Glory Film Company

Episode 35: Yesterday’s Foe

“Oh, so Representative Gu is here as well,” Youngkwang remarked nonchalantly as he followed Ahn Junseok to the table. His eyes swept across the group as he greeted them with a sly smile.

It was obvious that Gu Bonjik had orchestrated the meeting, but Youngkwang feigned ignorance, as if saying, Oh, you’re here? I had no idea.

“And who might you be?”
Gu Bonjik upped the ante, pretending not to recognize Youngkwang at all—despite it being an unforgettable memory. Youngkwang suppressed a smirk.

“We met at the premiere of That Night. Allow me to formally reintroduce myself. I’m Lee Youngkwang, a producer at My Way Pictures.”

Youngkwang bowed politely. The more perceptive individuals at the table quickly picked up on the tension between him and Gu Bonjik. Ahn Junseok, always quick on the uptake, also sensed something was amiss but was far more interested in Youngkwang than any underlying friction.

“A producer, you say? No wonder your earlier conversation stood out. But you look so young!”
“Please remember me well, Director. I’ve already got my eye on you for a project.”
“Wow, really? That’s flattering!”

Ahn Junseok burst out laughing at Youngkwang’s boldness, clearly charmed by his straightforward demeanor. His curiosity about Youngkwang only deepened.

“So, what were you discussing so passionately?”
“Oh, we were just talking about the project I’m working on with the actor here.”
“An actor?”
“Yes, this is Lee Jaehyun. He’s working on a film with us.”
“Would that be the film starring Kang Jooyeon?”

Park Sunghoon, who had been listening intently since Youngkwang introduced himself as a My Way Pictures producer, suddenly jumped into the conversation.

“Oh, are you familiar with our film?” Youngkwang asked, feigning surprise.
“Oh, so it’s true. I’d heard some whispers. You know how fast news travels in this industry.”
“Well, I’m a bit embarrassed now. I can only hope the rumors were good ones.”

Youngkwang joked lightly, and Park Sunghoon studied him with newfound interest.

“How did you convince Kang Jooyeon?”
“Pardon?”
“She’s been completely reclusive, turning down nearly every project. And now she’s working on a film by a director with an adult film background. I’m intrigued.”

“Ah.”
Youngkwang smiled slyly. He had heard from Kang Jooyeon herself about how Park Sunghoon had been rejected by her multiple times. However, he decided to play it coy.

“How do you know such details?”

“Oh, let me introduce him,” chimed in Yang Hyesoo, ever the helpful ally. “This is Park Sunghoon, the general manager at Jeil Entertainment. Tonight’s dinner was a meeting between us and Director Ahn Junseok.”

“Ah, I see. I’m truly fortunate to meet such esteemed individuals in this setting,” Youngkwang said with a polite bow.

“Come on, Producer Lee. You said you had your eye on me, so we would’ve crossed paths sooner or later. And isn’t it nice to meet this way, naturally?”
Ahn Junseok grinned, but his eyes showed he was just as curious as Park Sunghoon about how Youngkwang had managed to persuade Kang Jooyeon.

“Our director does have an adult film background, but he has a very unique style and a knack for storytelling.”
“Oh, really?”
“His name is Ha Pilsung. I’m confident he’ll gain much more recognition after this film’s release.”

“There’s no such thing as a boring film once production begins. They’re all interesting,” Gu Bonjik interjected with a snide remark.

“What’s his style like?” Ahn Junseok asked, genuinely intrigued.

“He edits from the scripting stage. There’s virtually no waste in his process.”
“…!”
“…?!”

Those who understood filmmaking were visibly shocked by Youngkwang’s calm response.

To edit from the scripting stage meant the script itself was already of extraordinarily high quality. 

“Haha, well, filmmaking is about rethinking and reshaping things multiple times during shooting and post-production to achieve the best results,” Gu Bonjik interjected with a self-satisfied smile, clearly impressed with his own logic. “But that also means it’s rare to produce something better than the script itself. And honestly, how can you know whether it’s good or not until you get to the editing stage? Don’t you agree?”

He seized the opportunity to ridicule, aiming a sharp remark at Youngkwang.

Nice shot, thought Youngkwang, inwardly rejoicing.

“Oh, you’re absolutely right. But you know, there are exceptions to everything.”

“…What?”

“We weren’t sure it would work, but it did.”

“…What are you talking about?”

“Well, we used part of the film’s budget to create a short edited version.”

“What?”
“A rough cut?”

Youngkwang’s bombshell statement made Park Sunghoon and Ahn Junseok simultaneously whip their heads around in shock.

“Yes, we made a 20-minute rough cut. It’s not wasted effort, though; it’s material we’ll actually use in the final film. We plan to present it to the investment committee for review.”

“Wow, isn’t that risky? You’re not even sure if the project will get funded. And if it’s good enough for the final cut, the investment must have been significant.”

“It’s because we had that much confidence. Besides, if we weren’t confident about securing funding, we wouldn’t have started the project in the first place.”

Youngkwang’s assured tone and provocative words made Park Sunghoon swallow nervously.

His argument made sense, but who in this industry could claim to be that certain about the future? The film world was like gambling—no matter how many times you checked and rechecked your strategy, unforeseen variables could always knock you down.

“So the rough cut must be quite good,” Park Sunghoon commented cautiously.

“I believe it clearly conveys the unique tone of our film,” Youngkwang replied with a confident smile.

“Haha, now you’ve got me even more curious. I suppose if we see it, we’ll also understand why Kang Jooyeon chose this project?”

“Exactly.”

Youngkwang’s grin grew wider. Meanwhile, Gu Bonjik’s expression had darkened further.

