon maintained an utterly placid demeanor, as if he had merely thrown out the suggestion on a whim.
Nam Yiwon watched Seungjun, who was speechless, then leaned forward. As his crossed arms drew closer, a subtle scent of skin cologne wafted over. It was strange how his gaze hadn’t wavered since earlier, but Seungjun didn’t avoid his eyes.
‘Was he truly here because he wanted to collaborate on the competition, or because he’d thought well of me during the critique class? I had assumed he was enthusiastic, but meeting him today, his attitude was peculiar.’
His appraising eyes narrowed slightly. Clasping his hands together with a soft clap, Nam Yiwon opened his mouth with renewed vigor.
“Alright. Then let’s go with your idea, Senior. I feel like I have a lot to learn from you!”
‘Is he serious?’ Seungjun wondered. ‘He just said it sounded boring, and now he’s doing a complete about-face?’ Seungjun furrowed his brow, leaning back to create some distance. Nam Yiwon paid him no mind, stretching out his long legs before pulling his chair right beside Seungjun’s.
“So, shall we start by drafting the synopsis together? I’m free all day today.”
Seungjun could feel the warmth emanating from behind him. Nam Yiwon had draped his arm over the back of his chair. Seungjun shifted his body, signaling his discomfort with the close proximity, but Nam Yiwon didn’t move, maintaining his constant smile.
One moment he seemed passionate, the next he didn’t. Seungjun had been surprised by his ready agreement, but then he immediately became impudent again, making Seungjun wonder if he was being messed with.
‘Was agreeing to prepare for this competition together a good choice?’ Seungjun asked himself, meeting the gaze that never left him.
****
If he could turn back time, he wouldn’t have even started the competition, let alone anything else.
Seungjun sighed, reviewing the day’s footage. Nam Yiwon’s unexpressive face, visible as he peered into the camera, caught the corner of his eye. Even while reviewing the footage, the inscrutable pair of eyes kept distracting him, making it impossible to focus.
Seungjun typically found collaboration difficult because his partners often produced insufficient results or had incompatible styles, leading to disagreements. In such cases, if he actively persuaded them and presented a more polished result he’d worked on alone, they would usually concede and follow along. Thus, despite the arduous process, he was always satisfied with the final product.
This time, however, was different. To simply call it ‘arduous but rewarding’ would be an understatement; the stress was extreme. Even now, with video production nearly complete, he felt less a mix of relief and regret and more a throbbing headache.
He wondered what new ridiculous objection this bastard would raise next.
“Hmm. It’s okay, but wouldn’t it be too bland from beginning to end if it ends like this?”
Sure enough, Nam Yiwon didn’t let it pass this time either. Throughout the shoot, the fellow would throw out preposterous ideas, only to immediately agree when Seungjun offered a suggestion. The problem was that he had done this hundreds of times while making a ten-minute video, and each time, he would add comments like ‘boring,’ ‘dull,’ or ‘too calm,’ making it clear he was dissatisfied with the current work. Yet, he would show up for filming each time, utterly thrilled, grinning cheerfully and turning Seungjun’s stomach.
Seungjun bit back a curse. He had once exploded, ‘You crazy bastard, if you’re going to be like that, just shoot it yourself,’ only for Nam Yiwon to remain unfazed and apologize, making Seungjun feel like a fool. Suppressing his rising temper, he spoke slowly and emphatically.
“If it ends like this, it’s calm but realistic, leaving a lingering impression that the same struggles will repeat tomorrow, and the day after. We’ve been over all this before.”
“But seeing it now, I just feel like it’s too bland. I just had an idea while watching it; would you like to hear it?”
He knew Nam Yiwon wasn’t the type to stop just because he was told to. Seungjun ignored him and fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette. Nam Yiwon tugged at his shoulder, forcing their eyes to meet, and smiled, a bright, almost blinding white.
“How about we keep the scene where the old man lies down and falls asleep at the end, and then add a lonely death ending?”
‘After all that filming, he suddenly wanted the protagonist to die of solitary death at the end? Did this bastard actually want to experience a lonely death himself?’
Squeezing out every last drop of his patience, Seungjun asked, “In what way?”
“It starts with the sound of children laughing and running, and the ‘it’ person counting down. Then, one child sees an open iron gate, runs inside, and hides in a corner of the yard. There’s a cobweb-covered cart there — the one the old man used every day to collect waste paper. The child shakes their hand in disgust, then squats down again when the ‘it’ person shouts, ‘Found you!'”
“…”
“While they’re hiding, holding their breath, laughter can be heard from outside. ‘Gotcha!’ The hidden child covers their mouth and giggles at the sound. Then the ‘it’ person runs in, and the caught child laughs with them as they run out. ‘Hey, it smells weird in here,’ a voice says, fading away with the children.”
As if truly improvising, Nam Yiwon would gaze into the distance from time to time, visualizing the scene. The scene he described, visually, audibly, and olfactorily, was vividly painted before Seungjun’s eyes.
Lonely death. Children laughing and running away. The quiet left behind with the smell of a rotting corpse.
Even as he painted such a gruesome scene, Nam Yiwon smiled with his usual expression.
“The children disappear, and the quiet house slowly zooms out to end. You never know when he’ll be discovered. It has the lingering impression you wanted, Senior, and a message that raises awareness about lonely deaths, a social problem among the elderly. What do you think?”
“…The message itself is good, but is the scene where children play hide-and-seek while smelling a corpse really necessary? A person has died, and children’s laughter is overlaying it—it’s too gruesome.”
“Exactly! That’s why it’s good! Lonely death *is* a gruesome thing, isn’t it?”
His eyes widened as he leaned in close. As always, he encroached upon Seungjun’s personal space, and today a different scent wafted from him than yesterday. Seungjun was about to say that a director should handle social issues seriously, but he closed his mouth.
‘It’s all pointless,’ he realized.
He belatedly understood. This bastard hadn’t sought him out because he wanted to make a good video together.
He just wanted to mess with the guy who had criticized his assignment.
That’s why he constantly injected the idea that ‘your ideas are boring,’ nitpicking every detail, and making suggestions every now and then, seemingly delighted whether they were incorporated or not. Being a man who lacked nothing and possessed an abundance of leisure, he probably found amusement in toying with people.
Seungjun’s head ached. He felt disoriented. Not only had Nam Yiwon’s scent changed, but his hairstyle was different from yesterday. And his clothes—yesterday he’d shown up in an outer coat so chaotically colored it could have been a colorblindness test, but today he wore a damn pajama-like shirt. Even if he dressed normally, Seungjun would be driven mad, but with his appearance like this, Seungjun wondered if watching a clown’s antics for weeks on end would feel similar. Yesterday, the day before, and the day before that—every moment spent with Nam Yiwon stimulated every nerve.
“…Let’s take a break.”
Pressing his knuckles against his temples, Seungjun stood up. He had just noticed it was past six o’clock. It was time for the script competition results to be announced.