His eyes, gleaming with either excitement or triumph, and the utterly incongruous gift he presented, served as a prime example. A man as shrewd and intelligent as him wouldn’t have brought a bouquet of roses, under the impression I’d genuinely appreciate it. Seungjun asked bluntly,
“What is this?”
“I’ve come to persuade you.”
Nam Yiwon, declaring he had come ‘to persuade,’ rose to his feet, bouquet in hand. Seungjun, unaccustomed to ever looking up at someone, found himself lifting his chin to meet Nam Yiwon’s gaze. “Please persuade me,” Nam Yiwon recited, echoing Heeseung’s very words, as he pressed the armful of roses into Seungjun’s embrace.
“This is a bribe.”
The roses, thrust unwillingly into his arms, exuded an elegant fragrance. From Nam Yiwon, who had drawn a step closer, emanated a distinct perfume, utterly unlike the stale cigarette smoke that clung to Seungjun’s own attire. Seungjun gazed idly at the man’s striking face. Typically, such an unwavering gaze would compel anyone to gauge the mood, yet Nam Yiwon simply met it with a brazen smile.
Calling Heeseung’s words to mind, Seungjun glared at the roses. Was this, then, what he considered ‘a way to persuade without hurting pride’—following him around, openly discussing bribes in front of everyone? Why a successful man would come all this way to propose co-direction, why he’d suddenly reappear after years and persistently cling, or what kind of bizarre charade it was for someone so clearly in the position of power to deliberately play the subordinate, even bringing roses—Seungjun couldn’t comprehend any of it. He couldn’t fathom a single thing, feeling only a deepening sense of repulsion.
He couldn’t possibly plunge into work with such a dark-hearted individual.
Seungjun flung the bouquet onto his desk. With a soft thud, the atmosphere abruptly grew tense and awkward. More so than Nam Yiwon, who appeared utterly indifferent to his discarded ‘bribe,’ those around them grew visibly restless, their eyes darting nervously. Gu Wonho, ever the smooth talker, pierced the dense silence with a lighthearted joke.
“Goodness, Director Nam, to what extent are you going, even buying a bouquet? You’re truly dedicated.”
“The one who’s desperate must put in the effort,” Nam Yiwon replied slyly, then narrowed his eyes and turned to face Seungjun. Seungjun’s lips twisted at the gaze, which seemed to compel a response. He had hoped the man would amuse himself for a few days and then simply disappear, but Nam Yiwon proved to be relentlessly persistent. Seungjun swept his bangs back and met his gaze squarely.
“I don’t know what fixation brought you all the way here to play these games, but it seems you’ve done enough, so why don’t you stop now?”
“I’m a professional,” Nam Yiwon countered. “I don’t joke when it comes to work, you know?”
“I’m going to work,” Seungjun stated. “So you can squat here all day, or buy a vase and arrange those flowers—do as you please.”
“Work?” Nam Yiwon echoed, a slight tilt to his head. “How is helping with documentary editing *your* work, Senior?”
Seungjun, who had been on the verge of turning away, halted abruptly. It seemed Nam Yiwon had gleaned, from somewhere, that Seungjun was assisting with documentary editing due to a shortage of hands.
“You’re not seriously thinking of going into documentaries, are you?”
Nam Yiwon posed the question as if Seungjun had chosen documentaries over dramas of his own volition, rather than being pushed. This, despite having clearly overheard the director’s blunt suggestion that perhaps a move to documentaries would be preferable to dramas that consistently failed to attract viewership.
Seungjun’s eyebrows slowly descended, a grim line forming. Nam Yiwon gently caressed the discarded flowers with his fingertips as he began to explain.
“Sitting here, I noticed people coming from everywhere looking for you, Senior. I told them all you’d be doing *my* drama, and sent them away.”
“………”
“Speaking of which, I saw the documentary that just came out. Your direction suited it much better, it was quite good. Perhaps you truly have a knack for documentaries?”
Dramas and documentaries were worlds apart. Despite the fact that it wasn’t a matter of which suited him better, Nam Yiwon was drawing a comparison between the two. Seungjun asked back, his voice tight between clenched teeth,
“Are you saying my drama is like a documentary?”
“They’re similar in that they portray life in an honest form, aren’t they? It’s a compliment. There are quite a few people who like that kind of direction from you, Senior.”
“………”
“Oh, by the way, would you like a sandwich?” Nam Yiwon asked. “People say they line up for them, so I thought I’d try some.”
Nam Yiwon lifted a paper bag, a disarmingly innocent smile gracing his lips. It was the face of someone who had spent ages deliberately fraying his nerves, now feigning utter innocence. His stomach was empty enough to ache with hunger, yet instead of a sandwich, he found himself craving another cigarette, having only just put one out.
‘If I respond, he’ll only find it more amusing,’ Seungjun thought. ‘Ignoring a madman was always the best strategy.’ Turning on his heel, Seungjun headed straight for the editing room. His phone, which he had pulled out as a distraction, held no new messages. He walked, and walked, scanning messages he had already opened. Nam Yiwon’s gaze felt like a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, but Seungjun refused to stop.
****
His hands moved with mechanical precision. Having performed this same editing task thousands of times since his days as an assistant director, he could concentrate under any circumstances. Seungjun skipped meals, pouring his fervor into editing the documentary. Observing the daily lives of wild animals, he found his complicated emotions easing, if only by a fraction.
