“Director, I want to do this.”

“…”

As soon as Director Ko Dong-guk stepped into the office, a headache began to form. Arguing with this guy always ended the same way; with stomach cramps by evening.

“Jong-soo, there’s still a week left in the contest. What makes you so confident already?”

PD Kim Jong-soo thrust the script forward, his eyes gleaming.

“Director, just take a look at this script before saying anything. Nothing else matters. No one else could write like this.”

“I heard it’s from a rookie. Don’t you want to manage the risk?”

“That’s exactly why it’s perfect. With this writer’s talent and my experience, we’ll make something incredible.”

Director Ko Dong-guk sighed, rubbing his temples.

“How many rookie writers have you seen fall apart once the real work starts? What if they can’t deliver scripts on time?”

Kim Jong-soo didn’t miss a beat. “That’s where I come in. I’ll keep them on track.”

“Fine. Let’s say the script is good. What kind of actor is going to take a chance on a rookie’s work?”

“We’ll compete with quality. There are plenty of top actors who choose projects based on the script.”

Ko Dong-guk shot him a sharp look.

“And Kim Seung-yeon?”

“…”

“What are you going to do about Kim Seung-yeon?”

At the mention of the star writer, Kim Jong-soo hesitated. It was no secret that Kim Seung-yeon had submitted to the contest. Her signature style was unmistakable, and everyone knew what that meant:

-”I’m Kim Seung-yeon. You’re not giving me the grand prize? Good luck handling the fallout.

Trying to stay composed, Jong-soo spoke up, albeit awkwardly.

“It’s a blind contest. We can’t be sure—”

“Are you kidding? Everyone knows it’s Kim Seung-yeon’s writing!”

Jong-soo bristled at Ko Dong-guk’s retort.

“Then she’s practically announced herself, hasn’t she? What’s the point of calling it a blind contest? It’s not fair!”

“Life’s not fair, especially in broadcasting. You should know that by now.”

“Why are you suddenly changing genres on me? This isn’t noir. Look, just read the script!”

Finally losing his patience, Ko Dong-guk slammed his hand on the desk, then clenched his jaw, reigning in his temper. His voice lowered, almost coaxing.

“Jong-soo, why are you trying to disrupt what’s already settled?”

“…”

“We’re talking about Kim Seung-yeon. You know what her name means in this industry.”

Jong-soo’s lips twitched, unable to form a quick response.

“You’ve been in this game long enough to know the weight of her reputation.”

“I know, Director. Kim Seung-yeon is a star, no question. Her skills are top-tier, and her grudges are just as legendary.”

“Exactly. So why risk it? Do you want another flop with single-digit ratings?”

Jong-soo’s voice dropped. “We should still focus on the essence…”

Fire sparked in Director Ko Dong-guk’s eyes. Jong-soo, although rattled, pushed on.

“Isn’t the contest supposed to be about fairness? A chance for new voices?”

“Can’t you just drop it?”

“This isn’t about winning or losing. It’s about doing what’s right.”

Ko Dong-guk snatched up his mouse, waving it furiously.

“That’s a wireless mouse, Director. It won’t reach me from there.”

“I know that, you idiot! Just play along and pretend to cower!”

Jong-soo cracked a slight smile. “Director, just read it. I’m telling you, we’ve got a monster rookie on our hands.”

Director Ko Dong-guk gently set down the mouse and rubbed his temples again.

“What if it’s not as interesting as you say?”

“Come on, I’m telling you, it is interesting!”

PD Kim Jong-soo thumped his chest in frustration.

“It’s so damn good, I don’t even know how to explain it!”

“Oh really?”

“Want a prediction? By the time you hit page ten, you’ll be thinking, ‘Hmm, not bad.’ By halfway through, your heart’s going to start racing.”

Jong-soo ran a hand over his face, pausing theatrically before continuing with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

“You’ll be wondering, ‘Where the hell did this writer come from?’ And by the time you finish, you’ll say it yourself.”

“Say what?”

“‘Get the writer’s seal immediately!’”

Director Ko Dong-guk chuckled at Kim Jong-soo’s over-the-top performance.

