Glory Film Company

Episode 53. Obstacles

“That rookie writer? Why bother?”

“It’ll calm both Deputy Yang and Writer Na, making it easier to prepare for the next steps.”

“Hm. I mean, I could create a position if needed, but… is it really necessary?”

Hong Ingi had asked Gu Bonjik to arrange a position for Na Sejeong, the screenwriter previously working for Ahn Junseok, at Stay Film. Gu looked hesitant.

“They’re both more persistent than I expected. Besides, who knows? If I manage this, I might win over their favor. That would give me another card to play, don’t you think? Haha.”

“Fair enough.”

Gu nodded slowly, then loaded up a round of nagging.

“But something’s been bugging me. You pinned plagiarism allegations on that writer, right? Are you sure that’s safe?”

“Pardon? What do you mean?”

“Think about it. They might not know now, but if they find out, or worse, if someone like Deputy Yang catches a whiff of it, things could get very messy. These younger folks aren’t like us.”

“Oh, come on, sir. I don’t do sloppy work.”

Hong drew a clear line in his tone.

“The evidence looks convincing enough. Even if they find out, it’ll be nearly impossible to overturn. Nobody will believe them. As for Director Ahn, even if he regrets his decision, he’s not going to swallow his pride and bring the writer back. He’s already scouting for replacements, from what I can tell.”

“Hmph. Sure. I trust you know what you’re doing. I’m just saying, let’s not leave room for annoying problems.”

Is it because he’s gained too much to lose? When did this guy get so timid?

Hong narrowed his eyes, observing Gu. It was almost laughable to see someone who used to dive headfirst into any scheme now treading cautiously.

It seemed like Gu was even reluctant to create a writer’s position out of fear of exposure. Testing the waters, Hong pulled back slightly.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be at Stay Film. As long as the conditions are decent and it’s a reputable production company, it should be fine.”

“Right. There’s no real reason it has to be with us, is there? Either way, as long as the writer’s placement is resolved, Deputy Yang will settle down, and you’ll get your chance to connect with them.”

“Exactly. After all the trouble they’ve caused, wouldn’t it be the perfect dramatic cliché for a senior in the industry to offer a helping hand during a difficult time? Haha.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Gu, clearly weary of overthinking, nodded.

“So, does this writer have any talent?”

“Judging by their grand prize in a competition, they seem to have the basics down.”

“Hm. Fine. There’s a production company called Grey Film. They’re closely tied with us. I’ll put in a word and send them there.”

“Grey Film, you say. Haha. Understood.”

While Gu’s tactics showed some thought, to Hong, they were embarrassingly rudimentary.

Having swept aside this minor roadblock, the two men dove into their drinks, reminiscing about the past. Inevitably, the conversation turned to the incident in 2010 that forced Hong to leave Korea.

“If things hadn’t blown up like that back then…”

“We could have taken over a few more entertainment companies. It was right within our grasp.”

“We were in too much of a hurry. Who would’ve guessed Jin Hayoung would overdose and leave behind her diary and evidence?”

“Hah. That was entirely my mistake.”

“No, it wasn’t your fault.”

Thanks to Hong’s ingenuity, Gu had significantly expanded Stay Film’s influence in the early 2000s. Riding that momentum, they absorbed several production companies and even reached into the entertainment industry by 2010.

However, just as they were poised to establish themselves as the leading production company in Korea, an actor’s overdose and posthumous revelations of abuse and corruption brought everything to a screeching halt.

“It was a close call back then.”

“…At least we managed to survive somehow.”

Money could resolve most problems. At the time, they had sources of emergency funding, and shady allies rallied to their aid.

In the end, though perilously close to being exposed, Stay Film, Gu, and Hong had escaped unscathed.

Even now, they looked back on that incident with a mixture of relief and arrogance, convinced that fate itself was on their side. That belief allowed them to continue scheming to extract tears and misery from others.

“But why bother with My Way Pictures?”

Hong, carefully watching Gu’s expression, posed the question.

“What about it?”

“I mean, why pay attention to them? Do they even matter?”

“Hm. Up until now, they were nothing. Just a struggling production company that couldn’t get a single film made.”

“Didn’t even seem like a company built to profit from movies.”

“Exactly. They were like that until this summer. But then, everything changed.”

Gu Bonjik chewed on his lips as he thought back to the events of the past few months.

“There’s a producer named Lee Youngkwang there. A fresh-faced punk.”

“Oh, I’ve seen him. His name stuck with me because, of all things, it’s Lee Youngkwang.”

“Hah. Right? Does that name have to be so cursed?”

“Haha, why do you say that?”

“He acts just like that Lee Youngkwang.”

Gu recounted, bitterly, how he had been forced to return the books he had confiscated from Lee Deokjae, pay 300 million won in damages to My Way Pictures, and how that compensation became the seed money for My Way Pictures to start production and secure major investments.

He glossed over the most humiliating parts, but Hong Ingi could piece together the rest. After all, he’d already heard a bit about Youngkwang’s exploits from a different perspective through Ahn Junseok.

He didn’t seem ordinary.

The impression Youngkwang had left at the year-end party was anything but mundane. To Hong, he resembled a beast concealing sharp claws beneath a calm exterior.

“That’s the driving force of Korean cinema’s progress, isn’t it?”

“Will there ever be a reason to collaborate?”

“If there is, I’ll be the one benefitting. What would I ever owe to someone like him?”

The sarcastic tone was loaded with hostility.

Even though it was their first encounter, Youngkwang’s gaze was piercing and cold, as if he already knew exactly what kind of person Hong Ingi was.

“Am I just being sensitive?”

Hong tilted his head in thought.

Regardless, I need to keep a closer watch on him.

