Shanghai Media Group & China Media Group
Tuesday.
Young-hoon pulled out his work notebook and ran through today's schedule.
First thing this morning, as soon as Deputy General Manager Cho arrived at the office, Young-hoon was expected to report on Namseoul Distribution's cost estimate for the Myeongseong University bidding project. He had already emailed the report before leaving work yesterday, so the moment Cho finished reading it, he would call Young-hoon over. Which meant he needed to have his answers ready for whatever questions the man might throw at him.
As for outside commitments, the lyric recording session for Returned Love was on the calendar today, so he would have to stop by the studio after work.
Young-hoon went to the break room, brewed himself an Americano from the machine, stirred in a pinch of Magic Seasoning, and savored it slowly. Around this time, a call from President Lee Jae-man always came in — lately he'd found himself half-expecting it, even looking forward to it.
But today, no call came. Just a curt text message.
Young-hoon tapped through his phone and opened the email.
By the time Young-hoon had sent his reply to President Lee's email, the other employees were trickling back into the office one by one.
Assistant Manager Park brushed past Young-hoon with a bump of his shoulder. Pathetic little weasel.
Deputy General Manager Cho had walked in precisely on the hour, too, which meant he'd be calling Young-hoon over any minute now. And sure enough, about ten minutes later, Young-hoon was summoned to the man's desk.
"Explain it to me in detail."
A question with neither head nor tail to it — but Young-hoon had anticipated exactly this. Without missing a beat, he delivered a thorough report grounded in the figures from his written submission.
"So, looking at comparable past cases, the product price should come out to about 80 to 85 percent of the factory estimate — somewhere between 2 and 2.1 billion won. For construction costs, I'd say around 1.2 to 1.3 billion should cover it."
"So that puts us between 3.2 and 3.4 billion, then? Is the construction budget generous enough?"
"Yes. But since this is a blind bid, frankly our chances of taking first place don't look especially high. If luck should put us near the top, I've estimated about 100 million won in commission to pay out to the winning bidder. We haven't received the itemized construction costs from the dealership yet, but on average construction costs settle at roughly 75 to 80 percent of the official estimate. Add the 100 million won in anticipated commission on top of that, and 1.2 to 1.3 billion should be about right for construction."
"And suppose — like you said — we get lucky and Namseoul Distribution actually wins the bid, but the construction costs come in too low afterward. What then?"
"In that case, I'd recommend offering an additional discount of around 3 percent off the product price."
"I see. Understood. Once the itemized construction costs come in from the dealership, submit the final bid participation report. You have until Friday at 11 a.m. If you want my sign-off by Thursday, you'll need to file it by tomorrow at the latest."
"Understood, sir."
"I'm going to brief the managing director beforehand, so get to it."
"Thank you, sir."
Shanghai Media Group was the largest private broadcasting and culture conglomerate in China, owning the biggest television network in the country outside the state-run CCTV.
The group's chairman, Wang Chenchen, was a vigorous man in his late sixties who had spent some forty years building the company to its present height. In television, film, newspapers, radio — in every field, his group held the number one market share in China. Except in one. In the music market, including digital distribution, he had never managed to unseat his eternal rival: Chairman Xu Jiayin of China Media Group, who held the top spot.
Whenever Wang tried to close the gap through mergers and acquisitions, swallowing up smaller companies, that bastard Xu Jiayin would snap up rivals of equal size in response, and the distance between them never narrowed. Infuriated, Chairman Wang had brought in his youngest daughter, Wang Mimi, a year ago — she was studying broadcast media at Harvard University in the United States at the time. He then placed her at the head of Shanghai Music, the group's music subsidiary, and she threw herself into the task of reclaiming the number one spot.
Naturally, Chairman Xu Jiayin of China Media Group did not sit idle either. At the same time, he summoned his own youngest daughter, Xu Linhong, who was majoring in broadcast media at Yale, and installed her at the helm of China Music — answering fire with fire.
Wang Mimi had long taken a keen interest in Korean culture, and she worked tirelessly to shrink China Music's share of the market by importing and broadcasting K-pop and Korean dramas. She had also studied Korean so diligently that she could hold a conversation without an interpreter; logging onto the internet every morning to comb through news of the Korean entertainment industry had become part of her daily routine. She even checked the Korean music sites each day to see what sat at number one on the real-time charts.
Today was no different. She was browsing the Korean entertainment headlines on Naver, the country's largest portal site.
Since the beginning of November, the entertainment pages had been utterly dominated by Five Girls, A Loving Heart, After Farewell, and Love After Separation.
Wang Mimi downloaded the chart-topping A Loving Heart from Korea's largest music site and gave it a listen. In her entire life, she had never heard a song this good. The scent of a monster hit practically radiated off it.
Unfortunately, she hadn't yet been able to hear After Farewell — but last Saturday the song had finally been released, and she had downloaded it just moments ago. It was so achingly, unbearably sad that she wept through the whole thing. Without question, it was a masterpiece capable of moving the entire world, regardless of race or language.
Wang Mimi made her judgment: this was an opportunity she could not, under any circumstances, let slip away. She immediately began researching the group behind the songs — Five Girls.