“Really? Not ‘File an incident report right now?’”

“Why would I need to write one?” Jong-soo asked, blinking innocently.

“For insolence, disrespect, intimidation… take your pick.”

Ko Dong-guk’s eyes drifted to the script lying on his desk. Normally, Kim Jong-soo would push just hard enough to save face, then back down. This time, though, his persistence stirred a sense of curiosity.

‘Is it really that good?’

With a long exhale, Director Ko asked, “You’re saying this script can even beat Kim Seung-yeon’s?”

“Honestly, if it’s judged purely on merit, this one’s better.”

“Sigh, you stubborn mule. Fine, I’ll read it. Now get out.”

At the dismissal, PD Kim Jong-soo finally left the office.

“That bull-headed fool.”

Director Ko Dong-guk had known Kim Jong-soo since he’d first walked into the broadcasting station as a green rookie. He’d personally taken him under his wing, showing him the ropes when he was just a team leader. He knew Jong-soo’s nature well; stubborn but sincere.

Jong-soo was a man obsessed with dramas.

Once he locked onto something, he’d barrel forward without considering the consequences. Sometimes it led to huge successes; other times, to spectacular failures—and more than a few delayed promotions.

Maybe that’s why.

Jong-soo was Director Ko’s sore spot.

‘Still, he’s a broadcaster to the bone. Not many like him left nowadays.’

With a sigh, Director Ko Dong-guk picked up the script that Jong-soo had so eagerly left behind, scowling as he opened it.

“How good could this possibly be to cause such a ruckus?”

He leaned back in his chair and glanced at the title.

“Eccentric Doctor Ham In-joo? What a weird title.”

He started turning the pages.

“Hmm, the basics are solid.”

Around page twenty, his pace quickened.

“Huh?”

Another twenty pages flew by.

Director Ko’s eyes widened.

“…A rookie, really?”

It felt like the work of someone deeply familiar with the industry. The content was gripping, and on top of that, a quick mental calculation showed it wouldn’t need an enormous budget.

In other words, it was lean and efficient; minimal production costs, but high on substance.

“Looks like it could’ve been written by a real doctor…”

The settings were limited. The entire first episode took place at Daon Hospital. The writer was clearly saying: This drama doesn’t need extravagant locations.

With a bold investor, they could save on production costs and funnel those savings into casting or marketing.

But beyond the practical considerations, the script itself was exceptional.

By the time Director Ko reached the final page, he was already thinking ahead.

Director Ko Dong-guk felt the chronic headache that had plagued him all morning suddenly vanish. He flung open the office door and shouted.

“Hey! Get Kim Jong-soo in here, now!”

At the sound of his name, PD Kim Jong-soo turned to the side, extending his palm.

“See? Told you I’d win. Pay up.”

PD Lee Geon-woo frowned and slapped a 10,000 won bill into Kim Jong-soo’s hand.

“Seriously? The Director couldn’t even hold out for an hour…”

With a grin, PD Kim Jong-soo jogged back toward the office.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming.”

He slipped inside, quietly closing the door behind him, his face beaming.

“So, how was it?”

Director Ko Dong-guk, still stroking his chin in thought, finally spoke.

“Since it’s a blind contest, we can’t be completely sure yet, but if this really is a debut script…”

He turned to Kim Jong-soo, his eyes sharp.

“A genius writer who fell from the sky.”

“Right? Didn’t I tell you, Director?”

Kim Jong-soo clapped his hands, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“The dialogue, the descriptions, the pacing – it’s flawless. But what really stands out is the blocking. It’s like the writer understands the entire production process.”

Director Ko picked up the thread.

“It’s almost too knowledgeable… about both the medical field and the broadcasting industry.”

Kim Jong-soo leaned in with a smile tugging at his lips.

“And it’s not just the quality. There hasn’t been a solid medical drama in years.”

“…True.”

“It’s time for one to hit. If we don’t grab this, someone else will—and they’ll feast on it.”

Director Ko let out a long sigh, the mix of excitement and worry clear on his face.

“Still… I’m not convinced yet, Jong-soo.”

He closed his eyes for a moment before instructing him.

