A Small Media Kingdom - 2
There really are all kinds of news organizations out there.
Some post articles online, some print newspapers, some put out magazines, and some broadcast news over TV and the internet.
The press that people trust to be their eyes and ears, the ones they believe will speak only the truth.
But for every honest outlet, there are just as many that have rotted through to the core.
Every commercial enterprise in this world exists for one basic purpose: to make money.
The police and rescue workers who risk their lives out of a sense of duty, the doctors who claim human life and dignity are the highest values, the reporters who insist they fight for the public’s right to know and for the truth—
They’re all doing it for the paycheck.
Talk of mission and values only comes after you’ve secured a stable living. Nobody invests their time and effort without getting a single won in return. Even good deeds like free volunteer work only happen when someone’s already on solid ground.
The man sitting in front of me was no different.
Yang Sang-ho, president of a tiny internet newspaper and a working reporter.
“So how much are you offering to buy us for?”
“For now, I’ll just give you a few ads.”
“Ads??”
He reacted far more strongly to the word “ads” than to the idea of selling the company. Yang Sang-ho scooted to the edge of the filthy sofa, eyes sparkling as he stared holes through my mouth.
“Witch, Future Studio, and the web drama currently in production. I’m thinking of placing three ads total with True Story.”
“Three ads…! But Future Studio’s a production company, isn’t it? You’re advertising the studio itself instead of promoting a title?”
“We don’t particularly need it on our end, but it’s different for the side receiving the money, isn’t it?”
“Aigoo~! Of course! What does a nobody like me care what kind of ads they are, hahaha~ So how much will the ad fees be?”
“Annual payroll plus ten million won a month in operating costs. That’s the yearly ad fee we’ll pay.”
“......”
His expression changed again. This time it was real—a face full of suspicion, distrust, and doubt.
“Are you asking us to run fake articles?”
“Not at all. The exact opposite.”
“What do you mean?”
“Write nothing but proper, solid truth. You’ve got salaries now and operating funds, so stop writing articles for money and start writing them as a journalist.”
“Is this somehow connected to your personal interests, CEO?”
“Is that a problem? We’re writing the truth either way.”
“....What kind of articles?”
“I’ll contact you when the time comes.”
I left the True Story office. Before I did, of course, we roughly wrapped up the conversation about acquiring the company.
I headed back to Seongsu-dong and into my private office at Dawon Media. A short while later, Won Chaeyoung, president of the company in the same building, Gu Hong-jun of Future Studio, and Jeong Dong-hyeok of Witch all came to see me.
“President Won, how many trainees have we recruited so far?”
“Thirty-two. Why did you only tell us to recruit female trainees?”
“I don’t know much about boy groups. And I have zero interest.”
“......”
Even digging through every memory of my past life, I could count on one hand the male idols whose faces and names I actually knew. I’d never cared. I still didn’t. Eventually Won Chaeyoung or whoever took over as president of Lime Entertainment would raise them on their own.
“President Gu, how many projects can Future Studio run at the same time?”
“To keep top quality, two or three. Fewer means higher quality, of course.”
“Excluding Emperor, which is currently in progress?”
“Filming on Emperor is already finished.”
“Ah… so maximum three, then?”
“Yes.”
“Still not enough… Let’s use this chance to beef up the staff. Get it to where you can handle about five projects simultaneously.”
“Recruiting real talent in this industry is tough. If something’s urgent, how about collaborating with a solid outside production company?”
“Collaboration, huh… Then look into an outside company that can shoot a survival audition program. Direction still has to stay with Future Studio, of course.”
“For variety, one of the production houses under TJ is pretty good.”
“Not them. I’m about to take them down.”
“Excuse me??”
TJ ENM under the TJ Group. That was the target I planned to hit using True Story. I wasn’t going to dump a full bucket of sewage on them—just splash a little muddy water. Enough to make our side look cleaner by comparison.
“President Jeong.”
“Yes.”
“The survival audition we’re going to produce will air free on Witch. Same for the web drama we’re about to make. We’ll release them simultaneously on YouTube as well, then take those videos down after a set period.”
“Planning to switch to paid after that?”
