Chapter 817: Winning or Losing Doesn’t Matter (5)

At the same time.

In a Hollywood office, men and women sat around a table with serious expressions.

“First, the lead actor casting agenda.”

At Director Kim Bora’s words, the staff began offering opinions in English.

“It has to be someone handsome. Absolutely. When you think of Sun Myungju, what comes to mind? His face. The face.”

“This isn’t just for the Korean domestic market. It’s targeting a global audience. Looks matter, but so does English fluency. We need someone perfectly fluent in both Korean and English.”

“To be precise, we need a Korean actor who is fluent in English.”

Casting director John Deokgyu Choi spoke.

Everyone focused on the man known as one of Hollywood’s top casting directors.

“What about a Korean American actor?”

“Even setting aside how small the Korean American actor pool is, they don’t fit Sun Myungju’s character. He’s Korean, so his Korean has to be perfect. There’s no Korean American actor with perfect Korean right now.”

“That’s true.”

“If Korean audiences can’t immerse themselves, it’s over.”

If the main character spoke Korean like “H-hellooo...” in what was expected to be the biggest market, Korea, it was frightening to imagine the backlash.

The casting director continued.

“Realistically, it’s much easier to find a Korean actor who’s fluent in English.”

“I agree.”

As the staff nodded, assistant director Eugene Park suddenly went, “Oh?” and said,

“I just thought of a great idea!”

“What is it?”

“We already have the perfect actor.”

“The perfect actor?”

As curiosity spread, she said,

“Wooju. Wooju.”

“Huh?”

“Wooju is insanely fluent in English. When I first met him, I thought he was American.”

Whether language ability was genetic or not, Sun Wooju’s English skills were outstanding, just like his father’s.

Vocabulary depth aside, his pronunciation alone was exceptional.

Someone grew excited.

“That’s true! And his face is perfect.”

“And he’s even more handsome than Sun Myungju. He inherited Lee Myeongeun’s looks too...”

“He can act as well. Didn’t he win a Best New Actor award in Korea? For a sitcom?”

“And that’s not all.”

Someone added,

“NewBlack is already talking about having millions, even tens of millions of fans worldwide.”

“Right.”

In the U.S., NewBlack might still be considered rising prospects.

But after four years of activity since 2014, they were already global superstars with fandoms across continents.

Especially in East and Southeast Asia, their position was untouchable.

“If Wooju plays the lead, he’ll sweep the Asian box office. Are his fans ordinary? Every time NewBlack drinks a beverage, fans wipe it off the shelves online.”

One could almost picture fans smashing companies with bundles of cash.

The happiness circuits began to blaze.

“Exactly.”

Someone muttered,

“If Wooju’s the lead, we wouldn’t even need to worry about investment.”

“Seriously. I’d invest myself.”

It was a solution to all their concerns.

In Hollywood, where production costs had inflated, a few hundred billion won could be considered low budget.

But major studios didn’t throw money at just anything.

They invested in projects that would return value.

“Wooju will star as Sun Myungju.”

If investors heard that, they would empty their wallets without hesitation.

“I heard from a casting director friend that NewBlack constantly gets hero film offers.”

“They’re unbeatable when it comes to East and Southeast Asia quotas.”

“Because they make money.”

The mood shifted toward treating Wooju’s casting as a given.

Assistant director Eugene Park turned to Director Kim Bora.

“Director Kim. What do you think? Isn’t he perfect? Looks, English, national hero loved by all of Korea, massive global fandom. Isn’t that flawless?”

“It is.”

But Director Kim Bora only smiled quietly.

When everyone tilted their heads—

“You’re not the first to think of that. It was my first thought when I accepted the directing offer.”

How tempting it was.

“But there’s one flaw in your argument.”

“...?”

“Doesn’t he have to agree?”

Everyone looked confused.

“...He said no?”

There were plenty of reasons to refuse.

The burden of playing his legendary father.

A busy schedule.

“If it’s schedule, we can adjust. Even at longest, filming’s a month.”

“His acting ability isn’t an issue. He’s great.”

The staff couldn’t understand.

Yes, there would be pressure—but the advantages were enormous.

What is the most universally consumed form of entertainment?

Film.

Just one movie and your face is etched into the world.

That’s why Hollywood actors always outranked singers and drama actors in recognition surveys.

