As soon as the first-day results for Island of the Missing were announced—
Island of the Missing / Release Date: May 19 / Viewers: 700,223 / Number of Screens: 1,159 / Total Viewers: 700,223
the roughly fifty people gathered inside Harmony Film Company's studio suddenly burst into screams.
"Wooooah!!"
"What?! Are you serious?!"
"Hahaha, it's real! It's real!!"
"Congratulations, Director!!"
"No, that's insane!! Seven hundred thousand?! In one day??!"
"Wow!! I seriously can't believe it!"
"Get a grip! This is real!!"
The studio filled with cheers exploding from every direction at once. Key staff like the cinematographer and lighting director hugged each other and jumped around, while the film company's CEO and executives clapped and shouted over one another. Half the distributor's staff were literally bouncing, and the other half were already busy making calls somewhere.
It was a result worthy of that kind of reaction.
Seven hundred thousand viewers in a single day. Even taking into account that it was a holiday during peak season, it was still a staggering record. Countless films throughout an entire year fail to draw even a million viewers, yet Island of the Missing had come within reach of that number in just one day.
At a moment like this, sitting still would have been foolish.
They needed to strengthen their publicity and marketing efforts and spread the word about this astonishing result. The media would already report on it widely on their own, but with additional promotion, word of mouth could spread far more quickly through various public platforms, YouTube, and social media, allowing public buzz to surge even faster.
That was where the real power to drive viewer numbers came from.
Word of mouth.
Depending on its reach and speed, the ripple effect could change dramatically. Kang Woojin himself had already experienced that catastrophic level of ripple effect through Drug Dealer.
For reference, Drug Dealer drew 250,000 viewers on its first day.
That was roughly a third of Island of the Missing's performance. Well, Drug Dealer had been rated R, so that was expected. In any case, the first-day box office result of Island of the Missing was legendary. You could feel just how extraordinary it was from the sight of major figures in the film industry dancing around in celebration.
"I—I've never seen seven hundred thousand in a single day before!!"
"Same here! I've seen five hundred thousand, but seven hundred thousand? I never even imagined it!"
"Director! Congratulations, sincerely!!"
"This is going to be a massive hit!!"
Even for them, the current result felt unfamiliar. No—saying they had almost never seen anything like it would be more accurate. That included Director Kwon Gitaek, who was already considered one of the greatest directors in Korea.
'Seven hundred thousand viewers in one day… that number is absurd.'
Director Kwon Gitaek had already once surpassed ten million total viewers, and now, after having seen a previous record of six hundred thousand viewers in a single day, he was witnessing the astonishing new figure of seven hundred thousand.
"Remarkable."
Right then, one of the staff sitting in front of a laptop suddenly shouted.
"It's barely any difference!!"
The others who had been making noise all rushed toward him.
"What?!"
"You idiot! What are you talking about with zero context?!"
The employee shouted again.
"We almost broke Naval Battle's record! Naval Battle had 730,000 viewers on its first day! We're only thirty thousand behind them!!"
The film Naval Battle had been released in 2014 and achieved the staggering feat of drawing 16.75 million viewers in total.
And that Naval Battle was the number one film in Korean box office history.
For seven years, the record of 16.75 million had not been broken. There had been close challengers—14 million, 13 million—but no film had been able to overpower it. From daily attendance to weekend numbers, Naval Battle had been legendary in every way. No other film had come close to touching that monstrous record.
But now, things were different.
"Thirty thousand?? Only thirty thousand behind?! Naval Battle is the number one box office film in Korea, isn't it? That record still hasn't been broken!"
"Not yet!"
"Wow, wow! If we do this right, this could really…!!"
Island of the Missing had become the first film in seven years to come close to that legend.
Which meant—
it had entered the race for the number one spot in Korean box office history.
Meanwhile, in Japan, filming for The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice was in full swing.
Dozens of staff and actors were moving busily in preparation for shooting. In the middle of that chaotic atmosphere, Kang Woojin sat in the waiting room, staying on guard and suppressing his emotions. In Korea, the first results of Island of the Missing were being announced, but Woojin still had not heard them yet. Well, either Choi Sunggeon would come running to tell him, or his phone would ring soon enough.
Anyway, Woojin's makeup was already complete, perfectly recreating Iyota Kiyoshi. With a calm expression, he was reading the script of The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice, the one with the black square attached to it.
'Hm.'
At first, he had only pretended to read while waiting for the results of Island of the Missing, trying to hide his anxiety.
But now—
he was genuinely focused.
The reason was simple.
'This is really strange.'
