Pre-Production Meeting
"We've already locked down the coordinates of what we believe is their base of operations, and the reconnaissance vessel is ready."
Yeon-woo nodded at Han Hae-un's report.
"Having Kim Su-hyeok infiltrate the island himself carries too much risk. Stick to the plan — recon by drone only."
If Yeon-woo or Han Hae-un had been the ones going, they would have pushed through to a full infiltration the moment the reconnaissance confirmed it was viable. They had the confidence to complete the mission clean. But the other operatives hadn't been verified at that level yet, and there was no urgency. There was no reason to shoulder the risk that came with uncertainty.
"Then the operation should probably go tonight, right?"
"It should."
Once night fell, Kim Su-hyeok would run the boat dark to the waters near the island, then conduct the reconnaissance through a low-noise drone. Far from the artificial glow of any city, the open sea at night became pitch black the moment the boat's lights went out — leaving only the moon and the Milky Way overhead.
"Hmm. Tell Kim Su-hyeok to conserve his strength for tonight's op. I've got work — I need to head into the company."
"Understood. See you again tonight."
After several days of focused work on the Okinawa operation, Yeon-woo pulled off his headset and stretched.
"Time to get back to the day job."
Today was the day the principal cast, the director, and the writer would all gather for a meeting about the still-untitled basketball drama. It was an unusual case — casting had been locked in before either the title or the subject matter had even been decided — which meant writer Choi Mi-hyeon had been free to invent characters tailored precisely to each actor's image.
If the actors themselves help shape the characters they're going to play, the result should come out that much more alive.
It was a fresh approach in every way.
Yeon-woo was still turning it over as he finished washing up, and right on cue, Kim Min-su called.
"Yes, Min-su hyung."
"About ten minutes out, sir."
"Got it. If I dry my hair and head down, the timing should be perfect."
Yeon-woo finished getting ready and went down to the parking garage, where Kim Min-su's car was already waiting. He climbed in and looked toward the driver's seat.
"Min-su hyung. It's been less than ten minutes since we hung up, and you're already here."
"Ah — every light on the way was green. Looks like this drama's going to be a hit."
Yeon-woo laughed at Kim Min-su's banter.
"Is that so."
"Yep. Heading out, then."
Kim Min-su's car pulled away, and just as they'd discussed before, music from the top 100 charts filled the cabin. Watching Min-su bob his head to the beat from the driver's seat, Yeon-woo was certain of it — the man genuinely loved listening to music while he drove.
Min-su hyung's been my manager for almost four years now. How did he hold out this long without even asking?
Yeon-woo smiled toward the driver's seat, then shifted his gaze out the window.
Anyway — what details should I build into this character?
He began thinking through the protagonist of the new drama. The foundation of acting was becoming that person. To do it, you had to dig into the character's interior — and knowing someone else always began with empathy.
What does this kid think about? What kind of pain is he carrying?
Watching cars slide past the window, Yeon-woo began to sink slowly into a protagonist who still didn't even have a name. The character was someone whose every desire had been blocked by his parents, who had gradually drowned in frustration until something inside him finally broke.
From an adult's perspective, you'd wonder how something like that could make a person sick. But the protagonist in the story is a kid whose bottled-up resentment finally exploded after he entered high school…
Every age had its own scale of worry. And if too many thoughts were poured into a vessel that hadn't yet grown large enough to hold them, it overflowed. Sometimes that overflow showed as simple rebellion, defiance, or complaint. Sometimes it festered and ruptured from the inside.
Compared to the small frustrations and setbacks of school years, the trials that arrived in adulthood were naturally rougher and harder. That was why, listening to a student pour out their troubles, it was so easy to say, Just wait till you grow up. What you're dealing with now is nothing.
But did that mean the worries and trials of childhood were truly nothing?
No. Not at all.
Starting with small ripples and enduring the waves that struck harder and harder, the breakwater inside a person's heart cracked a little each time — and each repair made it thicker, stronger.
But the protagonist is someone whose breakwater shattered all at once. What would a person like that be like? Timid in everything, for a start.
As Yeon-woo dug deeper into the character, he began constructing a full imaginary personality — including everyday hobbies and habitual tics.
What if he clenches and unclenches his fist on the beat every time he talks? And of course he wouldn't be able to look someone in the face when he speaks to them.
Meanwhile, Kim Min-su — still bobbing his head to the music — caught Yeon-woo's thoughtful face in the rearview mirror and spoke up.
"Something on your mind, sir?"
"Sorry?"
"You just looked pretty serious."
Yeon-woo hesitated a moment, then told him what he'd been working through.
"…So that's the kind of person he is, and I was trying to figure out if there was some distinctive trait I could give him."
Kim Min-su listened, thought for a moment, then offered something from his own experience.
"Hmm. That reminds me of someone. When I was in the service, we got a junior who'd been playing soccer in civilian life. I don't remember exactly, but I think he was third division. He tore a ligament during training, and it turned out worse than expected — the doctors said he probably wouldn't be able to play again."
Yeon-woo nodded along and prompted him.
"So what happened to him?"
"Well, I don't know what he did after discharge. But the whole time he was in, his eyes just went blank. You could feel him dying from the inside out. There was a term for that kind of thing soldiers get…"
"PTSD — post-traumatic stress disorder?"
"Ah! That's it."
