The Villain Halving the Ratings
"Our broadcasting station's greatest enemy! Pi. Chae. Wooooon!!!"
Somewhere along the way, Pi Chae-won had become, in the center director's mind, the prime culprit responsible for slicing the ratings clean in half.
With content of any kind, the beginning and the end mattered most — you had to leave people hungry for what came next. But thanks to Pachehi, the drama's existing viewers were skipping the first ten minutes of every episode outright.
One by one, viewers who found the story no longer hanging together began to abandon the drama — and as it happened, a rival network was launching a brand-new series on the very day of Pachehi's finale. The result: MBS's existing audience was absorbed, effortlessly, like water into dry ground.
"And that show premiered at a 5.7 rating on its first episode!!! Tell me, So — are you planning your directorial debut with MBS's sworn enemy or aren't you?!"
"Is there any reason I shouldn't...?"
Director So answered with infuriating calm as the center director raged and fumed. That composure alone sent his blood pressure climbing.
"Why wouldn't there be a reason! Ye-sol! Get a grip on yourself. Healing! Empathy! That's what you do best. But what would a twenty-year-old know about any of it? Does she know how hard society grinds you down? How filthy and ruthless getting through this world really is? Does she know what it's like to want to throw it all away? How could you possibly reach the audience for real like that?"
The center director bellowed his argument for why the lead of Not Interested At All could not, under any circumstances, be Han Yeo-reum.
'Seemed like she knew to me. The exhaustion, the pettiness, the grime of it all....'
Director So, looking thoroughly fed up, let out a sigh and remembered Yeo-reum reading the script. The way her voice had carried from across the table — vivid, precise, threaded with irritation, as if it were being poured directly into her ear.
"So! Ye-sol! A web drama — eight episodes of ten minutes each? All of it added together isn't even two hours. You really think a girl who showed her acting chops for that tiny a sliver can carry an hour-long drama with any weight? Think carefully. It's your career on the line! The whole thing veers completely off your intended concept of healing!"
And that was exactly why Director So could not back down.
"I don't think this one-act drama will have that kind of ripple effect. It's just that...."
Jung Yeon-doo, unmistakably, was there.
"As you well know, Center Director, we live in the age of value for money. Do you really expect exhausted people to turn on the TV for a healing drama from a director nobody's heard of, with actors they barely recognize — not some hundred-billion-won production making headlines before it even airs? We don't even expect viewers to show up for something this modest...."
"Wh-what?!"
This much she could not afford to lose. Whatever the center director said, she was going to push this through.
"People worn down to the bone aren't going to spend their time that way. It would be a waste of it... They'd rather scroll through SNS instead, endlessly reading posts that aren't even entertaining. Why invest an hour in a video when they can skim a short-form clip in a second or two...?"
Director So's cold-eyed clarity left the center director gaping. The words simply wouldn't come — because her analysis was airtight.
"That's why I need Han Yeo-reum for my concept — healing... for the message of wanting to pause, just for a moment, and rest."
The center director's mouth shut. He had analyzed the comments, the likes, the view counts on Pachehi's videos more times than he could count.
He couldn't flatly deny that what Director So was trying to do was, in fact, a marketable idea.
"The short clips circulating online, the InTube comments people stumble across, the mention volume across communities. Every one of those is a channel Han Yeo-reum can use to pull exhausted people in...."
He wanted to say no — but he couldn't bring himself to. The center director's pride lay in pieces on the floor.
"And besides... why wouldn't she be able to carry it alone?"
Watching his face, Director So smiled quietly.
"One hour won't be nearly enough to hold her. Han Yeo-reum."
The center director cleared his throat loudly and asked his final question.
"It's your debut. Are you confident you won't regret it?"
"Absolutely."
"Ugh. Fine, then. Do as you like. Let's just see!"
Hearing Director So's crisp answer, the center director shook his head and stalked off. From behind his quickly retreating back, Director So murmured softly.
"You're the one who'd have regretted letting her slip away... for the rest of your life, Center Director...."
The venue was an office building in Yeoksam. The Faster Than the Law team had rented out a spacious seminar hall and invited the press — today was the script reading for Faster Than the Law.
Not just the cast but the director, the producers, the CEO, the cinematographer, the script supervisor and assistant directors, all the way through the direction and planning teams — everyone who would make this movie on set had gathered under one roof.
"It's finally today...!"
Reporter Wi, settled into her seat under her handle Deokdeok.B, naturally began hunting for Han Yeo-reum with her eyes first.
'There she is...!'
Seated at the far end of the row, Yeo-reum was actually a little closer to her than usual. Clutching her script tightly in both hands, she looked faintly nervous, her hair gathered back into a single loose tie.
'Gorgeous.... I've never seen her hair like that before....'
Reporter Wi already had to fight down the urge to start clicking her shutter. When Yeo-reum briefly lifted her head, she seemed to recognize the reporter and gave a small, polite bow. Reporter Wi waved back at once.
