If It Doesn't Work, Make It Work
Lee Seongbeom had no shortage of nicknames in the industry. Some called him a genius who had brought a fresh wind to broadcasting. Others labeled him a eccentric for his endless stream of bizarre yet novel ideas that always earned him a scolding from the director—only for him to bulldoze forward anyway. Still others dubbed him the Hand of Midas because every program he touched achieved at least moderate success. But those who knew him even a little called him something else entirely.
The Genius Collector.
He had an uncanny talent for sniffing out geniuses and gathering them around him. Every person Lee Seongbeom kept close was already at the top of their field—or destined to reach it soon. People swarmed him with burning eyes, desperate to be noticed, but most were turned away. He had a very clear standard.
“People keep calling me the Genius Collector, but I’m not collecting geniuses. Don’t you get it? The ones I find aren’t just geniuses. What even is a genius? Someone born with heaven-sent talent? That’s not it either. Not prodigies who simply work hard—everyone works hard. Then who am I looking for?”
In my memory, Lee Seongbeom downed a 500cc glass of soju in one go and slammed the empty glass on the table.
“Both. A genius who still pushes themselves like a madman until they break through something invisible. That’s the kind of extraordinary person I’m after.”
Drunk and unable to keep his head steady, his words made no sense to me. I didn’t understand what that “extraordinary person” was, or what “something invisible” meant. It was only a faint hope—that if a thirteen-year-old’s skills could pass for those of a seasoned professional, he might take an interest. Fortunately, I did catch his attention, but I never held much expectation for the adoption itself, even though I had set it as my goal. The backup plan I had prepared seemed far more likely to succeed. Adoption wasn’t something you could simply decide on; it was tangled in practical realities.
But there was one thing I had overlooked.
“Right. From now on, call me Dad.”
“Huh?”
“Go on, say ‘Dad~’.”
That was the most famous nickname attached to this man: eccentric.
After that enormous decision passed in an instant, I was discharged from the hospital while the man headed to the orphanage to begin the adoption process. The fact that the very first plan I had made upon waking up in this ten-years-ago body was already coming true made me smile secretly for days. The other children in the room and a few from the orphanage gave me strange looks, but what did it matter? I was finally leaving this place!
Even when the neighborhood delinquents smacked me on the back for looking unpleasant, it barely registered. I wondered how soon I would be gone. One day, while quietly packing my things in anticipation of that day, the words came.
“Sorry. The adoption’s not happening.”
Thud.
That day, my world collapsed.
I only realized at eight years old, after entering elementary school, that sending young children to other families wasn’t normal in ordinary households. When I casually mentioned it to new friends my age, they exposed my background—not a warm family, but an orphanage full of parentless children. From that moment, my twelve years of school life turned into living hell.
Eight years old is an age without clear notions of right and wrong. Anything different is simply called wrong, and what is wrong is strange—so naturally, a child without parents becomes strange. Desperate not to be strange, I researched how to obtain parents and came to understand the adoption system around that time. I also learned that the adoption rate for boys past elementary school age approached zero. It was the first time I tasted despair in my memories, and that despair had returned.
I grabbed the man’s hand and ran straight to the director’s office. He kept saying something as I dragged him along, but I couldn’t hear it. When we arrived, I steadied my ragged breathing, knocked calmly, and burst inside the moment I heard the director’s voice. The despair I felt for the first time in this body turned into fury the instant it left my mouth as words.
Even as I hurled “Why?” after “Why?” at the director, his gentle expression never changed. The startled look on his face quickly softened; he knelt to meet my eye level and quietly accepted every drop of my rage. A voice I had never used in my life poured out, bypassing reason and culture, spilling every pain in my heart. Whether they belonged to the present or to my memories, the words mixed and tumbled out unfiltered. The more sentences I forced out, the more they crumbled until language dissolved into sobs. The blazing anger cooled into tears that streamed down my cheeks.
Only then did the director explain. Anyone could adopt, but single people could not. There was no law forbidding it, yet last year the family court had approved only three cases—and all three were single women. A single man could never adopt a girl. I hadn’t known. I hadn’t known any of it: how difficult adoption was for singles, how single women could adopt boys but single men could not adopt girls. If I had investigated a little more, cared a little more, studied a little harder, I might have known. But I hadn’t. And this was the result.
It wasn’t anyone’s fault. I couldn’t blame anyone. It was simply the story of a fool who had despaired on her own, found hope on her own, and despaired again.
