Chapter 806: Sundance, and the Sun (2)

The saying suddenly came to mind—close your eyes and open them, and the world has changed.

In my case, I closed my eyes and opened them, and the country had changed.

“Get it together.”

“Mm...?”

“We’ve arrived. Wake up.”

Ri Hyuk snapped his fingers in front of my face.

Even so, I remained dazed for a while.

I stared blankly at him before my senses slowly returned.

Right.

I came to America to attend the Sundance Film Festival. I also came for meetings related to Dad’s film.

“...Hey, mister. Can you hear me?”

Seeing Ri Hyuk wave his hand urgently in front of my wide-open eyes, I felt a mischievous urge.

With a vacant expression—

“Who are you?”

“...Wh-what’s wrong with you?”

Half-concerned, half-panicked, he leaned in. I added faintly,

“Why am I here...?”

“It’s me! I’m Ri Hyuk! Hyung! Snap out of it!”

A snort escaped through my nose. From behind the confused Ri Hyuk, Jiho pulled out the suitcase with an indifferent face.

“Wooju hyung’s acting. Ri Hyuk hyung. Can’t you tell at a glance?”

I winked.

“Acting.”

“Die! You human being!”

“Aaaah!”

I learned that getting hit with a thick American travel guide hurts a lot.

Apologizing to the fuming Ri Hyuk, I stretched.

I felt refreshed, but still hazy.

Looking at the runway outside where snowflakes drifted lightly, I asked,

“Where are we?”

“Salt Lake City Airport.”

“We’re here.”

As I unbuckled my seatbelt, Biju—who had just told me where we were—stepped closer to meet my eyes.

That bright smile.

“Hyung.”

“Yeah?”

“You remember our Third Biju Agreement, right?”

“...If you mean that unfair treaty where I have to sleep at fixed times, then yes. I remember.”

Biju nodded.

“And you know this is the second violation, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And if you violate it a third time...?”

“....”

I remembered the penalty clause.

One full day of not speaking to me.

“!”

Humans are social creatures.

To someone who finds meaning in a group, a one-day communication ban.

Just recalling that terrifying penalty made every hair on my body stand up, and I snapped fully awake.

“That’s right, hyung.”

Biju smiled ominously.

“I really won’t talk to you.”

“I’ll be careful....”

“I’m not joking. I’m worried. If you slept straight for sixteen hours, how exhausted were you?”

“I slept sixteen hours?”

“Yes.”

“...I really do need to sleep properly.”

His eyes were full of concern.

He looked like he was considering buying me American apples to feed me.

I nodded.

“This won’t happen again.”

“Really?”

“I had a big realization during fishing. I learned about life from fishing—”

“You’re fully awake now, right?”

He looked slightly teasing. I shot him a look and stood.

Our staff were gathering luggage and heading down the aircraft stairs.

I wrapped a scarf and mask around my face and followed.

Cold wind swept across the Salt Lake airport grounds.

Runway lights blinked, airport workers in neon vests moved about.

“There are paparazzi at seven o’clock!”

“Got it.”

“Watch your step!”

Holding the railing, I carefully descended.

Junhyun took care of Biju, who was afraid of heights. Ri Hyuk filmed the American scenery on his phone.

“This is nice.”

I smiled widely.

Maybe because I’d slept sixteen hours.

At first I had felt tired, but now every cell in my body felt alive.

Yes. Sun Wooju.

“From today, I become a child of a new country.”

With an ambitious resolution to become a child who sleeps early and wakes early in a new land, I smiled.

I should have slept like this sooner.

Energy flowed through me.

Today felt like I could do anything.

It had been a long time since I felt this refreshed.

Salt Lake City, Utah.

For us, who usually traveled to LA or New York, this was a first.

Naturally, we didn’t know much.

Utah made me think of Mormon missionaries teaching English in Korea.

And Salt Lake City—

“Winter Olympics, right?”

“Yeah. 2002.”

