Chapter 31
Chapter 31
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 31
Chapter Title: Is the Author Omnipotent?
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Tae-seong's prediction had been spot on.
*The Black Knight's Her* had won back the hearts of viewers.
Everyone was thrilled with the fast-paced, gripping developments.
The frustrating love line from the previous episode was already a distant memory.
‘Looks like it turned out right.’
The original work needed some tweaks because of episode 12.
Since it hadn't been released yet, it wasn't a big issue.
For the drama, Tae-seong had decided to write the scripts for the remaining episodes himself.
They had contracted to pay him handsomely for it.
Above all, with the running guarantee deal, his additional earnings were sure to skyrocket.
‘The real problem is that stuff like this will keep happening.’
He had realized it through this experience.
His works needed to stay in his hands.
Deep down, he wanted to handle every single one himself.
But there was a catch.
He only had one body.
Drawing novels and webtoons already consumed most of his day.
‘Maybe tackle one project at a time?’
That could work.
Finish the novel, then move on to the webtoon.
He could even think about adaptations into dramas and movies.
The issue was that as time passed, projects would inevitably overlap.
Tae-seong was a novelist.
He had lived 999 lives.
He wanted to share those stories, to connect with readers.
Each one might be called a "life," but turning them into tales took anywhere from six months to a full year—even at his monstrous pace.
In other words, it might take his entire lifetime to tell them all.
Add OSMU on top, and it was even tougher.
‘Building a team isn't a bad idea.’
He had gotten the sense from the broadcasting station's writer system this time.
Multiple writers teaming up on one project.
Of course, there was a hierarchy.
A lead writer, supported by several sub-writers.
They shared ideas, divided sections, and worked.
If the system was solid, the speed was beyond imagination.
‘The system’s the tricky part…’
He had lived many lives, but never formed a team as a writer.
He had shared an office with like-minded writers before.
But they each worked on their own projects, so it wasn't true collaboration.
Plenty of issues came with it too.
Not things solvable overnight.
‘Interesting.’
He had lived many lives.
He thought nothing could surprise him anymore.
That he had experienced everything humanly possible.
But that judgment was premature.
There were still so many new things to try.
‘This life’s gonna be fun too.’
A smile crept across Tae-seong's lips.
* * *
Tap-tap-tap—!
Ssshhk—!
The office was always steeped in silence.
Only the periodic clacking of keyboards and mouse clicks broke it.
Aside from breaks, the studio was all focus, all the time.
Intense concentration.
Tae-seong was the one who set that tone.
As the real owner of the office, his focus was legendary.
He never even shifted in his seat during work.
Especially then, he did nothing else.
The internet stayed off except for research materials.
With the boss right there grinding away, everyone else had no choice but to match it.
And there was one more unsung hero.
Han Seong-ho.
“Sunbae-nim, I sent the file.”
“Yeah, I checked. The background coloring’s a bit light. Mind double-checking?”
“Oh, sorry. I’ll look at it right now.”
As the most senior in the office, Han Seong-ho oversaw the assistants’ work.
No one had assigned it to him.
It just happened naturally.
He had the most experience and had been there longest, so questions always went his way.
Tae-seong trusted him most as the eldest too.
Lunch break ended, and the one-hour rest kicked in.
Tae-seong had set it himself.
Proper rest was key to efficiency.
He knew it well, so he had mandated breaks from day one.
Even he used the time for non-work relaxation.
“Um… Writer-nim.”
“Yeah?”
That was when Han Seong-ho approached.
His face full of apology—clearly, he had a favor to ask.
“Sorry, but could I get some advice?”
Tae-seong pondered briefly, then nodded.
“Want to head to the café?”
“Sure.”
Other people were around the office.
Han Seong-ho had called it "advice," so he probably didn’t want to talk here.
They headed down to the first-floor café.
Ordered coffee, took seats.
“Sorry for stealing your break time…”
“No worries. Advice, huh? What’s up?”
“Truth is, we got an offer for a webtoon contract.”
“No way—congrats!”
Tae-seong lit up like it was his own win.
He had known Han Seong-ho and Yu Min-kyung were collaborating.
But no clue on the outcome.
Personal project, so he hadn’t pried.
Hearing they landed a webtoon deal? Pure joy.
“Thanks.”
“But if it’s contract advice, something about the terms?”
“Exactly. First contract for us, so we don’t know if it’s fair or not.”
Webtoons were huge with the public.
But few understood the industry’s inner workings.
Even writers.
Big-name deals leaked sometimes.
Regular ones? Total black box.
No way to know if your terms were legit.
No solid writer communities either.
“So, if it’s not too rude, could you look over our terms and say if it’s safe to sign?”
“No problem. If you two are cool with it, happy to help.”
“Thank you!”
Han Seong-ho bowed, handed over his smartphone.
“Haven’t gotten the actual contract yet. We had a meeting, and I jotted down the offered terms.”
Tae-seong nodded, scanned it.
Straightforward summary.
Base manuscript fee: 1 million won monthly.
Newbies got 1-2 million.
Quarterly contracts, with ups possible based on popularity.
‘A bit low, but not a dealbreaker.’
Next: copyright terms.
Tae-seong knew their value from experience—primary and secondary rights.
He had scrubbed all secondary clauses from his YK Books deal.
‘Company takes secondary rights?’
Red flag.
Secondary rights held endless potential.
No telling how big it could get.
Handing them over was like giving away a winning lottery ticket unclaimed.
His opinion tipped here.
If it were his, he’d have walked already.
But it was Han Seong-ho’s call.
Tae-seong calmed himself, read on.
Finished the last clause, then stated firmly.
“Better not sign.”
* * *
Webtoons boomed, spawning tons of companies.
Some legit, many not.
Writers wanted platforms for their work.
Majors had limited spots—harder than a camel through a needle’s eye.
So they turned to easier startups.
The lure of earning from their art was huge.
Problem: profiting from webtoons was brutal.
Rookies aping majors’ successes folded when revenue tanked.
Companies lost, but writers hurt worse.
Depending on terms, works were locked out of other platforms for 3-5 years.
“At first, webtoon artists signed anything to go pro. But after years of repeats, they got cautious.”
“Makes sense.”
Tae-seong nodded at Representative Kwon’s explanation.
“Issue is, not everyone learns. Plenty still cave to the pro dream and the money tease.”
“So they sign bad deals knowingly.”
“Yeah. Those terms? Pretty standard for startups—lots do it.”
Beyond Tae-seong’s comprehension.
But enough signed them to make companies test the waters.
“If Han Seong-ho’s okay with it, mind if I review your manuscripts?”
“You’d do that?”
“Of course. You said the writer liked them—honestly, I’d be grateful.”
“I’ll check with them and get back.”
“Sure. And we handled the MBY station contract as discussed.”
“Thanks.”
“Man, you’re incredible. Novels, webtoons, now drama scripts too.”
Tae-seong smiled instead of answering.
Kwon hadn’t really wanted a reply anyway—on to the next.
“Also, thinking of extras for the limited edition.”
“Extras?”
“Yeah, usual stuff: illus cards, posters, keychains, mugs.”
Tae-seong mulled it over.
“Could I join in on the extras?”
“You? But with your workload…”
“I’ve got an idea. If possible, I’d like to handle them myself.”
“Hmm… If it fits the schedule, no issue. Illustrations from you? We’d love it.”
No reason for Kwon to object.
He knew Tae-seong’s skills.
“Thank you.”