Episode 446 Villain (3)

"Are you sure?"

The bald executive from Columbia Studios frowned at Director Ahn Ga-bok's firm response. The other executives also grew visibly restless. However, Ahn Ga-bok's expression remained unwavering.

"······"

He simply stared at the bald executive with a composed, old-fashioned demeanor. Producer Nora Foster, who had a reputation for her strong presence, glanced at him in surprise. Meanwhile, the bald executive, rubbing his smooth head, spoke in a quiet but firm tone.

"You're aiming for this year's Academy Award? Director, I admire your confidence, but isn't that impossible given the timing?"

Other executives quickly chimed in.

"I agree. If Perriot: Birth of a Villain is expected to wrap filming around September... it's beyond ambitious."

"That's right. It's not just difficult— it's impossible."

"You know that as well as anyone, Director."

Nora remained silent, seemingly choosing to observe rather than intervene. Meanwhile, the bald executive crossed his legs and spoke again.

"If this is just your personal confidence as a director, I understand. But if you're serious about aiming for the Academy Award, I'd like to hear your reasoning."

Everyone in the conference room turned their attention to Director Ahn Ga-bok. He briefly met Nora's gaze before shifting his focus back to the bald executive.

"I know," he began, his voice calm yet firm. "It's impossible for Pierrot: Birth of a Villain to be nominated for this year's Academy Awards under normal circumstances. But it's not like there's no way around it, right?"

The executive raised an eyebrow. "A way around it?"

"There's just one."

A flicker of realization crossed the bald executive's face, his brows knitting together.

"Director... don't tell me—"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking."

Ahn Ga-bok exhaled slowly before continuing in a low voice.

"As you all know, Perriot: Birth of a Villain is set to finish filming in September. Originally, we aimed for late September, but thanks to the cast's dedication, we're ahead of schedule. And this year's Academy Awards will take place in April next year."

For reference, the world's most prestigious film event, the Academy Awards—commonly known as the Oscars—follows a strict schedule. While it generally remains consistent, occasional adjustments occur. This year, eligibility extends from February of the previous year to February of the current year, with nominations, judging, and final selections taking place between March and early April.

The process is rigorous.

The thousands of Academy members—spanning directors, actors, cinematographers, and industry professionals—serve as judges, each casting their votes. After months of evaluation, the grand ceremony unfolds between mid-to-late April.

But the biggest hurdle?

To even be considered, a film must be screened in a Los Angeles theater for at least one week within the eligibility period. Failing this, it won't even qualify. And that's precisely why the executives had dismissed the idea as impossible.

Of course, Ahn Ga-bok, a seasoned veteran, knew this all too well.

"For Perriot to qualify, it must be released in LA by February at the latest," he continued. "Which means post-production needs to wrap up by January. It's not impossible—Leech had an even tighter schedule."

Though Hollywood and Korean systems differ, a committed director could push through editing by January. But before anyone could respond, Nora leaned forward, her tone sharp with skepticism.

"Director," she said, "let's assume you manage to finish editing by January and release the film in February. That alone is a massive challenge. But even if you pull it off—coordinating a worldwide release in just a month? That's impossible."

"······"

"You're well aware, aren't you? Perriot: Birth of a Villain is slated for release in over 40 countries—including the US, Korea, and Japan. Marketing, distribution, and scheduling for that many territories take months. You can't just push through it with sheer will."

She wasn't wrong.

A global release, especially a synchronized one, is a logistical nightmare. A single country's release is challenging enough—coordinating 40 requires at least three to six months of planning. That's why Columbia's executives and Nora dismissed the idea outright.

The wall of reality was towering.

The executives exchanged nods, seemingly in agreement with her assessment. Yet, Ahn Ga-bok's expression remained unreadable. Then, he spoke again, his voice measured yet unwavering.

"What if," he proposed, "instead of a global release, we open the film exclusively in the US first—specifically in LA?"

"······A US-only release?"

"Yes," Ahn Ga-bok confirmed. "If we keep marketing minimal and schedule a limited release of two to three weeks in LA before February ends, we'll meet the Academy Award eligibility requirement."

