The Mysterious Old Man in the Ending Scene
Genius Copywriter, Yoon Seoeun begins with its protagonist landing a job at Planet, Korea's premier advertising agency.
Planet holds the top seat in the industry, but it has long since stagnated — a company that peaked years ago and simply stopped trying. For Yoon Seoeun, who spent most of her life in the United States, it is an workplace she can't begin to adjust to. As one unreasonable absurdity after another repeats itself, she eventually starts to wonder whether her own common sense is the thing that's broken.
But that's how dramas work, isn't it?
In the end, the protagonist always wins.
The core story of this show is the protagonist finally having her abilities recognized and riding that momentum to triumph — and not only that, she supposedly masters K-office culture so completely that she becomes an absolute master of office politics. What kind of monster is Writer Min planning to create here?
That said, since the protagonist needs some time before her full-scale rise, the early episodes are a veritable banquet of sweet potatoes — the teeth-grinding, fist-clenching frustration K-drama viewers know all too well.
Episode one, being the very start of the story, is practically drowned in it.
Writer Min Woohee, who earned acclaim in her previous work for razor-sharp attention to detail, once again portrayed the ugly underbelly of the advertising world with brutal honesty — and her depiction of workplace hazing was so realistic that anyone actually in the industry might trigger their own PTSD watching it.
Even I, a man whose calluses grew thick surviving a massive black corporation called Singyo, found myself wincing. Watching these kinds of scenes keep popping up one after another, I had to admit K-office culture really is nothing to sneeze at.
"Whoa, is this for real? This is infuriating."
"That one's... a bit much."
"Is it actually like that in real life?"
"Hmm... honestly, I'd say the ad industry is one of the more awake ones. It's a trend-driven business, after all."
"So your company was even worse, Dad?"
"That's just how people are everywhere, kiddo."
Of course, if the drama kept flowing in only that direction, frustrated viewers would start flipping channels. Right around the point where the family, seething on behalf of the perpetually stomped-on protagonist, started grumbling that this was going too far —
the antidote arrives.
"....Whoa, it's Yua-unni!"
"Since when have you even watched her? Unni, seriously?"
"Shut it. Cheon Yua is love. Whoa — blonde hair, blue eyes, those visuals are insane."
"Huh. She really does look like an American graphic designer."
"Even her cursing lands perfectly. Wait — is she actually foreign?"
"No, she's a mixed-race actress. You know her — Yu-jeong, the one from Where the Moon Sets."
"Oh my, our Yu-jeong? But Yu-jeong was clearly—"
"That's her natural look. She wears colored contacts for roles, and covers her hair with wigs or dye."
Cheon Yua's cameo role was Sally, a famous overseas graphic designer the protagonist had gone to great lengths to recruit. Because the protagonist impressed her, Sally agreed to join a small in-house project she'd been preparing — but when that little project started going suspiciously well, the manager in charge got swapped out through pure K-office-politics logic. After that, nothing moved at all, and a furious Sally flew all the way to Korea.
This unhinged freelance designer proceeded to unleash every curse in two languages on the manager who had swallowed the protagonist's credit whole, then blew the entire project to pieces — delivering viewers the sweetest possible catharsis.
"At this point, shouldn't you be thinking differently? Can you even show what you're capable of in a place like this?"
"I thought I could make it work at first. Now I honestly don't know. Maybe Sally's right."
"So what are you going to do?"
"I'm still going to try. But thanks to Sally, at least one thing is crystal clear now."
"What's that?"
"That I'm right, and they're wrong. From now on, I'm going to work the way I believe."
Sally wasn't a character who simply dropped by, delivered catharsis, and vanished. She was the one who gave Yoon Seoeun the certainty that she was right — the catalyst that finally pushed the cowed protagonist into moving more boldly. A meaningful supporting role, in other words, the kind that helps the protagonist take her very first step.
"Blonde hair suits Yua-unni so well too. When is our Yua-unni heading to Hollywood?"
"It's strange — she's the only actor I can picture now. Like some storm just swept through my brain."
"Our Yu-jeong can really act, I'll give her that. So why hasn't she been in any dramas lately? Is something wrong?"
"Oh, she's probably on a sabbatical. She ran herself ragged for years — she's earned a rest."
Cheon Yua's presence was undeniably tremendous. She'd only shot a handful of scenes, and yet she left this kind of lingering impression. That, right there, was what made a top star a top star.
And what made Cheon Yua even more remarkable was that despite being a blonde, blue-eyed mixed-race beauty, she had zero trouble playing Korean roles. My mother, who never paid any attention to the media, didn't even know Cheon Yua was mixed-race.
With contacts and a wig, she became an Eastern beauty with porcelain skin and delicate features. In her natural state, she became a Western beauty with an unmistakably Asian grace. When that dunce of mine said she'd be a massive success in Hollywood, it didn't feel like flattery — it felt like a simple statement of fact.
After all, when her acting won recognition at Cannes, talk of an overseas career had briefly surfaced.
"Honestly, I'd rather she just move to America."
But Cheon Yua apparently had no particular appetite for that path, and had continued acting exclusively in Korea. Granted, with OTT platforms flooding overseas markets with popular Korean dramas these days, she wasn't a total unknown abroad either.
From my standpoint, though, I found myself wishing she'd finally get a little ambitious and seriously consider breaking into the American market.
Because that way, I'd never have to run into her through a project again.
And so, after Cheon Yua's cameo shook up the show —
the major supporting characters began to stretch their legs as well.
"I don't care about titles. But I do care about skill. So — confident in yours?"
