Taking Charge
Even as I tore through my work at the office, I kept checking the stock price at regular intervals. A-Tech Solution, which had hit the limit-up yesterday, slammed into the limit-up again today.
The climb was a little slower than on the first day, but it locked in at the ceiling right before the market closed.
Current price: 173,000 won.
Average cost basis: 77,100 won across 1,300 shares.
My portfolio value at market close: 225 million won.
A return of roughly 124 percent — pure profit of a full 125 million won.
That brought my total liquid assets to 485 million won.
They say when a person's luck turns, everything they touch goes right. At this point, that saying might as well have been written about me.
My thorough analysis had certainly played its part, but watching the price rise with this kind of timing still felt damn good.
"Ha!"
A sound of pure satisfaction slipped out before I could stop it.
"Something good happen, Assistant Manager Noh? You've been grinning nonstop since yesterday."
Kang Bitna turned toward me from her desk.
"Oh, have I? It's nothing, really."
I answered with a quiet smile.
Until the seal was stamped on a real estate purchase contract, nothing was finished. I couldn't afford to let my guard down until the very end.
Before I knew it, quitting time was already closing in.
With the stock price rocketing the way it had, the hours had simply vanished.
Still, a cautionary thought surfaced. Stocks weren't gambling, but the risk of addiction ran high. They had to be handled carefully — only to the degree that they never bled into daily life.
Of course, I was confident I could manage that. My mind had never been sharper.
Around six o'clock, as everyone was packing up to leave, a phone call came in.
The moment Kim Seungho answered, his face went rigid.
"Deputy Manager! We've got a problem."
He covered the receiver with his hand and kept going.
"The rental van carrying the production team to tomorrow's final location just got into an accident. Equipment's damaged — they're still assessing how bad. And the bigger issue… the director and several crew members were hurt and admitted to the hospital."
"What? Are the people okay?"
"Yes. Thankfully no one was seriously injured. But they still need to be hospitalized…"
"Is there a replacement team?"
Kim Seungho looked helpless. Jeon Yonggi's face hardened.
"They're under an exclusive contract. Even if we found another team, it would take at least a full day just to get them up to speed on the program so far."
Jo Cheoljeong answered the question with his usual calm precision.
"Damn it. Any other options? Can we push the shoot?"
"Han Yojung's schedule makes that nearly impossible."
Kang Bitna checked the calendar at speed and answered.
"She leaves the country the day after tomorrow and has to prepare for a world tour performance the day after that. Once the tour wraps and album production is finished, you're looking at a minimum of two months."
"Two months? Absolutely not! If we miss this shoot, every contract with the other partners collapses — ads already locked in, content deals, overseas campaigns — the damage runs into the tens of billions! And our credibility tanks completely!"
"There's also the fact that we can't run the campaign or promotions for those two months," Jo Cheoljeong added, expression blank.
"So what do we do?"
"Damn it…"
While everyone sat frozen between bad options, I was already racing through solutions in my head, calculating every angle.
Then I took the phone straight out of Kim Seungho's hand.
"I understand the equipment is damaged. Exactly which pieces are out? Is replacement within range? Check as fast as you can and call us back. We'll look for options on our end as well."
"Noh — you got some kind of plan?"
Park Heegon asked the moment I hung up.
"We'll find one. We can't just sit here with our hands in our pockets."
"Yeah, that's true…"
"First, let's start hunting for backup personnel."
Jeon Yonggi nodded at that, rubbing his chin. Once his thoughts settled, he started firing off orders.
"Manager Park, Assistant Manager Jo! Contact every lighting crew, set designer, and former camera director who's ever helped on this shoot even once. Find out who can work tomorrow — no, who can get here right now!"
"Understood."
"Assistant Manager Noh and Associate Kim — reanalyze the storyboard and figure out exactly what equipment we need and how. Staff Kang, give them a hand!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Got it."
"We reconvene in the conference room in one hour."
And just like that, we slid into overtime.
If tomorrow's shoot failed, the fallout would be catastrophic. The production team bore some of the blame, but Marketing Team 3 owned this project end to end. The weight of responsibility sat heavier on us.
One hour later.
Marketing team conference room.
Equipment lists, storyboards, and Han Yojung's detailed commercial shoot schedule were spread across the table. We shared everything we'd managed to dig up.
"Jimmy Jib is completely destroyed. The rental house has no stock, and we can't source one today."
"One moving camera survived, and we can pull an additional tripod-style gimbal."
"Set design can recycle the existing blueprints — basic background only, installable on the day."
Everyone had moved fast, but the fundamental problems remained: no director, missing crew, and no one who fully understood the overall concept.
"So the real issues are the production team and the storyboard…"
"Hmm… what do we do? It's tomorrow."
