Return of the Genius Photographer

The meeting place was Dongbaek, a high-end Korean fine dining restaurant located in Cheongdam-dong.

This reservation-only restaurant exuded an elegant atmosphere, with its interior divided into multiple private rooms, making it ideal for business meetings.

Just by looking at the luxury cars parked outside, it was easy to guess the kind of clientele the restaurant catered to.

As I entered the restaurant, which was built in a traditional hanok style, a neatly dressed staff member greeted me.

“May I have the name of the reservation, please?”

“Nam Woojin.”

The staff member naturally checked the reservation list.

“Your party has already arrived. Let me guide you to your table.”

Following the staff member, I passed through a hall with a view of the garden and entered a corridor lined with rooms of various sizes.

“Sir, your guest has arrived.”

Stopping in front of one of the rooms, the staff member announced my arrival and opened the door.

—Slide!

As the door opened, a man who had been waiting inside adjusted his suit and greeted me warmly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nam Woojin. I’m Shin Youngman.”

The man introduced himself as Shin Youngman and handed me his business card.

“Hello. I’m photographer Nam Woojin.”

“Please, have a seat. You’re as handsome as I’ve heard.”

“Thank you. I didn’t expect the chairman himself to be here.”

I replied with a hint of surprise as I glanced at the business card, which listed his title as chairman.

He looked a bit too young to be the chairman of an association, and I hadn’t expected someone of his position to attend a meeting to discuss a contract with a single photographer.

At my response, the man’s eyes curved like a bow.

“Normally, someone else would handle this, but… you’re not just any photographer. You’re Nam Woojin. I’m personally a fan, so I wanted to meet you.”

He spoke to me in an extremely polite tone.

“It’s truly an honor to meet you, Photographer Nam.”

With a friendly smile on his face, he continued.

If you only listened to his words, you might think he was humble and approachable…

But the impression he left was far from that.

My first thought upon seeing Shin Youngman was that he resembled a fierce mantis.

His thin face, with its sharp cheekbones, flushed complexion, and angular ears, gave off a harsh and almost predatory air.

Even as he smiled, there was an inexplicable pressure emanating from him.

He seemed more like someone who worked with his hands rather than the chairman of a photographers’ association.

Frankly, if this meeting was just about recruiting a photographer, his presence felt unnecessary.

‘Unless he’s deliberately trying to intimidate me…’

In other words, his personal attendance suggested that this wasn’t just a normal contract negotiation but something with ulterior motives.

Still, I couldn’t let my discomfort show.

“I’ve seen all of your publicly available photos… and I’m truly amazed every time I look at them.”

“Thank you.”

“I heard you debuted as a photographer at the Seoul Photography Contest. Did you study under someone before that, or are you self-taught?”

“Ah… I’m self-taught.”

“Wow. So the articles weren’t exaggerating. A true genius. Haha.”

Shin Youngman continued to shower me with compliments.

“Haha, you’re too kind.”

I responded politely and laughed along, but…

Honestly, his intentions were so transparent that I couldn’t help but feel indifferent.

From our conversation, I could roughly guess his tactics.

Shin Youngman seemed like someone who was exceptionally skilled at manipulating young or naive people to suit his needs.

First, he used his intimidating presence to apply pressure, then overwhelmed the other person with excessive praise to keep them off balance.

It was a very traditional approach…

But also an effective one.

If I were still a high school student or a rookie photographer with little experience, I might have fallen for it.

Unfortunately for Shin Youngman, I was far from the prey he was hoping for.

Unless the actual contract terms were favorable, his empty flattery had no effect on me.

‘I was considering changing my mind if the terms were good… but maybe that won’t even be necessary.’

As I was thinking this during the meaningless conversation, Shin Youngman suddenly said:

“Honestly… looking at you, Photographer Nam, it feels like Korea has its own Henri Frank.”

“Henri Frank?”

Henri Frank is a French master photographer, often credited as one of the pioneers of modern photographic techniques.

At his sudden remark, I asked in confusion, and Shin Youngman tapped his forehead as he replied.

“Ah, people these days might not know about him. He was a very famous photographer a long time ago.”

Still with a smile on his face, he continued.

“But do you know why Henri Frank became so famous?”

He asked me.

But without waiting for an answer, Shin Youngman immediately went on.

“The reason is simple. There were people behind him who inflated his value and helped sell his photos for more than they were worth.”

“What does that mean…?”

Just as I was about to ask, confused by the roundabout conversation, Shin Youngman cut me off.

“I believe this: a successful photographer is made by the support of those around them.”

By now, the smile had disappeared from his face, and he looked at me with a sharp expression.

“If you sign with us, we’ll make you an even more famous photographer within the next year or two.”

Finally, we were getting to the point.

“How?”

“The details are industry secrets, but… do you know how many domestic competitions we sponsor alone?”

“No.”

“If you count all of them, regardless of scale, it’s over a hundred a year. And if you’re part of our association, you’re guaranteed to place in the top ranks of any competition.”

“Are you saying the winners are predetermined?”

“Haha, you could think of it that way. Of course, talent still matters, but…”

Shin Youngman trailed off, his lips curling into a smirk.

“There are other ways too. We can get you on TV. If we build up a positive image through our journalists, public perception can skyrocket in no time.”

As he spoke, he slid a contract across the table.

“Take your time and read it. If you join us, I’ll explain the details further.”

I began to read through the contract.

*

‘He’s almost hooked.’

Shin Youngman watched as Woojin skimmed through the contract.

