Novelist Running Through Time

TL: KSD

An unprecedented apocalypse hit the Korean film industry.

The solution to the problems of <movie ticket prices rising> and <people not watching movies> was found faster than expected. Humanity always finds an answer. As it always has.

Especially when livelihoods are at stake, people tend to find answers much quicker and more accurately. And that ‘correct answer’ was agreed upon as common sense among industry insiders.

The answer was ‘stability.’

It’s the same when choosing food. You might easily try something new like a 2,000-won triangular kimbap, but when it comes to a 20,000-won chicken meal, you go for something tested, something you’ve experienced—the reliable taste you’re used to.

The same formula applies to movies. You must not take risks. Don’t make something like truffle avocado beef tartare; make a hearty meal, like a dependable bowl of gukbap (soup with rice).

So, if the audience says, “Hmm… the taste is stable”, then it’s a success.

However, there were cases where some filmmakers got too obsessed with the ‘safe formula,’ drawing on outdated emotions from 10 or 20 years ago, ruining their films in the process.

If a film fails, both the director and the investors face ruin. The idea of relying on proven, traditional methods to survive is an age-old one in human history.

The notion of ‘advancing toward a bright future’ or ‘moving forward to tomorrow’ is not as old as you might think. Humanity’s ideal has always been in the past, not the future. Respecting the elders of the tribe, following the laws of past kings, and yearning for the peace of the Yao and Shun era…

However, the scriptwriting process for the movie ‘Sound’ was quite radical. This was because the screenwriter happened to be someone from the future.

“How is it?”

“Ugh.”

“…?”

The future person rejected the past person’s proposal.

EP 9 – Sound

People (as expected) didn’t really know, and he himself didn’t watch much TV, so he couldn’t really feel it, but Moon In was actually a man from 10 years in the future.

Moreover, he’s a crazy person from the future who doesn’t even buy Bitcoin or stocks after coming back. No one in this world can fathom the extent of his madness.

But even for Moon In, who only cared about literature, there was one minor inconvenience in this past life—it was that all cultural content felt outdated.

So, when Moon In saw the draft of ‘Sound’ written by So Tae-woong, he said:

“This is a bit… meh…”

“…!!!”

“To be honest, it’s too old-fashioned…”

So Tae-woong’s eyes widened as if a dagger had been driven into his chest.

For a sensitive movie director in his 50s, who was already feeling like he was falling behind the times, the word ‘old-fashioned’ sounded like, “You belong in a museum, you old fogey!”

Gravely wounded, So Tae-woong bit his lip as if he might cough up blood at any moment.

“Old, old-fashioned… you say…?”

The blow was even more powerful because the speaker was an internationally recognized genius novelist.

Just as the senior authors felt joy when receiving praise from the genius, So Tae-woong now experienced an equally magnified sense of torment.

But Moon In showed no mercy.

“Yes… it feels like it’s full of clichés…”

In fact, there was a misunderstanding that transcended time and space here.

Moon In didn’t watch many movies, either in the past or the present. He didn’t have the money, nor did he have much interest. So he didn’t really know what clichés were.

However, since he occasionally went to the cinema with Gu Yu-na on dates, he had barely been exposed to the most popular movies.

And those ‘most popular movies’ were mostly So Tae-woong’s works.

Even films that weren’t directed by So Tae-woong had some influence from his style. So Tae-woong wasn’t someone who followed clichés; he was the one who created them. If it was a Korean film, it had, to some extent, inherited his innovations.

Thanks to So Tae-woong’s genius, even someone like Moon In, who rarely watched films, had subconsciously come to recognize the ‘So Tae-woong style’. This in itself was a remarkable feat.

Yet, the ungrateful man from the future ended up stabbing someone who could even be called his benefactor. It was akin to wielding future knowledge to ruthlessly defeat the ignorant past.

“Especially this part, isn’t it too predictable? Feels like I’ve seen it somewhere before…”

“Ugh…!”

So Tae-woong is considered, if not the best, then one of the best film directors in Korea. There’s no disagreement about this evaluation. The basis for it is the past few decades of his work.

Especially after becoming the first Korean to win the Golden Bear at Berlin, no one dared to utter harsh criticism to his face.

Honestly, there were times even he felt certain parts of his films were a bit weak, but critics would cover for him, tiptoeing around the issue, which made even So Tae-woong feel somewhat awkward.

