Subject: [Meeting proposal regarding contract for ‘Eccentric Doctor Ham In-joo’]

Hello. This is PD Kim Jong-soo from JTVN Production Team 2.

I’m reaching out to discuss scheduling and contract details for Writer Kyukyu’s ‘Eccentric Doctor Ham In-joo,’ which you submitted to us.

Please let me know a convenient time and place for the meeting.

 

As I read this fresh, hot email, disbelief washed over me.

 

Is this for real?

 

I couldn’t help but recall yesterday’s whirlwind of events. After receiving a request to send as many additional scripts as possible, I hesitated briefly. 

 

I knew who my competition was,

 

Writer Kim Seung-yeon, 

 

The master of romantic comedy, a genre with a long-standing tradition in the drama world. She was the reigning queen of recycled plots, and facing her felt formidable from the start.

 

But things had come to this, so I decided to give it my all and compete fair and square with my script. No, I was going to compete with scripts – plural. 

 

I’d already written five episodes’ worth of material in my spare time. That would have been enough, but this was a work I had finished down to the last scene’s period in my past life.

 

In the end, I pulled an all-nighter, churning out one script per hour in a frenzy. Eleven scripts were now complete, all the way to the final episode.

 

‘Youth is good indeed.’

 

Despite not sleeping at all, I felt surprisingly okay. This level of productivity would have been unimaginable in my previous life; back then, I’d inevitably feel dizzy by evening. But it was worth the effort.

 

As a reward for staying up all night cranking out scripts, I received a contract proposal email, and not just from anyone, I’d managed to push aside star writer Kim Seung-yeon.

 

‘It’s plenty competitive. No, more than that, I’d say.’

 

I read and reread the email, an uncontrollable smile spreading across my face. In my past life, I had never known this kind of triumph. 

 

No, 

 

I had never even tried to know. I’d chosen the safe path, opting for guaranteed success over believing in my own potential.

 

With this, my talent as a creator – something that had always felt like a question mark – was now overwhelmingly proven.

 

Now, though, I focused on the biggest problem looming before me.

 

‘But I can’t reveal my identity, can I?’

 

I needed to hide the fact that I was the writer. If my identity as the writer became known before I secured a director, my main job was at risk of becoming that of a scriptwriter. Didn’t I experience that in my past life?

 

Of course, I had absolutely no intention of becoming a staff writer for any broadcasting station, including my own company. If I worked as a freelancer, I could get paid according to my abilities. Why would I volunteer to be a dancing bear?

 

Moreover, my dream wasn’t to be a writer, but a director. 

 

I wanted to be Director Do Ji-won who didn’t miss either directing or storytelling, who could even write her own scripts.

 

I planned to reveal my identity someday, but not yet. For now, I needed to remain a faceless writer.

 

Then…

 

Just as I was pondering this, my phone rang.

 

-Riiiing…

 

A smile spread across my face at the name flashing on the screen. As soon as I answered, a cheerful voice assaulted my eardrums.

 

“Are you alive? You’d never call first even if you died, huh?”

 

The sizzle of grilling meat filled the air, stimulating my starving stomach. I had rushed back to Seoul in a hurry. I turned to the guy carelessly flipping the meat and asked, “You didn’t go to work?”

 

“I have no place to go to work anymore,” he replied.

 

I looked him over. He wore a completely stretched-out tracksuit that obscured the innate air of nobility he usually carried. I didn’t understand why someone with means dressed like this.

 

It was my college classmate Choi Won-jae, who should normally be bustling about busily right now.

 

“Let’s just say I’m breaking one world to emerge from an egg.”

 

“You mean your business failed, right?”

 

“Let’s say it’s to gain momentum for a moment.”

 

I had forgotten; around this time, he had run his first production company into the ground.

 

There was a promise we made during our college days: I would become a renowned director, and Won-jae would become the CEO of a major production company. 

Later, we would join forces to create a masterpiece that would go down in history.

 

And that promise had never been kept.

 

When I chose reality over dreams, perhaps Won-jae was even sadder than I was.

 

Was our promise worth so little? I’m sorry. Forget it, you’ve made your choice, so live well without regrets.

