Free Web Novel“Wow, this really is groundbreaking!”
Ki Dohan couldn’t stop marveling.
It was his first time riding the KTX (Korean Train Express), which had opened in 2004.
He rambled on about how fast it was, saying it made him dizzy, and worried that if an accident happened, it would be as catastrophic as a plane crash. He also kept insisting that with Seoul and Busan now only three and a half hours apart, they were practically neighboring towns.
“Right? It’s insanely fast.”
Imagine how shocked he’d be if he learned that by the late 2010s, the SRT (Super Rapid Train) could get from Gangnam to Busan in just two and a half hours.
Although Yoomyeong decided to attend the Busan International Film Festival after receiving Director Ki’s call, he couldn’t leave immediately.
His drama schedule had been completely cleared, but he still had small obligations left, like magazine interviews and another visit to the salon. Meanwhile, Director Ki had already attended the opening ceremony, returned to Seoul for work, and was now heading back down to Busan with Yoomyeong.
‘Too bad I missed the opening ceremony.’
Yoomyeong had attended the Busan International Film Festival several times before. Of course, never as an actor—always as a member of the audience.
PIFF (Pusan International Film Festival, now BIFF), which screened foreign masterpieces rarely shown in Korea, had always felt like a dreamland to him. He might even get to see famous actors up close.
Even though he himself was now an actor, Yoomyeong still found himself thinking like a fan.
“So, is the editing finally done?”
“We barely made the submission deadline for PIFF since they only accept films completed by September. Thankfully, Seryeon arranged a separate translator for us. Otherwise, we wouldn’t even have proper subtitles. I heard ours was one of the very last submissions.”
“That’s great.”
Hearing Seryeon’s name made his chest ache slightly.
“Is... Sister not coming to the festival?”
“No. She said she’s busy lately. The last time we spoke was when she called to tell me the film had been selected and that she’d arrange a translator.”
“...I see.”
Yoomyeong changed the subject.
Director Ki might be oblivious to everything outside of filmmaking, but Yoomyeong still didn’t want him noticing the sigh hidden in his expression.
“How did the film turn out?”
“Good. This’ll be your first time seeing it at the festival, right? The actors basically carried the whole thing this time. Oh, and the CG turned out really clean too. You’ll be surprised.”
“What section did we get into?”
“New Currents.”
Films submitted to the festival were categorized by the festival itself.
New Currents.
It was a section reserved for first or second feature films by new Asian directors. Since it served as a platform for discovering new trends in Asian cinema, it was considered one of the festival’s most prestigious categories. The New Currents Award was effectively the grand prize of the Busan International Film Festival.
“I already booked two films for us to watch as soon as we arrive today. Our first screening is tomorrow afternoon at Daeyoung Cinema.”
“Wow—that’s exciting. What are we seeing today?”
“One’s a feature film by Director Sun Ming inspired by Pearl Buck’s The Good Earth, and the /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ other’s a short film collection from new directors under the title Asian Wave 4.”
As they chatted, the train announcement signaled their arrival.
The crowd pouring out of the station all seemed to be moving in the same direction.
Their destination was Nampo dong.
Every October, it became a massive stage for hardcore film fans.
Even so, people turned to look at him as he walked through the crowds in Nampo dong. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com
‘He doesn’t look ordinary... Is he an actor?’
The identity of an actor was gradually beginning to fit him like a tailored suit.
“Wow, that documentary seriously gave me chills.”
“Right? Documentaries really do have the ‘power of truth.’ Slurp.”
After watching two films on the first day and drinking beer at a friend’s studio with Director Ki, they stayed the night there. The next morning, they lined up early for tickets, watched a documentary, and were now eating a late brunch.
Yoomyeong watched Director Ki happily devour wontons, a familiar dish from his old PIFF visits.
“Oh right, I almost forgot.”
Whenever Director Ki said he had forgotten something, Yoomyeong instinctively grew anxious.
“There’s a GV (*Guest Visit, a Q&A session with the audience) after our screening this afternoon.”
“What?!”
“I just checked the notice we got right before leaving, and they scheduled a GV.”
“But why are you only telling me now...?”
“I forgot.”
Sigh—
Yoomyeong let out a deep sigh and looked down at their clothes.
He was wearing comfortable jeans, a T-shirt, and a cardigan. The director... well, he was in wrinkled cotton pants and a hoodie, as usual.
“Let’s go to the Lotte Department Store in Gwangbok.”
“Huh? Why?”
“You’re not planning to go to the GV dressed like that, are you?”
Completely unaware of the problem, Director Ki was dragged off shopping by Yoomyeong, who finished everything within an hour.
They didn’t buy formal suits, but they did change into neat slacks and jackets. After getting a haircut at a nearby salon, even the shabby director who had crawled out of the editing room looked fairly presentable.
‘No way. Did he actually attend the opening ceremony dressed like that?’
Too afraid of the answer, Yoomyeong decided not to ask.
Before the screening, they briefly met with the festival programmer at the appointed time.
“So the lead actor ended up joining after all. Is anyone else coming?”
“No, just the two of us.”
“After the film ends, the staff will come in to set up chairs, and I’ll moderate the session. You can each give a short greeting and share your thoughts, then we’ll move on to a twenty-minute Q&A.”
“Understood.”
“And...”
Having finished the explanation, the programmer looked at them meaningfully.