“No. Keep them free. Cheap tricks like that only create backlash. And the survival audition will lead straight into the debut of Lime Entertainment’s first project group. You three will be busy, so tell your staff to coordinate schedules carefully with each other.”
Web drama, survival audition. None of it was being made for profit. They were promotional tools to raise accessibility and awareness of Witch. And they would create synergy with the projects Future Studio produced.
“President Gu, mind if I recommend a few titles? One film and two dramas. Finish the web drama first, of course, before starting these.”
The two works I planned to recommend were the film Emergency Exit and the dramas Team Owner and Fallen Love. All three would premiere or air in 2019 in my previous life—the film drawing 9.4 million viewers, both dramas earning high critical praise and strong ratings. In particular, the two dramas had first aired as TV series before landing on OTT platforms. This life would be different.
“Broadcast stations will never take them. Ratings would tank.”
“Then we just release them as Witch Originals. We lose nothing. The networks will be the ones sweating, terrified of missing dramas that even they can see are guaranteed hits.”
I planned to show the networks pre-produced dramas and sell them the broadcast rights. Buying finished dramas from production companies was a method networks had started using more often lately because of crushing production costs. But the terms had always favored the networks. Without them, there was nowhere else to air the shows.
As long as I was here, that wouldn’t continue. I would offer terms thoroughly favorable to the stronger party, and if they refused, I’d simply drop the shows as Witch Originals. Once word of mouth caught fire, the audience would flood in overnight.
“But the price floor has to stay low. If the subscription fee is too high, people won’t jump to paid membership. Ad-supported plans under five thousand won a month. Standard plan under nine thousand. If they want higher quality, under twelve thousand. Premium at twenty thousand—those members get exclusive content. Concert footage of popular idols, live broadcasts, behind-the-scenes of dramas and films, that sort of thing. Of course, set up a per-episode pay option so free and regular members can watch those too. And the price of that single episode has to make them think, ‘I’m probably going to watch more of these—maybe I should just go Premium.’”
Twenty thousand won a month. Just the price of skipping one fried chicken order. But people hated seeing fixed monthly expenses grow. So the per-episode option would catch those hesitant users and could actually generate higher revenue.
“Hmm… Current subscribers are at 970,000 with monthly revenue around 8.3 billion… Sigh. Still a long way to go.”
Witch’s new subscriber growth had nearly stalled. Existing members were even starting to churn. That was why filming needed to wrap soon—the filming of The Cat Cries Meow, the title that would explode Witch’s new subscriber numbers.
“Hey, Foot Stink. Filming going well?”
“This again…! I told you not to call me that…! There are other people here!!”
“Let go of my collar first. Did you forget what President Won said?”
“That’s because you—”
“Jinwoooo~~”
“Hi.”
“Oh! Sol and Naye, long time!”
Shin Jinwoo was an old friend of mine, so he was close with Eunsol and Lee Naye as well. Park Daeseok, who was working as a manager, was the same.
“What brings you here today? And with the whole crew.”
“Oh! Big Rock!”
“I told you not to call me that!!”
Daeseok—big rock. That was how he got the nickname Big Rock. Only a handful of people dared use it to his face, but Sol didn’t care in the slightest.
“I call Big Rock Big Rock! What else am I supposed to call him?!”
“You have a name…! You little shrimp!!”
“Shrimp?! You son of a…!!!! Take that back! Sol’s 160 now, okay?!”
“You’re 158. Stop weirdly rounding up.”
“Naye!!”
“Pfft…!!”
“Don’t laugh! You Big Rock!! With shoes on I’m 160, okay?!”
“Yes~ yes~ So what’s going on?”
Park Daeseok cleanly ignored Eunsol, who was up on her tiptoes shoving her face at him, and asked the question.
“Just stopped by on the way.”
“Where are you headed?”
“We’re going to Gapyeong today~ Sunwoo’s going to teach Sol and Naye how to wakeboard~~ Hehe”
“Ha…. Some of us are filming under this blazing sun… Must be nice…”
“Jealous, Big Rock? Aww~ aww~”
“Your arms aren’t long enough to reach!!”
“They are!!”
Eunsol stretched her hand out to pat Park Daeseok’s head, but he simply leaned back and pulled his head away, and her hand really didn’t reach.
