45
Chapter 45: A Current Affairs Show Disguised as Culture
“But what exactly was the contract?”
Even though Kang Jiseop had read Minho’s intentions and stood up before him during the meeting, he was still an ordinary salaried worker. The mention of 100 million won coming out of Minho’s mouth was not something he could easily digest.
More than anything, he couldn’t understand why Minho, who had just given up that amount of money, was now calmly sitting in his room at Sangnok Elementary’s staff housing, casually drawing.
“It was exactly what I told you. The contract said they’d buy all rights and profits to my work for 50 million won in prize money and another 50 million as a manuscript fee.”
“So if you sign, they give you 100 million—and even if the book earns more than that, you don’t get anything extra?”
“That’s right. I guess that’s what they meant by a lump-sum contract.”
“So instead of paying based on sales, they just give you a fixed amount and wash their hands of it.”
“Yes.”
“That’s ridiculous for you. Maybe it makes sense for other rookie writers who might never earn that much—but with your exposure, you could sell a million copies.”
“Exactly.”
“Still, it’s a bit of a shame. The promotional power of winning a New Year Literary Contest is huge. Honestly, in terms of prestige, it’s even bigger than our show. People like me might not care, but those in the literary world do. The real problem is, not just that publisher, but other publishers might start disliking you. They’ll think you’re causing trouble, acting out of line. If there’s a publishing association, they won’t leave you alone. Even other writers might turn against you. From their perspective, you might look like someone obsessed with money—and artists don’t like that.”
Kang Jiseop spoke more honestly now, worried about Minho’s future as a writer.
“To be blunt, writing is usually a poor profession. To you, 100 million isn’t much—but many writers would sign even for 10 million. Writers depend on publishers. Most will support what benefits publishers, not themselves. They have to survive.”
“That could be true.”
“So I was thinking—what if you use this as leverage to negotiate a better contract?”
“That might happen.”
“Exactly. Instead of a lump-sum deal, they might offer you something like 10% of net sales—like your workbook deal. Maybe even better. And they’ll probably come back today with a new offer. After all, you said you’d start your own publishing company. They can’t just sit around.”
“That makes sense.”
“Also, Cheonseong Publishing might try to jump in. They’ve started handling general books too.”
“I know. Most of the books in our orphanage are from them. But wouldn’t they be the same?”
“Sounds like there’s more behind that.”
“They also benefit from lump-sum contracts. When we first discussed my workbook, they initially offered a per-problem fixed fee. Only later did we negotiate for a percentage.”
“That’s true.”
“And they once said—even if you make a great book, it’s useless if you can’t sell it. Their marketing power and market position made my book successful. Without that, I wouldn’t have gotten such a deal.”
“Fair point.”
“And next year, they’ll probably release a different workbook without me. Once their marketing investment pays off, they won’t need Do Minho anymore.”
“That’s likely. By then, you’ll just be a celebrity, not ‘the perfect scorer.’”
Their relationship had always been about money.
“Still, that must feel unfair.”
“Because they’ll drop a successful product after one year?”
“Yeah.”
“Not really.”
“What?”
“It was all groundwork. The workbook and the literary contest.”
“What do you mean?”
“From this moment, I plan to become the public enemy of the publishing industry. Maybe even writers too.”
“So you’re really going to start your own publishing company? Is that why you’re drawing illustrations?”
Kang Jiseop looked at the paper in front of Minho.
“You can draw like this too?”
Unlike his usual hyper-realistic style, Minho was drawing simple, cute animal characters like those in children’s cartoons.
“If possible, I’d draw in my usual style. But for comics, too much detail becomes a problem.”
“Haha, you’re even thinking about adaptations?”
“Of course.”
“Good. If you rejected a literary prize, why stop at one adaptation? Go for three or four.”
“That’s the plan. But I’ll need your help.”
“Just say the word.”
“Can we get this on the ABS 9 o’clock news? That I was stripped of the prize for refusing a lump-sum contract?”
“What?”
For the first time, Kang Jiseop couldn’t smile.
“Or maybe: the contest organizers broke tradition to offer special terms to a famous winner—but the winner refused. That winner is Do Minho. Would that make news?”
He’s serious…
Even for a PD obsessed with ratings, getting involved in real-world controversy was risky.
“You want to use other publishers who’ll come with better offers too?”
“Yes.”
“…I like it.”
Despite the risk, Kang Jiseop grinned.
“At this scale, you’ll definitely become the industry’s public enemy. Writers too.”
“They will.”
“But can you handle it?”
“Of course. I’m grateful. This is the perfect opportunity to enter the U.S. market.”
“The U.S. market?”
“Now I’m curious—can my writing succeed globally?”
“What are you planning?”
“I’ll submit my work to an American fantasy publisher.”
“That’s insane competition.”
“I think it’s enough to get noticed within a month.”
“Haha, are you planning to go on an American quiz show too?”
“That’s one way—but I have something better.”
“What?”
“Drawing.”
He couldn’t send his painting “Goodbye,” so he planned something new.
“I’ll start from scratch.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Do you know what children do most when they hold a pencil?”
“No.”
“They doodle. And at Fantasy World, there’s a place called the doodle paradise.”
“Doodle paradise?”
“There’s a huge canvas where visitors can draw freely. Then professional artists turn it into a finished artwork.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Sometimes, they even buy outstanding works from visitors.”
“So you’re going to try?”
“Yes.”
“If your drawing gets noticed, it might reach their publishing division.”
“That’s the idea.”
“This is better than drawing a CEO portrait.”
“Exactly.”
“Alright. I’ll help. It’ll be fun.”
“And before we leave for the U.S., I want to see those companies regret it.”
“Haha! Leave it to me.”
Through the window, the publisher and newspaper staff had returned.
“You’ll keep drawing?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll set up a camera here.”
“We really think alike.”
“You must’ve saved a country in your past life to meet me.”
“Seems like it.”
“But Minho… can you really write a novel in English?”
“As well as Korean.”
Kang Jiseop left the room with a bitter smile.