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Episode 3
[I’ll pick out only the roundest, the shiniest, and the prettiest ones and give them all to you.]
That was the review critic Hwang Bo-mi, famous for being merciless, wrote about Han-gyeol’s film.
And it wasn’t just her; nearly every critic poured out nothing but praise for him.
His stories were like bouquets filled with pleasant scents, like the most anticipated sweet dessert, blah blah. Honestly, there were plenty of reviews bordering on fawning.
‘If there had been even one person who thought, “It’s not really that good,” those reviews might have actually backfired on the work.’
But truly, there was nothing in his work that made you think that, which made you naturally understand all the praise.
The mise-en-scène highlighting his unique aesthetic sense. Scenes that felt both refreshing and wistful. Elements that effortlessly brought a smile to the viewer’s face.
And most importantly, sincerity.
Even those who initially approached with a critical eye would find themselves wearing a content smile by the time the runtime ended.
Showing the purest and most radiant side of humanity, ultimately telling us that what overcomes everything is love.
Han-gyeol’s films, just like Hwang Bo-mi’s review, seemed to pick out only the prettiest things and offer them up.
His works resonated not only domestically but also internationally, sweeping renowned overseas film festivals and captivating countless people.
‘That’s probably why he became a director loved by critics….’
From critics to film festival jurors, and even the public. Han-gyeol received immense love and acclaim.
From his debut film until now. Continuously. Without a single failure.
So perhaps Da-som’s flattery now, no matter what she said, might seem laughable to him.
Praise like ‘You made a great film,’ ‘Well done’—he had already received those from countless people, in countless languages.
‘I’m jealous.’
Ever since university, Dasom had always envied him. To her, Han-gyeol was always a perfect, wonderful, star-like person.
So she couldn’t help but admire and love him, even while feeling envious and jealous.
To those who know to look up at the night sky, the stars are naturally visible. An unbearable beauty, making you want to reach out your hand anytime.
‘Even now….’
Han-gyeol is Chae Da-som’s star. One that makes you want to reach out and touch.
[I feel like you’re still here, in this place….]
The film ended with the lead actor’s wistful monologue. The end credits rolled.
Only after seeing Han-gyeol’s name in the credits did Dasom snap back to reality. She had been so immersed in the movie that she’d barely eaten any chicken. There was still plenty of beer left.
And she had planned to talk about various things during the movie, to perhaps mend things with Han-gyeol….
She hadn’t been able to do that at all.
It was all because Han-gyeol made such a good film.
‘W-what do I do?’
With chicken still left, she was contemplating suggesting they watch another movie, when unexpectedly, Han-gyeol spoke first.
“How was it?”
“Huh?”
Startled by the unexpected question, her voice cracked. Da-som made a face, blushing.
But Han-gyeol, unfazed, asked again.
“I asked how it was.”
“What do you mean, how it was. It’s already been proven it’s good, right? It’s won a lot of awards.”
“I mean for you.”
Han-gyeol pressed. For a moment, the corner of his eye seemed to tremble faintly.
If he seemed nervous, was it just her imagination?
There was no way he, who remained so indifferent even at film festivals, would be nervous just waiting for Dasom’s review.
“The opening sequence was good. Then why aren’t you speaking? Was that the only good part?”
“Uh, no, no.”
As if spellbound, Dasom found herself spilling out stories to him.
She had seen this movie several times already; she practically knew the mise-en-scène of each scene by heart.
Maybe that’s why, when asked what she liked, words poured out without hesitation. Honestly, it even felt like she’d become a successful fan, holding a personal fan meeting with her ultimate bias.
“You’ve probably heard this a lot, but starting with the screen composition….”
She talked about the camera movement, the foreshadowing using lighting, the placement of props, the density of the story, the actors’ performances… and then suddenly, Dasom stopped speaking.
Her face flushed an even deeper red than before, incomparable to moments ago.
Everything she was talking about now were intricate details one couldn’t mention without having watched the film several times over.
Which meant, in other words, she had directly revealed that she was Han-gyeol’s fan.
