Chapter 83: I am ■■.

Vroooom!

The Mystic van sped along diligently.

They had just left Director Go Tae-min’s studio, and Sua’s achievements didn’t stop at securing the role of Kim So-hee.

The ever-curious Kim Yi-seo finally parted her lips.

“Hey, Sua.”

“Yes?”

“First of all, congratulations on landing the role of Kim So-hee. You earned it with your own ability, which is impressive. But I do have a few questions.”

Sua gave a silent nod.

A gesture meaning, If you’re curious, just ask.

“First, about Ham Ah-yoon. Was there a reason you suggested her for the role of Park Min-seo? It seemed unusually assertive of you.”

“Hmm.”

The reason she had suggested Ham Ah-yoon for the role of Park Min-seo?

Sua quietly checked her special status window.

[From Tomorrow, Crescendo]

Implementation Elements: Sufficient

Grade: 1.5

001 – Kim So-hee (Grade A)

002 – Park Min-seo (Ham Ah-yoon)

003 – Lee Seung-myung (Grade F)

The reason was simple—role suitability.

“Park Min-seo’s grade wasn’t visible before.”

Now, she could see it. But what was even more surprising was that her ability pointed not to an alphabetical grade but to a specific person’s name.

That name was Ham Ah-yoon.

Even Sua, sharp as she was, understood instantly—Ham Ah-yoon had to play Park Min-seo. It was a must.

So she suggested it. Ham Ah-yoon deliberated but ultimately accepted.

As a result, “From Tomorrow, Crescendo” now had a rating of 1.5—an excellent start.

Moreover, it would allow her to complete the Musician trait. A win-win situation.

At the same time, she was curious.

Perhaps she would even get to witness Ham Ah-yoon’s performance breakthrough.

Just then—

“And, Sua.”

“Yes?”

“That thing you wanted… were you serious about it?”

What Kim Yi-seo was referring to—

It was the unexpected reward promised by Go Tae-min. The production team had been split into factions, creating endless disputes, but Sua had resolved the issue cleanly. Go Tae-min had been so relieved that he wanted to compensate her.

And Sua had simply stated what she wanted.

Kim Yi-seo shrugged.

“…Well, okay. Raise it well.”

What Sua had asked for—

It was a polar fox.

Meanwhile, in Gangnam, Seoul.

On a pedestrian overpass—

Click!

Two travelers were capturing snapshots of Seoul with a camera. The camera looked expensive at a glance, and their outfits were subtly different from the typical Korean fashion trends.

It was only natural—they were Japanese.

The man holding the camera toyed with it like a game console, checking the photos he had just taken. The other man beside him hesitated before speaking cautiously.

“監督.”

(Director.)

Their expressions were complete opposites. The man holding the camera seemed fascinated, while the one speaking looked utterly uninterested in the Korean scenery—his face filled with boredom.

“正直、韓国七日本七苟去b変力去世人.”

(Honestly, Korea and Japan aren’t that different anymore.)

“点?”

(In what way?)

They continued their conversation in Japanese.

“It’s different from before. The internet has advanced so much. Korean and Japanese trends have become almost identical. You can tell just by looking at the people walking around.”

“So, what’s your conclusion?”

“Do we really have to find inspiration for our next project in Korea? There are plenty of good places in Japan too. Coming here didn’t spark anything for me.”

“Hmm.”

At that, Director Yusaku Suzuki finally shifted his gaze away from the camera. Instead of looking at his own captured shots, he observed the cityscape below the overpass and spoke.

“Well, inspiration aside, I had to come here anyway. I was invited as a special judge.”

“The Busan International Short Film Festival… I still can’t believe you accepted that offer.”

The man shrugged.

“And director, let’s be honest. The judging gig is just an excuse. You came here because you love Korea. I still don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with this country.”

“Hahaha, was it that obvious?”

Yusaku Suzuki.

There were plenty of renowned directors in Japan, but Yusaku was particularly well-known in Korea. His deep affection for Korea had earned him quite a fanbase among Korean cinephiles.

He had been specially invited as a guest judge for the Busan International Short Film Festival.

“You saw the recent film Koi and the Goblin, right?”

“Of course.”

Koi and the Goblin—a noir film exploring the lives of Japan’s yakuza, filled with dark, masculine aesthetics.

“And that’s what they call Japan’s next big hit. The same actors who played gangsters in other films are doing it again. And in their next project? More gangsters.”

“Ah, I get what you mean. But it can’t be helped. People like familiar actors, and there aren’t many of them. Plus, it’s not like the new faces are any better at acting.”

