For the Muse (2)
“Director Hwang beat everyone to the punch, and it worked out great. Now Seo-hoon’s worth an S-grade fee. That’s how this industry works—easy to go up, hard to come down.”
Her buzz had worn off a bit, and she slipped back into her usual speech.
Kim Sang-hee was thrilled about Jeong Seo-hoon’s skyrocketing value, as if it were her own triumph.
“I was thinking of blindly throwing down five thousand for your fee depending on how the movie turns out, but now you’ve locked in S-grade treatment for your next project too. Means I can comfortably call for 150 million per episode. Your fee, that is.”
“Talks are already happening?”
“Yeah. A couple places are just ironing out conditions. We just need to pick one.”
“Cable or terrestrial?”
“Eh, whichever’s footing the biggest bill. The days of fussing over cable vs. broadcast are long gone for me.”
A star writer’s confidence shone brilliantly.
Kim Sang-hee seemed utterly oblivious to words like “trials” or “hardships.”
“Until then, off the record, got it, Seo-hoon?”
“Yes, understood.”
“If they want anyone but you as the lead, I’m done talking to them.”
“Could I hear what the story’s about?”
“Dumping it all at once isn’t my style.”
“I’ll drink my penalty shot and listen.”
Jeong Seo-hoon held up his glass seriously with both hands, and Kim Sang-hee burst into laughter.
“First time I’ve seen you this antsy, Seo-hoon. Yoo Jeong-ah would explode with jealousy if she knew.”
“Writer, I’m really dying to know.”
“I’ll tell you everything once production’s locked in. Just hold out easy till then. Build up that thirst—it’ll give you more to unleash when you act. Right?”
Jeong Seo-hoon forcibly suppressed his restless craving for the camera.
“Got it. But let me know the second it’s confirmed. I’m going crazy with curiosity.”
“How does a guy like you live twenty years without watching a single drama?”
Jeong Seo-hoon quenched his burning thirst with a shot and asked,
“By the way, Writer, I heard you usually write twelve-episode series. This one’s sixteen?”
“Why do you think?”
Kim Sang-hee flashed a meaningful smile, and Jeong Seo-hoon cleared his throat.
“To give me a bigger payout...?”
“That’s just a minor perk. Nothing major.”
“...”
“You know. Why can’t you say it? Embarrassed?”
The thought bubbling up was too awkward to voice in front of Kim Sang-hee.
She chuckled as if she understood, then ordered fresh drinks from the bartender.
“I’d hate to only watch my muse Jeong Seo-hoon for twelve episodes. I want to savor him longer, pour out all the stories I crave through him—that’s why I’m stretching it to sixteen.”
“Most dramas plan for sixteen episodes. Why against it?”
“Stories get sloppy. I hate that.”
“...”
“I brutally dieted the plot, stripped every ounce of fat for twelve tight episodes. Sales drop, but production costs do too. Though really, it’s my greed.”
Kim Sang-hee downed her fresh shot, then pulled out her phone.
“Shall I call her now?”
“Who?”
“Yoo Jeong-ah. She’s dying to see you.”
“Ah, Jeong-ah.”
“Why, don’t call her?”
“No, go ahead.”
Kim Sang-hee texted Yoo Jeong-ah, then propped her chin, gazing quietly at Jeong Seo-hoon.
“I’d love for you and Jeong-ah to date short and intense for a few months.”
“...”
“Then wade through the emotional muck together—or coolly stay friends—and shake it off quick, part on great terms.”
“...Why?”
“It’d temper your acting even more. Though you’re already polished. Fun to watch from the sidelines too.”
Jeong Seo-hoon couldn’t help but chuckle.
Song Jeong-woo, Kim Sang-hee, even Hwang In-jun.
Everyone involved in producing, planning, directing had that streak.
Utterly different, yet strikingly similar.
“I know it’s a nasty hobby.”
“Never thought that.”
“So keep it secret from Jeong-ah. Got it? She wouldn’t mind anyway—she’s that type.”
“You calling her now to set us up, with that in mind?”
“Nah. Just gets boring with two. Better with a crowd. Might as well pair pretty boy and girl—eye candy for me.”
Kim Sang-hee grinned slyly.
“If we keep drinking alone after shop talk, I look like the weird woman preying on a much younger rookie actor with my famous-writer clout.”
“No one would think that.”
“Plenty do. That’s why Jeong-ah’s necessary.”
“Our scandal’s still dragging, unresolved.”
“I’m here, so it’s fine. This trio? Perfect misunderstanding shield.”
Yoo Jeong-ah arrived at the bar sooner than expected.
Slim red sleeveless blouse hugging her waist, beige short shorts.
She slid naturally beside Jeong Seo-hoon, whining playfully.
“Too much, right? You buy drinks, but can’t make time once?”
“You know I’ve been busy.”
“Even busy guys make time if they want. Didn’t wanna drink with me?”
“No way. I really was swamped. That’s the truth.”
“Should’ve become a writer instead of actress. Then I could’ve had you wrapped around my finger.”
Kim Sang-hee stifled laughter from the other side.
Before long, she was sipping silently, watching them fondly.
Like a teacher beaming at kindergarten sweethearts’ playdate—or an artist mining inspiration from tiny print on a snack bag.
“You’re really twenty-one?”
“Yes.”
“I was shocked hearing that. Couldn’t imagine. Your speech, demeanor—so weighty, thought you were older...”
Yoo Jeong-ah sighed dramatically, muttering,
“Gotta amp up my skincare now...”
***
Su-jang-go broke 13 million without Jeong Seo-hoon’s audience promise—just coasting.
Jeong Su-ryeon had nothing more to say.