“It’s a very good film. I think it’s going to leave a strong impression at this festival. A lot of people will probably be looking for the two of you afterward, so you should wear something decent.”
There was no way they could admit they had only just bought their current outfits.
He was a true cinephile.
Even though watching films was his profession, he still attended film festivals during his vacations.
Before coming to Korea, he had carefully reviewed the festival lineup and pre-booked the films he most wanted to see.
One of them was Ballerina High, a film he agonized over before finally reserving a ticket because it barely met his standards.
He was both a ballet enthusiast and a devoted fan of Gaston Leroux, the author of The Phantom of the Opera.
He wondered whether this combination of his two favorite things would turn out to be a perfect match or an absolute disaster.
After a long, long period of deliberation, he finally added the film to his schedule at the last minute.
‘Finally...’
He settled into a seat inside the old theater.
Though the festival was only in its ninth year, the audience’s enthusiasm was palpable. As always, the seats were packed.
Then the lights went out.
Thud—
Thud—
An indistinct pounding sound echoed as the film began. freewebnøvel.com
It opened with the storybook tale of Andersen’s The Red Shoes.
[Karen went to church wearing a pair of red shoes.]
Karen went to church wearing red shoes.
Beautiful illustrations followed, but the constant pounding noise was strangely irritating.
[The shoes kept dancing. Day and night, through rain or snow.]
Day (thud—) and night (thud—), through rain (thud—) or snow (thud—).
[Crossing fields, bushes, and barriers.]
Crossing fields (thud—), bushes (thud—), and barriers (thud—).
That sound, wedged between the words...
[Finally, she went to the executioner and begged him to cut off her feet.]
(Thud—)
The axe slammed down loudly, severing her ankles.
The sound abruptly disappeared, leaving only the severed feet dancing merrily in complete silence.
[Though Karen lost her feet, the severed feet continued to dance.]
As the final line appeared in an old-fashioned typeface, the screen faded and overlapped the desolate face of Karen with the female lead reading the book.
“Why would she cut off her feet if she could still dance?”
Displeased, she pursed her lips and closed the book.
The scene shifted to a ballet studio.
‘Jesus...’
The first thing that stunned him was the ballerina.
An Asian ballerina with perfect proportions, a long graceful neck, and an overall delicate frame. She was the kind of fragile woman who would look beautiful as a swan.
The film captured the dark emotions lurking within the practice room.
As a ballet enthusiast, he knew ballet was far more than the beautiful art it appeared to be.
Whenever he attended performances, he always brought opera glasses. Through them, he admired the trembling thigh muscles that maintained a graceful arabesque and the sweat trickling down dancers’ spines as they held a perfect cambré.
To someone who truly loved ballet, the traces of pain and endurance hidden beneath the beauty were part of its appeal.
That was why he found himself clenching his fists during the rehearsal scene.
‘Incredible. It isn’t just beautiful—it’s magnificent.’
The scenes intercut chaotically.
One dancer performed a jeté while casting a sly glance, only for another to answer with an even higher leap, as if showing off.
There were gritted teeth, trembling muscles, and toes nearly breaking inside sharply angled pointe shoes.
“You’ve been practicing hard, haven’t you?”
A close-up filled the screen with a pair of lips. It was an ordinary greeting sharpened into something razor-edged.
On the day the tension surrounding the female lead, Hwaran, finally reached its peak...
The theater doors locked, trapping behind them the ballerina who had stayed until the very end to practice.
Huff— Huff— Haa—
The camera shifted into Hwaran’s perspective.
Amid the sound of ragged breathing, the shaky camerawork frantically captured fragmented images.
A purple tutu.
Stage props stacked precariously.
Toe shoes soaked in blood.
Then a chilling metallic scream exploded from the screen.
Aaaaahhhhh—
As though answering the scream, a sliver of moonlight fell at her feet.
“Child, are you lost?”
And then, the Phantom appeared.
He was impressed.
He had heard that New Currents was a section for first or second films by new directors, yet the composition and arrangement of the scenes felt astonishingly polished, rivaling the work of veteran filmmakers.
‘Definitely a director with obsessive attention to detail. The lead actress’s acting is slightly weaker than her ballet... but it’s still compelling to watch.’
As he sat there casually thinking this, the Phantom finally caught his attention for the first time.
A ballet angel bathed in radiant moonlight.
And yet something about the way he spoke felt subtly wrong.
“Ah, you’re one of the girls performing the Swan Dance. What was your name again?”
Was this meant as an homage portraying the Phantom as a completely harmless figure?
Even someone who knew every line of The Phantom of the Opera by heart had initially been deceived by the character.
Filmed from a low angle, the light pouring down from above illuminated the Phantom’s head like a halo.
But why...
“Well, since fate brought us together like this, I’ll tell you something.”
Why did the word “fate” sound so close to “inevitability”?
Even though he didn’t understand Korean and was reading subtitles, he felt a chill run down his spine the moment that single word was spoken.
The Phantom stared intently at the unsuspecting heroine as though warning her.
“After Swan Lake, the next performance will be Giselle.”
Giselle, of course.
Which meant this could only end as a tragedy.
He suddenly became desperate to see this ballerina’s Giselle and the Phantom’s Albrecht.
And not long afterward, he was shocked.
Because of the Phantom’s Giselle—something he had never anticipated.
