Free Web NovelJegal Rok studied her while sipping his strong coffee.
If it was Geum Bitgang’s return-to-the-stage play, the brand value alone was beyond question. Securing theater rentals would become easier, not to mention shifts across the entire planning and marketing line.
‘Ticket power aside.’
Geum Bitgang. Just stamping that one name on it elevated the production to a completely different tier. On the theater circuit, actors were probably already fighting tooth and nail for the chance to appear alongside her.
‘Because Geum Bitgang is special grade.’
She raised a work’s credibility to an entirely different level. But that card had already been used once.
A fictional setting based on a made-up nation in <Strange Tales>. It was a fusion historical drama that could easily have looked lightweight, yet with Geum Bitgang at the forefront, it carried a gravity no less than an orthodox historical piece.
‘You can’t play the same card twice.’
That was why the hand Geum Bitgang was offering didn’t particularly appeal to Jegal Rok. Her presence alone wasn’t enough to justify it. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm
“When you reach a certain age, you know. Even if you don’t want them, people start clustering around you.”
Geum Bitgang spoke indifferently. Even when she relaxed her tone, she carried the unmistakable aura of a great actress. Each word came through with a clarity that felt like she was speaking right beside his ear.
“Back when Hong Kong films were all the rage, the way those people at the film festivals hovered around me. Annoying, sure, but there are still a few old men I’ve kept in touch with who somehow haven’t died yet.”
If they were figures from the industry during the height of Hong Kong cinema, they were undoubtedly heavyweights. By now, they likely held power capable of overturning the board with a single word or nod.
‘If they’re private connections, the quality of information is different from official channels....’
It meant that even valuable information Jegal Rok couldn’t uncover had flowed to Geum Bitgang.
Jegal Rok looked at her without saying a word. Geum Bitgang met his gaze head-on, her posture unbending.
“You said you’re not taking Chinese investment.”
At that question, Jegal Rok was caught off guard, though he hid it well. Geum Bitgang took another sip of tea as she spoke.
“You thought it through properly.”
Her sharp voice and gaze stabbed into Jegal Rok like a dagger. Instinctively, he sensed her warning.
‘Is this where it starts.’
Every board in the world ultimately turned on politics. Interests ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) tangled together—some had to be untied, some discarded, and some cut cleanly, leaving frayed ends to be reconnected anew.
“It’s going to be extremely turbulent this year anyway.”
And now, by his estimation, this was the moment—more than a ninety-percent chance—when things were meant to be thrown away.
“Don’t start scheming just because it’s a rising phase. You know better than anyone there’s no right answer in this game.”
By the time you reached this height, massive amounts of data naturally accumulated.
Just as animals sensed the faint tremors and smells before an earthquake, what Jegal Rok had subconsciously known began to stir.
“It’ll be hard to keep doing projects, so it’d be good to set foot in the theater world.”
The worst-case scenario Jegal Rok had been imagining was now complete. He stood up from his seat and bent at the waist.
“Thank you for your guidance.”
It was information of staggering value. From this moment on, he had to redraw the board, factoring in the imminent collapse of the drama and film industries, even the media export sector.
‘I can’t even estimate how much will be lost.’
One thing was certain: a situation was approaching that would drive the Korean entertainment industry into disaster. Everyone was on the verge of being utterly screwed.
“I like how fast your head works. I really do.”
Geum Bitgang let out a deep, satisfied breath.
“So what. What use is a greeting like that to me.”
The master issued an order to Jegal Rok, who was still bent at the waist.
“That’s enough. Bring Han Yeoreum to me. Now.”
* * *
Suddenly the Director’s Office? Why me?
‘No, seriously....’ frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓
Why me? It wasn’t like I’d done anything wrong, but when someone suddenly summoned you, your heart still tightened. I headed for the Director’s Office where Jegal Rok was, trying to control my breathing.
‘The Taiwan GV wrapped up successfully too....’
<Law-Faster-than> had produced meaningful results so far. In its first week alone, it drew a whopping sixty thousand viewers.
‘That’s four times higher than a typical Korean film.’
Over the first four days of release, my fandom, the general public drawn in by Yun Hyeonjo’s “Letter Brother” buzz, and the weekend audience combined to pull in close to two hundred thousand in ticket power. It also helped that JC ENM had uploaded short clips to Yousta.
