That Suspicious Professor (2)
“Sorry... It turned out that way...”
“Yes, Director. Thanks for letting me know so quickly anyway.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
“I'll have to discuss it with Writer Kim. She has the final say, after all. What power does a mere PD like me have? Getting pressured by the network, squeezed by star writers, pushed around by star actors, and trashed by viewers. No choice but to play it safe.”
“If that's playing it safe, doing it twice would drag the president down and take over the whole network.”
A low, hollow chuckle came through the line.
Yang Jun-gyu had clearly given up and washed his hands of the situation.
“Just to confirm one last time for the record. This is really impossible, right?”
“You know how old-school the vice president is. He probably thinks once a historical drama comes to us, it can't go anywhere else. Even the department head has thrown in the towel.”
“Ah, come on. That was ages ago when our network ruled historicals. Now everyone's raving that OTT historicals are way more fun.”
“The guy's complaining about zombies in the Joseon era—what does he know?”
“Anyway, got it.”
“Seung-won.”
“Yes, Director. I mean, hyung.”
“The department head and I did our best. Don't think too harshly of us.”
“No one crosses the vice president's wall. I get it. Thanks for your hard work.”
After hanging up, Jang Seung-won took a moment to steady himself before hitting the call button.
“Writer? This is PD Jang. Can we talk? It's about KBC scheduling. Yeah, looks like broadcasting it will be tough.”
Jang Seung-won had finally decided to pull out the resignation letter he'd been holding onto.
“We can't air it on KBC. No chance here. I'm planning to jump ship too.”
***
After signing for the Su-jang-go sequel, Hwang In-jun had been checking in every few days.
“Make some time soon. No empty words—this is real. Choi Seong-bin wants to grab a drink with Seo-hoon. Oh, and Chae Ji-hyun too. Tons of actors are asking me to set up a meetup with Seo-hoon for drinks.”
“If you set it up, I'm happy to join anytime.”
“Personal curiosity here, but what do you think of Chae Ji-hyun?”
“Pardon?”
Jeong Seo-hoon blinked in confusion for a moment.
Is he misunderstanding something pointless? I don't want any drama with the director who filmed me or issues with women.
“Feels like Ji-hyun has a bit of a thing for Seo-hoon.”
“She's pretty and charming, sure, but I haven't thought about anything beyond acting right now.”
“Really? Too bad. You two seemed like a good match.”
Jeong Seo-hoon felt puzzled again.
That meant either Hwang In-jun and Chae Ji-hyun had nothing going on, or he was pretending not to know while subtly testing him. Given his personality, the latter seemed unlikely...
“Truth is, I kinda shipped you two, so I put you alone in a room at the wrap party.”
With Hwang In-jun driving the point home, Jeong Seo-hoon felt a twinge of confusion.
So they really were just nothing to each other romantically.
Then what was with her showing up at the workshop without calling that day? If it's just director-actor, do they share passwords like that? And how did she know I was there without me telling her? Why'd she come?
“Looking forward to good news at the Baeksang Awards this year-end. Nothing domestic this year tops Su-jang-go.”
“Baeksang? What's that?”
“Uh... As an actor, not knowing Baeksang is bad news. It's the most prestigious film award right now.”
“Lots to learn beyond acting. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“I'll compile a list of general knowledge actors should know and send it over.”
“No need for that—just major award names and search terms. I'll look them up and memorize.”
“Sure, I'll do that at least. I'll set something up soon for real.”
No sooner had the call ended than his phone rang again—from top star Cha Do-jin.
“Yes, Senior Cha Do-jin.”
“You free today? Let's grab a meal.”
“Not today—family dinner plans.”
“Shame. Heard you're shopping agencies? Haven't signed yet, right?”
“Yeah, taking it slow.”
“Come to my agency. I'm the CEO—we're close. I'll push for good terms and meddle to make sure they take care of you. Join us.”
“...I'll think about it seriously.”
Since Su-jang-go's box-office smash, old co-stars from shoots had been reaching out more.
Even Hwang Ra-hee, the supporting actress who played Yoo Jeong-ah's friend in Illegal, kept sending first messages before fading away.
He was seriously considering silencing his endlessly ringing phone when...
The call he dreaded most.
Jeong Seo-hoon steadied his breath before answering.
“Yes, Professor. Jeong Seo-hoon speaking.”
“Congrats on the film success.”
“Thank you. Did you see it?”
“Not yet. Haven't been to a theater in the last decade. But I bought multiple tickets and ordered the DVD. I'll watch leisurely when I have time.”
“No need, really. Thank you so much.”
“My favorite protégé's works—I have to collect them to proudly call myself your advisor later.”
Jeong Seo-hoon hesitated over the words he'd been mulling.
Starting Haegeuk shoots would make returning next semester impossible timing-wise.
Balancing school and drama filming seemed physically unfeasible.
But he didn't want to slack off just to meet graduation requirements either.
He wanted to end his perfect six semesters without shame.
Yet Lee Se-jong said something unexpected.
“Jeong, about that historical drama you're filming. Could I meet the person in charge?”
“Pardon? The PD?”
***
PD Jang Seung-won met Kim Sang-hee at a café and explained everything.
Kim Sang-hee listened calmly from start to finish.