“If it hits, his face will be stamped worldwide...”

It made no sense.

Like your nephew saying he’d attend a local community college instead of Harvard.

“Let’s hear the director. Why did Wooju refuse?”

“Well...”

Director Kim Bora scratched her cheek.

“In this film, after Sun Myungju, who is the most important character?”

“Obviously Lee Myeongeun.”

Lee Myeongeun.

Sun Myungju’s muse and a renowned jazz cellist.

Always performing beside her husband.

Anyone who saw their performance footage would think, Who is that beautiful woman?

During her pregnancy and after her son was born, she stepped back from the spotlight.

She was Sun Myungju’s first priority in life.

His only family.

“Their love story is extremely important.”

“Right.”

“That’s why he refused.”

Director Kim Bora recalled Wooju’s words.

“I don’t think I can film romance scenes... with my mom.”

It was completely understandable.

The staff imagined scenes.

“Myeongju oppa.”

“Myeongeun...”

“I love you.”

“Me too...”

And a kiss scene.

“Uggghhhh!”

“Get out of my head!”

“Yeah... that’s a bit...”

The staff smiled warmly.

“Understood.”

“Yeah, no.”

There weren’t many actors who could film romance scenes with someone playing their own mother.

The discomfort was obvious.

Director Kim Bora nodded gently.

“You understand now?”

“Perfectly.”

They understood—but regret lingered.

It would have been a massive hit.

Moments earlier, their happiness circuits had burned at 200 percent.

Now they cooled.

A shared worry surfaced.

“But...”

Someone said.

“We’re really okay on budget, right?”

“Hmm...”

“Hmm.”

The most important topic—yet no one had mentioned it.

It was hard to dampen morale, but realistic worries crept in.

Will we get investment?

A niche story of a Korean superstar succeeding in America.

Would a Hollywood major distributor invest?

They didn’t have a musical box-office titan like John Edwards.

No guaranteed white movie star like Alec West or Isabella Doris.

“Maybe American reactions would be different if it’s about Sun Myungju’s U.S. performances?”

“I don’t know. Americans don’t care unless it’s their field...”

Sun Myungju had dominated the global music world.

But to the American public, it was still “just” classical music.

Silence.

They sipped their Americanos.

Bzzzzz—

Director Kim Bora’s phone vibrated.

A bright smile appeared.

“Yes. Wooju.”

She switched to speaker.

“Hello.”

At the pleasant voice, staff gasped.

“I’m very glad to meet you all. This is Sun Wooju.”

“Wooooo!”

“Oh, this is a bit embarrassing.”

Some Korean American staff cheered.

Sun Myungju was a source of pride.

And Wooju, carrying that legacy in America, meant something to them too.

“I called to share good news. That’s why I asked you to put me on speaker.”

“Good news?”

“Yes.”

His sweet laughter tickled their ears.

“I think securing the production budget will be easier than expected. We might even be able to increase it.”

More budget.

Eyes widened.

“And there’s also good news on the production side.”

“Production?”

“Yes. I imagine you’re anxious about making this a musical film.”

True.

Sun Myungju would need to play piano and sing.

The problem was that no one was overseeing the musical aspects.

They had planned to recruit an expert producer.

“How about Frank Chow?”

Silence.

Frank Chow?

People reflexively searched other names, assuming it couldn’t be that Frank Chow.

Then realization struck.

“Hic!”

“Are you okay?”

“Hic—!”

The hiccup choir drank water.

“That Frank Chow? The Tony winner?”

“The original creator of Nostalgia?”

“There isn’t another Frank Chow in the industry...”

Laughter answered.

“Yes. That Frank Chow.”

Everyone leapt up, cheering.

Assistant director Eugene Park leaned toward the phone.

“How did you even approach him?”

“He’s a close acquaintance. We connected during Nostalgia and have kept in touch.”

“Wow... your network...”

“He’s asked me to participate in film music before. This time, I made the request.”

It seemed Frank Chow had responded positively to joining as producer.

“Wow...”

It felt like gaining ten thousand soldiers.

In Hollywood, the producer could determine everything.

Frank Chow was the best ally possible.

The man who built a castle off musical profits.

Investment was no longer a concern.

Staff stared at the phone in awe.

Unbelievable.

Like a capable CEO delivering exactly what was needed.

“Oh, but please hear the full story.”

They stopped mid-celebration.

