Kang Sung-oh, the Production Team 3 Leader, found the situation utterly unfamiliar.

No.
Anyone who knew Ji-won would have found it strange.

So he instinctively asked again,
"Did I just hear that wrong?"

"You heard correctly, sir."

Do Ji-won.

From his very first day, he had been full of passion, always going above and beyond what was asked of him.

That’s why, when the sudden news of his transfer to the Strategic Planning Team came, Sung-oh had secretly felt upset, too.

 

"I said I'm resigning."

The dazed expression on Ji-won’s face shifted suddenly, replaced by a firm declaration of his resignation.

‘Resign...?’

"Hey, Ji-won. I think you're being a bit emotional right now. Why don’t you take the day off to think things through calmly, and we can talk again tomorrow?"

Ji-won nodded, his face expressionless.
"Alright. Since I’m taking time off anyway, I’ll use some of my unused vacation days."

"Vacation?"

"Yes, as you suggested, I need time to organize my thoughts."

Just as Sung-oh was about to respond with a bewildered, "Uh, sure..."

"But."

Ji-won added with a faint smile,
"Although I'll think it over carefully, I don't believe my decision will change."

 

* * *

 

As soon as the conversation ended, I left the company building without a plan. As I walked, memories of what had just happened at the office replayed in my mind.

 

‘Then I'd rather resign.’

 

A smile spread across my face.
It was a phrase I’d kept in my heart for 20 years but had never dared to say aloud. Saying it, even if only in a dream, was oddly satisfying. 

It was a good dream.

Just as I was about to close my eyes, thinking that…

‘Dream?’
But can a dream feel this vivid?

I stopped in my tracks, suddenly uneasy. Glancing at my reflection in a nearby store window, I froze.

Young.

It was my face from 20 years ago, unchanged. Exactly as I remembered. Can a dream truly be this vivid?

‘Squeeze.’

I pinched my cheek.

"It hurts..."

I tried pinching harder.

"It still hurts...?"

A blank expression crossed my face as I muttered,

"Why..."

It was something that simply defied common sense.

"Why does it hurt...?"

My cheek throbbed from the pinch.

‘Could it be?’

Had I really gone back to the past? Back 20 years? 

Without hesitation, I pulled out my smartphone to check the date.

 

[September 14, 2017]

 

This was the kind of situation that only happens to protagonists in TV dramas or movies.
After pondering for a moment how this could have happened,

‘Oh?’

Suddenly, a familiar face flashed in my mind.

Father!

Without wasting another second, I started running toward the bus terminal.

 

* * *

I spent the entire night on the express bus. Only when the morning sun rose did I finally arrive in my hometown.

-Creak.

I carefully opened the front door of my family home after the long journey.

"What? What are you doing here at this hour?" my father asked, looking puzzled. 

He was sitting down to breakfast, dressed in nothing but his underwear.

"Aren't you going to work?"

"Huh...?"

"Did you quit your job?"

Seeing his face, one I'd longed for in my dreams, made me laugh suddenly. I kicked off my shoes, tossed them aside, and ran toward him.

"Father!"

I hugged him tightly, and he immediately reacted, bewildered.

"Have you gone mad? What are you doing, being all sentimental like this?"

He struggled against my embrace, clearly confused.

"Please, just stay still."

Despite my plea, he overpowered me with ease, pushing me away with surprising strength.

‘Is this physical strength for real...?’

It seemed he was still in great shape at this time.

"Goodness, it's nothing. A grown man being all sentimental like this."

This was the father who, in my last memories of him, could no longer even hold a spoon. That frail image of him had stayed with me.

"Wow, Dad. You're still as strong as ever."

"Still? You'll never be able to match me, even if you live forever!"

***

 

Come to think of it, my father had always been known as one of the strongest men in the neighborhood since I was a kid.

With my father holding me firmly in place, we awkwardly exchanged glances for a moment

 

"......"

"......"

Then my father let go and, while getting dressed, casually spoke.

 

"If you’ve got free time, why don’t you rest at home instead of coming all the way out here?"

 

"Where are you going?"

 

"If one guy's slacking off, another has to work, right? I'm heading to the store."

 

Just as he was about to open the front door, my father paused abruptly and turned to me with a serious expression.

 

"Son, I'm counting on you for the back."

 

"The back?"

 

"Yeah, the dried pollack. You know, that stuff."

 

He briefly gestured toward the mountain of dishes piled in the sink. Watching him hurry out the door, I couldn't help but laugh quietly to myself.

 

"You haven’t changed a bit."

 

When I was in the upper grades of elementary school, my mother passed away.

 

After that, I grew up solely under my father’s care.

 

My father, who had run a small hardware store his entire life to provide for his child.

 

As is often the case with just two men living together, there wasn’t much conversation between us. 

 

It became even less frequent after I moved to Seoul for work. At best, I only came home once or twice a year during the holidays.

 

I didn’t realize it back then.

 

He was always such a cheerful person, so I assumed he'd be fine on his own.

I had no idea what was happening to him.

The year I became a team leader, my father was diagnosed with early-stage dementia.

 

I told him I’d bring him to Seoul to live with me.

 

‘What sane girl would marry an old bachelor with a father who has dementia? Don’t worry about it! Are you trying to make your father look more pitiful?’

 

That was the kind of person my father was.

 

More worried about his son's marriage prospects than his own dementia.

 

My father, who had entered a nursing home, held on for 8 more years before passing away quietly.

