Chapter 45
‘The ones being cornered right now aren’t Eun Jihoon and Seo Dongjin.’
With his arms crossed, Kim Doyun glared at Lee Beom-un.
The sun was just about to dip behind the ridge, so while it still appeared bright, the light would fade rapidly.
Once darkness fell, they’d have to turn on floodlights, which would attract moths and insects of all kinds.
It would cost more money, and the actors would grow exhausted.
The seasoned crew members, already anticipating what was coming, began grumbling about Lee Beom-un’s abuse of power.
“Thanks, Lee Beom-un.”
Muttering to himself, Kim Doyun made a phone call.
“This is Baek Seokjun, public official from Yangyang County Office. How may I help you?”
The call had gone to the Yangyang County Office.
Before Jeongdongjin was incorporated into Gangneung City, it had been under the jurisdiction of the county office.
“I’m here for a drama shoot in Jeongdongjin. How can I get permission for nighttime filming?”
Doyun had already sent numerous official requests to both the Ministry of National Defense and the Yangyang County Office for permission to film.
‘But they were all denied.’
In this era, access to the coast after sunset was prohibited.
Just a bit further north, barbed-wire fences lined the coastline, and soldiers patrolled the area in pairs.
This phone call was essentially a self-report—letting the authorities know they would film illegally and to come apprehend Lee Beom-un.
As expected, the official’s tone turned irritated.
“Are you the producer Kim Doyun assisting Director Lee Beom-un’s drama?”
The official sounded like he was reading from a document nearby.
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“I believe we’ve denied your requests multiple times. Filming on the coast after sunset is illegal.”
“What happens if someone proceeds with filming despite that?”
“Well… they could face summary indictment or even detention.”
That was the answer Kim Doyun was hoping for. He deliberately spoke slowly so the official could hear him clearly.
“The crew plans to push ahead with filming on the coast after sunset. Please keep that in mind. I’ll hang up now.”
While Doyun was on the call, Lee Beom-un was still wasting time by repeatedly shooting the same scene.
“Let’s go again. Again!”
Eun Jihoon and Seo Dongjin, running back and forth in the same spot, were visibly drained.
“Again!”
Feeling triumphant, Lee Beom-un smirked, unaware of the storm gathering over him.
Causality.
Since returning to the past, Kim Doyun had refrained from altering the future whenever possible.
He believed that twisting fate would inevitably bring consequences, like a boomerang returning.
Just as the moon’s orbit affects the ocean’s tides, altering one’s path would ripple outward.
That’s why he had left Lee Beom-un alone until now—there was the faint hope that this man might contribute, even slightly, to the success of A Summer’s Cantabile.
But dust like that could be brushed away. It was better to bring in a genius who would become a star director in the future, even a little earlier.
Working with Lee Beom-un felt like a surefire way to develop cancer.
“Cut!”
It wasn’t until Eun Jihoon and Seo Dongjin were drenched in sweat and on the verge of collapse that Lee Beom-un finally gave the okay sign.
“Director, will we be moving to the next scene right away?”
The assistant director’s question prompted Beom-un to glance around.
No matter how long the days had grown, it would soon be dark.
The script clearly distinguished between ‘day’ and ‘night,’ so it seemed the ‘day’ scenes were finished.
‘Did I drag this out too long with Eun Jihoon and Seo Dongjin?’
At last, he noticed the cold stares of the staff. The only one who seemed amused was Kim Doyun.
‘Why does he look so ominously pleased?’
Shrugging off his stiff shoulders, Beom-un addressed Assistant Director Min Kyungho.
“Take an hour break. We’ll start shooting the night scenes at nine.”
The groans from the crew were audible.
While Eun Jihoon and Seo Dongjin had been running in circles, the staff had also been on edge the entire time, making their exhaustion inevitable.
“What about dinner for the crew?” Min Kyungho asked cautiously.
Beom-un, pouting, replied dismissively, “Isn’t that the producer’s job? That’s what producers are for.”
After removing his headset, he began walking toward his parked car.
The abandoned staff, encountering such behavior for the first time, stood dumbfounded.
“What’s going on? Is he just going to eat alone?”
“I heard he didn’t even arrange for a catering truck.”
“Not taking care of the crew from day one? Wow, is he insane?”
While most of the staff were bewildered, Assistant Director Min Kyungho clenched his fists and trembled with rage.
“Is he trying to make this drama succeed or fail?”
If a director couldn’t establish charisma on set, countless problems would arise.
This was especially true for mini-series requiring at least three months of filming. Issues would only escalate as production continued.
“Assistant Director.”
When Kim Doyun approached, Min Kyungho grabbed his arm desperately, almost pleading.
“Producer, you’re not planning to make the crew eat instant ramen or convenience store food, right? Not even sweet buns or milk. Please, no.”
Reassuring him, Doyun patted Kyungho’s shoulder.
“Dinner has already been arranged. It’s kimbap served with bulgogi and chilled cucumber soup. There’s tteokbokki and sundae on the side as well.”
“Really? Where is it?”
At Kyungho’s question, Doyun pointed to a snack shop at the end of the beach.
“See the sign over there?”
“Oh, yes. Dodo’s Snack Shop?”
“That’s the one.”
Before leaving Seoul, Doyun had called his mother to order kimbap and transferred the payment to her.
