LTE.

It refers to 4G mobile communication.

As 4G networks became widespread, buffering during real-time video playback significantly decreased. 

In other words, it was the era when people became accustomed to watching videos on small devices that fit comfortably in one hand.

Nevertheless, 

There still exist unchanging traditional routines in the lives of modern people.

For example,

Coming home and turning on the TV with the remote control first… 

The CRT TV(1) occupies a corner of every living room, and the act of watching dramas broadcast on it has remained constant.

Dramas have been, are, and will continue to be influential content in the past, present, and even in the distant future.

Moreover, they evolve rapidly to survive.

The very next day after airing, viewership ratings are published for all to see.

That’s why drama themes, subjects, and trends are as organic as living things.

And, 

If we were to extract the drama themes that the public preferred around this time, they would be…

Humanism

And

‘Professional’ stories

It was a harmony of the two.

.

.

.

A woman opens the shabby door of a rural hospital and steps inside.

Her name is Kim Da-yeon.

Standing at the hospital desk, she speaks.

“I’m looking for Dr. Ham In-joo…”

The desk clerk flinches, as if she has heard an unbelievable name. Then, with a pale complexion, she points somewhere in the distance.

Over there

The curtains of a corner bed in the emergency room slowly part. A man in his 50s, dressed in green medical scrubs, groggily sits up.

“Who is it?”

Kim Da-yeon speaks in a sorrowful tone, “Doctor, it’s me, Da-yeon. Please help me. The hospital… , my father’s Gusan Hospital…”

In contrast, his response is cold.

“Aish!(2), I don’t know. What’s that? My head’s pounding from the hangover, so get lost.”

Kim Da-yeon, the hospital director’s daughter, lost all her inheritance to her uncle after her father’s accident. 

That inheritance included Gusan Hospital, which her father had built over a lifetime. Her father’s hospital, once dedicated to patient care, had transformed into a profit-seeking enterprise.

She needed help.

So Da-yeon came looking for Ham In-joo, her father’s friend whom she had met a few times as a child.

The eccentric genius, the only one in Korea with three board certifications.

It took a long time to find him after he had suddenly disappeared following his highest honors.

Still, Da-yeon remembers.

The past Ham In-joo in her memory was more sincere to patients than anyone else. 

But this man… 

he seems to have changed significantly, far more different from the person in her mind.

Either way, there’s no other option.

Da-yeon plans to start over at the rural branch, Daon Hospital, gathering Dr. Ham In-joo and his old colleagues. 

She intends to reclaim the hospital her father built over a lifetime from her uncle and restore it to its original purpose of caring for patients…

“Hey, I said get lost, didn’t I?”

…There is no other way.

.

.

.

<Eccentric Doctor Ham In-joo>

It’s a 16-episode medical drama.

For the past 20 years, there hasn’t been a single script that has been made public without passing through my hands.

I’ve seen and read countless stories to the point of nausea.

Moreover, the sense that I have honed while living my whole life as a ‘planner’ has provided me with constant inspiration.

-How should the story develop?

-What is the most effective directing method right now?

-What lines should the character say?

The optimal answers flooded my mind like a rising tide.

-Tap, tap…

The sound of typing echoed cheerfully, maintaining a steady rhythm.

The script had already been completed.

I was in the midst of writing the application form for the contest.

Then, suddenly, my hands, which had been moving swiftly, came to a halt.

‘Pen name?’

The reason: I had to write a pen name. Just in case it might be selected, I couldn’t use my real name.

At that moment, the chicken box I had ordered to satisfy my hunger caught my eye.

[Kyukyu Chicken]

Having been lost in thought for a moment, I began to type again with a determined expression.

* * *

Today, PD Kim Jong-soo of Production Team 2 was rummaging through the mountain of script contest entry emails.

Sitting squeezed into a narrow chair with his bear-like build, examining the manuscripts made him ache all over.

‘Ah, I feel like doing squats…’

The reason he, with 14 years of directing experience, was personally reviewing the contest scripts was simple: the grand prize winner of this drama contest was likely to become his next project.

‘Seeing them is one thing, but…’

But there were too many, far too many.

Dozens of unsatisfactory scripts every day. Even after nearly a month of sifting through them…

‘Black is text, white is paper…’

He was on the verge of developing neurosis when there was none before.

‘Sigh, just hang in there a bit more. This ordeal will be over in a few days.’

PD Kim Jong-soo, letting out a long breath, opened the next script file.

‘…A medical story?’

He narrowed his eyes.

The main source of entertainment in medical dramas is the fierce struggle of professional doctors in life-and-death situations.

At a glance, it was an attractive subject.

Countless writers attempt it, but its drawbacks are clear. Without considerable expertise, it’s impossible to satisfy viewers with very high standards. If not careful, it can easily become stale or childish work.

“Is it from an established writer?”

Reading the brief introduction attached to the script, he found it was from a newcomer.

“Dreaming big, huh.”

How many writer-directors had sunk to the depths after failing to overcome that hurdle?

But strangely, it was appealing.

Looking back, there hadn’t been a so-called ‘blockbuster’ medical drama in recent years.

“Let’s just skim through the beginning…”

He opened the file and casually turned the pages.

How much time had passed?

The look in his eyes changed as he read the script in a skewed posture. He then sat up straight and started staring intently at the monitor.

‘…What is this?’

Finally, it was around the time he reached the last page of the first episode’s script.

“Holy shit.”

