Plan B — A New Character
When Cheon Yoo-ah demanded a revision to the script, I had already expected the story to shift in the direction of her joining the drama. To break through our current situation, we needed a change that could charm both the investors and the broadcasting station — and the most efficient option available to us was, without question, her joining the cast.
But seriously.
I never expected it to unfold like *this*.
"You're saying it's not a character revision?"
"Right. Wol-hee was never a role I could play in the first place. If we changed her character concept, the whole picture would only get worse."
Wol-hee was the one and only leading-lady-tier female character in the drama. For various reasons, it had been a role Cheon Yoo-ah couldn't take on. But once we'd decided to revise the script anyway, altering the character's setup wasn't impossible. No — honestly, that would have been the *easier* path.
What Cheon Yoo-ah and Yang Yuri were proposing now was something far more complicated and difficult. Rejecting the comparatively simple option of reworking Wol-hee's settings, the chosen Plan B was to add an entirely new character. In other words, these people were currently in the middle of creating a brand-new lead-tier character for Cheon Yoo-ah to play.
"Wouldn't that change the story itself? At this point it's basically a remake."
"Probably, yes. A lot of it is going to shift."
Adding a lead-tier character was a massive change — the kind that could transform a drama's entire story. And this wasn't just any ordinary actor; this was a role built for Cheon Yoo-ah. Rather than dropping her into an existing part, carving out a brand-new character meant dedicating a substantial amount of volume to her side of the story. Naturally, the whole narrative arc would have to change. At this point, we were essentially tearing one entire work down to its foundation.
Could Yang Yuri, with her limited writing experience, actually pull this off? If the character got added but the story turned out half-baked, the result would be worse than doing nothing at all.
"Heh~ I think you can rest easy on that front."
"...You're saying you're confident?"
"No, confidence aside — that's how the story was always supposed to be."
"Always?"
"Aigoo~ I wrote this drama's script, didn't I? There was never going to be *no* part for Yoo-ah unni in it."
...Huh? He's right, isn't he?
This was the girl who walked into the company openly declaring herself a diehard fan of Cheon Yoo-ah. Of course the work she wrote would have a part fit for her. Of course it would.
I mean, if you weren't a writer, maybe it'd be different. But a writer — when you conceive your own work, the first face that comes to mind is your favorite actor. It's only natural.
But if there'd been no such role at all, then don't tell me...
"Was this script itself already a revised version?"
"Hehe, yep. Honestly, I never dreamed it would turn out like this. I originally wrote the script with only Baek Si-woo the actor in mind — and then it turned out to be Yoo-ah unni's company. I'd finished overhauling the whole script and was just about to send it out, and there he was, signed with Flame Entertainment."
"...I suppose... you might not have known that. Yes."
The moment Cheon Yoo-ah joined Flame, the articles had exploded across every outlet. In my case, nothing of the sort had happened. My profile did list Flame as my agency, but unless you went digging, it was the kind of detail only industry insiders would catch. For a screenwriter, there was no particular reason to care.
"And even if I had known — well. It wouldn't have changed anything. Yoo-ah unni, for the likes of me? Perish the thought."
Fair point, honestly. I hadn't expected things to spiral this far either, so Yang Yuri certainly couldn't have. For a rookie writer to hope of working on a project with Cheon Yoo-ah would have been pure fantasy. And at the same time, she wouldn't have wanted an actor she hadn't imagined playing the character she'd created with Cheon Yoo-ah in mind — so she'd rewritten the entire story instead.
"Besides, Baek Si-woo was the best value-for-money in the business. Not that you lack anything, of course. Isn't this exactly what they call buying at the low point? Buy low, blow up together, and who knows what the future holds? I might even get to work with Yoo-ah unni someday."
She was rambling, but every word of it made sense. For a rookie writer like Yang Yuri, securing genuinely famous actors was nearly impossible. In that situation, the absolute steal in terms of cost-to-quality had been me, Baek Si-woo. And then the kid-smacking sword master incident handed her a bonus dose of inspiration, and I'd won her over completely.
So for Yang Yuri, Cheon Yoo-ah had been dreams and ideals — and I, Baek Si-woo, had been reality and the best available option.
"Then Yoo-ah ssaem knew all along? That this was never the original script?"
"Yes. When we were revising, Yuri mentioned it."
"But you were the one who quietly said this project was pretty good. Why didn't you ask her to change the script then?"
Still, one question remained. Like me, Cheon Yoo-ah had been scouting for a project — and she'd thought quite highly of *Unsan Gold Mine* (working title). She'd even briefly considered what it would be like to step in as Wol-hee. An actor's hunger for a good project goes without saying. And with her contract with Yang Yuri already signed, she could have requested the change at the script-revision stage. Yang Yuri would have welcomed it with both hands raised.
But Cheon Yoo-ah hadn't made that choice. And when the project hit the rocks, she pulled it out under the banner of Plan B.
Why on earth?
"If I had," she said, "the spotlight would have belonged to me and only me."
"Ah..."
"This is, for all intents and purposes, Si-woo-ssi's debut work. It would be rather awkward if it ended up remembered as Cheon Yoo-ah's comeback project instead, wouldn't it?"
Whoa. She got me with that one. Yes — that's exactly how it would have gone. That's simply the weight her name carries.
One year off might not sound like much, but Cheon Yoo-ah had always been serious about acting, consistently working for years. And every project she touched had been a smash hit. If word got out that someone like her was joining this drama, every ounce of the spotlight would inevitably swing her way.