“I still remember it. For some reason that Olympics stuck.”

For Koreans, it was famous for the American skater’s dramatic Hollywood-style acting that led to biased judging.

The incident that popularized the phrase Hollywood acting nationwide.

The youngest sniffled.

“I didn’t watch that Olympics, but I know about Salt Lake City.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I saw it in a documentary.”

“Oh?”

“They said even people who can’t swim float here.”

“Wow.”

I blinked.

“Were they swimming half-naked under a warm sky?”

“Yup.”

“Isn’t that the Dead Sea?”

“...Oh.”

Jiho searched and went, “Ah.”

Anyway, with no prior knowledge, the city left a decent impression.

The only notable thing was how much snow had piled up.

Junhyun looked out the car window.

“You can see the mountains. Skiing there must be fun.”

“Skiing and snowboarding are famous here. Park City, where we’re heading, is a ski hotspot.”

“No wonder the Winter Olympics were held here.”

Like Pyeongchang, it made sense.

As we talked about maybe skiing if we had time—

Grrrrrrrrr—

A five-part stomach growl chorus echoed.

“Let’s eat first.”

“Good idea.”

We had been fasting for sixteen hours.

It was something I’d seen in a documentary about race car drivers adjusting to jet lag. Fast sixteen hours, then eat, and your biological clock resets to local time.

We ordered jumbo steaks at a famous restaurant.

“NewBlack TV viewers!”

I smiled brightly at the self-cam.

“We’re going to test whether that jet lag documentary was true!”

“Look forward to it!”

One hour later. ℯ

Snore—phew.

Snore—phew.

All failed due to food coma from overeating.

We shared reviews after waking.

“Maybe it worked.”

“I don’t know. If we’re sleepy, didn’t we fail? I dreamed I was a sloth.”

“I... uuuugh... ate too much.”

“Uuuugh... Ri Hyuk hyung, stop making that sound....”

The only lesson was never casually ordering anything labeled jumbo in America.

No wonder big American customers were staring at us.

The chef even came out to praise us and took photos for the wall.

Yes.

We were added to the restaurant’s Hall of Fame.

“Uuuugh—!”

Jet lag? Who knew.

But the aftereffects of the food lasted.

“No more greasy food for a while.”

“Don’t even mention oil. Sesame oil, perilla oil—”

“What about OPEC and petroleum?”

“Uuuugh!”

We decided jet lag adjustment was... successful enough.

The real result would show tomorrow.

For now, I felt good.

“This is great. No one recognizing us like in Korea.”

“Yeah!”

We clapped and laughed.

“Kyahaha!”

Even if there were Souffles here, it wasn’t like Korea where every ten seconds someone asked how we were and told us to eat vegetables.

Smiling brightly—

At the most vibrant part of downtown Salt Lake City.

A billboard began flashing.

[Missing Persons.]

“Looks like they’re looking for someone.”

“But those five photos are...”

“Us?”

Below, the text appeared.

[Their name is NewBlack!]

[Special trait: reacts cutely to compliments.]

Across the crosswalk.

Salt Lake City residents in coats looked between the billboard and our faces.

“....”

“....”

Wow.

Our Souffles.

Putting up ads so we wouldn’t go unrecognized.

Ah. So... so grateful....

“....”

As citizens quietly raised their phones, we posed with teary smiles.

Anyway.

Salt Lake City exploration ended peacefully.

Some people recognized us from the billboard, but it wasn’t overwhelming.

Just a “Hey, I know you.”

The billboard did seem to generate buzz.

“I’m staying at a hotel and saw the billboard flash. Haha. Your fans are passionate.”

A silver-haired man in a sleek suit smiled.

He looked like a successful businessman.

“I’m Chris Finn.”

“I’m Sun Wooju. Nice to meet you.”

With our Team Manager Yoon Seokhwan, an interpreter, our U.S. agent and lawyer present, greetings were exchanged.

After dinner, while the younger members rested.