PD Kim Jong-soo’s exclamation prompted the man sitting right next to him to ask.

“What’s wrong?”

It was PD Lee Geon-woo of Production Team 2.

“This is insane.”

“What is?”

Instead of answering, PD Kim Jong-soo jerked his chin towards the monitor. Soon, PD Lee Geon-woo took over the mouse and examined the beginning of the manuscript.

-Scroll, scroll

After scrolling down a few times, he asked in a trembling voice,

“Who is it? An established writer?”

“No.”

“Then, could it be a newcomer?”

How could a newcomer’s writing be this good?

PD Lee Geon-woo, as if possessed by something, recited the written dialogue.

“I’m not interested in or even know how to become the best doctor. I just aim to be the doctor this patient needs…”

PD Kim Jong-soo snapped his fingers and said.

“That part was amazing! You found that part impressive too?”

PD Lee Geon-woo murmured, unable to take his eyes off the monitor screen.

“It’s incredible, is it really a newcomer?”

Then he looked at PD Kim Jong-soo.

“Senior, shouldn’t we send a reply right away?”

“We should.”

“I’ll send it. What’s the applicant’s pen name?”

At those words, PD Kim Jong-soo mumbled under his breath.

“Kyu…”

“Pardon?”

“Kyukyu!”

“Huh?”

“Kyukyu! Kyukyu! Kyukyu!”

PD Lee Geon-woo narrowed his eyes.

It felt a bit odd to hear the burly PD Kim Jong-soo, built like a bear from years of weight training, repeating “Kyukyu” in such a strange tone.

“No, senior. I’m asking what the writer’s pen name is.”

“I’m telling you, it’s Kyukyu!”

“What? The writer’s pen name is Kyukyu? Like that sound you make when trying to be cute…?”

“Yeah, that Kyukyu.”

PD Lee Geon-woo thought to himself.

‘Is it a female writer?’

It didn’t matter. The quality of the script was what counted, not the writer’s gender. He quickly began typing out a sincere reply.

* * *

-“The first time you’re judged in life is on the day of your college entrance exam. Don’t be a failure from the start.”

That’s what our homeroom teacher drilled into us in 12th grade.

Because of it, I studied like a madman, glued to my desk for fourteen hours a day.

Back then, my thoughts were simple:

‘I have to get into a top university. I can’t start life as a loser!’

That winter, clutching a disappointing report card, I found myself enrolling at my second-choice school.

Contrary to my expectations, university life was fun. It was there I discovered my dream of becoming a drama director.

I’d always believed grades were the key to life, but they weren’t.

-“Huff, huff. Attention, soldiers! Snow removal will begin shortly. One person from each barrack, report to the admin office immediately.”

-“Anyone feel like going?”

-“Private Do Ji-won!”

I was yanked into military service just as I was enjoying life at university.

The senior soldiers were like demons. 

Cross them, and your time in the army becomes hell. I did my best to be the model recruit, the so-called ‘A-grade junior.’

Time passed, one way or another.

Before I knew it, I was a sergeant. Military life became a bore. As my discharge date approached, nothing else mattered. I didn’t care much for the new recruits’ attitudes either.

Looking back, there were moments like that at every stage of life. 

At the time, they seemed like the most important things in the world, but once they passed, they were no big deal.

That’s how it always is.

There’s no need to be afraid or anxious.

The same applies to working life.

There’s no reason to shrink just because you’re a low-level employee. I know this better than anyone.

How can I be so sure?

Because I’ve been on the executive side.

* * *

The leader of Production Team 3 asked again.

“Do Ji-won, what did you just say?”

I was back at the station during my vacation to see him.

“I’ll withdraw my resignation.”

A smile crept onto the Team Leader’s face.

“Right, you’ve thought it through! See, people just need a break sometimes. Now you’re back to being the Do Ji-won I know!”

But I calmly added, “I’m not going to the Strategic Planning Team.”

The smile vanished.

“What do you mean?” The Team Leader’s eyes began to flicker with unease. 

“It’s already been decided, isn’t it? You’re not resigning, so…”

“Yes, I’m not resigning.”

“Right, then you should go to the Strategic Planning Team. We’ll map out the future there.”

“But I’m not going to the Strategic Planning Team either.”

Finally, a shout exploded from him. “Are you messing with me right now?”

He was so worked up he started spitting as he spoke.

“If everyone at this company did whatever they wanted, would it even function? An employee follows orders!”

I held his gaze calmly for a moment.

“You’re right, aren’t you?”

“Say that again?”

“No, it’s fine.”

I bowed deeply and turned to leave. The Team Leader tilted his head in confusion.

“Did that guy eat something weird?”

As I started packing up my things, the Team Leader called after me in a hurry.

“Ji-won, are you leaving right now?”

Technically, I was on vacation.

“I’m on vacation. I just stopped by for a bit before running an errand.”

“Errand? What kind of errand?”

“I’m heading to the Human Resources Development Institute.”

Leaving the Team Leader behind, looking puzzled, like he was thinking, ‘Why would you go there?’, I left the office.

The Human Resources Development Institute.

It’s basically a training centre in a quiet suburb where employees go for education and to clear their heads. Like a corporate retreat, I suppose.

But for me, it means something else entirely.

It’s where the old dragon resides; the one who will help straighten out the tangled mess of my corporate life.

(1) CRT TV – basically a vintage tv model.

(2) Aish! – a Korean expression to show anger/annoyance.