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The Second Producer

Ryu Ji-Ho was nothing more than a third-rate director, trapped in the shadows of his own failures. But when fate handed him a second chance, he was reborn with an unbreakable resolve. This time, Ryu Ji-Ho wasn't just dreaming; he was building an empire. From the cutthroat Korean film industry to the dazzling lights of Hollywood, he crafted his story with a sharp vision and a courage that knew no bounds. Yet, behind the glittering façade of his career lay a dark secret, one that threatened to destroy everything he had painstakingly built. With enemies lurking around every corner, Ryu Ji-Ho was forced to confront his past and make a choice—between the intoxicating glory of success or the inevitable downfall that awaited him.

Fallen_Angelss · 都市
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92 Chs

The peak of Mount Subong

A Flash of Light

Ryu Ji-ho jolted awake and abruptly pulled from the depths of his slumber. He lay still for a moment, trying to understand the tension in the air. With a wary instinct, he quickly scanned his surroundings. This was his high school bedroom, familiar down to the last detail. But something was off. There was a strange, unsettling feeling as if the room was somehow different, yet he couldn't pinpoint what had changed.

Feeling uneasy, Ryu Ji-ho exited his room and headed towards the master bedroom. There, he saw his parents, looking much younger than he remembered. They were fast asleep, their faces radiating a peacefulness that brought a wave of relief over him.

"Phew," he sighed, a long breath escaping his lips as he tried to calm his racing heart. Seeing his parents so serene made him feel a little better, though confusion still clouded his mind.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his back, a painful reminder of the beating he'd received yesterday from the vice-principal. Grimacing, Ryu Ji-ho limped toward the living room. In the corner stood an old two-door refrigerator, its faded GOLD STAR logo barely visible. It looked worn but sturdy, a relic from another time. Without thinking, he opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of cold water.

"Gulp, gulp, gulp!" 

He drank it straight from the bottle as if trying to wash away the pain and confusion that enveloped him. After finishing the water, he stood still for a moment, contemplating whether he should go back to his room. But the throbbing in his back made him reluctant to lie down again.

Finally, moving carefully to avoid waking his family, Ryu Ji-ho decided to step outside for some fresh air. He headed for the front door, passing a neat row of shoes on the rack. His father's worn, cheap shoes caught his eye, and a pang of sadness suddenly gripped his heart.

"Feeling gloomy so early in the morning…" he thought, holding his breath.

Ryu Ji-ho stepped out of the house and began to walk slowly down the quiet alley. The streetlight at the end of the hill cast a soft glow, illuminating the narrow path he took. This was a modest neighborhood on the slopes of Mount Subong, a place brimming with childhood memories. Every corner of this village felt so familiar and warm to him, even though he still couldn't grasp what was happening.

"Hfff!"

He took a deep breath, feeling the fresh morning air fill his lungs. The stillness of the early hour offered him a bit of peace, though his mind was still whirling with countless questions.

As the fresh, crisp air filled his lungs, Ryu Jiho's spirits immediately lifted.

Since it was still the early hours of the morning, the steep path up the hill was deserted. The only sound breaking the morning's stillness was the echo of his own footsteps.

"Ahhh..."

A slight pain twinged in his backside. It was the aftermath of the blows he'd received the previous day, now reduced to a dull ache that made him hobble along. His odd gait would likely draw a smile from anyone who saw him.

"Hahaha."

Even in such a state, Ryu Jiho felt strangely cheerful. The pain he experienced served as proof that this wasn't some kind of dream, but rather a vivid reality.

On the narrow path leading to the spring, he crossed paths with a few elderly men who were diligently exercising in the morning chill.

"Young man, heading to the spring, are you?" one of them asked.

"Up so early, you're quite diligent," another added.

"Be careful on your way," said an old man with a kind smile.

After a brief chat with the grandfathers, Ryu Jiho continued his journey towards the peak of Mount Subong. As he climbed dozens of steps, sweat started trickling down his back, soaking his shirt.

"Damn, even though I'm only seventeen, my body is so weak," he muttered, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He realized just how frail his physical condition was and let out a long sigh as if trying to expel all the exhaustion gnawing at his body.

"Haaa..."

He took a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill his lungs. In the distance, a hero's memorial tower loomed, standing more than 20 meters tall. The monument stood proudly as if greeting the clear morning sky.

Ryu Jiho slowly walked around the memorial, taking in the neatly arranged garden that surrounded it. He then made his way to a two-story pavilion. Upon reaching the second floor, he stood at the railing, gazing thoughtfully at the view of Incheon from the 1980s. Beyond the rows of low buildings in the densely populated area, the faint outlines of tall buildings starting to rise in Guwoldong could be seen, a sign of slow but steady progress.

In the distance, beyond the low-rise buildings in the densely populated neighborhood, the faint outlines of skyscrapers under construction could be seen towards Guwol-dong.

"There's no smog or fine dust in the air. How clean it is," Ryu Ji-ho mused to himself, reflecting on how, thirty years from now, this city would be filled with air pollution and thick smog.

He walked towards the corner of the gazebo and then sat cross-legged. Though sitting on the hard wooden floor was slightly uncomfortable, the tiger balm he had applied earlier helped soothe the pain in his back, allowing him to bear the discomfort.

"Huuuuuuh...!"

Ryu Ji-ho took a deep breath and exhaled steadily, moving his hands down from his chest to below his navel. He mimicked the abdominal breathing technique he had learned indirectly from Head Coach Hong when he was a member of the taekwondo club at Yongyeon Elementary School.

As he sat there, his mind drifted back to the past. He recalled how, in his innocence, he had once asked Head Coach Hong if following the breathing technique could give him inner strength or even allow him to unleash mystical powers like in martial arts stories. Coach Hong had just shaken his head with a slight smile before knocking him on the head firmly, reminding him that reading too many martial arts stories could muddle a person's mind.

For two years, during the fifth and sixth grades of elementary school, Ryu Ji-ho learned taekwondo as a school representative. Yongyeon Elementary had a mandatory taekwondo program for all students. Every Monday and Saturday morning, all students trained under the guidance of Head Coach Hong, who was strict yet kind-hearted.

However, due to the limited number of instructors, including Head Coach Hong, it was impossible for them to supervise every student individually. Therefore, from each fifth and sixth-grade class, one student was chosen to be a representative athlete and receive intensive training in a short period. Ryu Ji-ho decided to join the taekwondo club after hearing that this training was free of charge.

Within six months, he had mastered the basic techniques and various taekwondo forms. Eventually, he became an assistant instructor for all the students in his school. Although he was called a "school representative athlete," in reality, he never once participated in an official competition. In the sixth grade, he managed to persuade his parents to allow him to take the belt promotion test. After much hard work, he finally earned his first-degree black belt.

However, Ryu Ji-ho rarely practiced sparring; he mainly focused on mastering the forms. When he entered middle school, he decided to stop practicing taekwondo, ending his brief journey in the martial art.