A staggered rollout.

Rather than waiting for a worldwide launch, the plan was to debut Perriot: Birth of a Villain in LA first—ensuring it qualified for the Oscars—before expanding to other markets later. This time, his voice carried weight.

"Perriot: Birth of a Villain already has immense momentum in the US, thanks to Kang Woo-jin's Emmy performance. The buzz is strong enough that we can afford to shorten the marketing window."

"Even if you go to such lengths—"

"If Perriot: Birth of a Villain, which we've poured everything into, gets recognized at the Academy Awards?" He let the question hang in the air for a moment before finishing with conviction. "Then, the global release will explode with publicity—far beyond anything marketing alone could achieve."

"...."

Nora remained silent, her expression serious. His words made sense. In fact, Perriot: Birth of a Villain was already generating immense buzz, thanks to Woo-jin's influence. Even without any additional strategy, it would likely be a hit.

But if the Academy Awards came into play?

'If we even manage a nomination... the ripple effect will be unimaginable.'

The Academy Awards—the pinnacle of recognition for filmmakers worldwide. And the male lead of Pierrot was none other than Kang Woo-jin. If this gamble paid off, they wouldn't just have a successful film; they'd have a cinematic masterpiece.

Nora swallowed hard, processing the implications.

"So, Director," she said carefully, "your plan is... to wrap filming in September, immediately begin editing, finish post-production by January, conduct a tight PR and marketing campaign, and release the film within February. But only in LA, for a limited two-to-three-week run—just enough to qualify for the Academy Awards. After that, we launch the global release. Is that correct?"

"That's correct."

Hearing it laid out so plainly, it sounded even more outrageous. Nora let out a breath, her voice tinged with disbelief.

"···As I said before, this is a brutal schedule. If even one thing goes wrong, the entire plan collapses."

"I know," Ahn Ga-bok said, his tone unwavering. "But as I mentioned earlier, Leech was on an even tighter timeline, and we pulled it off. I'm confident. If I fail, then so be it. I'll accept it as fate—maybe the Academy Award just isn't in the cards for me."

"Hmm."

"And, of course," he continued, "this will require the full support of the staff. Not to mention, a lot more money."

At that, several executives visibly tensed. One of them immediately interjected, his voice sharp.

"Money? You expect us to pour even more money into this?"

That was the biggest hurdle.

And beyond that—

"It only works if it succeeds," another executive said. "If this plan falls apart, we're not just burning cash—we're risking everything. Even getting nominated is uncertain. And if we do all this and then fail at the Academy Awards? The consequences would be catastrophic."

"I agree," another added. "If we overreach, we could derail the entire global release. What good is it to launch internationally if we've already suffered a humiliating defeat at the Oscars? The damage to our image could crush the box office."

It was a valid concern.

Yes, Director Ahn Ga-bok's plan was ambitious—strategically sound, even—but Hollywood was a system-driven industry. Major studios didn't gamble on unpaved roads when a smooth, secure path was available.

Ahn Ga-bok, however, remained composed. He nodded, as if he had expected the resistance.

"I made this suggestion because I believe in it," he said simply. "But the decision, of course, is yours to make."

And with that, the discussion continued.

For over an hour, the executives debated every angle, picking apart risks, logistics, and financial implications. In the end, there was no resolution—not yet. Hollywood thrived on structured decision-making, and a move of this scale required more than a single meeting. It wasn't just about money; it was about the future of Perriot: Birth of a Villain.

Ahn Ga-bok had known this wouldn't be an easy sell.

'Still... better to fight for it now than to regret not trying.'

After Director Ahn Ga-bok left the meeting, the executives immediately launched into intense discussions. It was clear they were taking his proposal seriously. Columbia Studios had bet everything on their massive cinematic universe, and the mere fact that they were debating his idea this extensively was already a victory in itself.

"I guess all I can do now is wait," Ahn Ga-bok muttered to himself.

Truthfully, he wasn't optimistic about Columbia accepting his proposal. They had already invested a staggering amount of money into their long-term plans, and risking it all on an uncertain, high-stakes move wasn't in their nature. But his veteran instincts told him otherwise.

