Opening the Door
As I opened the door, I nearly collided with Kim Yo-gi.
“Are you heading out, Lawyer?”
“Yes. You seem to be busy.”
“Haha, Mondays are always hectic. I still have to brief everyone on what happened over the weekend.”
“You work on weekends too?”
“Of course. When things are slow, we take turns being on duty.”
So even an agency wasn’t a soft place to land.
“By the way, when are you planning to meet Assistant Director Park Woo-chul?”
“...I’m not sure yet.”
I hesitated for a moment, since he might be able to pass my message on to the main PD.
“I’m planning to look into what kind of person he is before I meet him. In cases like this, it’s best if only the witness and the legal representative know what’s going on.”
“That makes sense. It’d be great if he’s someone who already likes Twice. Oh!”
Kim Yo-gi clapped her hands and rummaged through a cabinet in the event-planning office.
“I’m sure it’s still here somewhere.”
“What is?”
“Just a second.”
Rustle, rustle.
“...Found it!!!”
She lifted up a purple paper box.
“Cantik sekali!”
And then, whoosh!
“Lawyer!”
“...?!“
She thrust it into my hands like a shop owner trying to force a product on a customer.
“Take this with you when you meet the assistant director.”
“...Why?”
“It’ll come in very handy, heh heh!”
So what exactly would?
* * *
I asked a private investigator to find out what kind of people the main PD Jo Ji-han and Assistant Director Park Woo-chul were.
Jo Ji-han was the kind of man who made profanity spill from your mouth for a hundred different reasons, while Park Woo-chul seemed like someone who’d spent less time wallowing in the filth of the broadcasting world.
So I left a message saying I’d contacted him from Yuria Entertainment, then spent the entire day waiting for Park Woo-chul to call me back.
Nothing.
In broadcasting, schedules flipped day and night all the time, so I figured I’d just have to be patient.
While I waited, I reviewed the documents I’d need to win this case.
I tapped my pen against the clause in the video appearance contract that prohibited the use of negative language.
“If I could just get one more solid blow, this would be perfect. It’s missing that finishing punch.”
Subtitles in a video were still text.
People liked to say all text reflected the author’s intent, but if the author had deliberately phrased something ambiguously, then it could be interpreted in different ways depending on who was reading it.
Just like a subtitle that said Twice had “done well” — without making it clear whether that was praise or sarcasm.
“...What a slippery bastard.”
That meant I couldn’t quite corner Jo Ji-han with the broadcast subtitles alone.
I leaned back in my chair and opened my smartphone.
It was March 19, 9:10 p.m.
Looks like meeting the assistant director was a bust after all.
Then a message from Kim Yo-gi popped up in ChatTalk.
Assistant Director Park Woo-chul will contact you right away!
Before I could even send back my thanks, Park Woo-chul’s number flashed across the screen.
“Wow, that was fast.”
I pushed down the frustration tightening in my chest and answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Assistant Director Park Woo-chul. I got your contact info through Yuria Entertainment and called to ask — is this Cha Do-hyuk?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Could you meet now?”
“...Right now?”
“Bad timing, isn’t it?”
By the rules of the entertainment world, that meant he was asking me to buy him a drink.
Especially since meeting an entertainment-company lawyer was never a good sign, and if he didn’t like that, he’d probably say let’s pretend this conversation never happened.
I guess I’d better go into “I’m medically unable to drink” mode.
It was a tactic I’d used often at Continent whenever clients suggested having a drink.
“I’m sorry, but I’m terribly busy. If it isn’t today, I don’t think I’ll have time for a while.”
“Where should I go?”
“To the lobby of AB Broadcasting Station. Wear a hat and a mask.”
...The broadcasting station lobby?
So he means I shouldn’t be caught on CCTV.
“It’ll take me about an hour, give or take.”
“Understood.”
Click.
“Interesting.”
Usually, when someone asked where to meet, the other person would suggest a specific restaurant or propose meeting somewhere farther from the station.
That way they wouldn’t have to leave behind any trace that they’d asked to be treated to alcohol.
But not Park Woo-chul. Instead of trying to dodge the issue, he told me to come to the station like he was squeezing in a quick talk between tasks. I hadn’t expected that.
I’d judge what kind of person he was once I met him.
“Honestly, if it’s the station, that’s even better.”
It would be perfect for checking what Jo Ji-han had said through my psychometry.
I dressed in all black from head to toe.
“Time to head out.”
* * *
AB Broadcasting Station stood near Digital Media City Station.
It was the smallest station of the bunch, but it still had the footprint of a 300-unit apartment complex.
“Unlike the Seoul Central District Court, at least the front gate is obvious here. That’s a relief.”
