Glory Film Company

Episode 55. Identity (2)

“I can’t guarantee anything since I don’t know what you’ll write next,” Youngkwang said, “but at least you won’t be left confused by vague promises.”

“Ah… okay.”

“And one more thing.”

Youngkwang paused for effect, looking directly at Na Sejeong.

“If your potential is confirmed and you decide to work with us, My Way Pictures will do something for you that no other production company would.”

“What?”

Na Sejeong tilted her head, caught off guard by the unexpected statement.

What could that possibly mean?

Her mind raced, her emotions heightened as though she were writing a climactic scene in one of her stories. She couldn’t stop trembling.

Youngkwang had hit the mark. The most important thing to Na Sejeong right now was whether her book would become a movie.

At twenty-eight, she’d already spent five years bouncing around the Chungmuro film industry.

She’d endured contracts with minimal advances, projects that fell apart after endless revisions, and now, she’d been fired as a supposed plagiarist without knowing why. Her life itself could serve as the plot for a movie.

Once again, she was at a crossroads.

Deputy Yang is right. I shouldn’t rush this decision.

Up until now, she had believed that joining a bigger production company was the key to getting her debut. But after hearing Youngkwang speak, she began to realize just how crucial the right producer or director could be in shaping her story and guiding her career.

If I’d stayed with Director Ahn Junseok at Master Film, would things have been different?

Na shook her head.

While Ahn’s artistic passion was admirable, he wasn’t exactly a logical collaborator. As for Producer Hong Ingi, his feedback was often baffling and unhelpful. She doubted she would’ve found the clarity she was now experiencing.

What about Grey Film, if I go there through Hong Ingi’s introduction?

There was no way to know for sure, but she didn’t see much to be optimistic about.

And if I choose My Way Pictures?

Her gaze returned to Youngkwang.

At first, she had underestimated him because of his youth, but now, she couldn’t help feeling curious.

What kind of reaction would he have to my portfolio? Would he once again pinpoint something I hadn’t considered? Could My Way Pictures really turn my book into a movie?

Her thoughts were already a whirlwind of questions when Youngkwang dropped another bombshell:

“What’s this thing other companies can’t do?”

Youngkwang grinned as if he’d been waiting for her to ask.

“We’ll clear your name.”

“What?”

“I don’t think you plagiarized. But that doesn’t mean I can bring a writer accused of plagiarism onto a project. So, I plan to uncover who’s behind this baseless accusation and expose everything.”

“Wait… are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“How?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Youngkwang’s confident tone seemed to strike a nerve, and Na Sejeong’s eyes glistened as she sniffled slightly.

“For now, though, you should still meet with Producer Hong Ingi. You’ve already made plans, right?”

“Y-yes, at five o’clock today.”

“Listen carefully to what he has to say, especially his proposal.”

With that, Youngkwang wrapped up their conversation and stood to leave.

Hong Ingi would likely assume he had the upper hand, believing Na Sejeong desperate enough to jump at any bait. He wouldn’t bother offering her any special treatment, convinced she’d come running regardless.

But what if Na turns down his offer and decides to work with us instead? I’d love to see the look on his face.

The thought brought a smile to Youngkwang’s face, though he had more pressing matters to attend to.

*****

“Over here!”

As soon as he entered the meeting spot, Director Kwak Junghoon waved enthusiastically from across the room.

“Oh, Director Kwak,” Youngkwang greeted.

It was a whiskey bar near Hapjeong Station called Gin Sai. Being the year-end, the place was packed with no empty seats.

However, the bar owner, Bae Youngho, seemed uncharacteristically somber, his usually lively demeanor nowhere to be seen.

“Come sit over here.”

“Guardian Spirit has a new draft?”

“Yeah, give it a read. The story’s got more punch now, but it’s still missing some finer details.”

Taking the script offered by Director Kwak Junghoon, Youngkwang sat down. Kwak, ever the workaholic, had been balancing edits for his next film while drafting the one after it. At this pace, it looked like his subsequent project could begin filming by next summer, right after his current film’s release.

“Details can always be ironed out later,” Youngkwang replied, flipping through the pages while keeping an eye on Bae Youngho.

Unlike his usual self, the bar’s owner, who also happened to be a director, barely acknowledged Youngkwang’s arrival and instead retreated to a corner, carving ice cubes with an intense focus.

“Did I do something to upset him?”

“Nah, it’s not that,” Kwak said, winking conspiratorially. His small nod told Youngkwang to let it slide.

“He gets like this every year around this time. You’d think he’d be over it by now.”

“…What do you mean?”

“Well, things got better for a few years with the bar doing well. But this year, you popped up out of nowhere, and then there’s that pest Hong Ingi hanging around. You can imagine how unsettled he feels.”

“…Wait, are you saying this is about that Producer Lee Youngkwang’s death anniversary?”

“You knew? Yeah, it was yesterday.”

“I heard about it at the office. …It’s impressive that everyone still remembers.”

“How could they forget? It’s the day after Christmas.”

Apparently, this was a significant improvement from before. In the year of the accident and the one following, Bae had spent every day drowning in alcohol. Even five years later, December still triggered bouts of depression.

A man died on his set—a producer he’d shared both fond and frustrating moments with. The impact must have been enormous.

Youngkwang glanced at Bae with a twinge of sympathy.