Youstagram
Past life? Current life? What are you even talking about
Aren’t you going to watch <Law-Faster-than>?
88,123 likes
1,082 comments
-Mr. Kwak Cheolsik please don’t raise your fist TT_TT past life or current life, I think you need to be detained
ㄴ must be punished severely
-Letter oppa, I love you with all my heart, let’s not break up in this life (crying-while-smiling emoji)
-LOL what’s with the manager’s speed LOOOLL
They’d quickly capitalized on the meme about Yun Hyeonjo and Kwak Cheolsik having met in a past life. Just having each actor grab a mic and say a single line racked up huge like counts.
‘Final projected audience count: 750,000.’
The audience had already reached half a million. Given Taiwan’s population, it was internally considered a major success.
‘But then why....’
It felt like when a teacher told you to come to the staff room for no clear reason. I took a deep breath in front of the Director’s Office.
‘The odds are higher that they called me because I did too well.’
Taiwan’s first love, “rising” feeling far too small a word—JC ENM’s pride, Actor Han Yeoreum, we called you here to give you a round of applause. Oh come on, why make a fuss over such obvious results, what are you going to do when things get even bigger, truly an actor worthy of JC’s choice, hahaha, hahaha, hahaha....
‘Okay. Good.’
I steeled myself and reached for the door.
Bang!
“Ahhh, Professor!”
But the door opened on its own, like an automatic system. Inside stood Jegal Rok in his usual razor-sharp three-piece suit, and Professor Geum Bitgang, hand on the doorknob, looking at me.
“Why are you so late?”
“Professor, how are you... here...?”
“No chatter. Sit. We’ve been waiting a while.”
The one who called me wasn’t Jegal Rok, but Professor Geum Bitgang? My head spun. For now, I showed the obedient undergrad who did as she was told.
I sat on the sofa in the Director’s Office—somewhere I’d only ever seen during contract signings—feeling undeservedly honored.
“Read it and sign.”
“Wow, that’s really lacking in explanation.”
“You’re doing theater. With me.”
Theater? At Geum Bitgang’s words, I noticed the script lying on the table.
<Intern Academy of the Academy of the Academy>
A title I’d never seen before. A play I’d never once heard of before regression. I quietly picked up the script. The thick paper brushed against my fingertips.
“...Where’s the theater?”
“Hyehwa. A small theater in Daehakro.”
“And the theater’s name....”
It couldn’t be. That kind of luck wouldn’t just come to me. Half doubtful, half hoping, I wished for the stage I’d always carried in my heart.
“Blue Art Center.”
At Geum Bitgang’s words, my grip tightened without me realizing it.
The script crumpled in my hands.
“I’ll do it. I’ll definitely do it. Please let me.”
It was the place I’d wanted to exist in so desperately before regression.
Blue Art Center.
With a play I’d never seen before, I would finally stand there as the lead.
“Good. That answer should’ve come out cleanly from the start.”
Satisfaction filled Geum Bitgang’s gaze as she looked at me.
* * *
“Intern Academy of the Academy of the Academy.”
Myeong Jeha picked up the script on his desk with slightly irritated eyes.
‘It didn’t exist. Not even once.’
It was the first time Geum Bitgang had chosen a Daehakro play as her return to the stage, but this play itself was something he’d never heard of in any of his past lives.
He’d read countless scripts over the years. He could say that with certainty.
“Variable.”
Whenever Han Yeoreum was involved, everything changed somehow. Feeling an unexpected intrusion into a familiar formula, Myeong Jeha couldn’t even put words to his emotions.
That suffocating ennui came from stability.
No matter how far things veered off course, twisted and broken beyond repair, Myeong Jeha always knew what came next.
‘Because I’ve lived through it all.’
Like solving simple addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division without effort, mechanically producing an answer.
That was how this board was to Myeong Jeha. A world he could toy with endlessly.
‘And yet, whenever Han Yeoreum is involved....’
It was confusing, like a life he was experiencing for the first time. Ordered things became tangled. Thinking he needed to act quickly, Myeong Jeha flipped through the script he’d obtained.
