Chapter 4 Part 5: Where the Water is Deep, the Fish Gather

That night, Hong Jihyun returned to her studio.

Resting her chin on her hand in front of her laptop, she stared at the screen, lost in thought.

‘When a writer is forced to revise a script because of an actor…’

What Writer Choi’s words meant was only one thing.

When an actor truly brings a living, breathing character to life.

It’s the moment when a writer admits that their own script falls short of the actor’s performance.

Of course, that isn’t the only reason writers revise scripts, but Writer Choi’s words were clearly pointing to that.

Just then, an email notification popped up in the bottom-right corner of her laptop screen.

Thinking it was probably another promotional email, Hong Jihyun’s eyes widened.

“Director Kim Minsu’s email!”

It was a reply to the favor she’d asked for earlier that day.

She hurriedly moved the mouse and opened the message, her eyes landing on Kim Minsu’s short note.

[No external sharing.

If you want to see it, come in person.

I won’t stop you from that much.]

In truth, film directors almost never show unfinished work to others.

What painter would reveal an incomplete canvas to the public?

By the same logic, directors—the vanguard of cinematic art—are much the same.

Allowing Hong Jihyun to come see it in person was something Kim Minsu agreed to only reluctantly, persuaded by the argument that maintaining a good relationship with her would be beneficial for future ties with the broadcast industry.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Hong Jihyun picked up her phone.

“Senior.”

– Yeah, I sent the email.

“Can I come right now?”

– What?

It’s past eleven at night.

“If you’re doing post-production, aren’t you pulling an all-nighter anyway?”

– Well… that’s true.

“What if I bring late-night food?”

– What are you bringing?

“Whatever you want.”

– Hey, you rich writer.

You’re getting paid over thirty million won per episode now, right?

“Something like that.”

– Hanwoo beef and premium Jinro.

“Got it.”

– And not skirt steak—get a good cut.

That way I can convince the kid to show you at least one more scene.

“I’ll ask someone I know in Majangdong to prepare top-grade meat.”

– At this hour?

“I’m personally close with them.

It’ll be fine.”

– Alright.

I’ll wait.

By the time Hong Jihyun stopped by Majangdong to buy meat and alcohol and arrived at Jang Youngho’s officetel, it was past one in the morning.

Seeing Hong Jihyun—someone he was meeting for the first time—Jang Youngho looked flustered and honored.

“I was surprised when I heard you’d be visiting in person, Writer Hong.”

Smiling, Hong Jihyun held out the bag of beef.

“Here.

A bribe.”

“Haha, that’s got to be over thirty thousand won, right?”

“So what?

I’m not a civil servant.”

“Then I’ll gratefully accept it.

Haha.”

Kim Minsu emerged from the bathroom and asked gruffly,

“What are you doing here at this hour?

You could’ve come tomorrow.”

As she stepped inside, Hong Jihyun replied,

“What’s the difference?

People in this line of work all live with their days and nights flipped anyway.

We both know this is our active time.

Director Jang Youngho, is this okay?”

If it were a male guest, maybe not—but Jang Youngho always welcomed female visitors.

He smiled broadly.

“If it’s Writer Hong Jihyun, even five in the morning is fine.”

With no proper place to sit due to the clutter of filming equipment, Hong Jihyun hovered awkwardly until Jang Youngho offered her his chair.

“The work is about thirty percent done.

I can only show you three scenes in advance.

Is that alright?”

“Of course.

You can even ask me to sign an NDA.”

Jang Youngho glanced at Kim Minsu and said,

“Senior Kim’s face is basically the NDA.”

When Hong Jihyun put on the headphones, Jang Youngho briefly explained the overall script and then played the file.

Pressing the headphones snugly over her ears, Hong Jihyun fixed her gaze on the screen.

A scene where a detective investigating a case visits Go Youngcheol’s house.

A rough-looking detective presses the bell of a detached house and stares at it.

When there’s no response, he tilts his head, then presses the bell again—only for the green gate to open without any sign of someone approaching.

The moment she sees the man standing in the doorway, Hong Jihyun’s pupils dilate.

‘My god!

He looks like a completely different person!’

She had just come from watching The Scarred Mountain Lodge.

It was the same face she’d seen earlier—but Yejun now looked like an entirely different human being.

Startled, she slammed the space bar, freezing the screen, and stared hard at Yejun’s paused face.

‘What’s different?

What changed?

How do you alter someone’s appearance this much?’

She assumed it had to be makeup.

After all, makeup techniques can drastically change a person’s impression.

Even something as small as how the eyebrows are groomed can completely alter a face.

Just then, Kim Minsu—sitting beside her—spoke.

“We only did base makeup.”

“……!?”

Kim Minsu had seen right through her thoughts.

“You thought his impression looked different, didn’t you?”

Hong Jihyun took off her headphones and nodded faintly.

“It’s completely different.

I actually just watched The Scarred Mountain Lodge earlier.”

Kim Minsu chuckled.

“You’ll be even more shocked if you ever drink with that guy.”

“Excuse me?

Why?”

“His personality flips even at drinking parties.

Heh.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll find out if you work with him.

Now keep watching.

I’ll grill the meat.”

Leaving her with those cryptic words, Kim Minsu headed to the kitchen.

Blinking, Hong Jihyun put the headphones back on and resumed the paused scene.

After facing Go Youngcheol’s unnaturally blank expression, the detective seems to feel a gut instinct stirring.

He glares at him and asks,

– This is Go Youngcheol’s residence, correct?

– ……

Go Youngcheol silently studies the detective.

The detective raises his ID.