Even late at night, there were plenty of staff members going outside to buy coffee.
When I stepped into the lobby, I spotted a man sitting alone on a bench, unlike the others clustered around in groups.
He was a gaunt, exhausted-looking man who looked as though he hadn’t washed his hair in three or four days, and he was scrolling through his smartphone.
The employee badge hanging from his neck confirmed that he was the one I was looking for.
And that fan-club sticker for Twice seals it.
“Are you Assistant Director Park Woo-chul?”
He looked up and stared at me blankly.
“Who’s asking?”
I lowered my mask.
“...Cha Do-hyuk?”
“That’s right. I brought a snack in case you haven’t eaten properly.”
“Ah, thank you.”
But his gaze had already drifted to the other shopping bag.
I slowly held out the clear bag.
“Kim Yo-gi from Yuria Entertainment asked me to make sure I gave this to you.”
“...!!!”
He shot to his feet, his eyes shining.
“No way, that’s a showcase gift, isn’t it?! Wow! They still had this at the company? This is insanely rare.”
He said it was a premium, non-sale item that people would pay for if they could — some secret Twice photo card and who-knew-what-else that wasn’t even available on the market.
I didn’t understand half of what he was saying, but it sounded like if I used his fanboy instincts well, the outcome would tilt in my favor, not against it.
According to the private investigator, adding a little Twice pride might make him more cooperative.
“The non-sale item you’re holding right now is supposedly the last one left. I confirmed it with Kim Yo-gi.”
“Amazing!!!! Then there’s no time to waste — let’s head up now.”
The successful fan handed me his own employee badge.
* * *
I followed Park Woo-chul up to the sixth floor.
“Let’s go to our team office.”
“Is it okay for an outsider to go in?”
I was happy to enter, of course, but this didn’t look like the sort of place you’d stroll into wearing someone else’s badge around your neck.
“No problem at all. Nobody’s there.”
But then...
“...?”
“What’s wrong?”
The lights that were supposed to be off were on.
For a second, Park Woo-chul blinked like a broken emergency light.
“Looks like one of the team members came in. Please wait in the break room over there. The clothes you’re wearing look exactly like a producer’s, so if anyone sees you, they’ll probably assume you’re from the drama department.”
“All right.”
The moment he went into the office, I headed for the break room.
If I can find anything while I’m here, that’d be great, but the office is probably a dead end. Then maybe I can pick something up in the break room?
Unfortunately, because it was such a public space, and given Jo Ji-han’s tendency to stage things in a devious, camera-friendly way, it seemed unlikely they’d have discussed anything important there.
Before long, Park Woo-chul came back out.
“Jo Ji-han sent the youngest writer on an errand. Looks like he’ll be in the office until late tonight. What should we do?”
This was my chance.
I told him it’d feel a little disappointing to come all this way and leave empty-handed, and he apologized to me.
That wasn’t the answer I wanted.
Then I’ll have to go in straight.
“May I go into the editing room?”
“...The editing room?”
“I used to watch old variety shows, and the editing room always seemed like the perfect place for two people to talk.”
After some thought, he got up.
“Normally we don’t let outsiders in, but tonight should be fine. The editing’s done, and Jo Ji-han’s gone on a trip.”
“Perfect timing, then!”
I headed straight for the editing room.
The moment Park Woo-chul stepped inside, I lowered the blinds on the door.
“Glad nobody else showed up.”
“Maybe this really is my day.”
He sat down in a chair with an air of relief and pulled a BLT sandwich out of the snack bag.
“You came because of Twice, didn’t you?”
His tone was sharp, almost barbed.
I guess I should ease in a little more carefully.
“I recently watched the footage, and I came because I wanted to confirm what happened at the time.”
“Then you don’t need to worry about it.”
Because I’d said I was a Twice fan, I’d thought he’d at least hear me out, but he was definitely a broadcaster — he cut me off without hesitation.
And after accepting the premium gift too.
I felt a little heat rise in my chest, but I forced it back down at once.
That was why I’d brought a means of transportation.
One that was perfectly legal.
For now, I decided to ask him seriously.
“Assistant Director Park, may I ask what you mean by that?”
This time he took a ham-and-cheese sandwich from the bag and bit into it.
“It means I’m planning to throw myself into the fray soon, so you don’t need to worry about it.”
“...Throw yourself into the fray?”
Is he talking about a coup or something?
It wasn’t impossible, but if this was about Twice, it seemed excessive.
“Exactly what it sounds like. I’m going to collide with them head-on.”
The way he chewed through a sausage roll as if he hadn’t eaten all day made him look starved.
He overlapped with my past self.
