Glory Film Company

Episode 41. Jealousy (2)

“Why is he doing this?”
The morning after Youngkwang and Ahn Junseok’s meeting, Jeil Entertainment’s Park Sunghoon shouted, his face flushed with frustration.

“Has Director Ahn done anything like this before?”

It was an absurd situation. Until yesterday, Ahn Junseok had been in jovial contact, but this morning, he postponed their meeting indefinitely, claiming he needed more time to think before signing the contract.

“Should I look into it?”
Yang Hyesoo, sensing the underlying tension, responded uncharacteristically earnestly.

“No, I’ll find out myself what’s on his mind. For now, let’s proceed with the My Way Pictures contract.”
Park Sunghoon barely suppressed his irritation, determined not to let it disrupt his routine.

Today was a crucial day—the day they were to finalize the investment contract with My Way Pictures.

The additional agreement, giving Jeil Entertainment a 40% stake in My Way Pictures, was also ready, requiring only minor revisions to its clauses.
Park Sunghoon was just a few steps away from achieving the vision he had meticulously crafted.

****

“Thank you. I look forward to working with you.”

“We look forward to it as well.”

That afternoon, at the My Way Pictures office, Park Sunghoon and Lee Deokjae shook hands.

Typically, such significant contracts would be signed at Jeil Entertainment’s offices. However, to create a dramatic moment, Park Sunghoon had personally visited My Way Pictures’ modest office with a few subordinates.

Click.
A photograph was taken to immortalize this humble beginning, ensuring there would be a compelling story to recount when the company eventually flourished.

“You should consider moving to a new office.”
Yang Hyesoo, ever candid, casually remarked on something she could have kept to herself.

“Haha, yes, we should. Shared office spaces are quite popular these days,” Lee Deokjae replied, diplomatically suggesting he wasn’t interested in wasting money on a flashy office.

“Still, you’ll need a more accommodating space for discussions. There will be a lot more traffic in the future,” Park Sunghoon said tactfully, hinting that soon, prominent actors and directors would frequent their premises.

Internally, however, he appreciated My Way Pictures’ frugality, thinking it would save him from dealing with unnecessary overhead and surplus staff in the future.

“By the end of this month, the funds for all three films will be disbursed. You just need to focus on producing them to the best of your ability. Additionally, we’ll be forwarding project proposals we’ve been reviewing at Jeil Entertainment. Assemble a team to evaluate and develop them into marketable products.”

Park Sunghoon cast a fervent gaze at the core members of My Way Pictures—Lee Deokjae, Choi Suhyeon, Jang Hyunmin, and, of course, Youngkwang—presenting his vision for the future.

However, his moment of triumph was interrupted by Lee Deokjae’s languid voice.

“Ah, there’s another matter we need to discuss regarding the equity investment.”

“What else is there?”
Park Sunghoon’s brows furrowed.

Although this was framed as a merger of two companies, it was evident to everyone that Jeil Entertainment was essentially swallowing My Way Pictures whole.

Yet, obstacles—like splinters under a fingernail—kept popping up.

Issues like the benefits promised to Bae Youngho, the initial investor in 300 Days After We Break Up, or the absurd clause granting Youngkwang a 10% incentive on his contract.
Though these could be addressed when the company was reorganized under a new name, they were still a nuisance.

And now, with Lee Deokjae raising yet another issue, Park Sunghoon was starting to feel a gnawing sense of irritation.

“…Director Kwak Junghoon’s film is a fantasy genre, and VFX will be critical for its success.”

“Yes, of course.”

“We were hoping that Studio Wall’s VFX supervisor, Lee Changhoon, could oversee the project. Would that be possible?”

“That’s something we can coordinate, but what does that have to do with the equity investment?”

The office, separated by flimsy partition walls, opened onto a hallway that led to a nearby pub. Yet, Lee Deokjae deliberately led Park Sunghoon out into the corridor, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“We had certain conditions when we signed the contract with Director Kwak. One was related to the production budget, and the other was about key personnel, specifically Cameraman Joo Kanghyuk and Supervisor Lee Changhoon.”

The VFX supervisor, who oversees visual effects and coordinates with the special effects team, plays a crucial role in filmmaking. Studio Wall’s Lee Changhoon was a giant in the field, so highly regarded that he was seen as a peer to directors of photography on set.
Having him on board would undoubtedly elevate Director Kwak Junghoon’s film to new heights.

However, it wasn’t true that Director Kwak had explicitly requested Lee Changhoon.
But that detail was impossible for Park Sunghoon to verify, and even if he could, Director Kwak could easily go along with the story to keep things smooth.
It was all part of Youngkwang’s calculated plan, which he had proposed to Lee Deokjae.

“We need to keep jabbing them. Make Park Sunghoon second-guess himself, to the point where he starts questioning whether he made the right decisions.”

“But what if he decides to pull the investment altogether? That would be a disaster for us, too.”

“That’s why we’re doing this bit by bit. Just enough to annoy him, so he slowly distances himself.”

“Hmm. Will that even work…?”

“Start by subtly bringing up Director Bae Youngho’s investment conditions. A few days later, casually mention my incentive contract as if you just remembered it.”

“And if it all falls apart?”

“It won’t escalate to that level. These issues are annoying, but not serious enough to cancel the investment. But someone as cunning as him will definitely get bogged down in overthinking. All we need to do is make his mind more and more tangled. The knockout punch will come from someone else.”

