Chapter 104
Chapter 104
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 104
Chapter Title: Once Again, Writer
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Woo Ji-hyun nodded as he accepted the green tea the office worker brought him with both hands.
But there was no confidence on his face.
“I’ve been doing my best in my own way, but I’m not sure how it’ll go. There’s no right answer in writing, after all. Everyone has their own style. The most important thing is finding your own way, and I don’t have enough experience to show them that.”
“Why wouldn’t you? If you count from your amateur days, you’ve got over ten years under your belt. I know you started writing in high school.”
“Yeah, from my first year. My first serialization was on Joara.”
Remembering his debut work—written with no knowledge of writing, just overflowing with complaints about the world—made Woo Ji-hyun’s face flush hot.
It had been a story not for readers, but solely for himself.
Of course, the result was obvious without saying.
It hadn’t flopped repeatedly for nothing.
“That’s exactly why I think you can give the trainees something meaningful. Geniuses can’t understand ordinary people, but ordinary folks get each other better than anyone—even the dull ones.”
“...That kinda makes me feel bad.”
“But it’s true. I’ve been through it myself.”
“Are you bragging about being a genius?”
Woo Ji-hyun let out a chuckle at Yeo Woo-jin’s characteristically arrogant expression.
But Yeo Woo-jin was unfazed.
“Of course. If I had your stamina and grit, I’d have eaten this industry alive. I became a planner because my physical limits held me back.”
“Anyone can say that. What matters is whether you can actually do it.”
“You’ve grown up, Woo Ji-hyun. Talking back to your hyung like this.”
“My current status is proof of my confidence.”
Woo Ji-hyun shrugged.
Yet even seeing that, Yeo Woo-jin couldn’t argue back.
It was too obvious a fact—no room for debate.
“Annoying, but I can’t deny it.”
“But really, can I do it my way?”
“As long as you stick to the framework. Don’t stray too far from the curriculum. We value diversity a lot. Writers are all unique, right? Cramming them with a rigid program risks killing their individuality. Short-term results matter, but we’re not churning out clones. These are future talents for Q&D Management.”
“Big picture.”
The plan wasn’t bad.
But the key was how many would survive.
Talent didn’t bloom just because you willed it.
Debut was just the start.
‘Amateurs don’t know that, though—and there are plenty of them.’
Any field let you grab wealth and fame if you hit the top.
Just crack the top 0.1%, and you lived large.
The problem? Getting there was brutally hard.
‘Most don’t even make top 10%.’
Woo Ji-hyun murmured bitterly, recalling his past life—spewing blood, health in ruins, yet glued to the monitor, hammering keys.
Maybe that’s why he’d accepted Kwak Cheon-won’s request: having walked the hardest path, he craved success more than anyone.
“If you joined us too, it’d be perfect. No contracts since God of Martial Arts, Return, right? You know the agency heads are sweating over that?”
“It’s happened more than once or twice, so it doesn’t feel special.”
“Things are different now. Your value’s skyrocketed. I thought you’d slip eventually, but you climbed higher. Advance fees of 100 million won are chump change now, probably. We could offer that easy.”
Yeo Woo-jin casually floated the advance fee, testing the waters.
But Woo Ji-hyun just smiled faintly.
“You know I don’t budge for advances. What I value is something else.”
“I know. Sales power above all. And we’re weak there. But starting next month, that changes. We hired a pro.”
“Good for you.”
“I won’t push a contract now. But keep an eye on us. We’re not a bad agency. Webtoons are in the works too.”
Yeo Woo-jin didn’t rush into a deal.
Woo Ji-hyun’s level was beyond that, and he prioritized sales above all—plus, he wasn’t swayed by sentiment.
So Yeo Woo-jin planned to show results first.
“Webtoons are the way eventually. Drama or film would be ideal, but reality bites.”
“True. But I see it improving. Your potential’s solid. Text is the foundation of any content.”
“Agreed.”
“Alright, get ready. I’ll let you know when.”
“Yes.”
