Life is Easier If You're Handsome-Chapter 200

The Netflix short film Breaking the Knot.

With a 15-minute cap, including end credits, the actual runtime would be around 14 minutes and 30 seconds.

14 minutes and 30 seconds.

That was all the time we had to craft a complete film.

And Cannes, of all places.

That meant intensity was a must.

And in a romance short film, intensity usually meant—

Physical contact.

From what I saw in the script, there were no deep physical interactions.

At the final moments of a breakup, things like that didn’t belong.

Never thought I’d end up working with Chisako like this.

Was this fate?

There were a lot of strange coincidences surrounding this.

How did Chisako even end up auditioning for Director Lee Seong-deok’s short film?

Sure, the casting call had gone out with my name attached.

But the fact that it had reached Chisako was genuinely surprising.

Last time we talked, she was still doing voice acting work.

And yet, the timing had lined up perfectly.

Breaking the Knot.

Unlike usual, there was no rating listed this time.

Maybe it was because the script had been tailored for a film festival.

Or maybe it was because it was skipping theatrical release and going straight to OTT platforms.

I didn’t know the reason.

But what I did know was that this film was a key to the world stage.

What kind of film will it turn out to be?

A strange anticipation built up inside me.

For the first time in a while, I got ready to immerse myself in a script.

A short romance film.

What kind of world would it show me?

Time to get into character.

I was about to find out.

***

A still world.

A brief silence to heighten the audience’s focus—necessary for a short film.

How much time had passed?

Clack.

The silence broke.

Colors and sounds filled the world, and the 14-minute, 30-second story began.

“Where are we going today?”

The first line didn’t belong to me.

It was Chisako’s.

In the script, the female lead had Chisako’s face, drawn into the romance mode of the scene.

“Not going to tell me?”

Her voice was refined, elegant.

The moment I heard it, I understood why she had been cast.

A voice that pulled people in.

The kind that gripped both eyes and ears from the very first word.

Something that only a true voice actor could achieve.

A realm reachable only by those born with the talent.

And beyond that—

Something a Korean actress could never replicate.

That subtle nuance in her Korean pronunciation.

A slight, nearly imperceptible foreign touch—

The kind that only a native Korean listener would notice.

A difference that foreigners wouldn’t consciously perceive, but still subtly registered.

That was why Chisako had been chosen for this role.

“....”

In the script, I said nothing and simply got into the car.

I used to open the door for her.

Not anymore.

Now, the coldness of our love was expressed only through glances and gestures.

Less than 15 minutes.

That was all the time we had.

Everything about our relationship had to be conveyed through fragmented conversation and silent movements.

Click.

The engine started.

“Still not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“The place where we first met.”

“Ah... I see.”

The conversation ended there.

The camera followed the car as it drove away.

And at that moment, the screen darkened—

Time rewound.

Back to when they loved each other.

Through the burning passion of their peak.

Further back, to their youthful beginning.

And then, it returned to the present.

To the very place where they had tied their knot—

Now, a place to sever it.

Like breaking a padlock at Namsan Tower.

“So... we’re breaking up today.”

Realizing the inevitable, the female lead spoke calmly.

As if she had always known this would happen.

And yet, the shock of it stripped her of words.

Her Korean faltered.

"If I knew this was how it would end, I would’ve taken a photo before getting in the car."

"A photo?"

But I continued speaking in Korean.

Even though we each spoke in our native tongue, communication was effortless.

Perhaps, in a way, this was even easier.

No more forced consideration.

No more bending over backward for each other.

Just saying whatever we wanted.

"Yeah, a photo. In the end, all that’s left are pictures. This is a memory too."

"You don’t have to say it like that. You don’t need to be considerate anymore."

"Still, we haven’t broken up yet."

“....”

Yet.

That was so like her.

A line that only she could say.

"So, for now, just stay the way you are."

With those words, she naturally reached out—

And plucked the cigarette from my lips.

"You held out for three years. Couldn’t quit?"

"I wasn’t quitting. I was just holding back."

"Then hold back a little longer. After all, today’s the last day."

"...."

"But still, I know you tried. You never smoked in secret."

That kindness of yours... I really loved it.

I had no response to that.

If she had said, "I loved ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) you," I would’ve found something to say.

But instead, she spoke as if we were still in the present.

And I found myself at a loss for words.

"It’s a long drive. Want to play some music?"

"You never played music before."

"Yeah, because you used to hum. But I doubt you’ll do that today."

A silent pressure.

She always did this.