Just as Youngkwang predicted, Park Sunghoon found himself growing increasingly frustrated. He thought he had full control, yet everything he tried to grasp seemed to slip through his fingers.
What he initially calculated as a guaranteed profit from acquiring My Way Pictures now seemed less certain and less lucrative.

Is this really the best decision?
At a time when he should have been pushing forward decisively, he felt an inexplicable urge to step back, which only aggravated him further.

“Hah. So if we can’t secure Supervisor Lee Changhoon, is Director Kwak going to back out of the contract?”

As Park Sunghoon vented his frustration, Lee Deokjae adopted an ambiguous expression.

“Well, with the other conditions met, it’s unlikely he’d go that far. But there could be complications. You know what Director Kwak is like.”

Director Kwak had previously clashed with Stay Film over editing rights. He had a reputation for being temperamental, and crossing him could have significant consequences.

Park Sunghoon let out a heavy sigh and gave a curt nod.

“Fine, I’ll look into it. Studio Wall is practically one of our subsidiaries now, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

With that, Park Sunghoon stepped closer into the trap Youngkwang had carefully laid.

*****

Later that evening, Youngkwang called Director Ahn Junseok. The informal tone they had shared the previous night was now long gone, much to Ahn’s relief.

“Director, we have a situation.”

What’s going on?

“I think it’s better if we meet in person. Where are you right now?”

Can you come to my neighborhood? No, wait—I’m in Gangnam right now. If you’re at the office, I’ll head to Hongdae and meet you there.

Ahn, who had been growing increasingly anxious, moved uncharacteristically quickly. While his pride had initially made him delay the contract signing, he was now worried about jeopardizing the deal entirely.
He also couldn’t shake the fear that he had made a rash decision based solely on the advice of a younger, less experienced producer.

When they met again, Youngkwang delivered the news Ahn had been desperately hoping to hear.

“You don’t need to worry about most of it, but it looks like Jeil Entertainment is planning to go all in on Director Kwak’s film.”

“How much are we talking about?”

“The budget is projected to be around 20 to 25 billion won per installment.”

Though Ahn’s project was being discussed at a higher 30 billion won per film, the issue was that budgets could easily be cut depending on the circumstances.

There’s no way they’d max out the budget for both projects in a limited pool. It’s a matter of which one they decide to prioritize.

As Ahn’s face grew tense with unease, Youngkwang casually dropped another piece of bait.

“Oh, and I heard that Studio Wall’s Supervisor Lee Changhoon will be joining Director Kwak’s project.”

“Lee Changhoon? …When would he start?”

“Even though it’s the next project, they’re planning to start work on the concept and design right away.”

“That can’t be right! That guy was supposed to work with me too!”

Studio Wall’s top talent, Lee Changhoon, was an indispensable figure for Ahn Junseok’s next film, where the quality and balance of CGI would be critical. Hearing that Lee Changhoon had been assigned to Director Kwak’s film first left Ahn gaping in disbelief.

Am I really being pushed down the priority list?

The harsh reality hit him, one he didn’t want to accept but now had to confront.

“And this isn’t confirmed yet, but…”
Youngkwang, relentless, delivered the final blow.

“There’s a possibility that your project might be handled by My Way Pictures moving forward.”

“What?”

“If the equity investment is finalized, I hear many of Jeil Entertainment’s current projects will transfer to us. It seems likely that the biggest one will be your film…”

“Hah.”

It was a plausible scenario, though Ahn Junseok hadn’t considered it before. His face went pale as he processed this information, but soon, a fiery determination replaced his despair.

“This needs to be settled.”

Ahn’s competitive spirit ignited.

“Park Sunghoon, that two-faced snake. I hate to admit it, but when Jeil Entertainment first approached me…”

Ahn, struggling to contain his emotions, began venting words he might later regret.

“They promised to prioritize my film above everything else. And now, they’re pushing me aside for My Way Pictures’ projects? That’s unacceptable. This isn’t right.”

Filmmakers, especially directors, are notoriously prideful.
For Ahn, the realization that internal support for My Way Pictures was causing his project to suffer was a direct assault on his pride.

His pride wounded, his anger boiled over.

Youngkwang watched attentively, offering just enough reaction to let Ahn vent his frustrations freely.

“If this keeps up, I might have been better off staying with Stay Film! How am I supposed to focus on creating my movie while dealing with all this nonsense?”

Though it wasn’t entirely sincere, Ahn even voiced nostalgia for Stay Film and its previous head, Gu Bonjik.

“Hyung, that’s not the solution.”

Closing the emotional distance between them again, Youngkwang steered the conversation toward his carefully planned pitch.

“Think about what Gu Bonjik would gain from you going back. This film—its original concept, the entire plan—it’s all yours. Wouldn’t it feel like a waste to just hand it over?”

“Hah, that’s why I wanted to work with Jeil Entertainment under better conditions. But now look at this. My Way Pictures taking over my project? No offense, but your company isn’t at that level yet. Sorry, but how can I let Park Sunghoon stab me in the back and just sit here doing nothing?”

“There’s a way.”

Youngkwang smiled, completely unfazed by Ahn’s frustration.

“A way?”

“Yes, a way where everyone can win.”

“…And what is that?”

Ahn locked eyes with Youngkwang, his gaze filled with suspicion and curiosity.

Youngkwang didn’t flinch. This was the moment he had been anticipating, the scenario he had carefully planned and waited for.