And more importantly—

'With Kang Woo-jin in the picture, there might be another ending.'

Woo-jin was unpredictable. He always delivered unexpected twists, and that impression was likely still fresh in the minds of Columbia's executives.

Whatever the outcome, it wouldn't be decided overnight. So, pushing thoughts of the Academy Awards aside, Director Ahn Ga-bok returned to the bustling film set, where over a hundred foreign crew members were preparing for the next shoot.

As he made his way through the organized chaos, his gaze landed on two familiar figures discussing a scene's composition.

Kang Woo-jin and Chris Hartnett.

The two actors had been filming together frequently, resulting in an increasing number of two-shot sequences. Ahn Ga-bok greeted the surrounding staff before casually approaching the pair.

—tuk*tuk*tuk.

At the sound of his approach, both actors turned to acknowledge him. After exchanging greetings, Ahn Ga-bok leaned slightly toward Woo-jin and spoke in Korean—low enough so only he could hear.

"Woo-jin, do you think aiming for this year's Academy Awards is too much? Would it be better to wait until the next one, the year after?"

The sudden question didn't faze Woo-jin's ever-neutral expression. But internally, a wave of confusion rippled through him.

'What is he talking about all of a sudden? The Academy Awards?'

His mind worked quickly. Logically speaking, wasn't it always better to face things head-on rather than delay? That had been his rule since childhood—if he made a mistake, he'd be the first to raise his hand and take the hit.

'Since the Academy Awards have already been brought up... obviously, sooner is better. Whether it's Oscars or anyone else, why wait?'

Sure, things could go wrong. But if they did, they did. That was the extent of his concern.

Keeping his voice low, Woo-jin responded,

"The year after next isn't in my plans."

Ahn Ga-bok, however, interpreted his words in his own way.

"I see. Well, I suppose the timing doesn't matter much to you. You're sure you'll win in the end, right?"

No, that's not what I meant.

Woo-jin instinctively sensed that the director was spiraling into some grand misunderstanding, but he chose to stay silent.

"······"

Ahn Ga-bok, on the other hand, seemed thoroughly pleased.

Flashing a grin, he patted Woo-jin's shoulder and said,

"Could you pass those thoughts along to Columbia Studios?"

Chris tilted his head, unable to understand the Korean conversation. Meanwhile, Kang Woo-jin, maintaining his usual indifferent expression, responded simply.

"No problem."

A Few Days Later—Wednesday, the 17th

SPT Studio, Los Angeles

At the entrance of the sprawling 50,000-square-meter set, a chaotic energy filled the air. Buses, trucks, and various equipment vehicles were lined up, while hundreds of crew members bustled around. Among them were employees from Walt Disney Pictures and the production team of Beast and the Beauty.

And at the heart of the enormous castle set, near the grandest and most majestic tree—

'Damn, this outfit is uncomfortable.'

Kang Woo-jin stood in the center, exuding an air of sophistication. He was dressed in an elegant white-and-gold banquet suit, his hair now a light brown, slightly longer than before and neatly swept back.

A nobleman straight out of a fantasy novel.

Though his outward demeanor remained composed, Woo-jin felt anything but natural in the outfit. Around a hundred staff members were watching his every move, multiple cameras were capturing his presence, and various high-tech filming devices surrounded him.

Standing behind the monitor, general director Bill Lautner called out instructions.

"Cut! Woojin, let's adjust your posture a bit. Give me more arrogance. Confidence."

"Yes, sir."

They were currently shooting the first official poster for Beast and the Beauty. Since Woo-jin had the most work to do for the shoot, he had started first. Meanwhile, the other actors were waiting in their trailers, preparing for their turns.

Among the onlookers was Cara, the blonde actress watching with amusement. A subtle smile played on her lips as she observed the crew bustling around Woo-jin.

'Wow... Once he's dressed like that, the vibe completely shifts. It suits him ridiculously well. He's nothing like that clown from before.'

Just then, Bill Lautner's voice rang out again, this time with an unmistakable hint of excitement.

"Alright! Time to get into Beast mode!"

The transformation was about to begin.