Wild animals ate when hunger struck and slept when weariness claimed them. While they might exhibit jealousy and possess the cunning to hunt, their actions were, for the most part, directly tied to survival and entirely within the realm of comprehension. He sometimes wondered if the incomprehensible actions humans so often engaged in were perhaps a curse of a highly intelligent species.
While engrossed in editing, his stomach, which had occasionally grumbled, let out another protest. His hunger was slowly intensifying, nearing the threshold of actual pain. Seungjun sighed, observing the lion utterly absorbed in its hunt. ‘Right. It’s all about making a living, so I should at least grab something to eat from the cafeteria. And have a cigarette on the way back.’
The decision was made. No sooner had he shifted his chair back slightly than the door burst open with a sudden crash. Heeseung, breathing in ragged gasps, poked her head inside.
“Senior. Let’s talk.”
“Go on,” Seungjun replied indifferently, his eyes still fixed on the monitor. He had anticipated it would be the impetuous Lee Heeseung from the moment the door had burst open so roughly. Heeseung wasted no time getting straight to the point.
“I heard you had a confrontation with Director Nam Yiwon earlier—have you still not made a decision?”
“I made my decision a long time ago. Didn’t I say no? I feel like I’ve told you several times already.”
“Senior,” Heeseung snapped, irritably gasping for air and sweeping her hair back. Every one of her gestures was imbued with palpable irritation.
“Are you really going to be like this? What are you going to do if you don’t do it? Go to Antarctica?”
“Even if I go to Antarctica, I wouldn’t ask you to follow.”
“That’s not the point! Why aren’t you seizing such a good opportunity? You could learn so much more, make a bigger name for yourself. And with Director Nam Yiwon, the budget would be much—”
“If you want to work with Director Nam Yiwon, I’ll speak to him separately for you,” Seungjun cut her off, then raised his head. He offered a calm gaze, signaling that his words were not laced with sarcasm. He was entirely willing to arrange it if Heeseung truly wished. For her, with her fervent academic drive, it would undoubtedly be an excellent opportunity.
Heeseung’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly, rendered speechless. As the emotion on her face began to spread from faint annoyance to outright fury, Seungjun swallowed a weary sigh. Sure enough, Lee Heeseung slammed her hand down on the desk, standing defiantly as she glared, her eyes blazing.
“I want to keep working with you, Senior. No, I *will* keep working with you. You’re the one who has no intention of doing so, aren’t you?”
“Don’t mess around. Get out.”
“Why won’t you do it, then? Try to persuade me. If I’m convinced, I won’t bother you anymore.”
“This is ridiculous. Persuade? Why should I have to do that?”
He had intended to handle his cherished junior gently, but her audacious demand to ‘persuade her’ ignited a spark of anger within him. Seungjun spun his chair around to face Heeseung directly. As he tilted his head at a slight angle, Heeseung exhaled a trembling breath. Her fiery temper often led her to lose control of her anger, particularly when it came to work-related matters.
She was, in that regard, just like him. Seungjun let out a short, hollow laugh.
“You politely asked Baek Seungjun PD to persuade me, yet you come to me and demand that I persuade *you*? You’re being impertinent.”
“You know how I feel, so how can you say such things! Why else would I have gone to Director Nam first?”
“What’s so dire?”
“You know I suffered terribly in the desert, PD-nim. I’m not complaining just because I got a tan. I couldn’t even go to the bathroom or wash! Every day of filming there was torture! If I had a passion for documentaries, it’d be one thing, but I want to make dramas. And isn’t it the same for you, Senior?”
Heeseung cried out, her voice cracking. He had thought her silence meant she could endure it, but he had clearly miscalculated. Perhaps she was utterly terrified of going to Antarctica again, for this person, long an adult, was now visibly straining the veins in her neck in front of him, her superior. Seungjun considered standing up in a fit of anger but remained seated, not wanting to appear threatening to the much shorter Heeseung. Instead, he spoke with cold harshness.
“Did I drag you there by force? A grown adult should be able to take responsibility for their own choices. Why are you whining now, asking what to do?”
“That’s why I kept my mouth shut until now! Until you started talking nonsense about going to Antarctica rather than doing a drama with Director Nam Yiwon!”
“It’s my work, and my choice.”
“No! I can’t stand by and watch you dig your own grave. We’re going to do this, no matter what. We have to. We can make a great drama. There’ll be so much to learn—”
“Exactly what do you intend to learn?”
He couldn’t understand what Professor or Lee Heeseung wanted him to learn from Nam Yiwon. Were they expecting him to learn how to generate buzz and popularity by creating provocative productions that drew criticism and became hot topics throughout their run? And if he refused, he was a fool digging his own grave? Seungjun finally stood up.
“How to pull off sensational clickbait? How to send plausibility to the Middle East?”
“………”
“I didn’t know you liked that kind of thing. Then again, everyone seems to turn out that way under me.”
“Senior!”
“I have work to do, so don’t bother me. Get out.”
Seungjun opened the door and gestured outside with his chin. Heeseung glared with reddened eyes and replied,
“No.”
“You won’t leave?”
“You’ll have to drag me out, won’t you?”