Soon the director entered alongside the two leads, and a pleasant current of anticipation rippled through the hall before the reading began. Director Gong took the microphone.
Click-! Click-! Click-!
The reporters' shutters began firing in a burst.
"Thank you all for coming here today. I'm Gong Mu-jin, director of Faster Than the Law. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Starting with Director Gong, the lead actors greeted the room, and the familiar veteran actors took the microphone in turn. Last of all came Han Yeo-reum.
"Hello, everyone. I'm rookie actress Han Yeo-reum, playing Influencer 1."
A light, easy-on-the-ears voice. Reporter Wi pressed her shutter harder than she had all day.
With the introductions done, the script reading properly began.
"Seriously... this is your fault, you know. I took the hit for you, so doesn't that mean I get to punch back?"
"Excuse me?"
"That's how it works, isn't it? You take the hit. Then you throw one back. That's what fair means. Am I wrong?"
The snappy, punchy dialogue characteristic of an action film flew back and forth across the table, and a few of the reporters laughed out loud.
'Overall, the pacing is fast.'
For one thing, the two leads made a great pairing. No heavy thinking required, no need to endure long stretches of brooding — one swung his fists, the other wielded her tongue like a blade.
'This is going to do well. Anyone can see it. It'll blow right past the first movie.'
Everyone in the room seemed to share Reporter Wi's assessment, holding their focus through every line.
"Hey. You guys, this is HUGE. I just got a mutual follow? Like — eee! With HER! Look at my following list. Do you see it? Do you SEE it?"
At last, Yeo-reum spoke. Unlike the voice of Pi Chae-won, and unlike the voice of Jung Yeon-doo, this one fluttered with giddy, barely contained excitement.
"That's her, right, her — the one from Pachehi. Great diction."
"Yeah. She's good at this kind of thing too."
"Well, this sort of acting is easy for her. It's not straight drama."
The reporters murmured among themselves. Whatever they were saying, Reporter Wi kept Yeo-reum framed in her lens.
"Yes~! Me? Whew.... Of COURSE I got in. An invitation! I'm not one of those losers scrounging for table scraps at the door. I'm so posting this with the traffic-light filter!"
You didn't need a detailed character description to understand Influencer 1 in a single glance. Immature, free-spirited, endlessly frivolous — and yet somehow impossible to hate.
"Um, seriously... could you maybe — just this once — go a little easy on—"
"Of course. We'll process it as insurance and file an accident report. And I'm telling you this in advance so you don't get any clever ideas: I'm with the Korean police. Elite of the elite, at that."
"Oh.... Okay.... Right, of course you are...."
The chemistry with the actor playing the elite detective was excellent too — their banter bounced back and forth without a seam.
'She's like a puppy that got caught doing something bad.... How is anyone supposed to resist that...?'
The sheer mortification of a girl who'd rear-ended a police car with her father's vehicle radiated off the page. Reporter Wi wanted, right now, to see this scene blown up on a giant theater screen. Her grip on the camera filled with anticipation.
The script reading hit the news almost instantly. And so Faster Than the Law — Han Yeo-reum's first film with a supporting role — stamped its first impression on the general public.
Today was finally the first day of Han Yeo-reum's crank-in.
The location: Cheongdam-daero — a street where luxury brand names were etched into the buildings, unmistakable even at a glance. Dressed in her prepared costume, Yeo-reum stood in front of the car.
"Take it easy. Relax, okay? Just do what you've been doing."
Director Gong studied Yeo-reum's appearance. It was exactly the look of an influencer.
Ornate press-on nails adorned all ten of her fingers, her false lashes were a good deal longer than usual, and she wore a bright-colored dress to match the character.
The Influencer 1 that Director Gong had been imagining in his head seemed to have stepped straight off the page, fully alive.
"Got it, sir!"
Yeo-reum clenched both fists, and the crew members watching her traded remarks.
"That's her? The one who made Director Gong rewrite his whole scenario?"
"Yeah. Wonder if she can pull it off, though. She barely scraped by with one web drama."
Yeo-reum slid into the driver's seat and buckled her seatbelt. While the camera angles were being checked, the crew kept talking about her.
"They say Director Gong watched her audition for over thirty minutes?"
"For a supporting role? Isn't that basically unheard of?"
"Totally unheard of. Too bad for the girls who came to audition, honestly. It was practically decided in advance."
Pachehi had been a historic success, but this was the film industry — a world where actors of a certain pedigree refused to even acknowledge lesser names as colleagues.
To them, a web drama wasn't even a real work. It was something on the level of children playing pretend on camera.
"Guess we'll see how she does. Whatever."
Yeo-reum's face filled the monitor — the rookie's unmistakable glow of nerves and excitement written all over it.
At last, every preparation was complete.
"Alright, rolling—!"
A beat of stillness hung over the set.
"Ready, action!"
It was time for rookie Han Yeo-reum to become Influencer 1.