On the way home, Lee Seongbeom couldn’t hide his uneasy feeling. He hadn’t decided on the adoption lightly, yet he couldn’t help thinking that if he had looked into things a little more, the child wouldn’t have been hurt so badly. He knew his impulsive nature sometimes worked in his favor, but it just as often created situations like this.
“Damn it…”
Because of his carelessness, a child had been deeply wounded. Even with his eyes closed, he could still see those large eyes losing their light as tears fell. The child had been far more desperate than he realized. Though her tone when asking about adoption had been light and her age only thirteen, the anguish she had screamed out was heavy and deep.
“What am I supposed to do…”
No matter what strange nicknames people gave him, he was still an ordinary person. He wasn’t the kind of man who could feel nothing when a child he had taken an interest in was suffering because of him. Yet no matter how hard he racked his brain, he couldn’t find a solution. He let out a long sigh and stepped on the brake at a red light when his phone rang.
“Song, what’s up?”
—What do you mean, what’s up? Where are you wandering off to while dumping all the work on us again?
“Ah, I was at the orphanage…”
—Oh, right. You said you were adopting a kid. Did everything go through? Are you a dad now?
“It got a little complicated.”
Song Jieun and Lee Seongbeom had been working together since their KBZ days, even though they were now both at tvM. Their trust ran deep. When either had a problem, they asked each other. This time was no different.
—Really? I didn’t know single men couldn’t adopt girls either.
“That’s what got tangled up. I was too casual about it, so the kid took a bigger hit than I expected.”
—I told you to fix that habit of speaking without thinking.
It was one of his bad habits. It made for great entertainment on air, but off-camera it led to moments like this.
“…So, is there any way around it?”
Lee Seongbeom rarely spoke so meekly. Song Jieun took the question seriously.
—The child wants to leave the orphanage no matter what, right?
“Yeah.”
—But they don’t necessarily have to live there, do they?
“Huh?”
—As far as I know, orphanages exist to protect children who can’t become independent without parental support. There’s no law forcing a child who leaves of their own accord to stay. So if a child can stand on their own, there’s no reason they have to remain in the orphanage, is there?
Listening to her, Lee Seongbeom found himself nodding. As expected, a sharp mind from a top Seoul university was different.
“Keep going.”
—The biggest factor in determining independence is money. If the child can earn enough, that counts as being independent.
“That’s true.”
—Still, there’s one catch. Even if they can earn money, they’ll still need a guardian’s consent in practice. From what I heard, the director seems to care a lot about the children… I wonder if he’ll allow it.
“Ah, that part’s fine. I just thought of something good.”
—What? Something flashed through Lee Seongbeom’s mind—an enormous solution that could resolve the situation in one stroke.
“We just create a new talent-discovery department. Call it something like the Gifted Youth Search Team.”
—That’s plagiarism. And they’re not going to let you make a whole new department that easily.
“It was just an example. You know the director and I are pretty close, right?”
—Of course. Everyone at the company knows he grabbed your pant leg and begged you to come when he left KBZ to found tvM. But wasn’t that deal already cashed in for priority review on any project?
“Yeah, but we can still do other things.”
—Like what? Don’t tell me…
“It’s been a while since I borrowed a tent.”
—Oh, please, PD-nim…
Song Jieun groaned, clutching her forehead. Every employee at tvM knew the incident. Once, a project Lee Seongbeom was in charge of had its budget drastically cut after changes. Even though it had already received top priority and the highest budget, the director ignored his complaints. While the entire team scrambled to recheck the numbers, Lee Seongbeom suddenly went out, rented a tent, and set up a one-man protest right in front of the director’s office. He brought food, bedding, and even a chamber pot, handling every necessity on the spot until the director finally gave in and granted additional funding. The resulting broadcast achieved record-breaking ratings and became legend. That was the incident that gave birth to another of Lee Seongbeom’s nicknames: the Mad Bulldozer.
“If it doesn’t work, make it work.”
—Please don’t mention my name. Got it? Please!
“Ahh, that heavy, cool feeling. It’s been too long.”
Lee Seongbeom pulled something stainless-steel from the trunk. A chamber pot.
At the same moment, the director—who had been working overtime—felt an inexplicable chill run down his spine.
“…Shit. No way.”
For some reason he couldn’t explain, Lee Seongbeom’s irritating face flashed through his mind.