But now, after years, he was being harshly criticized to his face, and it left him feeling completely disoriented.

Of course, So Tae-woong had something to say. To sum it up, it was ‘What do you know?’

So, he asked.

“Then… how would you suggest changing it?”

But he already knew.

“How about this?”

“Uh…”

Moon In didn’t use any grand literary techniques. He simply revised the dialogue and direction to reflect the ‘current trend’ in films that he was aware of.

Naturally, So Tae-woong’s influence on that ‘current trend’ wasn’t insignificant.

And the same genius that So Tae-woong possessed allowed him to glimpse a spark of brilliance in Moon In’s revision.

“Ah…”

It was a realization, followed by an exclamation of admiration.

So Tae-woong, who had been planning to ask Moon In, “Can I speak casually now, since we’re closer?” immediately scrapped that plan.

“Author Moon…”

“Yes?”

“You’re… truly a genius…”

So Tae-woong gave up trying to understand the miraculous fact that a novelist could also display genius in filmmaking.

Just as many mediocre people who had fallen behind So Tae-woong likely resented the genius and faded away, So Tae-woong, too, chose to speak with respect, knowing that a genius like Moon In should never be despised or discarded.

“This won’t do… Let’s go to my studio. We’ll revise the whole script there.”

“Is that really okay?”

“I’ll provide the meals.”

Had he known that the genius Moon In had shown was actually something So Tae-woong himself had created, he might have considered splitting the bill.

* * *

An age of darkness had arrived.

An unprecedented <Movie Apocalypse> had arrived. An epidemic had spread, causing audiences to disappear, and ticket prices to rise. It was a dark time where everyone in the industry trembled with fear.

But where there is light, there is darkness, and where there is darkness, there is light.

Two heroes emerged to save this darkened world…

“How about this?”

“It’s good.”

Naturally, these heroes were Moon In and So Tae-woong.

What is a hero? Someone brave. Someone who doesn’t fear. Someone who overcomes fear.

Just like heroes meant to save a world plunged into darkness, they told a fearless story.

In the end, they went ahead and did it.

They deviated from the formula for a box office hit…

“A kind, supportive teacher helping the main character… let’s cut that?”

“What…!”

“And the classmate who keeps bullying the protagonist… let’s cut that too? Let’s go for something more realistic, something subdued.”

“If Author Moon says so… Fine! Let’s also get rid of the melodrama. Let’s take out the entire second act!”

If the investors who had placed their trust in So Tae-woong and funded the project saw this, they would have been in despair, wailing in sorrow.

While others were struggling to squeeze in just one more cliché, they weren’t making a reliable bowl of gukbap but instead were creating truffle avocado beef tartare!

But the hero duo didn’t care about public opinion.

The investors’ approval? Not necessary. Only those who need to seek validation worry about such things.

So Tae-woong, for one, was confident. He firmly controlled his staff, could always pull in as much investment as needed, and had mastered his field, so he knew better than anyone how to handle his work.

As for Moon In, there’s no need for detailed explanation. You can’t expect much from a delinquent, who, as soon as he returned to the past, threw coffee in a parent’s face.

Inwardly, Moon In couldn’t help but think that all the complaints filmmakers were making these days about how tough things were didn’t sound particularly desperate to him.

An unprecedented <Movie Apocalypse>?

Nothing compared to the hellish landscape of the <Publishing Apocalypse>.

As an iron-blooded survivor who survived the <Publishing Apocalypse>, it was just laughable.

How can they call it a recession after experiencing less than 10 years of stagnation? Historically, a recession should last at least 30 years. Only then do you earn the right to start complaining about hardship.

In any case, the weak filmmakers, lacking tenacity, are whining that the times are tough and acting like they’re all going to die. Such behavior is unthinkable in the publishing industry. Over there, dying is just the baseline. Those who survive believe that they will open up the future and willingly hurl themselves towards death…

If So Tae-woong had known about these irreverent thoughts, he would have smacked Moon In over the head with a script to correct such blasphemy, but since Moon In didn’t say his thoughts out loud, no bloodshed occurred.

On the contrary, the work of the hero duo progressed smoothly.

Because there were no brakes.

In fact, So Tae-woong had brought Moon In on board as a sort of brake. He wanted a fresh, young mind to remind him of the latest commercial film trends in case he leaned too far into “indie film” territory.

But Moon In was indie film.