‘This is my gift to the crew.’
It worked out for everyone—his mother profited from selling kimbap, and he got to treat the hardworking crew.
‘Now that I’m a producer, it’s the least I can do.’
Doyun had always been grateful for the passion and effort the crew poured into each drama production.
Technicians who are also artists.
They were incredibly rare talents, true treasures.
Yet, they were not receiving the fair compensation their efforts deserved.
Drama production companies would go bankrupt, leaving wages unpaid. Some even intentionally declared bankruptcy to avoid paying contractor fees.
By simply changing the company’s name and setting up a new corporation, they could save billions in labor costs. Even if caught, there was no legal recourse to demand restitution.
The law was far removed, while their immediate livelihood was on the line.
If a lighting staff member got electrocuted by a generator, they had to cover their hospital bills themselves. Stunt performers often faced inadequate safety measures, leading to tragic sacrifices of bright young lives.
And yet, why did they cling to this industry?
Because…
“They love making dramas.”
“Assistant Director, should we start setting up the equipment on the coast so we can begin shooting as soon as the director arrives?”
At Kim Doyun’s suggestion, Min Kyungho furrowed his brow, scanning the area to locate the soldiers’ guard post.
“After 9 p.m., the coastline is off-limits…”
“But the director insists on it. If the equipment isn’t ready, how will you handle his wrath?”
Kyungho hesitated, his shoulders sagging, but eventually gave in, instructing the crew to start setting up.
“Have you confirmed the battery is charged? We’ll be using six lights. Not just microphones, but we’ll also need the Jimmy Jib, so let’s get moving.”
Since Lee Beom-un had decided on a night shoot, the crew worked in perfect synchronization.
Once everything was set up, Min Kyungho led the crew to Dodo’s Snack Shop for a meal.
“Mr. Seo Dongjin? Take Jihoon with you to the snack shop and eat first. I’ll finish organizing the equipment and join you with the staff.”
The people they encountered at the filming location were essentially their audience.
Expecting viewers to love a drama while disrupting their lives or littering the site was like the mindset of a thief.
After clearing not just the crew’s trash but even what others had left behind, Doyun turned on the lights.
This would guide Lee Beom-un like a moth to a flame once he arrived.
“Alright, the setup’s done. Time to take a little break.”
Stretching his back, Doyun smiled.
Outside Dodo’s Snack Shop, the entire village seemed to have gathered.
“Could you let me through for a moment? Mrs. Youngsoo, I need to squeeze by. Mr. Jinkuk’s father, just a moment?”
As Doyun made his way through the crowd, an older lady grabbed his arm.
“Oh my, Doyun! I heard you’ve made it big, but it’s true, isn’t it? Are you the boss here?”
“No, ma’am. How’s Yongsoo doing?”
“He’s doing well, of course.”
As he exchanged greetings with the village lady, the cinematographer chuckled.
“Producer Kim, you’re becoming a local celebrity.”
“I was already well-known here.”
“Really? For your looks?”
Caught off guard by the question, Doyun shook his head.
“No, for my terrible temper. I was infamous for that.”
“Hey, if you’ve got skills, you’re allowed a little attitude.”
The cinematographer, the oldest member of the crew, was a veteran who had gained both technical expertise and artistic insight from years of experience.
“By the way, today’s filming location is fantastic. I swear, I’d bet my right hand this drama will be a success.”
“You shouldn’t go around betting your wrist.”
When Doyun spoke with a serious expression, the cinematographer raised his right hand.
“I’m confident it won’t go anywhere. And I believe the drama’s success will all be thanks to you, Producer Kim.”
“We’re only just getting started.”
“So modest, too. Anyway, you’re amazing. The best.”
The praise from the cinematographer made Doyun feel a little bashful.
“I’ll work even harder.”
“You’re already doing great. By the way, about the snack shop’s name…”
The cinematographer tilted his head as he looked at the sign for Dodo’s Snack Shop, seemingly trying to guess its connection to Doyun.
“It’s run by my mother. But don’t think I brought the staff here to boost sales. Since you’ve come to my hometown, I just wanted to treat everyone.”
“Why should you be paying, Producer Kim? The director should be footing the bill. It’s the first shoot, and he just vanished on his own.”
The cinematographer frowned, clearly displeased with Lee Beom-un’s actions.
“Why are you out here instead of eating? No need to skip for the juniors. There’s 200 rolls of kimbap and 10 kilograms of bulgogi.”
“That much?”
The cinematographer raised an eyebrow.
“With so many people, there weren’t enough plates and bowls, so we made kimbap instead. It’s still packed with nutrients. Please, go inside.”
***
“I wasn’t in the mood, so I thought I’d grab some mulhoe, but instead, it’s all gamjatang.”
While the crew ate on the coast, Lee Beom-un had driven into town, seeking solitude to brainstorm the night’s scenes.
But the only restaurants were a pork belly place and a gamjatang restaurant.
‘Should’ve stayed closer.’
After having haejangguk at the gamjatang restaurant, Beom-un returned to the brightly lit beach, shouting as he walked.
“Hey! Why are the lights on? Don’t waste the battery!”
However, though the setup was complete, there wasn’t a single crew member in sight.
“Where is everyone?”
Just then, a soldier with an officer’s insignia approached, flanked by two privates.
—
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