When I worked at Continent, the job had been so grueling that I often left for work without even touching the kimbap I’d bought on my way in, and muttered plenty of times that I was going to ram headfirst into Attorney Pa.
After taking a bite of iced Americano too, Park Woo-chul let out a deep breath.
“Do you know how long I’ve been following Twice’s Oh Ye-ji?”
“No.”
“Five years ago. On MBS’s Style Entertainment debut survival program.”
He’d known Oh Ye-ji for quite a long time.
“She appeared as a public trainee and made it into the debut lineup, but in the final round she got cut because of the age limit.”
He said that after seeing that absurdly botched production, he’d decided that if he wanted to support Oh Ye-ji, there was no path but becoming a variety-show producer himself.
“So I figured I’d survive the dirty work under Jo Ji-han and make my debut as a producer, right? He might be outdated now, but he was once a star PD, so I thought there had to be something worth learning from him.”
“Yes, that makes sense.”
“But once I saw what happened to Twice, I just couldn’t stand it anymore.”
“What did Twice do wrong?”
It was only natural to agree.
“Exactly! Watching that bugger Jo Ji-han sneer at them — saying ratings were good anyway, making a big deal about how smart the fan business was — it made my stomach turn!”
“Good grief.”
Huh, maybe I can plant a spy inside the station after all.
The situation was turning in my favor.
“I don’t care if they curse me out or even hit me, but I couldn’t forgive them for changing the editing like that when Tring-gi didn’t do anything wrong!”
They changed the editing? So that’s why the footage Han Yu-chan reviewed didn’t match the version he’d checked.
I was beginning to see the shape of it.
The important question now was Jo Ji-han’s motive.
Why target Twice?
He had made a career out of viciously producing content with a spicy, savage edge. But if you looked at his past, there had always been a reason behind it.
- That guest must have a stingy heart or something, because even the gift they gave was no bigger than a soy sauce dish.
- This is why I like top-tier guests. Who do they come greet first? The PD, right? The hierarchy is so clear — who’s above and who’s below.
- No one from your agency will ever appear on our show, so do whatever you want! What kind of meal service is this? Do you want me to eat dog porridge?!
Statements like those had remained as behind-the-scenes clips on the show’s NewTube channel.
Most of the official NewTube videos had been deleted, but still.
He definitely had a trigger for acting the way he did.
And I could understand the rage boiling in the assistant directors under him as well.
Which meant whatever had happened to Park Woo-chul likely followed the same pattern.
If this guy is going to act, there’s only one thing he’d do.
I sighed inwardly.
Then I looked at Park Woo-chul.
“Are you thinking of holding a press conference?”
“...Only if the station director won’t back me.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“No, but Twice was wronged!”
“I know. But you could be wronged too, Park Woo-chul.”
A junior taking on a senior? Because of fandom?
Depending on the company’s internal rules, that could even lead to dismissal at worst.
“Then I’ll just leave this damn company. There are plenty of production companies out there.”
There was only one thing I could say to someone with that kind of stubborn conviction.
“I’ve heard the broadcasting world is pretty small. Production companies would love someone from AB Broadcasting Station. But do you really think they’ll welcome someone who went after their boss?”
“If the boss is a bad person, of course they should.”
“Let me be more precise. Do you think this society, which values age and obedience to superiors above all else, would accept that?”
Not at all.
Even organizations that claimed to pursue flat hierarchies merely looked horizontal in name.
In reality, they were split into layers: CEO, executive director, director, team leader, producer.
No matter how good the product was, no matter how capable the person, one “Hm” from the CEO and their existence could vanish.
Park Woo-chul seemed to be in a foul mood; he raked a hand through his hair roughly.
“We’re all born into an age we can’t help, and the longer you work, the more those rank bars pile up. Why the hell does it matter so much?”
“Age is important because you can get promoted just by breathing. It’s easy to divide people that way.”
Then there was the rank bar — if you were talented, it could still knock you flat.
If you were good at kissing up, you could rise even without talent.
And whether you’d been thoroughly socialized into the upper ranks or not was beside the point.
“You’re awfully cynical.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back deeply in the chair.
“So what exactly are you telling me to do? Just sit still? That’s the one thing I hate hearing most.”
Not a chance.
“Hand over the full video file. I’ll take care of it.”
“...What?”
He stared at me in shock.
“You mean you’re going to do it through Yuria? That’s like opening fire on the station!”
I also emphasized that Twit’s contract still had a long way to run.
He’s probably calling me insane in his head.
But if he knew there was a way to deal with it, how would he react then?
“Park Woo-chul, do you know the most petty trick people use in a society that prizes obedience?”
“...?”
“You only beat up one guy.”
The one they could sink their teeth into and discard.
---