So Tae-woong needed to first understand why the established literary circles saw Moon In not as an ‘innovator’, but as a ‘traditionalist’, or even a ‘successor’.

“Aren’t we prioritizing the message too much?”

“That’s possible.”

“Isn’t it too dark?”

“That’s possible.”

“Isn’t it too obscure?”

“That’s possible.”

In the end, it was So Tae-woong who had to play the role of the brakes, but his nature was all gas, no brakes.

As the dark creative minds of the two artists began to run wild, no one could stop them.

“Author Moon. This is way too dark…”

“Oh, is it?”

“What if we throw in something popular, like zombies?”

“Zom… bies?”

“It’s a visualization of the protagonist’s psychology towards others. Since the protagonist is visually impaired, we’ll direct it as if it appears this way in the protagonist’s perception. A scene with zombies behaving like normal people—doesn’t that sound good?”

“Then I’ll change the protagonist’s setting to someone who became visually impaired later in life. When they watched a zombie movie as a child, they remembered both the human and zombie faces, but after more than ten years, the memory of what a human face looks like has become fuzzy, while the zombies are still vividly remembered, giving them chills….”

“Oh… that’s good. I like the feeling.”

“Shall we go with this?”

“Okay.”

The hero duo charged ahead like a runaway train with no brakes.

Thus, the script for the movie ‘Sound’ was born.

The aftermath would be something the actors would have to deal with.

“Y-you want me to act here…?”

Kim Byul, sitting among a group of zombies dressed in school uniforms, trembling slightly, asked in disbelief.

* * *

Kim Byul is a veteran in the entertainment industry. She’s survived more than 10 years in this world.

But most of those years weren’t filled with activities but with hardships, making her more knowledgeable about the darkness of the entertainment industry than its glory.

That’s why the rumor about her landing the audition through a friend’s connections wasn’t entirely without basis.

“…Ah, hello.”

“Yes, hello.”

The actors who had been whispering to each other fell silent and awkwardly greeted her when they saw her. It wasn’t on the set of ‘Sound’, but rather at the Baekhak Entertainment building, and they were actors she didn’t know.

From their behavior, Kim Byul realized that the rumor had already spread to Management Department 2. After all, it wasn’t like only one or two people had seen her hanging out in Baekhak Entertainment’s common areas with Moon In.

Baekhak Entertainment’s Management Department 2 was responsible for actor management. The department was so large and core to the company that if separated, it could function as an independent talent agency.

And this concept had even half-formed when the headquarters was considering how to oust Baek Seung-won from his position as CEO.

Thus, Baek Seung-won’s control over the company had significantly weakened, and the scene of actors gossiping about their colleagues in the hallway was just one reflection of this ‘discipline problem’.

As the saying goes, if a bucket leaks from the inside, it will also leak from the outside.

If Baekhak Entertainment, the heart of the entertainment industry, was already swirling with drama, then it was certain that strange rumors had already spread throughout the entire industry.

Kim Byul had landed the lead role in Director So Tae-woong’s movie, beating out veteran stars with stellar reputations.

Now, the jealousy and discontent had found a convenient excuse, and Kim Byul braced herself to endure the rumors that she had succeeded thanks to a friend’s influence.

With that tension and a heavy heart, she arrived at the filming set.

But what awaited Kim Byul wasn’t gossip— it was zombies.

“Huh?”

Zombies?

Why?

She already knew that the protagonist sees other people as monsters.

But knowing that and actually encountering zombies on set were two entirely different things.

As if showcasing the peak capabilities of the Korean zombie industry, which had surged after the success of ‘Train to Busan’ and ‘Kingdom’, the set was swarming with zombie experts who had majored in contemporary dance.

And only then.

Kim Byul suddenly remembered.

The chilling wind of the Manchurian plains.

The thundering hooves that echoed like the beating of her heart.

The horse’s tongue licking her face even as she screamed.

The cruelty of So Tae-woong, who had once made a middle school girl act in a horseback gunfight action scene on the Manchurian plains…

“D-director…? This hasn’t turned into a zombie movie, has it…?”

“Oh, no. These are just extras for the scene.”

“Th-thank goodness… So they won’t be in the next shoot, right?”

“No. They’ll be with us until the final scene.”

“Ah.”

Once again today, in Kim Byul’s heart, her childhood admiration and respect for her idol So Tae-woong crumbled a little bit.

*****

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