Never said things directly.

Always beat around the bush.

People called it consideration, but really, it was just annoying.

Because it meant I had to think over everything she said.

And in the end, I had no choice but to hum.

Softly.

Just a faint melody.

I had long since forgotten the title—

But my body remembered the tune.

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"You’re still so gentle."

"You don’t have to force yourself. You know that."

"Then... can I whine a little?"

"...What?"

"Let’s stop at a rest area. I want roasted potatoes. And fish cake udon."

"Didn’t you say the ones in Japan taste way better?"

I didn’t meet her eyes.

Just kept driving.

Watching the road, watching faint traces of the past.

"Yeah... but I want to have them one last time. With you. And then, for real... the end."

"You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?"

"Doing what?"

"Tying loose ends like this."

"I just thought... maybe if I did, you’d remember me a little longer."

If it’s too much, I won’t push. Sorry.

Her quiet apology stung.

I hadn’t meant to make her feel bad.

We had always been out of sync like this.

"If we break up, do you forget everything? Is that what you mean?"

"No... I just don’t want to break up with you."

"I’m not good at Japanese. Speak Korean."

"Oh, but only when it’s convenient for you, huh?"

Languages change.

"You had no problem giving me directions in Japanese."

"...."

"Ah, there you go again. Pretending not to hear. That’s one thing I really hate about you."

I didn’t answer.

Just took the turn toward the rest stop.

How tight was this knot that even unraveling it hurt so much?

Even breaking it with force wouldn’t be easy.

But it had to be done.

At the moment I resolved myself—

Crack.

The immersion shattered.

Reality snapped back into place.

And before I could even process my emotions, words spilled out—

"...This is seriously going to need insane acting skills."

Short films were all about focus.

Especially for Cannes—

It wasn’t about the story itself, but about the execution.

In a 15-minute span, a film needed either experimental direction or overwhelming emotional impact.

And Director Lee Seong-deok had clearly chosen the latter.

He was betting everything on the acting.

That meant he had complete faith in his actors.

Of course, meticulous directing would be involved.

But no matter how I looked at it—this was a bold experiment.

"Which means... he cast Chisako with all of this in mind."

So, was she really that good at acting?

I was curious.

And that curiosity was about to be answered—

"Senpai! I’m looking forward to working with you today! Oh... can I call you ‘oppa’ now?"

A bright, bubbly rabbit had arrived.

***

When Director Lee Seong-deok put out the casting call for the female lead in Breaking the Knot, he had only three conditions:

Must be a rookie actress.Must be fluent in both Japanese and Korean.Must be an exceptional actress."The first one is objective, but the second is subjective."

But the core of the audition was clear:

A woman who accepts the breakup yet doesn’t want to let go.

Despite how vague and difficult the requirement was, the names Lee Seong-deok and Kim Donghu were enough to draw in a flood of hopefuls.

And in the end—

“Never expected an actual Japanese actress to get the role.”

Out of a 173:1 competition ratio, the one who emerged victorious was Usami Chisako.

It honestly took me by surprise.

When she first walked into the audition, she had been all smiles—

But the moment the scene started, she transformed.

The way she switched expressions in an instant.

The unbelievable level of immersion.

She had everyone in the room holding their breath.

"Senpai—no, oppa... wait, senpai? Ah, what should I call you? It’s too hard!"

"Hmm... just call me whatever you’re comfortable with. I don’t mind."

"Then... oppa! I think I’m the only one in the harem with the younger girl role."

"...What?"

"I think it works in my favor! So I’m calling you oppa."

"...What are you even talking about? Harem?"

"That’s a secret! Hehe."

Watching her now, she was just a bubbly, talkative girl next to me.

People really were impossible to judge by appearances alone.

Gulp.

Just before filming started, a wave of nerves hit me.

A film at Cannes.

A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity had suddenly landed in my lap.

But that’s just how life works, isn’t it?

Director Lee Seong-deok took a deep breath, trying to steady his trembling legs.

People called him the greatest commercial director of his generation—

But he never let it go to his head.

Because his role model was Kim Donghu.

Donghu still arrives on set early every single day.

And who am I, compared to that?

Muttering to himself, he finally called out—

"Alright, let’s begin filming!"

At the cue signal, actors and staff snapped into motion.

"Ready—action!"

The first scene began.

And as if she had been waiting for this exact moment—

"Where are we going today?"

Chisako’s first line echoed across the set.

And in that moment, like a peony in full bloom—

Fwoosh.

Her presence flooded the entire set.