“Ah… I’m jealous… I’m good at wakeboarding too…”
“You’ve never even tried it.”
“You think there’s a sport this taekwondo genius can’t do?”
“Basketball.”
“That’s with your hands! Anything with feet, I’m good at!!”
“Is that why your feet stink so much?”
“You little…!”
“Ah-ah! Talking to the CEO like that. Want me to call the president?”
“K-khm…! So is it a day trip?”
“Why?”
“Today’s our last shoot. If we finish by tomorrow, we were thinking of coming to hang out.”
“Already??”
Jeong Hana had finished the script in mid-June, and filming with the outside production company had started in early July. Today was July 13th—not even two full weeks, and they were already on the final shoot.
“Then come join us. I rented the pension for a full week because I figured we’d come sometime this week anyway, so one more day doesn’t matter. You guys can stay a few extra days if you want.”
“Isn’t this peak season?”
“And?”
“You booked a whole week?”
“Yeah.”
“That money would cover months of rent for me and Daeseok…!! If you’re going to throw money around like that, give me some too!”
“Did I leave any with you?”
“Um…”
A woman stepped into the shade of the tree where Shin Jinwoo and I were standing. Pure yet elegant… or rather, refined. The kind of face most high-school boys would list as their ideal type without thinking twice.
Seo Ye-na, the female lead of The Cat Cries Meow. Unlike the male lead, she had remained the female lead even when the drama was produced. Pretty, and for someone acting for the first time, she was surprisingly good. But that drama had been her last. She hadn’t taken her own life like Lee Hayeon; she simply never appeared in another work or on any TV medium again.
“Hey, say hello. This is our beautiful, talented female lead.”
“Jinwoo…”
“It’s true~ And this is my pathetic friend and the CEO of our company, Cha Sunwoo.”
“You told me to introduce myself. Why are you doing it?”
“Just hurry up. So what’s up?”
“Well… for the next scene… could we run lines for a bit…?”
“Of course~ You heard her? Get lost to Gapyeong already.”
“Gapyeong…?”
“While her friend is out here sweating buckets and working hard, she’s off to Gapyeong to play with her other friends~ She just stopped by to brag.”
“Brag? I came to keep an eye on you.”
“Same difference.”
“Sigh… Anyway, I’m heading out~ Finish the shoot well.”
“Ah… yes… Take care…”
I exchanged a few polite words, handed the production team some money for a company dinner, and headed back to the car I’d left parked.
“Sunwoo, hurry up~~”
“It’s hot. Get in and start the engine first.”
“Here’s the key. I need to take a call.”
I tossed the car key onto the driver’s seat and stepped aside to answer the phone.
“CEO, this is Yang Sang-ho.”
“Yes, Mr. Yang. Did you look into it?”
“I did, and just as you said, the PD seems to have taken bribes. But there’s still no clear evidence of ranking manipulation, and the trainees from the agencies that paid the bribes are actually sitting in the lower ranks, so running the story now would be a stretch. It’ll probably be better to wait until the final rankings and then drop it.”
Ranking manipulation on a survival audition program. Agencies that sent trainees had bribed the PD and even the CP to fix the final rankings. That was a crime that would eventually surface, and I intended to bring it to light a little earlier. It would also serve as noise marketing.
Right in the middle of the uproar over ranking manipulation on a hot survival audition show, another survival audition program would appear. Good attention or bad, it would still be attention. But that attention wouldn’t turn into a wave of criticism. We were completely different.
Not trainees from multiple agencies, but competition solely among Lime Entertainment’s own trainees. No voting, no fan participation—just pure competition for debut spots, closer to a documentary than variety. If the response was good I might add fan-participation elements later, but nothing that directly affected rankings. Interest might drop a little, but that could be fixed in a sequel. Right now, dodging the storm of criticism I was about to whip up was the priority.
“Kyaaaak!!!!”
Pwaaah!!!!
Is she dead…?
Eunsol, who had been wakeboarding, slammed into the water in a massive spray. Then she floated face-down, bobbing gently on the surface.
“Sol!!”
“Eunsol!!!”
Splash!!