“Thinking about it, promising for a supporting role’s kinda silly anyway. Save the ten-million vow for the sequel as lead.”
“Might skip it then too. Shy about that stuff.”
“Ugh, my ears are already full of pus. What now?”
“Looks black and oozing—like your blackhead gunk, sis.”
“Rot in hell.”
Pushing greedily could’ve hit 14 million with extended run.
But monopoly complaints arose, influx slowed sharply—so they ended screenings.
Before final showings, Mom dragged Dad for their 22nd viewing.
“Mom, Dad’s not into it—too harsh?”
“Nah, I’m fine. Can’t visit Korea often—gotta indulge her. Lucky she didn’t cry after opening day.”
“Mom, you cried again? Where’s the sad scene?”
“Thought Chan died at end—tears just came. But he lives—relief. No more crying now.”
Mom gripped Jeong Seo-hoon’s hand, eyes stern.
“Chan. Get Kim Su-jin and avenge. Got it?”
“Up to the script.”
“Sequel too? Solid revenge, right?”
“Don’t know either.”
Mom turned to Jeong Su-ryeon.
“Su-ryeon, Seo-hoon’s agency?”
“Was gonna shop around slowly, but Su-jang-go hit first. Delayed it.”
“His value jumped—better terms now?”
“Aiming 9:1 split. But CFs?”
“No plans.”
“Fan meet? Variety? Signing?”
“Actors do that?”
“That’s actor life. Idols rake passive after breakout; actors grind. Stockpile CFs in downtime.”
“Agency handles that, right, Su-ryeon?”
“Duh. But if he skips ’em, no rush to sign.”
Dad had slyly distanced; Mom sighed impatiently.
“Still, agency for offers. Sequel’s years off.”
“Uh, jumping into drama soon?”
“What?”
“What?”
Mom and Jeong Su-ryeon’s eyes widened in unison.
“Met Kim Sang-hee recently for drinks. Said next work’s imminent—prep your heart.”
“Huge. Fee? Details?”
“She’ll ensure 150 mil per ep. Sixteen eps—2.4 billion.”
“Fuck... No, just chilling at home breathing nets that? Unreal.”
Mom smacked Jeong Su-ryeon’s back.
“Chilling? Who works harder than your brother?”
“He doesn’t work—gene jackpot lets him coast easy.”
“Think how your dad and I slaved for those genes. He doesn’t coast.”
“Whoa, that’s agape? Why’d I get shafted?”
“With that face and Han Ye-jong degree? You’re set, brat!”
As mother-daughter bickered, doorbell rang.
“Hold on. Tae-soo hyung’s here.”
“Su-ryeon, handle agency right. Got it?”
“Personal manager, Kim Sang-hee’ll drag him—post-drama for urgent. Value higher then.”
“Still, scout well.”
“Yes, yes.”
Manager Ha Tae-soo entered flushed, bowing to Mom first.
“Seo-hoon. No clue why road manager me gets this call...”
“You’re just my manager—no road BS. What call?”
“CF offers. To me.”
“CF?”
Mom lit up; Jeong Su-ryeon leaned in intrigued.
“Which?”
“Several. Some weird, but mostly solid. Haven’t vetted—just summarized terms.”
Ha Tae-soo showed the list quick.
Jeong Seo-hoon skimmed, passed to Jeong Su-ryeon.
Mom peered close too.
“Oh my, what’s this? College promo model?”
“Korea U top admit shilling local uni? TV ad’d kidnap him to grad school.”
“Sports gear CF too. Su-ryeon, I like this.”
“Bet it’s him swaggering with bat, gangster vibe, Mom?”
“No. Veto.”
Mother-daughter devoured offers eagerly.
Ignoring fees.
CF offers alone? Thrilling novelty.
“Not checking more? No interest?”
“No, memorized.”
“Right, Korea U topper...”
Ha Tae-soo trailed off, awkward species gap.
“Your take, hyung? Most industry time here.”
“Some good. G Construction image model’s fine. Pay solid, no character drain.”
“I’ll think.”
“Or post-drama. Fees higher then. Kinda wasteful now.”
“Tae-soo oppa deserves raise. Team-lead work, smooth.”
“Don’t joke. Wage slaves lose sleep hoping.”
***
KBC Drama Department.
Two fortysomething men side-by-side; Kim Sang-hee opposite, sipping coffee.
Deputy Yang Jun-gyu smiled.
“Writer Kim Sang-hee, time to return terrestrial. KBC’ll pamper—trust us. PD Jang Seung-won says script’s flawless.”
“Flawless? Don’t know—but pure Kim Sang-hee, I’m sure.”
“Kim Sang-hee style. Haha, thrilling already.”
PD Jang Seung-won cut in snappishly.
“Boss. It’s killer. I must direct. Other station snags it? I’ll die in sleep, arrhythmia.”
“But why us over soulmate PD Song Jeong-woo?”
“Boss! Song Jeong-woo direct this? No way.”
Yang Jun-gyu’s gut twisted at Jang’s outburst.
Everyone knew.
Bluff for negotiation edge.
This punk team-killing. Ugh, smash him.
Kim Sang-hee set down cup calmly.
“Felt KBC’d produce best. PD Song’s skilled—overflowing—but PD Jang fits better.”
Jang’s face lit joy; Yang’s eyes swelled pride.
“But KBC’s not only option. Don’t want it? I’ll go. Eager to unleash on world.”
“No! Ours for sure! Just curious why split Song-Kim duo!”
As Kim Sang-hee reached for script, Yang lunged, pinning it.
“Boss—no, hyung. Lose this? I quit, follow Writer, direct anyway.”
“Writer! Give us! We’ll do it!”
Yang glared, gripping script tight.
Through thick fingers, bold title peeked.
Haegeuk