We were in the hotel lounge meeting a film studio.

Naturally, about making a biopic of Sun Myungju.

“It was truly an impressive performance.”

“You saw it? It hasn’t opened in the U.S. yet.”

“PBS broadcast Mr. Sun’s performance.”

“There weren’t subtitles, so it must have been hard to understand—”

He °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° laughed.

“We’re World Art Studio, Wooju. Do you think the world’s best studio lacks a subtitle department?”

“That’s fair.”

“Anyway, it was impressive. Something soul-shaking.”

Amazing. Fantastic.

Words like that filled the air.

Then.

“Since time is limited, let’s get to the point.”

“Alright.”

“We want to produce a biopic of Mr. Sun Myungju.”

His expression shifted slightly.

“You reviewed our proposed conditions?”

“Yes.”

Seokhwan hyung asked,

“And you reviewed ours?”

“Yes. Of course.”

He smiled awkwardly.

“That part needs adjustment. The first clause is difficult for us.”

“The actors’ nationalities?”

“Yes.”

My first condition was that Korean roles be played by Korean actors.

“What is difficult?”

“The actor pool becomes too narrow. Perhaps you could be more open-minded?”

“Hm?”

“The film will be in English anyway.”

“Hm?”

“As you know, American audiences struggle with subtitles. Even one-inch subtitles disrupt immersion.”

“I watch subtitled films on Netplus just fine.”

He laughed it off.

“Korean audiences may be exceptional, but American audiences are different.”

“So English is the plan?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know Gladiator? Romans spoke English. Did anyone complain?”

Our side looked incredulous.

Thank goodness Ri Hyuk wasn’t here.

Seokhwan hyung adjusted his glasses.

“Comparing ancient Rome to modern Korea seems flawed. Latin isn’t used now. Korean is spoken by fifty million. Seventy if you count the North.”

Chris Finn smiled.

“You seem slightly agitated. Perhaps a misunderstanding.”

Seokhwan hyung smiled coolly.

I spoke.

“Isn’t this film releasing in Korea? If it’s about my father, I imagine people will watch.”

“Of course.”

“But Korean audiences watch foreign films, don’t they? Even if English is spoken in Korean scenes, it won’t hurt revenue.”

So the logic was clear.

Koreans would watch anyway. Target Americans.

“I think Korean audiences won’t like that.”

“Korean audiences are cold?”

“Yes.”

He avoided the issue with another smile.

Seokhwan hyung said,

“Let’s assume English in Korean scenes. Then what’s your casting plan?”

“Hollywood has a limited Asian actor pool. Korean actors even more so. So flexibility is needed.”

“Be direct.”

“We cannot insist on Korean actors only.”

“Including?”

“Filipino, Japanese, Chinese actors. Why limit by origin?”

“....”

“A Chinese actor for your father could work. China offers generous investment. It’s not offensive. German-Americans play Italians.”

I was speechless.

He spoke nonsense smoothly.

“Haha. That startled you.”

“Very.”

“It differs from the proposal.”

“Circumstances changed.”

“What circumstances?”

“Internal.”

He shut down further questions with a smile.

“Actually, the real issue is this.”

“What now?”

“There’s a delicate part. Early in Mr. Sun’s U.S. career... there were incidents of discrimination.”

“Ah.”

I understood.

When Dad entered jazz in America, he faced discrimination—from some whites, and some Black musicians.

“Given current sentiment, portraying African Americans as discriminatory is... sensitive.”

“So?”

“If omitted, adaptation is difficult.”

He continued carefully.

“We found a solution.”

“Oh?”

“Solves the limited Asian actor pool. And the discrimination issue. You may not like it.”

“Go on.”

“In a historical drama about Mary Stuart, an Asian British actor played a real English noble.”

“So?”

“Take inspiration from Mr. Sun’s story... make it more accessible.”

He asked.

“What if an African American actor plays Mr. Sun Myungju?”

A laugh slipped out.

Ah.

The world.