 

Facing young Won-jae brought back old memories, those days when we constantly exchanged silly wordplay.

 

I spoke first.

 

“Why did it fail?”

 

Won-jae nonchalantly replied, “Went bankrupt when capital ran out.”

 

“Isn’t your family a bicycle tycoon?”

 

“My father’s rich; I’m poor.”

 

“Didn’t use your Mom’s card?”

 

“Not the time to use it yet.”

 

Won-jae pushed up his glasses with the back of his hand and glared at me. “Therefore, you’re paying for this.”

 

That was the kind of guy he was. The second son of a company that held a monopolistic share in the domestic bicycle market. One out of every two bicycles you see on the street is from Won-jae’s family. 

 

Yet here he was, not bringing a penny of that money into his own business, a guy who understood both the power of money and the traps it creates.

 

-”If I build it up with money, I’m likely to be under the illusion that I achieved it with my own strength. I can’t even confidently distinguish the difference.”

 

-”Ji-won, I want to start from the bottom. I want to build up the essence of pure skill. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll just inherit the family business, you know?”

 

He was a tough nut to crack. No, if a guy like this couldn’t make it, who could? Won-jae had run two management companies into the ground, but he eventually grew his third company into one of the industry’s leading production houses.

 

By then, my relationship with Won-jae had already grown distant.

 

“By the way…”

 

Won-jae asked as he used the tongs to put a few pieces of meat on my plate. “I think there must be a reason why you suddenly took a week off. Spill it to your hyung.”

 

Then he popped a piece into his mouth and stared at me. I met his gaze. I could read the affectionate look in Won-jae’s eyes hidden behind his sharp stare. 

 

He might seem cold at first glance, but he was more sentimental than anyone else.

 

That’s how he used to be. Won-jae’s second management company went bankrupt overnight when his business partner ran off with the capital. 

 

Was it because the wound came from a person rather than anything else? 

 

After that incident, Won-jae’s personality hardened, earning him the title “with iron flowing instead of blood” before the name “CEO Choi Won-jae.”

 

Was the successful guy happy? Or did he regret it like I did? It was impossible to know, as it had already slipped into the flow of time.

 

…

 

I owed Won-jae a significant debt of gratitude from my past life. He was a guy who would have done well even if left alone, but can wounds inflicted by people ever truly heal just because time has passed?

 

For me, and for Won-jae too.

 

I wanted to start this life a little differently.

 

“Won-jae.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Bored of scratching the floor?”

 

“Nope? I’m busy breaking out of my shell, remember?”

 

“Looks to me like you’ve run one production company into the ground and you’re itching to try something else…”

 

“Hey now, would a real man dwell on failure?”

 

“That business idea, want me to give you one?”

 

The dullness in Won-jae’s eyes was replaced by a sharp glint. I calmly told him about submitting to the contest and that I had finally received a contract proposal email today. I needed a partner to act as a proxy for the faceless writer.

 

“…”

 

Won-jae listened quietly as he silently downed shots of soju a few times.

 

“Remember when we introduced ourselves at the university freshman orientation?”

 

“Hm?”

 

Won-jae spoke again in a low voice. “You said during your self-introduction, ‘Do Ji-won, future renowned director.’ I thought you were crazy back then.”

 

“That’s rich coming from the guy who said, ‘I’m Choi Won-jae, and I’m going to devour this country’s content industry.’”

 

“It was because of you. I blurted that out because you inspired me.”

 

“Thanks to that, we ended up taking on the roles of department representative and vice representative without even a vote. They said if you two who will shoulder the industry don’t do it, who will?”

 

We chuckled together for a moment.

 

“You remember the promise we made then too, right?”

 

Let’s join forces someday and create a masterpiece that will go down in history.

 

Won-jae’s eyes sparkled as he adjusted his glasses with the back of his hand. “I didn’t expect to start ‘Won Management’ this quickly.”

 

With those final words, Won-jae brought the glass to his lips and very slowly swallowed. The ‘Won’ of Do Ji-won. The ‘Won’ of Choi Won-jae.

 

I had half-forgotten that promise. Had Won-jae been keeping it close to his heart and steadily preparing for it?