And now, someone with the same name and similar behavior shows up. Even if he doesn’t say anything, it must weigh on him. But why would Hong Ingi factor into this?

The connection between Bae Youngho and Hong Ingi wasn’t clear to Youngkwang. If something had happened after his death, he didn’t know about it.

“Why would Hong PD have anything to do with this?” Youngkwang asked, blinking in confusion.

“There’s something suspicious about it all,” Kwak said, letting out a deep sigh.

“The accident shouldn’t have happened the way it did.”

And then Kwak began recounting the events of that day—details that Youngkwang had never known.

That night, Youngkwang had a surreal experience. No matter how much he drank, he didn’t feel drunk.

He’d never been particularly weak to alcohol, and his physical fitness had improved considerably since regaining his youthful body. Still, the sharper his mind became as the liquor flowed, the more unsettling it felt.

“So, you’re saying it might not have been an accident?”

The thought sent chills down his spine.

The possibility that someone had orchestrated the circumstances, trapping him in a deadly setup, was horrifying.

Even at the time of the fire, Youngkwang had harbored doubts.

The rehearsal had gone flawlessly. The gas equipment, which was supposed to have been disconnected, had somehow been reconnected. Who ignored the safety protocols and messed with the setup?

But after his death, nearly two decades had passed. Adjusting to his new body and navigating a changed industry had consumed him. Revisiting the doubts about that day had fallen to the wayside—until now.

As the anniversary of his death rolled by, those unanswered questions began surfacing again.

It wasn’t just bad luck?

Bae had insisted on shooting in a basement apartment rather than a rooftop one, arguing it was more realistic. Instead of building a set, they’d used an old building slated for demolition to save costs.

It was winter—dry, and prone to fires. Miscommunication among the crew had compounded the problems.

Small issues piling up until it all went wrong in one big explosion—that’s what I thought. But now, to hear that Hong Ingi was there that day…

The revelation left Youngkwang with a chilling sense of foreboding.

Of course, the fact that Hong Ingi had been at the scene wasn’t definitive proof that he was behind the incident. It was possible he had simply snuck in like a rat to spy on the set.

But…

For Director Bae Youngho to still harbor doubts all these years later means it’s not something to dismiss lightly.

Kwak Junghoon mentioned that Bae had never shared much detail about the incident, cautioning that it could just be misplaced paranoia fueled by lingering guilt and resentment.

However, Youngkwang wasn’t so quick to brush it off.

Bae Youngho and Kwak Junghoon are fundamentally different. Kwak is the type to tackle problems head-on, while Bae is meticulous to the point of obsession. At one point, he wouldn’t even shoot a single frame without a storyboard. If Bae has been consistently suspicious of Hong Ingi, there’s likely a valid reason.

“Ugh, you younger guys are exhausting,” Kwak grumbled.

By the time Youngkwang snapped out of his thoughts, Kwak’s eyes were glazed over from drinking.

“Should we call it a night?”

“What? No way. Back in my day, I was one of Chungmuro’s top three drinkers, you know!”

Kwak straightened up, forcing a look of defiance despite his obvious inebriation.

“Bae! Hey, Bae Youngho!”

Kwak waved dramatically toward the corner of the bar where Bae was studiously ignoring their table.

“What now?”

“Come over here and sit down!”

“Ugh, don’t bother me.”

“Hey! The customer is king, don’t you know that?”

“Yeah, well, we don’t count troublemakers as customers in this bar.”

“Wow, do you know how much business I’ve brought to this place?”

“Was that even your money? It was all corporate cards from production companies, investors, and entertainment agencies.”

“Not true! I paid with my personal card plenty of times!”

Their back-and-forth was trivial, but eventually, the two men burst into laughter.

“Bae, you still have unfinished business with films, don’t you?”

Drunkenly blunt, Kwak cut straight to the heart of the matter.

“Well, of course. Why else would I still be dabbling in investment and distribution in this industry?”

Bae chuckled, his honesty a testament to his familiarity with Kwak’s approach.

“But you’re going about it the wrong way,” Kwak said, shaking his head.

“You’ve got unresolved baggage. Don’t you think you should address that first?”

“And how exactly do I do that?”

“When I was researching for my last book, I went to therapy for reference. The first step is always getting what’s inside you out in the open. That’s where it begins.”

Dragging Bae over to their table, Kwak continued, “And guess what? You’ve got the perfect outlet right here.”

He pointed at Youngkwang with his chin.

“Lee Youngkwang. Same name, same habits, same attitude. Just let it all out.”

“What are you trying to do here?” Bae asked, incredulous.

“Say whatever you want. Pretend this guy is that Lee Youngkwang. This is your bamboo grove—vent all those bottled-up feelings.”

“……”

“Worried about being embarrassed? Don’t be. He’s already downed a whole bottle of whiskey. Even if he looks sober now, he probably won’t remember a thing tomorrow. So just imagine this guy is that Lee Youngkwang and let it rip. I can’t stand watching you bottle this up any longer. And seriously, who schedules a crank-in for the day after Christmas? It’s like you set us all up for a perpetual Blue Christmas!”

It was hard to tell whether Kwak’s rant was the product of drunken antics or genuine frustration.

Bae looked visibly flustered, but Youngkwang saw an opportunity.

This might be the moment to uncover truths that had been buried for 19 years.

Thunk.

Without hesitation, Youngkwang slammed his head onto the table and feigned being drunk.