Scouring the news articles, she learned that the tracks were the OST for a drama called Love After Separation, scheduled to air in Korea next month. With this level of attention already, the drama was bound to be a smash hit. It didn't take a second thought.
Wang Mimi resolved to secure the rights to Love After Separation, along with A Loving Heart and After Farewell. She summoned her chief secretary, Shi Xuan, at once and ordered a detailed investigation into Five Girls and the drama, with a full report to follow. At the same time, she would fly to Korea herself as quickly as possible to lock down the licensing contract.
She had to move fast — before that witch Xu Linhong made her move.
Xu Linhong was the youngest daughter of Chairman Xu Jiayin of China Media Group. She had been sent abroad to study as a child and majored in broadcast media at Yale. Then, a year ago, her father had abruptly forced her back to China.
Even while languishing in perpetual second place behind Shanghai Media Group, her group's one unassailable advantage had always been music. Her forced repatriation was due to the intolerable news that that enemy of hers, Chairman Wang Chenchen, had brought in Wang Mimi to seize the music market as well.
Being the same age, she and Wang Mimi had grown up constantly held up as rivals to one another. Like her father before her, she regarded Wang Mimi as a sworn enemy for life. Losing the top spot in the music market was, therefore, absolutely unthinkable. No — if anything, she had to widen the lead and erode the gap in every other field as well.
By the same logic, Xu Linhong understood perfectly well how important the Korean market was. Whatever anyone said, the influence of Korean entertainment on China was enormous — so keeping tabs on the Korean industry was simply a matter of course.
In Korea, the Five Girls phenomenon had swept the country since early November. If something caught fire in Korea first, success in China was virtually guaranteed.
And so Xu Linhong downloaded Five Girls' songs — A Loving Heart and After Farewell — and listened. The moment the music hit her, she felt a shock like lightning arcing through her whole body. Not a single song she had ever heard could compare. She was certain they would land in China too.
And these songs were the OST of a drama called Love After Separation? Then that drama's success was as clear as day. Checking the broadcast schedule, she found it was slated to premiere early next month.
There was no time to hesitate. Judging that securing the rights first — beating everyone else to the harvest — was the only play, she hurried her departure for Korea.
Young-hoon called PD Shin Hye-yoon for the first time in a while.
[Oh my. What a surprise. It really has been ages since you called.]
For some reason, her voice was prickly. Unable to work out why, Young-hoon spoke carefully.
"Hello. You've been busy with the drama shoot lately, I imagine?"
[Well, yes. But to what do I owe the call?]
"Ah, it's nothing major... I heard Lawyer Cha helped out with the office lease contracts yesterday, so I just wanted to—"
Her voice turned glacial.
[Then why didn't you call Lawyer Cha directly? Why call me?]
"Well... I don't actually have his phone number. I thought perhaps you could pass along my thanks for me?"
[I'll give you his number. Call him yourself.]
"Ah... yes, understood. I'll do that." Young-hoon faltered, then ventured cautiously. "Um — PD Shin, did something happen today? You sound a little... off."
[You really have to ask? The OST contract wrapped, Five Girls blew up, and now you don't need me anymore — isn't that why the calls stopped?]
"No, absolutely not. If I gave you that impression, I'm sorry. We'll be working together on plenty more in the future — do you really think I'd go careless on you? It's the start of the month and I've been swamped, that's all. Please, don't misunderstand."
[Hmph. I'll believe it when I see it. The CEO wants to have a meal with Five Girls sometime this week — will you be there?]
"I haven't heard from President Lee yet. If a date gets set, I'll do my best to attend."
[Suit yourself. I'm busy preparing for the drama shoot anyway.]
"Ah — yes. Good luck, then."
After hanging up, Young-hoon could not make heads or tails of Hye-yoon's frosty reaction.
Why is she so sharp with me? Could it be... that time of the month?
There was always a reason a man stayed single.
Hye-yoon, meanwhile, was a tangle of feelings. She had admitted to herself that she was drawn to Young-hoon, and she wanted to reach out to him — but circumstances refused to cooperate. She was swamped with work, and she had absolutely no pretext for striking up a conversation. And she had her pride; she could hardly be the one to call first and ask after his daily life.
And yet — more than ten days since she'd met him, and not one phone call. All that lavish praise the first time they'd met, and now nothing. Yesterday, too, it had been her who arranged Lawyer Cha's help with the lease on the Girin Entertainment building. She had fully expected that to draw a grateful call from Young-hoon. And sure enough, the phone had rung — from him. And then, out of nowhere, she'd found herself angry. Her heart wasn't in that place at all, but the words that left her mouth were all thorns.
Young-hoon had been flustered, sure — but he hadn't caught on to the reason even slightly. Truly, he understands a woman's heart about as well as a fish understands climbing trees. Were the men from Gangwon Province really as wooden as the ones from Gyeongsang? Whatever the case, she'd be seeing his face at least once this week.
If only the misunderstanding could be cleared up then — but whether things would unfold the way Hye-yoon's heart wished was, for now, anyone's guess.