Despite his apparent lack of restraint, Gu Bonjik was one of the most influential producers in Korean cinema.

Even so, Youngkwang, an audacious rookie, had dared to confront Gu about copyright violations, align himself with Ahn Junseok, and cause Gu to lose face. The more Gu mulled it over, the more brazen the newcomer seemed.

If Youngkwang proved useful, he could be reeled in, but if he became an obstacle, it would be better to nip him in the bud.

Hong nodded to himself. The name Lee Youngkwang already left a bad taste in his mouth.

*****

“What do you mean, plagiarism?”

At My Way Pictures, Youngkwang called Deputy Yang Hyesoo aside during the trailer screening schedule to explain the situation.

“Someone sent a tip to Director Ahn’s company email. They claimed Writer Na Sejeong is a plagiarist. They included links to the alleged original works and other supposedly victimized materials.”

“This doesn’t make sense. Are you serious?”

Hyesoo looked baffled.

“I haven’t seen the evidence myself, so I can’t say for sure. It seems Director Ahn reviewed it alone.”

“Ha. So that’s why he cut ties so quickly.”

“It’s a large-scale project. He must’ve thought it best to avoid any unnecessary noise.”

“That’s true, but he could’ve at least confirmed the facts with her. It’s basic decency.”

“You saying that makes this feel like a fantasy.”

“Hey, I’m not that cold-hearted.”

“Sure, let’s recall what you said to me back in college.”

“…Sorry about that.”

Scratching her head in frustration, Hyesoo groaned awkwardly.

“What’s the matter with you now?”

“I used to think I was good at reading people.”

“And?”

“I thought Lee Youngkwang wouldn’t last a day in this industry, and now he’s about to release a 6-billion-won film. I thought Na Sejeong was a genius, but now she’s accused of plagiarism. My judgment is clearly flawed, isn’t it?”

“We can’t definitively say Writer Na plagiarized yet. And wait—you thought that about me?”

“Fine. Let’s just go talk to Writer Na together.”

“Is that really the right answer here?”

“Well, you said it’s not certain. So let’s share what we know and hear her side of things.”

“Seriously…”

This was exactly what Youngkwang had hoped for. Untangling this mess, step by step, would eventually reveal the puppet master pulling the strings.

****

Na Sejeong’s reaction was explosive.

“What did you say? Plagiarism?”

Bang!

She slammed her drink onto the table, her nostrils flaring as she fumed.

“Who the hell started this nonsense? Plagiarism? Plagiarism?”

Na Sejeong’s reaction was fiery, the kind you’d expect only from an actor or a natural-born scammer.

Deputy Yang Hyesoo glanced at Youngkwang, nodding slightly as if to suggest Na’s response must be genuine.

“I don’t know. From what I gather, Director Ahn found the materials they sent pretty credible.”

“So, they’ve treated me like some kind of thief?”

Na Sejeong fumed.

“Wow. Everything makes sense now. So when they said, ‘No need to return the money,’ and, ‘We won’t be using your work,’ what they really meant was, ‘Goodbye. It was dirty, and we never want to see you again.’”

Trembling with betrayal, Na muttered in a low, bitter voice.

“I can’t let this slide. Who else knows about this?”

“Not sure. Why?”

“If this rumor spreads in this industry, I’ll be completely blacklisted! I need to clear this up immediately. I should start by meeting Director Ahn.”

“Hm. I wouldn’t recommend that,” Youngkwang said calmly.

“Why not?” Na asked, her eyes wide.

“What exactly are you planning to say to him? Beg him to believe you? Appeal to his emotions?”

“No… That’s not what I meant.”

“Unless you have concrete evidence proving that the plagiarism claims are false, going to him now will backfire.”

“Hah. You might be right about that.”

“And, I hate to say this, but…”

Youngkwang’s calm gaze met Na’s.

“Even if you prove your innocence, it likely won’t change much.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’ll still be difficult for you to return to Director Ahn’s team.”

“Oh…”

How could he explain this without making it worse?

Youngkwang hesitated.

Director Ahn was someone who demanded perfection in his projects. Taking Na back would not only be a long process given the controversy but also something he likely had no intention of doing. From what Youngkwang could tell, Ahn had already started scouting other writers.

But saying this outright would hurt Na, and much of it was based on Youngkwang’s analysis rather than confirmed facts.

“It’s fine.”

Surprisingly, Na Sejeong seemed resilient.

“It’s not like I have nowhere else to go.”

After muttering a few more words, Na suddenly lifted her head.

“Then I’ll find the evidence myself. My competition-winning manuscript is based on a draft I wrote back in college. I even uploaded it to a private online board I use. If that’s still there, wouldn’t that work as proof?”

“Well, that would certainly help. Just don’t hit any ‘edit’ buttons, okay?”

“Ugh, the thought of it makes me shudder.”

“By the way… do you really have somewhere to go?”

Deputy Yang, who had been quietly listening, suddenly jumped in. It seemed she felt some responsibility, having introduced Na to Ahn Junseok in the first place.

“Actually, I got an offer for a position this morning,” Na said hesitantly.

“Oh, what timing! Where?”

“That… Producer Hong Ingi… mentioned it.”

“Producer Hong Ingi?”

Hearing this, Youngkwang’s ears perked up.

“Yes, the big guy who came with me to the year-end party.”

“Uh-huh…”

“He said it’s a shame how things turned out and offered to introduce me to another position at a different production company.”

“And which company is that?”

Deputy Yang asked curiously, while Youngkwang watched Na closely, a suspicion growing in his mind.

“Grey Film.”

“…Grey Film?”

Deputy Yang tilted her head in surprise.

“Wow. Hah. This is unbelievable.”

Unable to hold it in any longer, Youngkwang burst into laughter.