The room grew heavy with thought.
Marketing Team 3 leading a full commercial shoot was a stretch. None of us had ever been deeply embedded in production, and the situation showed it.
In truth, marketing teams almost never ran an entire commercial shoot. At most, they handled planning and briefing, storyboard review and feedback, and on-site observation.
But the circumstances left no room for that luxury.
Inside my head, a response plan was already assembling at high speed. Fragmented memories of half-attentive set visits from years past were knitting themselves together, slotting into exactly the right places.
So even this is possible.
The brain's capacity really was endless.
Which meant there was no choice left. I had to step in.
"From where I'm standing, three things matter most right now."
The team looked at me with open curiosity, waiting. I kept going.
"First, the shoot has to be structured for segmented filming so cuts can be edited without a director. Second, the concept has to work with minimal gear while still carrying the atmosphere of the set. Third — and most important — we have to guide Han Yojung so she can stay naturally immersed even in a stripped-down environment."
"Okay, but who's actually going to do all that?"
Jeon Yonggi's question left the room silent.
No way around it.
"I'll take it on."
Every pair of eyes locked onto me.
Jeon Yonggi looked almost desperate. Park Heegon wore a complicated, unsettled expression. Jo Cheoljeong remained as unreadable as ever. Kim Seungho and Kang Bitna watched me with bright, intent eyes.
"Well… if it's Assistant Manager Noh…"
Jeon Yonggi's voice carried a thread of hope.
I pulled the storyboard up on the monitor and pointed with the mouse.
"This sequence is built around slow motion and close-ups. Here, a director's eye would normally be essential… but I'll handle it."
"…You really think you can pull this off?"
"Yes. Right now we have one standard lens and one gimbal. So instead of a single frontal cut, we split it into two forty-five-degree angle shots. That gives the editor more options in post, and the dimensionality beats a flat frontal frame — enough to cover for the missing gear."
Kim Seungho spoke up.
"Then… it's going to diverge from the original storyboard. Is that okay?"
I nodded.
"The ultimate purpose of an ad is to deliver information to consumers intuitively. Even if the cut structure changes, as long as the overall tone and mood hold, we're fine. Post-production can clean it up. Right now, we prioritize what's executable."
Jeon Yonggi watched in silence, then nodded with clear satisfaction.
"Assistant Manager Noh — did you ever work on a production crew?"
Not a chance. I just smiled.
"I just paid attention when I watched."
Half true, half not.
I had watched, sure — but never with real interest. After the brain awakening, though, every memory stored somewhere in the back of my mind had become freely accessible. In short, I now possessed an absurd level of recall.
By the time we finished rebuilding the shot-by-shot cut sheets and the shooting order, it was two in the morning — complete with work instructions written at the level of an on-set script, clear enough that anyone could follow them without confusion.
And I didn't sleep. Through the rest of the night and into morning, I tore through every e-book and video on commercial production I could find, packing the information in.
Shoot day.
Under Deputy Manager Jeon Yonggi's orders, I took overall direction of the production.
We had managed to secure a backup director and crew, but they didn't know the material — so we'd agreed I would lead.
The real concern was whether Han Yojung would take offense. That, surprisingly, resolved itself without friction.
"The production team has changed, so things are a bit unsettled, but our team will carry the concept and mood forward exactly as planned. It may be a little inconvenient, but if we follow this sequence, we can wrap today. Would that be all right?"
I asked for her understanding. Han Yojung accepted far more easily than expected.
"Noh Hoojin is taking charge?"
"Yes."
"This is a first for me… but if it's you, I'll trust it."
She smiled softly as she looked at me.
Shoot day.
Early morning, the sun just clearing the horizon.
On one side of the set, our marketing team had dug in — the all-nighter written all over their faces. On the other, the replacement crew we'd scrambled to assemble moved in a hurried blur.
The set was clearly rough.
Gear was short. Most of the faces on the crew were strangers.
And yet, somehow, everything was interlocking with an almost unnatural precision.
No matter how many simulations I ran in my head, this should have been impossible.
Under conditions like these, a thirty-percent delay would have been normal. Instead, nothing was slipping. Not even a little.
This doesn't make any sense.
A marketing team intervening this deeply in production work defied every professional norm. And yet every member of the team had memorized the on-set script and was executing their assigned role as if they'd been doing it for years.
And at the center of it all stood Noh Hoojin.
"Drop the lights three levels right now. Compensate for the natural light coming in."
"Yes, sir!"
"Camera, one step this way. Conti cut eight starts lower than the previous shot — knee height."
"Understood."
The crew nodded and followed without thinking. It didn't take long for them to realize that every single instruction was coming from precise calculation and prediction.