Collaboration began with Jo Yooshin, the office boss who was a complete outsider and insufferable to a man — yet whose ability alone ranked at the very top of the company.
"I trust you, Seoeun. So... do you trust me too?"
Rion, the coworker with that dangerous, delicate air — the one who seemed to be hiding some enormous secret — likewise kept widening his points of contact with Yoon Seoeun.
"It's mostly office scenes, but somehow..."
"It's gripping."
"The writer structures the story that well. And the actors are delivering too."
"Yeah. This one's going to work."
Genius Copywriter, Yoon Seoeun was, surprisingly, a low-budget drama.
The actors' fees were non-negotiable, of course, but a substantial portion of the filming took place on office sets. These days even a modestly produced drama burns through hundreds of millions of won per episode, so managing this budget while employing three popular actors? An absolute blessing.
And the person who made that possible was, once again, Writer Min's script. I'd noticed with her last work too — the woman could simply write.
That said... when exactly was I supposed to appear?
I was certain I showed up in episode one, yet here the drama was, nearly finished, and I hadn't even considered making an appearance. Don't tell me my scenes got pushed back? I'd hoped, at the very least, to share my glorious debut with my family.
Not that anyone would recognize me, of course. But a man has his pride. Gatherings like this — the whole family united to defend the live broadcast — wouldn't come easy in the future, after all.
"Huh..."
Just as I was starting to sulk, convinced my scene had been shoved to the next episode, the screen shifted — and Yoon Seoeun was strolling through a park.
A park of dreamlike, ethereal atmosphere, painstakingly designed by Writer Min and brought to life with CG by graphics specialists. That slapdash outdoor set — a heap of props slapped together and smeared with a perfunctory blue-screen matte — had transformed into something utterly fantastical.
The quality suggested they'd worked their CG artists half to death.
Given that the scene had cut to that location, it looked like my first meeting with Yoon Seoeun was about to begin.
Wait — it airs now? The drama's almost over?
"Ooh... the park is gorgeous."
"Where is that supposed to be? Surely not overseas?"
"Probably CG, wouldn't you think?"
"Ah, that makes sense. Though... if a park that beautiful existed, someone would have made it famous by now."
While my family marveled at the haunting, soul-crafted visual beauty, the camera swung around to frame the other side.
And there, magnificently arrayed in refined modern hanbok, a super grandpa was making his entrance.
Yes. It was me.
"Whoa, that's ridiculously cool."
"Good heavens..."
"Oh my, oh my."
And then, with a slow close-up on my transformed face — the face of the Medicine Immortal — episode one of the drama came to an end.
Excuse me. Has PD Yoo lost his mind? I'm the ending scene of the very first episode?
It was a situation I genuinely could not comprehend.
Quite a lot of time had passed since the episode ended, but our family was still deep in drama talk.
The mysterious old man who'd appeared at the very end — in other words, me — was the hottest topic of all.
"What a strikingly handsome old man. I'm so jealous. Think I could age like that?"
"Coming from you, Dad? Maybe?"
"Right? For me, something like that isn't impossible."
"You'd have to start exercising first. That gentleman had magnificent bearing — unlike a certain someone whose belly is starting to make an appearance."
"No. A pot belly? Unacceptable. I refuse to accept this."
"That's exactly why you need to exercise."
"Fine! I'll do those breathing exercises my son taught me. Starting tomorrow."
Evidently, the Medicine Immortal's visuals had shocked my family as much as anyone.
Hmm. Did I overdo it?
But if Elder Yoon was supposed to be Yoon Seoeun's flesh and blood, he had to look that good for the premise to hold. It's only funny if the stunningly beautiful heroine's maternal grandfather is a doddering wreck, isn't it?
That's why PD Yoo, without a word of complaint, gave Elder Yoon's visuals his stamp of approval.
The editing just happened to make me look ridiculously, pointlessly cool — but that part was truly out of my hands.
"An actor I've never seen before. Who is he?"
"Right? ...Oh? It says his name is actor Baek Si-woo?"
"...Huh? Same name as our son?"
"Hey, that man landed a role that good even at his age — what exactly have you done with your life?"
"Shut up, you cursed brat."
"Eh-heh-heh~ You always tell me to shut up when you've got nothing left to say. Nyeah-nyeah~"
"Ugh. This dolt, I swear."
The next topic was Elder Yoon's true identity.
Anyone who visited the drama's official homepage could look up the cast list. I'd taken my photos in full Elder Yoon disguise and uploaded them under that name too.
The problem — if you could call it that — was that nobody, looking at that name, had the faintest clue it was me.
Thanks to which, the dolt of our household was compiling blackmail material on me in real time.
Frankly, I couldn't care less about a dolt hoarding embarrassing history all by herself. The moment she learns the truth, she'll be kicking her blankets so hard they'll tear before the dust even settles.
Because right now, my head was already plenty full just trying to work out why on earth that ending scene had aired.
No matter how I turned it over, dramas do not hand their closing shot to a bit player.
Let alone the ending scene of the first episode — the one that supposedly matters most.
Looking at just this moment, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. If it landed this well in our living room, viewers everywhere must be buzzing about Elder Yoon. It meant the character I played was soaring — nothing bad about that at all.
The problem was that Elder Yoon's screen time wasn't supposed to be all that frequent.
Elevating a character like Elder Yoon in the first episode's ending scene — the moment built for maximum impact — was, to anyone's eyes, not a normal situation. Thinking about the show's commercial success, it wasn't a wise move either.
PD Yoo knows all of that as well as I do. And yet he deliberately aired this ending?
Something had gone wrong — something I didn't know about. Of that, I was certain.
I'd have to ask PD Yoo about this one way or another.