A question he had carried for a long time had flared up again. He was looking through the final part of The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice's script. As expected, he found it disappointing. Compared to the original, many parts of the film adaptation of The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice had been changed or cut, but the beginning and ending still followed the original exactly.
The original The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice was a fairly old work.
So then—
was this ending really the right one?
Personally, Kang Woojin did not like it. When he first received the script for The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice, he had not thought much about it, and this doubt had only begun to form recently. It was not because he was trapped inside the concept of the work. It was simply a thought born from the sincere emotions of an ordinary person.
Iyota Kiyoshi's end was the result of karma.
Or perhaps cause and effect. Or reaping what one sowed. It even carried the feeling that justice had been served. Every action brings a consequence, and the message seemed to be that one must accept that consequence.
Kiyoshi left behind that kind of message.
In a way, it was a cliché ending, one the public was familiar with. Especially in Japan, most films and content tended to end like that. It was harder to find works that did not. The theme of punishment, in other words.
In any case, the protagonist had to take responsibility for what he had done. If he killed, then he had to be killed. If he sought revenge, then he had to pay a matching price.
'It's not wrong. It makes sense.'
Kang Woojin did not deny that.
There were plenty of similar cases in Korea as well.
But—
'But does that really suit Kiyoshi too? No, I'm just acting the role, but even so… doesn't it feel disappointing? Yeah. It does.'
Woojin felt that having Iyota Kiyoshi walk that same path in The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice did not feel right. It was not a matter of right or wrong. It just felt awkward and uncomfortable. The thought kept gnawing at him. What Woojin himself had not realized was that these thoughts were born from affection for the character.
It was a feeling actors often had.
And so, he began reexamining the punishment that appeared in The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice.
What, in that world, was actually wrong?
What moment could truly be called a mistake?
What was existence?
Did evil exist?
Who exactly was evil?
Then what was good?
Was there even meaning in separating them?
Who judged all of it?
Kang Woojin had arrived at a vague answer.
'I'm the one who judges it.'
Not the director. Not the writer. Not the audience.
The judgment of all those questions belonged to Kang Woojin.
No—
it was only right that Iyota Kiyoshi should make that judgment.
Because The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice was drawn through Kiyoshi's perspective.
But throughout the story, Kiyoshi never once made a biased judgment.
He simply acted.
Because Kiyoshi was the "stranger" itself.
'Ah, damn it, my head hurts. But even if I'm not sure, I feel like it's fine for the stranger to remain the stranger all the way to the end.'
Ultimately, what mattered was not arriving at some punitive conclusion. It was simply returning to being the "stranger."
In The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice, Kiyoshi had never directly carried out his own "assignments." He had only moved "other people" instead.
Then what punishment?
What karma?
Where, exactly, did the concept of the "stranger" exist?
Did Kiyoshi truly want to deliver some banal conclusion like "revenge is meaningless" to the people watching him—to the audience, to the bystanders?
Was that really the message he wanted to leave behind?
Let us look into Kiyoshi's real heart.
No.
There was no way.
He would not even think that way.
Woojin slowly shook his head without saying anything. He did not know, and he could not know. There was no way he could understand the minds of heavyweights like Director Kyotaro or writer Akari.
'I don't care about messages or any of that. This is just what I think.'
But Kang Woojin was the person in the world who knew Iyota Kiyoshi best. He had lived Kiyoshi's life himself and embodied it with his own body. In reality, Woojin rejected Kiyoshi's ending in The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice.
To Woojin, Kiyoshi was like a stone.
No matter how the circumstances changed with time, Kiyoshi's essence had never changed.
Neither had his color.
There was a saying, wasn't there? People repeated the same mistakes.
Change and growth might look similar at a glance, but they had to be understood in completely different contexts.
That was even more true for Kiyoshi.
He had been immature.
So there was room for emotional growth.
But he would not change.
Even after witnessing countless deaths before his eyes, he remained calm and quiet, treating human death as nothing more than another assignment.
He was like a stone.
Would he repent for everything and accept the consequences?
Would he quietly endure punishment?
'I'm thinking in a different direction.'
An assignment was only an assignment.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
For Kiyoshi, the very concept of wrongdoing did not exist, and he did not think deeply about such things in the first place. Revenge was not futile. It was simply the process of returning everything to the way it had been.
Iyota Kiyoshi's way of thinking had been different from ordinary people from the beginning.
And on top of that, he was agile and meticulous.
If all of that was put together—
"Kiyoshi would definitely have planned his own end in meticulous detail, and even if he were beaten to death, he would still believe he had done nothing wrong."