 

…

 

Seeing that I was silent, Won-jae seemed a bit embarrassed and spoke again. “What, you don’t like the name? Is it bad?”

 

“No, it’s killer. You jerk.”

 

Won-jae grinned and opened his mouth again. “So, what’s the name of the writer I’m supposed to represent?”

 

That question suddenly snapped me back to reality, and I muttered in a barely audible voice, 

“…Kyukyu.”

 

“What are you saying? I can’t hear you at all. Speak up.”

 

“Kyukyu.”

 

A moment of silence passed. Won-jae looked at me with a worried expression. “You sure you write well? Looking at your awful naming sense, I’m suddenly getting worried.”

 

Feeling my face heat up, I hurriedly answered, “I pushed out a star writer, and I’m on the verge of signing a contract, you know?”

 

Won-jae frowned in dismay. “Hah – geez, it’s a bit embarrassing as Won Management’s first contracted writer. But what can we do?”

 

After finishing his words, he held out his glass and said in a low voice, “Raise your glass. It’s the first day of history that will shake up Korea’s content industry.”

 

He staked his future on my story without hesitation. What an absurd guy. But I didn’t dislike this blind faith of his.

 

I raised my hand to meet his glass. 

 

-Clink!

 

We toasted cheerfully.

 

* * *

 

PD Kim Jong-soo, seated in the café, looked at his watch. He had arrived a full thirty minutes earlier than the appointed time.

 

‘I should be able to wait in excitement. Am I finally going to discover the identity of this monstrous genius writer?’

 

Just as he gulped down his Americano, trying to calm his quivering quadriceps, it happened.

 

“PD Kim Jong-soo?”

 

Startled by the voice calling his name, he looked up.

 

‘Is this Writer Kyukyu?’

 

Contrary to his expectations, a tall man with a stern expression and glasses was staring at him.

 

…

 

Annoyingly good-looking. A cold but lovable type, you might say; a character straight out of a manga.

 

Just as his expression instinctively scrunched up, man to man, the man said, “I apologize for the late hour. I’ve had a lot to deal with recently.”

 

Snapping back to his senses, PD Kim Jong-soo quickly put on a bright, smiling face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Writer Kyukyu. I read your script thoroughly.”

 

The man, who had been silent for a moment, then pulled out a business card from his pocket. “I’m Choi Won-jae, CEO of Won Management.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“I’m here as Writer Kyukyu’s representative.”

 

‘Management? CEO? Writer’s representative?’

 

This was a predicament.

 

To think they already had management. He had a feeling things wouldn’t go smoothly.

 

“Nice to meet you, CEO. I’m not familiar with this management company. Is it a recently established company?”

 

“Yes, that’s right. Currently, you can consider us a one-person management company for Writer Kyukyu.”

 

Kim Jong-soo nodded, looking unsatisfied, and asked, “I see. But what about Writer Kyukyu…?”

 

Choi Won-jae, CEO of Won Management, smiled and replied, “As you’ve seen from the script, Writer Kyukyu’s talent is quite unique.”

 

“I agree. That’s why I’m here right now.”

 

“And as is often the case with those who have different talents from others, there are some peculiarities.”

 

An ominous feeling crossed PD Kim Jong-soo’s mind.

 

“Then…”

 

Choi Won-jae spoke again, his tone calm. “Writer Kyukyu is extremely averse to revealing personal information.”

 

PD Kim Jong-soo’s expression darkened.

 

The inability to communicate face-to-face in real-time was too critical in drama production. Real-time exchanges of opinions with the director, actors, and staff are essential during the production process.

 

He narrowed his eyes, pondering for a moment, then spoke. “This makes the contract difficult. You know too, don’t you, CEO? How hard it is to produce a drama without the writer on set…”

 

“I believe we’ve shown you enough other advantages to offset that. Through the script.”

 

PD Kim Jong-soo couldn’t hide his dismay and started biting his lower lip. He was right.

 

He had gained enough confidence through the script. However…

 

‘This won’t fly with the higher-ups…’

 

As PD Kim Jong-soo’s worries deepened for a moment, he suddenly had an idea.

 

“…Let’s do this.”

 

He came up with a new proposal.