‘He looks mature for his age, but in the end, he’s still just a kid.’

Woojin’s lukewarm reaction to the earlier flattery had made Shin Youngman think the negotiation might be tricky, but now he saw the familiar glimmer of interest in Woojin’s eyes at the promise of fame.

It was the same reaction he always got from naive newcomers.

Ten out of ten, a hundred out of a hundred—every photographer he’d met had reacted the same way when he dangled the carrot of fame.

Shin Youngman had always lured in inexperienced photographers like this.

Photographers who dreamed of becoming masters were usually brimming with self-esteem.

Most of them couldn’t even gauge their own talent, deluding themselves into thinking they’d become famous if given the chance.

The delusion that their work was better than others’.

The desire to have their talent recognized.

The ambition to gain fame and become a master.

Shin Youngman knew these desires all too well.

He knew how to stoke those desires and exploit the gaps in their ambition.

He would tell them:

“I see your talent.”

“The world hasn’t recognized you yet.”

“I can help your talent blossom.”

“I’ll make you famous.”

And so on.

It was all very cliché… but it worked.

Even though Nam Woojin was far from being an unknown rookie…

To Shin Youngman, Woojin, who was still just a high schooler, was no different from the other naive newcomers he’d dealt with.

‘No, this might even be easier. How much praise has he been showered with so far?’

A talent that had blossomed at such a young age.

How much praise had he received from those around him?

He must have been coddled, made to feel like the world was his for the taking.

People like that were often unable to discern reality and easily swayed by sweet talk.

And Shin Youngman’s words to Woojin weren’t entirely lies.

The association would provide generous support.

They would ensure he won competitions, publish flattering articles to build his image, and promote him relentlessly.

They planned to turn him into the association’s franchise star.

But in the end, the real beneficiary would always be the association.

As it always had been…

‘Hehe…’

Shin Youngman barely suppressed a sinister smile as he watched Woojin.

Woojin was almost done reading the contract.

All that was left was for him to stamp it.

But the first words Woojin spoke next caught Shin Youngman completely off guard.

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to decline your offer.”

***

After carefully reviewing the contract, I politely declined Shin Youngman’s proposal.

“What? No, why…?”

Shin Youngman’s eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting this response.

“I’ve gone through the terms, and… I don’t think it’s going to work out.”

I pointed out specific clauses in the contract as I explained.

“Clause 11. The profits from any work provided by Party A (the association) to Party B (the photographer) will be split 60% to Party A and 40% to Party B.”

“Huh?”

“Clause 15. If Party B wins an award in a competition provided by Party A, all intellectual property rights to the photograph will belong to Party A.”

As I spoke, Shin Youngman’s face grew stiffer.

“Clause 21. Party B must provide at least one work per month, and the intellectual property rights to any work purchased by Party A will also belong to Party A.”

The clauses I pointed out were all heavily skewed in favor of the association, far from industry standards and bordering on predatory.

‘This is practically daylight robbery.’

I hadn’t planned on signing anyway, but I read the contract just in case.

The document Shin Youngman presented, despite his sweet talk, was shockingly one-sided.

It was almost laughable how little respect he had for me.

“Oh, it seems there’s been a misunderstanding. Those clauses can be adjusted.”

Shin Youngman blinked rapidly, clearly flustered, but quickly regained his composure.

“And while it’s not written in the contract, the association reinvests most of the profits back into the photographer through various forms of support.”

Whether he was trying to smooth things over or had prepared for this scenario, I couldn’t tell.

But it didn’t matter. There was no point in listening further.

“No, thank you.”

I wasn’t going to fall for his tricks.

“Besides, I already have an agency. I’m sorry, but let’s consider your offer withdrawn.”

I could have said more, but…

My goal here was simply to make my stance clear and avoid any unnecessary trouble.

So I didn’t add anything else.

“Hahaha…”

But Shin Youngman seemed to have other ideas.

“Ah, I was trying to keep things civil, but…”

The forced smile disappeared from his face, and his true emotions surfaced.

“Listen, Photographer Nam. Do you know something?”

He gave me a sly smile.

“Henri Frank’s later years were ruined by scandals.”

A veiled threat.

It was clear his words were directed at me.

If I refused his offer, he could drag me into scandals.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine if you reject our offer?”

This seemed to be Shin Youngman’s true nature.

I had thought his appearance was unusual for an association chairman, but I hadn’t expected him to be this brazen.

“I’m not sure. But I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again.”

Amid the tense atmosphere, I stood up.

There was no point in talking to someone who didn’t operate on common sense.

As I stepped out of the restaurant, my phone rang.

— Ring ring!

An unexpected call.

— Hello, Mr. Nam Woojin. This is the Daejeon Photography Contest organizing committee.

It was the committee I had emailed yesterday about the judging panel.

I had been waiting for their call to confirm the schedule, so the timing was ironic.

“I was actually waiting for your call. When is the judging schedule?”

— Ah… about that. There have been some changes to our plans. We wanted to inform you that we’ve decided to cancel your invitation.

“What?”

— We’ve had to reduce the number of judges, so unfortunately, we’ve had to withdraw our offer.

“What are you…”

— We’re very sorry for the sudden notice. We’re just as surprised…

Cancelled?

What was going on?

As I stood there, stunned by the sudden news, Shin Youngman emerged from the restaurant.

“Ah, what lovely weather!”

He called out loudly, then slowly walked toward the luxury car his secretary had brought around.

Before getting in, he turned to me with that same sly smile and said:

“Photographer Nam, this is just the beginning.”