The ending of The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice needed to be revised.
But—
'Would anything really change just because I say one thing?'
Woojin could not imagine that a production of this scale would change everything over a single word from him. So perhaps it would be better to just leave it alone. In any case, The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice was already expected to perform well without any changes.
Just then—
"Woojin! Please wait a moment!"
One of the staff called out in Japanese. It meant the first scene was ready. They were starting with Kang Woojin.
No—
with Kiyoshi.
Before even hearing the results of Island of the Missing, Woojin set down the script of The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice and stood up.
──────────
And with that, he entered the set.
The atmosphere was thick with the film's dark concept. He called up Iyota Kiyoshi. By the time the slate was prepared in front of him, he was already no different from Kiyoshi.
…
A blank expression.
As if all emotion had been blocked off.
Once everything was ready, the clap of the slate rang out through the set. Several cameras focused on Kang Woojin. More than a hundred staff members watched him in silence.
Director Kyotaro, staring at Woojin through the monitor, shouted—
"Action."
A moment later—
the shot continued directly from one of Woojin's earlier scenes. It was a solo shot, one with no dialogue at all, where he had to express everything using only his blank expression.
Kang Woojin looked down at the floor.
No one was around him, but he was staring at a lifeless corpse. It was a corpse that gave off a coldness at a glance. Yet Woojin's face did not change in the slightest.
A few seconds later, he slowly raised his head. The camera mounted on the railing slowly captured Woojin—or rather, Kiyoshi.
From the upper body to the face.
A close-up.
Silence.
The set was quiet.
Kang Woojin's expression was quiet too.
But strangely enough, that rigid face held a great many emotions. The depth of it only grew deeper. Director Kyotaro, his eyes fixed on the monitor, licked his lips.
Yes.
That was it.
This subtle turning point was the key.
This was the essence.
A quiet breath.
An impulsive act.
A drained, emptied state.
Justified revenge.
A simple assignment.
A persuasive past.
All of those realizations were contained in Kang Woojin's eyes.
They seeped into his expression.
And were transmitted wholly through his acting.
'Eyes that carry not a shred of expectation toward people. It's astonishing… and chilling.'
The scene should have ended there.
But Kyotaro, still savoring the thrill of the moment, dragged it out a little longer.
After about ten more seconds—
"…Cut!!"
Director Kyotaro shot to his feet in front of the monitor. At the same time, the Japanese actors and staff around him let out bitter little laughs. Some of them exhaled in relief. They had been completely immersed in Woojin's acting and were only now coming back to their senses.
Then—
──────────
With the storyboard stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans, Director Kyotaro strode toward Woojin across the set.
"Woojin, there's no need to reshoot. It was perfect. But should we change the composition a little and get a few more cuts?"
"Understood, Director."
Kang Woojin answered in a low voice. He looked calmly at Kyotaro, whose hair was streaked with gray. On the outside, he seemed cynical, but inside, he was thinking hard.
Then, true to his usual blunt personality, Woojin made a rash decision.
'Ah, damn it, I don't know. Just say it. If it doesn't work, I can forget it.'
He called out to Director Kyotaro.
"Director."
Kyotaro tilted his head at the low Japanese voice, and Woojin delivered the line he had prepared beforehand.
"If Iyota Kiyoshi is truly a 'stranger,' don't you think he would never consider returning to an ordinary life?"
"…Hm?"
"Kiyoshi's ending. It feels like he wants to show Misaki Toka that 'I'm still doing just fine as a stranger.' Someone has to confirm the assignment, and for Kiyoshi, that person would probably be Toka."
Woojin lowered his voice even more.
"To be honest, revenge doesn't suit Kiyoshi. It seems more fitting for him to live comfortably and peacefully, without being harmed at all."
For a moment, Director Kyotaro's eyes widened slightly.
'…Becoming numb to every result.'
Various scenes involving Kiyoshi flashed through his mind like lightning.
"!!!"
During the filming of all kinds of content—films, dramas, and more—it was common for plot points or dialogue to change. Usually, it happened because actors thoroughly analyzed the script and improvised, or because the filming environment changed.
Of course, it was only possible if the director or writer liked it.
But the ending itself changing—
that was rare.
Especially once production had already begun.
And in a work like The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice, which had an original source, it was even harder. Changing the ending of the original was a rather bold move.
Yet for some reason, Director Kyotaro's gaze shone faintly, and with interest.
'In the end, he remains a stranger once more—'
A sign of change appeared in the ending of The Stranger's Grim Sacrifice.