Her lack of emotional fluctuation, as if she'd expected this, made Jang feel a pang of guilt.
Once he finished, she spoke.
“Disappointing. Would've loved to air on KBC, home of historicals.”
“Me too, deeply.”
They could compromise on budget and episodes to start production now.
But that was a deal Kim Sang-hee couldn't accept, so KBC was out.
Only the budget hawks and Production Division 2 bootlickers remained oblivious.
“What will you do now, PD?”
“Shop elsewhere. I really want to make this drama.”
“Quitting KBC over one drama?”
“NetPrime already offered up to 90 billion. With that, I can join any private production company. Easy.”
“No plans to start your own?”
“Not cut out for business. Just meant to wield the megaphone.”
“For me, as long as the script comes out right and I get paid, that's it. But handing it all to NetPrime feels off. Holding onto it could mean steady money forever.”
“Exactly. All your dramas are like network pension lotteries—selling well overseas too.”
Jang explained other offers from networks and producers.
“SBC offered up to 15 billion for 24 episodes. External investment fine too.”
“SBC that broke?”
“Big spends lately— that's their limit now. More if we wait leisurely before starting.”
“I want Jeong Seo-hoon stacking filmography while he's young. No dawdling.”
“Agreed.”
SBC's terms fell short for NetPrime's simulcast and partial investment.
“I'll expand to 24 episodes. Possible twice-weekly airing? Schedule-wise.”
“As long as no side-script rushes.”
“Got a full 16-episode version already—expanding's quick. You know my writing speed.”
“Yeah, track-mode machine. Ferrari of drama writers.”
“Ferrari's getting thrashed in F1 lately. Prefer Mercedes.”
“Red Bull just won the championship, no?”
“They're not a car company. Though I chug Red Bull writing scripts.”
“Anyway, some bond with writing machine Kim Sang-hee.”
The silly laughter eased the tension briefly before returning to topic.
“If not cutting budget, cable's the only option.”
“NetPrime exclusive isn't bad. By the way, Writer, never done OTT?”
“Nope.”
“Seem hesitant—any reason?”
Jang was curious.
For writers, network or OTT—guaranteed pay was all that mattered.
Overseas OTT offered more creative freedom.
Fixed revenue was producer/investor issue, not writer.
“NetPrime doesn't disclose drama sales.”
“...Ah, that's it?”
“Google my dramas—worldwide sales figures pop up. But NetPrime? Just rankings. Guess it's a hit, that's all.”
“Frustrating, huh.”
Jang said it but inwardly wondered why it mattered so much.
“My scripts hitting 80 billion, 100 billion—that's my career cred. NetPrime hides it, so stifling.”
“...”
“Can't brag to family 'Haegeuk probably sold 100 billion' on a hunch.”
Jang felt like he'd glimpsed the rumors about Kim Sang-hee in the industry.
“PD, mind if I check with Seo-hoon too?”
“Of course. Lead actor? Your top pick—natural.”
In dramas, star writers with great scripts ruled.
Kim Sang-hee never abused power or whims, so meeting her quality standards made her great to work with.
“I'll call him now.”
As he reached for the button, his phone rang—Jeong Seo-hoon.
“Talk about timing. He's calling now. Seo-hoon? PD Jang here. Was just about to call you—great minds? Haha.”
KBC's failure made Jang extra upbeat, overly so.
“Had something important to discuss. Phone's not ideal—can you come here? Writer Kim's with me.”
“Mind if I bring someone? My Korea University advisor wants to meet you.”
“Advisor? Korea U prof? Why me...?”
“He'll explain. Great character—sound okay?”
“Sure, bring him.”
Hanging up, Jang met Kim Sang-hee's eyes and tilted his head.
“What? Who's coming? Something about advisor?”
“Seo-hoon's advisor wants to meet me? They're both coming here.”
“Why would the advisor want the PD?”
“Beats me. Weird.”
***
Soon, Jeong Seo-hoon entered, courteously escorting a scholarly man with flowing white hair.
His face hovered between middle and old age, but his hair gleamed endlessly silver, as if steeped in years.
“I'm Lee Se-jong. Nice to meet you.”
“PD Jang Seung-won.”
“Kim Sang-hee. I write scripts.”
Jang felt subtly intimidated by Lee Se-jong's aura.
Those deep eyes, brimming with vast knowledge, seemed to draw him in relentlessly.
“I asked to meet the PD because I heard about the budget issues from Dr. Jeong.”
“Dr. Jeong...?”
“My father. You two are friends.”
“Ah.”
Meanwhile, Kim Sang-hee murmured admiringly, “Dad's a PhD too—what's their family spec like...?”
“I think I can help with the shortfall.”
“Pardon? You, Professor?”
Jang's eyes widened.
Did professors have that much money? Or rich connections galore?
Korea U's renowned prof—plausible...
“In exchange, a small condition—no, consideration from you, PD.”
“Mind if I ask how much you can cover first?”
“How much short?”
“Minimum 30 billion...”
“Ah, that? I can cover from my own pocket.”
His casual, warm smile bleached Jang's mind.
Were professors always this loaded?
Or professors because family money?
Chicken or egg?
“Historical means long shoot, right?”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
“Our Jeong returns next year—classes clash with filming? A little consideration then?”
“Professor...”
“Just one semester left. That's my request.”