 

I was the ultimate unfilial son, so obsessed with work that I didn’t even let him meet his daughter-in-law before he died.

 

"......"

 

My father, who had entered a nursing home, held on for eight more years before passing away quietly. 

I was the ultimate unfilial son, so obsessed with work that I didn’t even let him meet his daughter-in-law before he died.

 

"......"

 

I sat down at the table and picked up the spoon my father had been using, finishing the last of his rice.

 

For such a big man, he never took care of himself properly. He was always rushing out the door, barely eating meals of soybean paste soup with just a few side dishes.

 

It had been over twenty years since I’d last tasted my father's soybean paste soup, but it was still the same.

 

"I told you not to put carrots in the soybean paste soup..."

 

-Drip, drip

 

Something fell from my face onto the table. The carrots I used to pick out tasted oddly sweet today.

 

* * *

 

Back in my room, I slowly started organizing my thoughts. Generally speaking, when your mind is this cluttered, it helps to write things down.

 

"Let's see..."

 

I took out a notebook, opened it, and began jotting down whatever came to mind.

 

[1. I’ve come back to the past.]

 

The phone screen showed September 15, 2017. I had traveled 20 years into the past.

 

[2. Why now, of all times?]

I wasn’t sure.

Why, how, for what reason... those questions felt meaningless. No matter how much I thought about it, I wouldn’t be able to figure it out.

'Then...'

What matters is what I do next.

[3. So what can I do right now?]

I don’t know why or how, but I’ve been given a second chance. My life had been filled with regret, and this time, I wanted to live differently.

Yes, this was an opportunity. An opportunity to correct the mistakes of a life steeped in regret.

I crossed out everything I had written earlier.

Then I wrote down a new line.

 

[Live without regrets.]

 

My biggest regret has always been giving up my dream of becoming a drama director to live the life of a salaryman.

 

But this time, I’ll create my own work.

 

If I become a director, I can finally correct the most persistent regret that’s haunted me.

 

'And...'

 

There was something I regretted as much as abandoning my dream.

 

Neglecting my father.

 

I’d foolishly thought he would always be fine until the day he was gone.

 

'In this life...'

 

I promised myself, again and again, that I wouldn’t repeat that mistake. I wouldn’t let him slip away and regret it for the rest of my life.

 

'Oh? Come to think of it...'

 

Suddenly, my eyes fell on the USB in my hand.

The same USB I had pulled out just before coming back.

 

It held the scripts I had written over the last 20 years, the ones I had planned to show Kim Hyung-seok. 

 

If… 

 

if all the files were really still there…

I connected the USB to my computer without hesitation.

 

[New Volume (E:)]

 

Just as I was about to explore the contents,

 

"Oh my God..."

 

I buried my face in my hands.

 

Every script, every proposal I had written over those two decades was intact. Neatly organized in a folder tree, just the way I had left them.

 

But it wasn’t just the scripts.

 

I had the instincts of a seasoned planner, honed over a lifetime.

The instincts that had propelled me to the position of vice president at the broadcasting station.

 

For a moment, it felt like I could hear bright, triumphant music in the distance.

The sound of victory.

 

* * *

 

Scratching my belly, I pondered.

 

‘What’s the fastest way to make my directorial debut from this point?’

 

Years of experience from my past life quickly helped me calculate the shortest route.

 

Fourth-year PD.

 

Decent experience, but still…

 

Too early for a directorial debut.

 

It was an awkward, in-between stage.

 

‘Then... I need to carve out my own ‘hidden route’—a path others can’t take.’

 

For example...

 

'What if I debut as a drama writer first?'

 

I immediately turned on the computer and accessed JTVN's homepage.

I remembered it was around this time...

-Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh.

 

The scrolling that had been going on for a while suddenly stopped.

 

[In This Life, I’m a Drama Writer?!]

 

There it was: a blind writer discovery project directly hosted by JTVN, the same broadcasting station I was working for.

 

Age? Irrelevant.

Experience? Irrelevant

 

The competition was blind. The winner would be decided based purely on their synopsis and the first episode script. All you had to provide besides the script was a pen name and contact details.

 

'There's no rule saying internal employees can't apply, right?'

 

Moreover, the grand prize wasn’t just a 50 million won cash award. The real prize was...

 

[Confirmed drama production by JTVN.]

 

They guaranteed the winner’s drama would get produced.

 

I remembered.

 

There had been so many submissions at the time that the staff worked overtime and pulled night shifts, swamped with emails.

 

'This is it!'

 

Suddenly, the countless scripts I had written in my past life flashed through my mind, scripts that had never seen the light of day.

 

Kim Hyeong-seok’s words, spoken with a bitter smile, echoed in my head.

 

“Are you still writing scripts?”

 

“It's because I’ve never seen talent as bright as yours.”

 

Whether those words were true or not didn’t matter now.

This was the perfect chance to find out.

 

I closed my eyes.

 

There’s an old saying: “A needle in a pouch will eventually poke through.”

It means that talent, no matter how hidden, will eventually reveal itself.

But in this industry, skill isn’t enough. Timing is everything, and the ability to ride trends is just as important.

I needed to think of the broadcasting station as my client.

 

'What kind of drama does our station need the most right now...?'

 

2017.

 

It was a time when cable channels, led by general programming networks, were rising fast, challenging the dominance of terrestrial networks.

 

Then...

 

I opened one of the many files stored in the USB.

 

16 episodes.

 

A medical drama, with just the right balance of melodrama and romance.

 

Out of all my scripts…

 

This was the one JTVN would need the most.