This meeting, meant to brief Ahn Junseok’s project and convince the so-called “conservative youngsters” at the investment committee, had somehow shifted the spotlight entirely to Youngkwang, the unexpected guest.

“Haha, each production company has its own system,” Gu Bonjik said with feigned amusement, attempting to regain control of the conversation. “It’s funny, though—Lee Deokjae and My Way Pictures have struggled with rejection after rejection at the investment committee. It seems they’ve decided to take a bolder approach this time. Anyway, I hope it works out.”

While his words seemed to offer well wishes, they were clearly meant to undercut Lee Deokjae and My Way Pictures. Gu Bonjik raised his hand to call for more orders, trying to shift the mood.

“Excuse me! Could we have this, that, and also that one, please?”

Ahn Junseok, observing the atmosphere with an amused expression, turned fully toward Youngkwang and asked another question.

“That idea—whose was it?”

“Pardon?”

“Making a rough cut to secure funding. I know Lee Deokjae’s temperament well, and it doesn’t seem like something he would come up with. It’s too aggressive.”

“Oh, you’re right. It was my idea, admittedly.”

“Hah. I thought so.”

Ahn Junseok nodded, smiling broadly.

“This is really interesting, this guy.”

“Sorry?”

“I love talking to young people sometimes for this very reason,” he said, turning to the others at the table.

Ahn’s lighthearted laugh prompted the group to join in, though the statement had a subtle undertone.

In his mid-thirties, Ahn Junseok was a director who had achieved early success. When such a prominent figure hinted at the value of working with younger talent, Gu Bonjik and Park Sunghoon could only nod in agreement, even if it left them feeling slightly awkward.

“I’m working on a new project myself,” Ahn Junseok said, his tone suddenly playful.

“Oh, really?”

Youngkwang maintained a neutral expression, showing interest without appearing overeager.

“It’s a two-parter. What’s interesting is how opinions on it vary widely depending on the audience’s age group.”

“How so?”

“Producers in their 40s and above applaud the idea as worth pursuing, but younger members of the evaluation committee keep nitpicking,” Ahn Junseok replied with a smirk, glancing pointedly at Yang Hyesoo and the committee member who had accompanied her.

Noticing Yang Hyesoo flinch, Youngkwang inwardly chuckled. He could already guess what Ahn Junseok would say next.

“How long does it usually take you to read a script?”

At the question, Gu Bonjik’s pupils practically trembled.

“Come on now, Director Ahn.”

“What? Isn’t it better to pitch and hear reviews as much as possible, especially at the planning stage?”

Ahn Junseok genuinely wanted to hear Youngkwang’s opinion. While My Way Pictures might be a small studio, its CEO, Lee Deokjae, wasn’t an ordinary person. Hiring a full-time producer and investing so heavily in a risky endeavor suggested that this young producer was either truly remarkable or simply naive—a recklessly bold young man typical of his age.

Ahn wanted to find out which. There was also a sliver of hope that, if Youngkwang wasn’t all talk, he might address the nagging issues Ahn had with his own project.

“If I’m evaluating the budget along with the story, it’ll take about two hours. If it’s just a straight read-through, 30 minutes will do.”

“Oh? Then would you mind taking a look at my script while we chat?”

Ahn was already pulling his upcoming script out of his bag.

“It would be my honor,” Youngkwang said with a grin.

“Well then, sorry to trouble you. We’ll keep talking and having a drink while you read.”

With a playful wink, Ahn handed the script to Youngkwang. While everyone else at the table seemed bewildered by this sudden turn of events, Youngkwang calmly flipped through the pages and immersed himself in Ahn’s story.

“Ambitious, aren’t you?”

Halfway through, Youngkwang couldn’t help but admire the scope of Ahn’s vision. It was clear that the script had been written with the global market in mind.

The problem, however, was that the world Ahn was building was too vast for him to handle alone, no matter how talented and successful he might be.

“To pull this off, you’ll need top-tier staff across every department—storyboarding, art, location scouting, lighting, and cinematography. Without them, it’s bound to fail.”

It was a project that exceeded Ahn’s capacity, but not one without solutions. With a slight shift in perspective, the problem could be easily addressed.

Moreover, as Youngkwang had suspected from hearing Yang Hyesoo’s earlier complaints, the core issue was exactly what he had imagined.

“It’s an intriguing setup. The characters are strong too,” Youngkwang said, closing the script.

“Oh, so there is at least one young person on my side?”

Ahn, slightly tipsy after another drink, shrugged his shoulders with a sly grin.

“However, the format needs to change.”

Youngkwang flipped through the script again, quickly scanning from start to finish.

“The format?”

“If you try to make this into a two-part movie, the risk will be enormous.”

At that statement, the expressions around the table split into two camps.

Yang Hyesoo nodded in agreement. Her supervisor, Manager Kim, looked confused. Actor Lee Jaehyun seemed curious, while Park Sunghoon frowned in deep thought. As for Gu Bonjik, his face practically screamed murder.

Finally, Ahn Junseok maintained a calm expression, clearly willing to hear more before forming a judgment.

“Risk?”

“The story is too expansive. Trying to condense it into two films would be impossible. You’d end up showcasing the style but leaving the story incomplete.”

“Huh?”

Sensing that Youngkwang’s critique wasn’t entirely negative, Ahn’s expression brightened slightly.

“Now I understand why you were interested in our conversation earlier. This isn’t a story suited for a mere series. It needs to be developed as a franchise—with proper preparation.”

“A franchise? Hahaha!”

At Youngkwang’s bold assessment, Ahn Junseok burst out laughing.