Sure enough, Han-gyeol seemed to notice this too, a subtle expression on his face.
…Han-gyeol wasn’t exactly her ultimate bias, but nonetheless, Da-som, having inadvertently certified her fandom in front of her bias, buried her face in her hands.
Of course, Han-gyeol had his own official fan cafe and many other fans, but the fact that Chae Da-som specifically was his fan was a different matter altogether.
‘Will he be put off?’
If he found out that a junior he disliked was his fan, he might understandably feel annoyed and uncomfortable….
“Are you a cinephile?”
“…Yes?”
What Han-gyeol meant by cinephile was slightly different from being a fan.
It referred to people who love film as a whole, not necessarily a specific person.
Well, some cinephile do enjoy analyzing films as they watch them.
So it seemed Han-gyeol thought of Dasom that way too. He probably couldn’t even imagine Dasom being his fan.
Though slightly bewildered, Dasom quickly nodded to hide her embarrassment.
“Yes, well. I do watch movies often.”
“Is that so? Well, I did sometimes think your dramas had cinematic elements too.”
“…My dramas?”
“Yeah.”
“Yo-you watched them?”
“Yeah.”
At Han-gyeol’s reply, Dasom’s face turned pale. Now, it wasn’t just goosebumps on her arms; it felt like hives were breaking out all over.
Flustered and fidgeting, she almost wailed.
“Why, why would you watch that!”
“Why not. Am I not allowed to watch TV?”
Han-gyeol asked back, his voice sullen. Dasom’s lips merely moved silently.
Of course, that wasn’t what she meant. So it was possible Han-gyeol happened to see her drama playing when he turned on the TV… and maybe he watched it on an OTT platform like now….
But the thought that Han-gyeol might have seen her work turned her mind completely blank.
She hadn’t consistently produced only good works like him, nor had she received only praise. Perhaps in his eyes, it might have seemed childish.
‘How did he see it?’
Had he maybe even mocked it? Something like, ‘Chae Dasom made such a fuss in university, but this is the kind of stuff she’s writing now’…?
Or perhaps he was disappointed in her.
Thinking, we studied together briefly in university, but she only turned out this way.
This is why she hated people she knew seeing her work. It became scary and burdensome. Especially if that person was a senior she admired.
Fearful of Han-gyeol’s reaction, Da-som’s lips trembled slightly.
“It was good.”
Just as Dasom was worrying her lip, Han-gyeol uttered casually.
It was an indifferent remark, said as if in passing, but Dasom’s eyes went wide.
‘It was good’ was clearly a compliment.
‘Han-gyeol never says empty words.’
Even in university, he adhered to an attitude like, ‘Even if my mouth tears, I must speak the truth.’
And that uncompromising attitude had garnered quite a bit of antipathy too.
Anyway, that’s how it was back then. Had he developed social skills as he got older?
Dasom looked at Han-gyeol skeptically. As if sensing her suspicion, Han-gyeol looked at her and spoke again.
“It was good. Interesting.”
“….”
“You wrote the story well.”
In a way, it was a rather perfunctory compliment.
His calm, indifferent tone made it sound like a light greeting he was offering a junior he hadn’t seen in a while.
But only for Chae Dasom, who knew Han-gyeol’s stubbornness.
Only for Chae Dasom, who was now looking into his earnest eyes, did it sound different.
“I told you before, I like your writing.”
Han-gyeol set down his empty cola glass as he spoke. Dasom’s eyes darted.
It definitely happened.
The moment when Han-gyeol, who was usually prickly and always picking fights with her, read something she wrote and complimented her.
Vividly, the memory surfaced—how she had pretended to be nonchalant and aloof at his praise, but later, alone at night, she would cling tightly to that single word of his compliment, her heart fluttering.
“…You did say that.”
Dasom sensed that this time would be no different from back then.
Tonight, too, she would surely hold onto his words—”It was good”—and toss and turn, unable to sleep.
The sound of her heart pounding reached her ears pleasantly.