Strictly speaking, the case Kim Min-su described wasn't quite PTSD, but the outward signs were close enough to the character Yeon-woo would be playing.
PTSD… I've seen enough of it that I could write a paper on the subject, with a little exaggeration.
In his previous life, soldiers and agents deployed to combat zones or operations had endured torture and accidents firsthand, or watched those things happen right in front of them. Many of them had struggled with PTSD, and Yeon-woo had witnessed it countless times from right beside them. Drawing on the traits of the people he'd known then, the character began to take on a sharper, clearer shape.
"I think I've got a thread to pull on, thanks to you, Min-su hyung."
"Is that so? Glad I could help somehow. We've arrived, sir."
Yeon-woo got out of the car and went up to the second floor.
Come to think of it, this is the first time I've been to the Media office since the day it opened.
He was always on the third-floor café or the fourth-floor entertainment CEO's office and conference rooms — Saebyeol Media still felt unfamiliar. Stepping out of the elevator, he found the lobby walls lined with framed posters. There were works he'd starred in, including Sketch and White Blood, along with Son Jin-uk's films like Your Name and Prisoner.
Having arrived earlier than expected, he was making a slow circuit of the displayed works when the elevator opened and Executive Director Yoon Mi-yeon stepped out.
"Oh? Yeon-woo. You're early."
"Somehow I got here first. Looking at them all together like this, Director Yoon — our actors have been in a lot of projects."
Yeon-woo swept his eyes over the frames on the wall, and Yoon Mi-yeon answered with a slightly bitter smile.
"They are our actors, of course — but a lot of these were still produced under LN. Going forward, I want to fill these walls with things Saebyeol Media made."
"Of course. You'll have to work like an ox, Director Yoon. I'm planning to take on a lot of projects. This year I want to do at least one film on top of the dramas."
Yoon Mi-yeon laughed at Yeon-woo's half-joking threat.
"Working like an ox is fine by me. I'm a workaholic. A lot of people will probably show up early — if we wait a bit, everyone should be here. Shall we go in first?"
"Let's."
Yeon-woo followed Yoon Mi-yeon into the conference room. They had only been waiting a short while when writer Choi Mi-hyeon — whom he hadn't seen in some time — came in first.
"Oh my! Yeon-woo!"
"Writer-nim. Have you been well?"
Yeon-woo stood and went to meet her as she came through the door. She pulled him into a warm hug and patted his back.
"There, there. Of course I've been well. I'm so happy you've done so well for yourself. These days, wherever I go, I brag that I'm the writer who discovered Ryu Yeon-woo. Though I just sounded like a total ajumma, didn't I."
"Not at all."
Yeon-woo smiled. Even if Choi Mi-hyeon went around claiming she'd discovered him, it wasn't wrong. He would have debuted somewhere eventually in some other role even without her — but she was the one who had recognized the potential in a high school kid who'd come up from the provinces, and who had insisted he had to be cast.
"I feel like I built a solid foundation for my acting because I started with one of your projects."
"This kid — then and now, he always knows exactly what to say."
"By the way, this project brings Jin-uk hyung, the director, and you back together again."
If production had been pushed back a little further, Han So-hyun might have been able to join as well — but she still wasn't under their agency, and Yeon-woo had heard she was currently shooting a film.
"That's right. Speaking of which, Yeon-woo — you heard about Jun-ho?"
"Of course. We even talked on the phone."
Talked on the phone? That barely covered it. Yeon-woo was probably the person on earth who knew the full truth of the An Jun-ho case better than anyone — including things An Jun-ho himself still didn't know.
"I'm so glad it worked out. It felt like I had a stone sitting on my chest this whole time. I knew he wasn't the kind of person who would do something like that."
"I know. Jun-ho hyung is still serving, but did you know he signed with our agency?"
"Really? Oh, that's wonderful. Wonderful. The CEO is that Team Leader Jeong who used to be at the old company, right?"
In practice the company's real head was Yeon-woo himself, but he smiled and nodded.
"Yes, that's right."
"Team Leader Jeong is such a good person."
Catching up with Choi Mi-hyeon after so long, time slipped by quickly — and then a noisy bustle rose from outside.
"Looks like everyone's here."
As Director Yoon spoke, the conference room door opened. The cast of the new drama filed in alongside Director Kim Han-su.
"Aigoo, Writer Choi — it's been a long time."
Jeong Cheol-min grinned and held out his hand; Choi Mi-hyeon shook it.
"It's good to see you. It's really been ages. These days your student has grown so well you must feel full without even eating."
"Haha. True enough — though I've been drinking with Jin-uk so often lately that the only thing filling up is my liquor gut."
Even as she exchanged greetings, Choi Mi-hyeon was already studying the faces of the actors who would be appearing. She knew Son Jin-uk and Yeon-woo reasonably well from recent collaborations — but Dong-ha and Jin Yu-han were first meetings, and her eyes lit up as she took them in.
And so the director, the writer, and the principal cast of a still-untitled amateur basketball drama were all gathered in one place.
Meanwhile, word of Saebyeol Media's secretly developing drama had reached the broadcasting networks — and every one of them went into full emergency mode. If the tip sheets were true, the genre hardly mattered. Looking at the cast alone, the project was a guaranteed hit. A silent war broke out among the networks, each scrambling to pull the drama onto their own airwaves.