Yeo Woo-jin stood, signaling no more interruptions.
Woo Ji-hyun gave a brief nod, then double-checked his lecture notes.
Doing well mattered, but avoiding mistakes was just as crucial.
Rustle. Rustle.
The printed syllabus flipped quickly.
His eyes darted across the pages.
“Whew.”
Standing before the classroom Q&D Management had set up, Woo Ji-hyun took a deep breath.
No grand podium, but his first time teaching others.
Even he felt the nerves.
Click.
After a few more breaths, he checked his watch and gripped the door handle.
The somewhat rowdy room fell silent as dozens of eyes locked on him.
Step by step.
The 25 trainees stared intently as he walked to the center.
Men and women mixed evenly, ages varied.
No teens, but plenty in their twenties, thirties—even forties.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Woo Ji-hyun, handling today’s lecture.”
Standing at the podium by the whiteboard’s center, he spoke calmly.
He made slow eye contact, greeting them.
“Hello!”
“We’ve been dying to meet you!”
“You’re so handsome!”
Unlike the awkward silence moments ago, cheers erupted right after his greeting.
As the hottest author around, they welcomed him warmly.
Others watched quietly, eyes gleaming.
“I’ll do my best to make these two hours truly helpful—no wasted time.”
“Won’t you introduce yourself?”
“We wanna hear it too!”
“Me too!”
A troubled look crossed Woo Ji-hyun’s face.
Variables were popping up early, as expected.
A few raised hands with mischievous grins.
“We only have two hours—sure that’s okay?”
“Yes!”
“First meeting—introductions are a must, right?”
“You’re not doing it just today, are you? I heard it’s not a one-off.”
One comment sparked a barrage; Woo Ji-hyun smiled awkwardly.
Lecturing wasn’t easy.
But chatter beat dead silence.
Interaction beat one-sided monologues.
“Right. Every Wednesday for eight weeks—that’s my slot. Skip if you want; no obligation. I’m here because of my deal with Q&D Management.”
“You have to come, author-nim!”
“Yeah!”
The trainees, over their shyness, chimed in freely. Woo Ji-hyun could only smile.
The women were the most enthusiastic.
The men stayed quiet.
“Then a quick intro. Some might not know me. Name’s Woo Ji-hyun, as I said. Debuted in 2006. Currently serializing God of Martial Arts, Return on Kakao Page. Before that, Maestro on the Field. In wuxia, I’ve published Heavenly Thunder Sword Hero, Asura Sword Emperor, Solar Chronicle, New Wind Machine Alliance, and Nine Thousand Demon Gods.”
“Wow...”
“You do wuxia too?”
“Blood Link too!”
Their eyes widened at his stacked resume.
More works than expected—and across genres.
“You did ads too.”
“Are you really close with Lee Woo-hyung?”
“Most know me from ads. Woo-hyung and I catch up sometimes—when he’s in Korea.”
He handled the natural Lee Woo-hyung questions smoothly.
Tension easing as talk flowed.
“How much did you make last year?”
“What’s your annual salary?”
“Q&A later.”
Some questions were awkward—even among writers.
He sidestepped with a smile.
“Boo!”
“Tell us!”
“We’re curious!”
“I’ll share once we’re closer. Let’s start class.”
His gaze flicked to the wall clock.
Ten minutes gone to unexpected intros.
Scribble. Scribble.
Ignoring playful boos, he grabbed the marker and wrote two big letters.
The trainees’ faces turned puzzled.
“Basics?”
A female trainee muttered at the bold word.
No grand expectations, but “basics” out of nowhere?
Others tilted heads too.
“Today’s first lesson: basics. You all look puzzled.”
“Writing basics?”
“No. Something more fundamental—we’ll discuss. I hate rote learning; it never helped me much. I prefer interactive classes. Sparks memory better. No pressure here, but even watching yields gains.”
“Ohh.”
Eyes sparkled at the unexpected style.
Especially at “no pressure”—relief for some.
Forced talk in “participation” classes was the worst.