Glory Film Company

Episode 48: The Uninvited Guest (Part 1)

“Director, has filming for Gate wrapped up?”
“We cranked out last week. I felt like I was in a coma for three days afterward.”
“I heard the overseas locations were incredible. Rumor has it the visuals are stunning.”
“The scenery was great, and we had excellent equipment, but you never really know until you piece it all together in editing.”
“Haha. Either way, congratulations. You’ve worked hard.”

As the drinks began to flow, the guests who had initially sat in groups based on their teams started to mix and mingle.

Ha Pilsung approached Director Kwak Junghoon, who had recently wrapped up his next project, Gate, and asked how things were progressing. In return, Kwak expressed interest in Ha’s film, 300 Days After We Break Up.

“What was it like working with Lee Jaehyun? I only saw him briefly during auditions, but his look left an impression.”
“He was incredible. It felt like the image I had in my head came to life.”
“Wow, that’s high praise.”
“You’ll see. He’s going to be a big star. If he lands the right project, he’ll blow up overnight.”
“That timing could come sooner with your film.”
“Haha, you’re right. I hope so. Our cast and crew have agreed to defer 50% of their pay until we pass the break-even point and hit 2 million admissions. That makes it even more important for this film to succeed.”
“That’s a heavy burden. But once you’ve done all you can, it’s up to the audience. Cheers to that.”
“Cheers. Thank you.”

Meanwhile, Lee Deokjae was deep in conversation with Director Ahn Junseok and Jeil Entertainment’s head, Park Sunghoon.

“So My Way Pictures is working on three projects right now?”
“Yes, but we’re also starting to plan new ones. 300 Days After We Break Up, Guardian Spirit, and Youth were all projects that had solid drafts to work from, which sped things up. But for the next one, we’ll be starting from scratch, so I need to carve out time to focus on that.”
“That must be chaotic. We’re finding that franchise planning requires a lot of simultaneous tasks and manpower.”
“Have you managed to hire more people?”
“Yes, the biggest issue was producers, but we’ve hired a rookie and someone with more experience.”
“Oh, the experienced one seems promising. Very confident and decisive.”

Park Sunghoon nodded in agreement with Ahn Junseok’s remark.

“Who is it? If they have experience, I might know them.”
“Oh, they’ve been working in the U.S. for the past few years, so you might not. It’s a PD named Hong Ingi.”
“What?”

Lee Deokjae’s surprised reaction caught Ahn Junseok’s attention.

“You know them?”

‘Hong Ingi?’

Youngkwang, seated at a slight distance, perked up at the mention of the name.

“No, I just think I’ve heard the name before,” Lee Deokjae replied cautiously.

Always measured, Lee refrained from confirming his familiarity with the person outright.

“Could it really be the same Hong Ingi?”

A faint smile escaped Youngkwang as memories surfaced.

“That sneaky kid always reeked of trouble.”

Hong Ingi had once worked under Gu Bonjik at Stay Film, notorious for stirring up trouble. Back then, Ingi had been in his early twenties, which would put him in his mid-forties now.

“Gu at least had a kind of foolish charm, but Hong? That guy was born rotten. His underhanded tactics and shady behavior were unbelievable.”

Youngkwang couldn’t help but frown as unpleasant memories resurfaced.

Hearing the name of someone he thought long gone from the industry brought a mix of incredulity and resignation.

“So the film world hasn’t changed much after all.”

“How is it? Pretty impressive, right?”

Bae Youngho suddenly interrupted Youngkwang’s thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, yes. It’s fantastic,” Youngkwang replied, snapping back to the present.

“This is where the screen will go, right?”

“Exactly. See the speakers? They’re part of a state-of-the-art theater system. It cost a fortune.”

“Where’s the projector?”

“Ah, you won’t spot it easily. There’s a hidden side door near the kitchen that leads to a small room. It’s separated from the main hall, which we thought was actually better for the setup.”

“I see.”

The Narrow Gap whiskey bar owned by Bae Youngho was renowned for its interiors inspired by specific films. The newly opened Hongdae branch was designed to resemble a movie theater.

This wasn’t just for show—the bar was built with the intention of hosting movie screening events. The necessary permits were already being processed smoothly.

“When’s the official opening?”
“The building, fire safety, and zoning have all passed without issues. But since combining a whiskey bar with a movie theater is a novel concept, a few additional approvals are needed. Everything should be ready by March.”

A few months earlier, when Bae decided to invest 1.5 billion won in 300 Days After We Break Up, he requested an additional benefit to accompany his bold commitment.

“I’ll handle it all this time.”
“What do you mean?”
“The full 1.5 billion. But I want one more perk added.”

Bae had a grand plan: to build a premium single-screen theater.

“A theater?”
“Yes, a private theater.”

He envisioned a premium theater experience akin to the origins of cinema, where watching films was paired with dining.

“If you look at the history of theaters, from the aristocrats attending performances in their time to the Lumière brothers opening their first cinema, dining always went hand-in-hand with entertainment. Even now, people pair popcorn and soda—or beer and squid—with movies. It’s a proven audience preference. So, why not aim for a niche market with a high-end strategy?”

Bae enthusiastically explained every detail of his plan, from the interior design to the advanced audiovisual systems.

To align with this vision, he proposed a condition: the premiere of 300 Days After We Break Up, the film he was financing, would be held at his new premium theater.

While most premieres today are hosted in multiplexes, a private screening in such a unique venue had its own charm. The marketing potential alone made it an attractive idea.

The intimate 50-seat whiskey bar-theater hybrid in Hongdae was accessible and ideal for hosting special guests.