“Contact the writer. Ask for all the additional scripts they have. We need to verify. You know how many rookies start strong but fizzle out by the second episode.”

Kim Jong-soo flexed his back muscles in triumph.

“Director, I’ve been at this for 14 years. I already requested them yesterday. We’ll have them before the contest deadline.”

Whether the writer had more scripts ready was still uncertain. But in this business, only those prepared could seize the moment. PD Kim Jong-soo could only hope that the mysterious “Kyukyu” was one of those people.

* * *

The Next Day

“Holy…”

PD Kim Jong-soo stared at his inbox, eyes wide. He checked the attached files again just to be sure.

It was only yesterday that he had sent the request for more scripts. Now, just one day later, writer Kyu-kyu had responded with something incredible.

A total of sixteen episodes.

From the pilot to the final episode.

“Unbelievable.”

Kim Jong-soo had expected a few additional scripts, given the quality of the first one. He knew that even if Kyu-kyu didn’t win the contest, companies would be scrambling to sign them.

At best, he had hoped the writer had five episodes ready. He’d even settled in his mind for three. Enough, at least, to convince Director Ko.

But this?

‘Who writes a full series when the project hasn’t even been greenlit?’

It was either a sign of arrogance, an insane level of confidence, or sheer grit. Any way you sliced it, this was almost impossible.

PD Kim Jong-soo opened the file for Episode 2 with an eager expression.

It was late at night, and the office was deserted.

As he scrolled through the script, he found himself absentmindedly counting the ceiling tiles.

“This is it… This will be a hit…”

His body trembled with excitement.

All his earlier doubts had been unfounded. The mysterious writer ‘Kyukyu’ wasn’t just holding up as the series progressed; they were getting better. The character dynamics grew more intricate, and the characters themselves seemed to leap off the page, full of life.

“Phew…”

Letting out a long breath, PD Kim Jong-soo quickly forwarded the scripts to Director Ko Dong-guk’s email.

[Transmission complete.]

Then he typed out a message:

[Director, I’ve sent you the additional scripts for Eccentric Doctor Ham In-ju. Check your email.]

After double-checking, he fired off one more text.

[Warning: Clear your schedule!]

. . .

The next morning, for the second day in a row, the office door flew open with a loud bang.

“Kim Jong-soo! Come here! No, forget it, I’m coming to you.”

“Yes, Director!”

Director Ko Dong-guk stormed over to PD Kim Jong-soo’s desk, his excitement barely contained.

“The writer… what’s the writer’s name?”

PD Kim Jong-soo hesitated, then mumbled, “It’s… Writer Kyukyu.”

“Kyukyu?”

“Yes, Writer Kyukyu.”

Director Ko paused, eyebrows furrowed.

“Why that pen name?”

“It’s catchy, don’t you think?”

“Kyukyu…” Director Ko murmured the name a few more times, then shook his head. “Who cares? Whether they’re a man, a woman, a goblin, or a mountain spirit, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we need to lock down this once-in-a-lifetime rookie!”

Kim Jong-soo grinned, glancing at the Director. “Did you read it all?”

“I stayed up all night.”

“And? What did you think?”

Director Ko Dong-guk stared off for a moment, then answered in a calm, steady voice.

“I laughed, I cried, I got mad, and then I celebrated. All in one night.”

PD Kim Jong-soo pumped his fists in triumph.

“See? I told you it would work!”

A story that could make you feel all the highs and lows of life. What more could a drama ask for?

Director Ko glared at him.

“Alright, it’s a winner. Contact the writer and secure the rights immediately.”

Kim Jong-soo squinted, pretending to hesitate.

“But didn’t you say there’s still a week left in the contest?”

Director Ko scoffed. “How long have you worked here and still don’t get it?”

“I’m just playing it safe in case you ask me to write an incident report.”

“Do you want to lose this masterpiece over word games?”

After reading through thousands of scripts in his career, Director Ko knew a diamond when he saw one. Contests like these were meant to sift through piles of mediocrity, hoping to find something half-decent. But here, they’d stumbled across a rare gem.

“There’s no way a better script will come in. Get their seal. Whatever it takes!”