– I have a few questions regarding an investigation.

May I come in?

– ……

Before Go Youngcheol can answer, the detective pushes his way through the gate.

– Excuse me.

He strides in as if it were his own home, crossing the yard and entering the house.

Go Youngcheol watches the detective with sharp eyes as he surveys the yard.

A killer confronted by a police officer—panic would be natural, yet Go Youngcheol’s expression doesn’t change.

Instead, he closes the open gate.

Watching this, Hong Jihyun unconsciously rubs her arms as goosebumps rise in clusters.

‘He closed the gate and checked outside!’

Such a tiny acting detail.

But it’s enough.

Go Youngcheol has already decided to kill the detective.

He doesn’t even know why the detective came—yet he’s already checking for witnesses.

‘To be able to act with such subtle detail…’

If the director had intended this, the camera would have closed in on Go Youngcheol’s eyes at the moment the gate shut.

But instead, the shot showed his back as he closed it.

In other words, it’s a detail you’d miss unless you were paying close attention.

That means it was entirely the actor’s choice.

Go Youngcheol follows the detective inside.

After briefly surveying the interior, the detective turns back—

– This is quite rude of me— gk!

Without hesitation, Go Youngcheol pulls a knife from his waist and drives it into the detective’s neck.

Blood sprays as the detective crashes into nearby objects, collapsing.

On the floor, he thrashes, clutching the knife embedded in his throat.

Though he moved with lightning speed just moments ago, Go Youngcheol now stands there, calm-eyed, silently watching the bloody chaos the detective creates in his death throes.

With his throat pierced, the detective can’t even scream, only choke and flail.

– Grrr…!

Guh—!

Go Youngcheol slowly squats down in front of him.

The detective’s movements gradually weaken.

Hong Jihyun’s eyes shine.

‘He’s not looking at the detective’s face—his gaze is fixed on the knife stuck in the neck!’

Even in this moment, Go Youngcheol’s eyes are chasing the beauty of blood.

His gaze—utterly calm yet steeped in madness—is terrifying to the bone.

He watches quietly until the blood stops spurting from the detective’s neck, then murmurs softly,

– Where did it go wrong?

From where did you start following me?

Hong Jihyun swallows hard.

‘The vocal cords at the back of the larynx carry no unnecessary tension—it flows out naturally.

He knows the exact pathway of his own voice.’

An ideal tone, with no air leaking through improperly closed vocal folds, no nasal sound, no harsh throatiness.

‘It’s so natural.

It feels like I’m watching the real Go Youngcheol from an omniscient viewpoint.’

Another voice inside her screams,

‘This is him.

Grab him now.

The missing puzzle piece that will complete your script is right there!’

Just then, Director Kim Minsu returns with grilled beef, spreads newspaper on the floor, and cracks open a bottle of soju.

“Hey.

Have a drink.”

“Just a second.

Let me finish this.”

“That’s the end.

I’ve watched it dozens of times—I know.”

As Kim Minsu said, Go Youngcheol squats there, staring intently at the detective.

He pulls out the knife piercing the neck, stabs a few more times, then mutters with a bored expression,

– Nothing’s coming out anymore.

He lifts his head and checks the time.

The file ends there.

“Aaah!

Why did he check the time?

Why!

Humanly speaking, shouldn’t you explain that before cutting it off?”

Kim Minsu snorts.

“You people cut scenes right at car crashes, cut when the actress’s eyes roll back, cut when it looks like the protagonist dies—and that’s what you’re complaining about?”

Jang Youngho grins in agreement.

“If you’re curious, come see it when it releases.

It’ll be screening at Hongdae Space starting early next month.”

Sitting on the newspaper-covered floor, Hong Jihyun pours soju and offers a glass to Kim Minsu.

“Senior, you’ve met Actor Ma Yejun, right?

What kind of person is he?”

After downing his drink, Kim Minsu replies,

“Are you asking about the man… or the actor?”

“Let’s start with the man.

Is he someone easy to work with?”

“His character’s good.

Seems like he works hard.

When you give him advice, his eyes go wide and he listens properly.”

“And as an actor?”

Kim Minsu hesitates, then looks at Jang Youngho.

“It’d be faster to ask Youngho than me.

I didn’t work directly with him.”

When Hong Jihyun turns to him, Jang Youngho—chewing beef with lips glossy from rendered fat—thinks for a long moment, organizing his thoughts.

Finally, he speaks.

“If you saw that scene just now, you were probably captivated by how Yejun seemed to become a real character on the outside.”

Hong Jihyun nods, and he continues,

“You said you went to see the play?”

“Yes.

Today.”

“What did you think?”

“It was incredible acting.

The way tiny details connect into a clear rise-and-fall structure—it felt complete.”

Jang Youngho nods vigorously, then asks,

“Did you look at the audience?”

“Yes.

They were all cheering.”

“Not that.”

“Then what?”

“Did you notice the gender ratio?”

“Hmm…
It seemed like mostly women.”

Most of those attending The Scarred Mountain Lodge are members of theater-going communities.

Since interest in theatrical arts skews more female, that’s only natural—it’s not because Yejun lives off his looks.

Folding his arms, Jang Youngho says,

“Right.

Female audience members.

What do you think a male actor feels when lots of women come just to see him?”

“Hmm.”

“Naturally, he’d feel good.

Of course he’d want to look even cooler.”

“I suppose so.”

Pouring himself another drink, Jang Youngho smiles faintly.

“But Actor Ma Yejun doesn’t start with the question, ‘How can I look cooler?’
That thought doesn’t exist for him at all, Writer Hong.”