“Still, Japanese actors have become stagnant. The same faces, the same manga-like direction, over and over again. That’s the state of J-content.”

“Hey. So stop complaining and focus.”

Director Yusaku’s eyes were serious.

“There’s always something to learn wherever you go, and Korea is no exception.”

The meeting room for the Busan International Short Film Festival was as busy as ever.

The chairman, who was in charge of everything, along with those who had previously discussed ways to draw more attention to the short film festival, had gathered once again.

However, their expressions were much brighter than before.

The chairman spoke up.

“Well, at least spending some money paid off. Articles are flooding in.”

“Yes. Fortunately, the response has been quite positive. Cutting ties with the criminal director Kim Jun-ki quickly seems to have helped, and the lineup of invited actors and directors is strong.”

One of the staff members’ words was true.

If something is treated like a bad advertisement, no matter how many articles come out, it won’t matter. But luckily, the articles related to the Busan International Short Film Festival were receiving a good reaction overall.

[“Busan International Short Film Festival.” Drawing a line against Director Kim Jun-ki. Absolutely no support or defense. He must pay for his crimes.]

[“Busan International Short Film Festival” invited actor lineup revealed!]

[“Who are the invited foreign directors?”]

Even just looking at the official articles from journalists, there were plenty, and the reactions from netizens on online communities were countless.

In particular, on-site photos were gaining quite a bit of popularity.

[Title: How much money did they pour into this?]

(A photo showing high-quality chairs.)

I was worried they’d use those cheap plastic chairs, but wow.

-What the heck? They actually spent money?

-ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ What’s going on this year?

The more they checked, the better the atmosphere in the meeting room became.

“How about the social media promotions with the invited actors? Is it going well?”

“Yes. We’ve started promotions using hashtags.”

Famous actors were uploading posts on social media with hashtags like #BusanInternationalShortFilmFestival, promoting the event. Naturally, their fans were showing great interest as well.

And lastly…

The chairman’s gaze turned to the staff member who was always dozing off.

“…So, did you manage to get that… what’s it called? The VTuber advertisement?”

“Yes. You can trust me.”

This guy, who usually just dozed off, suddenly changed into a determined warrior the moment VTubers were mentioned. It was strangely irritating.

But there was nothing to say. At least he was working hard for once. That was better than being useless all the time.

So, the chairman sighed and asked.

“Can I ask which VTuber you got?”

“We contracted with NeoLive. Specifically, Shikarin.”

“Shikarin? Oh, wait. That’s the name? Shikarin?”

“Yes. Lindo Shikarin.”

“Wait, why? No one said we’d be contracting a Japanese VTuber.”

“Huh? What do you mean? She’s Korean!”

“…?”

For a moment, the chairman was dumbfounded.

It wasn’t that he was trying to belittle or dismiss the staff member’s words—he just genuinely couldn’t understand.

After thinking about it for a while, he spoke again.

“Listen, don’t take this the wrong way. But sometimes, when I see the things my daughter does, I feel like I just can’t understand this generation at all…”

“You don’t know NeoLive’s Lindo Shikarin, do you? Since you seem unfamiliar, I’ll explain—she’s the most popular VTuber in NeoLive, and she’s seriously—”

“…Enough. Just do what you need to do.”

The next morning.

Perhaps due to the efforts (?) of the festival organizers, many people started to take an interest in the short film festival, and Lee Sua’s group chat was no exception.

Especially Wonsung-ing.

[Wonsung-ing: @(everyone)]

[Wonsung-ing: Hey, hey, hey, when’s our meetup?]

[Deer: What meetup?]

[Wonsung-ing: The short film festival is all anyone’s talking about these days.]

[Wonsung-ing: Even Yang Ha-rin is going to be there, so I wanna go.]

[Deer: Go by yourself.]

There had been talk about holding a group meetup before, but gathering everyone in reality was never easy.

Everyone was busy with their own lives.

In fact, this wasn’t the first time the idea of a meetup had come up in this chat. It had been mentioned many times, but each time, it always fizzled out. This time would probably be no different.

[Wonsung-ing: Come on, is no one really up for it?]

[Wonsung-ing: @LeeSua Heyyy ㅋㅋㅋ]

The number of read receipts on the messages kept increasing, but not many people were actually responding. Everyone assumed the conversation would just die down again.

But then.

At that moment.

[Black Bear: Let’s meet up this time.]

[Black Bear: I’m enlisting soon.]

That one sentence changed everything.