Everything was proceeding smoothly, with the film’s release date and the bar’s grand opening aligned for March.

“Why don’t we preview the trailer here today?”
“Sure. I brought the second teaser and some making-of footage as well.”
“Oh, great! Good thinking.”
“I also brought behind-the-scenes footage for Director Lee Deokjae’s project and interviews with the cast and director of Gate, courtesy of Director Kwak. We can string them together—it’ll total around 30 minutes.”
“Perfect. Not too short, not too long—just enough to hold attention. Today’s all about the drinks anyway, so it just needs to set the mood.”
“Exactly. But with a whiskey theater, who knows if future audiences will focus more on the films or the drinks?”
“Oh, come on. They’ll love both. Besides, during screenings, we’ll limit alcohol sales to prevent anyone from getting too drunk. And even if they do get tipsy, they might enjoy the film even more! Haha!”

Bae laughed heartily, and Youngkwang chuckled along.

“Who should I give the hard drive to?”
“Hand it to me. I’ll pass it to my driver.”
“Alright. Here you go.”

After handing over the prepared hard drive, Youngkwang returned to making rounds among the guests.

“Hey, PD Youngkwang! You’ve got to have a drink with us!”
“I heard you were always on set for Director Ha’s shoots. Let’s see if you’ll keep that up for our projects!”
“Isn’t it unusual for a PD to spend so much time on set? It’s a different role, and there’s always the risk of stepping on toes.”
“Oh, come on. If it were anyone else, maybe. But PD Youngkwang’s young—it’s easy to push him around!”
“Ha! You’ve only heard half the story. I’m not exactly the type to let myself get pushed around.”
“Haha! Anyway, make sure to take good care of our team too.”
“Of course, you can count on me.”

The year-end party’s atmosphere grew livelier as the drinks flowed and conversations heated up.

As more guests grew tipsy, focusing solely on their immediate conversations, the weight of responsibility on Youngkwang began to lift.

Finally, he thought, he might be able to enjoy a proper meal.

As Youngkwang looked around for a quiet spot to finally relax, his gaze inadvertently met that of Lee Deokjae.

A subtle nod from the veteran director beckoned him over. For a brief moment, Youngkwang considered pretending not to see it and looking away.

“PD Youngkwang! Come join us over here!”

But Director Ahn Junseok raised his hand enthusiastically, calling him over, making it impossible to ignore the summons.

“Wow, you’ve all been drinking quite a bit already.”
“Start with a drink.”
“Just a little for me, please.”

Ahn Junseok, clearly in a good mood, poured a generous amount into Youngkwang’s glass while smiling warmly at him.

Having followed Youngkwang’s advice for franchise film planning and even establishing his own production company, Ahn Junseok had moved closer to his dream goals.

To Ahn, Youngkwang was an invaluable asset—a talent he wouldn’t hesitate to recruit someday. The director’s fondness for the young producer was unmistakable.

“I wanted to introduce you to someone.”
“Who?”

Youngkwang scanned the table. Lee Deokjae, Choi Suhyeon, Ahn Junseok, Park Sunghoon, and Yang Hyesoo—all familiar faces. Who else could Ahn possibly want to introduce?

“They’ll be here soon. Someone you’ll want to know, so I made a special effort to bring them. Haha!”

Ahn chuckled, slightly tipsy but clearly pleased with himself.

Even Park Sunghoon, usually stoic, had a flushed face and a faint grin, suggesting the drinks had been flowing freely at this table.

Choi Suhyeon, the lightweight of the group, already looked glassy-eyed, while Lee Deokjae appeared lost in thought, offering no clues as to who was coming.

Still, Youngkwang had a sinking feeling.

“Who exactly is it?”

“Franchise films are still uncharted territory in Korea,” Ahn said, his voice rising with enthusiasm. “At best, we’ve seen two or three attempts. And even those were more like sequels than true franchises.”

“That’s true,” Youngkwang agreed cautiously.

“That’s why, when hiring producers and writers for this project, we wanted someone with experience in that area. It’s not easy to find, but…”

Oh no.

Youngkwang grimaced slightly, bracing himself.

“Oh! Speak of the devil—they’re here!”

Ahn Junseok stood up with a wide smile, waving energetically.

“PD Hong! Writer Na! Over here!”

Two figures approached.

“Apologies for being late,” a deep voice called out.

The man was large, his build as robust as an American football player. It seemed his time in the U.S. had not only expanded his experience but also his physique.

And next to him was a slim woman, about Youngkwang’s age, with a polite smile.

Damn.

Hoping until the last moment that this was a case of mistaken identity, Youngkwang let out a resigned sigh as he locked eyes with none other than Hong Ingi.

Lee Deokjae and Choi Suhyeon exchanged uneasy glances, their discomfort visible.

“Well, well! Look who it is!”

Unfazed by the tension, Hong Ingi flashed a wide, toothy grin and threw his arms open to embrace Lee Deokjae.

“Director! It’s been ages!”

Hong greeted him with exaggerated enthusiasm, as though they were lifelong friends who couldn’t live without each other.

“Ah, yes, it has been a while,” Lee Deokjae replied flatly, patting Hong’s back a few times before stepping out of the embrace as quickly as possible.

“And PD Choi—no, I should say Director Choi now? Wow, seeing everyone together like this brings back memories!”

Hong removed his luxurious-looking designer coat with a flourish, deliberately turning it inside out so the label was prominently displayed, before draping it over a chair.

Some things never change.

Watching the ostentatious display, Youngkwang couldn’t help but smirk bitterly.