“Why?”

“He’s about ninety percent confirmed.”

“So it’s not finalized?”

“It’s nearly settled, but there’s one condition.”

Wooju relayed it.

“He’ll participate after reviewing the script.”

All eyes turned toward the corner.

Screenwriter Jaina Kim, hunched over her laptop, looked up.

Her spine straightened.

“He’ll join after reviewing the script?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes gleamed.

“Wooju.”

Jaina Kim, Golden Globe and Emmy-winning screenwriter, said fiercely,

“Don’t worry. I’ll deliver the best script.”

A tailwind began to fill the sails of the Sun Myungju project.

Flare—

Or perhaps it wasn’t a tailwind.

Maybe it was pure heat.

“Best script! Best script!”

While the Sun Myungju team cheered—

The wind wasn’t only blowing in America.

Our Netplus documentary was also riding a tailwind.

Netplus Worldwide #1.

Japan Netplus Overall #2.

U.S. Netplus Overall #1.

Souffles were unleashing overwhelming firepower worldwide.

“Strong.”

“Wow. We were the weakest compared to our fans.”

“I love being carried by fans...”

It felt like we were fanning the sails on a raft while krakens below carried the ship.

“Bolivia? We have fans there too? We’re #1.”

“Czech Republic #3.”

“Should we film NewBlack in Prague? This is destiny. Go to Czech, eat chocolate shaved ice.”

Countries we’d never imagined were all in Top 10.

Egypt #3 made us rub our eyes.

We’d heard Souffles were everywhere.

But not like this.

“Wow...”

Ri Hyuk colored countries on a world map.

“The number of countries left for Travel Diary is shrinking.”

“True.”

The concept was to visit places that didn’t know us.

At this rate, only the Arctic and Antarctic would remain.

Maybe the African savanna.

Wherever we went, Souffles were there like guardian spirits.

“They’re incredible.”

Thanks to them, news kept pouring in.

Our streaming rankings were rising worldwide.

Haley and veteran guitarist Glenn Davis from Devil Grills, who appeared at our finale concert, were re-entering charts.

It felt like Souffles grabbing corporations by the collar.

“Repeat after me. NewBlack makes money.”

“N-NewBlack makes money?”

“Again.”

“NewBlack makes money.”

“Good.”

In capitalism, purchasing power was the strongest weapon.

Restaurants we visited on tour were flooded with fans.

An American drink Jiho liked hit 300 percent of normal sales.

Apparently it was called “rewarding with money.”

The beverage company even declared “Happy Jiho Day.”

Of course, not all reactions were positive.

“Punish the wicked!”

Footage surfaced of an Australian TV host who once made a racist remark.

“If you open their fridge, it’s probably full of kimchi.”

“Ha ha ha!”

He issued an apology tweet.

Overseas Souffles exploded.

“You think Koreans eat only kimchi? That’s racist.”

“So Japanese people eat only sushi? What the hell?”

“Wow, ignorance flex.”

From behind, we muttered quietly.

“But our fridge really does have kimchi... we even have a kimchi fridge...”

“We do eat kimchi every day...”

It was racist—but also oddly nuanced.

We just blinked.

“Well.”

“Goodbye.”

We watched as he burned in Souffle hellfire.

Ri Hyuk said,

“Speaking of Australia, remember Adelaide?”

“The restaurant that rejected us?”

“Yes.”

That restaurant space had become the second branch of the Thai restaurant run by the Indian owner we’d visited instead.

“If you order NewBlack Special, you get exactly what we ate.”

We laughed awkwardly at the menu photo.

Anyway.

The documentary was performing strongly across all metrics.

Netplus sent an official thank-you invitation to visit their LA headquarters.

“NewBlack, we sincerely look forward to your visit.”

Internal metrics must have been strong.

Jiho’s upcoming spring launch, Sin, would receive massive promotion.

The maknae beamed.

“I’m so excited to visit Netplus headquarters.”

“Excited?”

“Yes. They even have a theater inside. I’m so curious.”

Watching him bounce in his airplane seat, I smiled.

The winds were favorable everywhere.

And with those winds, we sailed toward an island we had never visited before.

“NewBlack, we will safely escort you to LA today.”

On the private jet screen, a map from Gimpo to Los Angeles.

Our destination—

Los Angeles, where the Grammy Awards would be held.