Compared to that, what was I? A "who's that?" followed by, at best, an "oh, right, that Elder Yoon thing?" when it came up. I didn't even qualify for comparison. At most, thanks to the nature of the role, the sword-master-beats-up-brats video might ride the wave into the news — but in a media landscape that churned as fast as today's, even that wouldn't go very far.
So Cheon Yoo-ah stepping back from this project had been her own quiet form of consideration. She'd had no intention whatsoever of wrecking my lead debut.
"And, hm — honestly? I didn't think it was wise to face off against me from your very first project. I have something of a notorious reputation in this industry."
"Ah, that."
No one could deny that Cheon Yoo-ah was a superstar. Stunning looks, elite acting chops, and on top of that, cultural impact and star power — she was a hard woman to stand across from. But above all, she possessed a certain inimitable aura, famous for *crushing* whoever played opposite her.
When two leads went head to head, her presence was so overwhelming that the other actor's simply failed to register. What was the phrase again? *A lone evergreen*? Or the "top actor detector"? The first had nothing to do with its original meaning — it just meant she stood alone in green splendor while everyone else withered. The second meant that if your presence survived sharing a screen with Cheon Yoo-ah, you were certified top-actor material. Put that way, it was genuinely terrifying.
That was why, lately, Cheon Yoo-ah had gravitated toward solo-lead projects. Unless an actor had supreme confidence in their own skill, they tended to avoid roles that collided head-on with her.
She'd considered Wol-hee, I suspect, precisely because it wasn't a lead — a supporting role that bolstered I-myeong — and she'd calculated her own presence wouldn't die there. The last thing she wanted was to ruin my first lead debut.
But if things played out this way, she would end up playing the character Yang Yuri had written with her in mind — and that character would very likely share the lead in a two-top structure alongside I-myeong. Which meant I would be carrying the story *with* Cheon Yoo-ah. For any actor — no, for *every* actor — outshining Cheon Yoo-ah was never easy. If you managed to shine alongside her, a blockbuster was all but guaranteed, but it was never a choice to make lightly. Her lingering worry had surely been about exactly this, and if the project hadn't been on the verge of sinking, she'd probably never have floated the idea at all.
"Of course the beginning will be wall-to-wall Yoo-ah ssaem coverage. If you expect it to stay that way until the end, we have a problem."
"Heh. Feeling confident, are we?"
"I'm not exactly lacking. The role I'll be playing is *I-myeong*, after all."
Whatever else was true, I did not consider myself her inferior when it came to acting. If my character lacked depth compared to hers, perhaps — but I-myeong was a role that, played properly, couldn't *help* but be loved. Back when I studied acting under Cheon Yoo-ah, I'd been awkward with the camera at first, but by the later stages I was delivering performances even she had no choice but to acknowledge.
Blunt as it sounds — in acting, even in Murim, I had the edge over the Heavenly Demon. Popularity and fame were her domain, untouchable, but in sheer craft and presence, I didn't consider myself beaten. This was one area I guarded as my own pride. I had absolutely no intention of conceding it to Cheon Yoo-ah.
"With that in mind, let's put your experience to work on this project, ssaem."
"So confident. It'll be different from practice, you know. When I'm serious, I get *serious*."
Cheon Yoo-ah, who had been circling the matter cautiously, actually seemed rather pleased once I charged in with full commitment. It amounted to declaring that I, not she, would shoulder the single biggest problem that had forced Plan B in the first place.
Thinking about it, setting aside the risk of being buried under her, her joining was nothing short of a divine reinforcement. We stood to gain considerably — both through production and through scheduling with the broadcasters. It was favorable on the casting front, too. Actors might hesitate to play opposite her in a head-on clash, but appearing in the same work as her? The overwhelming majority welcomed it. That's how firmly established her reputation was as an actor with unerring instincts for picking winners.
"But if it comes to this..."
"What is it?"
"Nothing major. If Yoo-ah ssaem and I are co-lead cast, what happens to this project?"
"What else? It goes back through the broadcasters and the investment firms, of course."
"Thought so."
To be fair, that was the textbook route. But did we really *need* it? The script was ours, both lead actors were ours — why not simply invest and produce it ourselves? Granted, an ordinary actor agency couldn't shoulder the production budget for something this size. But this wasn't exactly an ordinary agency. This was Flame, suspiciously overflowing with money. What could possibly go wrong?
Cheon Yoo-ah's side even ran its own investment company, so the workload wouldn't be overwhelming either. What I'm saying is — this setup felt *perfect*. Why split the profits with outsiders when we could keep whatever we were capable of swallowing for ourselves?
"Why don't we just have Flame invest in this project outright?"
"...Invest?"
"Yes. The production costs will be considerable, but..."
"Invest, hm..."
Cheon Yoo-ah mulled it over for a moment, then gave a nod toward Representative Ju. He looked rather cornered, but at her reaction he let out a sigh and nodded as well. From the company's standpoint, the risk of failure couldn't be ignored — but when the owner in all but name said the word, the decision practically made itself.
"We'll consider it. Then let's end today's meeting here."
Representative Ju may have stepped back from the table, but I knew. One way or another, this project was going to be funded by Flame. How could I not? Cheon Yoo-ah's eyes had positively gleamed.
The Heavenly Demon's signature all-in instinct had unmistakably kicked in.