Two Possible Endings
[Director. May I discuss something with you? Could we meet?]
Amid a hectic morning of pre-production preparations, Park Min-jae PD received a text from writer Seo Min-kyeong and headed out of the broadcasting station. It was an abrupt request for a meeting from the writer, who had been deeply immersed in scriptwriting since the script reading. Wondering what it could be, he rushed straight to her workspace.
"Director, come on in."
The writer greeted him with a bright smile.
"Writer, what's going on?"
As Park PD asked, Seo placed a cup of coffee down and said, "There's something I'd like to discuss."
Park PD, a veteran in the industry and a candidate for the next tvKR drama department head, treated the rookie writer with utmost respect. His philosophy was that "drama is the writer's art, so the writer must be respected above all." He always prioritized her opinions, consulting her on even the smallest details related to the production. In turn, she confided her concerns freely, and through this back-and-forth, their partnership was meshing more perfectly by the day.
"Is it about the show?"
"Yes. But before I get into it, I'll follow whatever you decide. Please hear me out and make the call."
"Got it. Let's hear it."
Seo took a sip of her coffee and continued. "The script is finalized up to episode 10."
"Yeah, I'm aware."
"The issue is episodes 11 through 20. There are two possible endings."
It was unexpected, yet intriguing.
"You can probably guess why I'm agonizing over this, Director."
Park PD nodded. It had to be because of "Baek Woojin, that kid, right?"
"Yes, exactly."
The monster rookie who had burst onto the scene, fully embodying his character. His acting prowess and analytical insight were giving the writer massive headaches.
"As you know, Director, Choi Kyu-bo was originally just a supporting role."
"Right."
"The main story was Seo Jun-mo and Im Eun-soo tracking down the cases…"
Seo downed her coffee in quick succession as she went on. "But Choi Kyu-bo is too good to waste as a side character."
That was her honest feeling.
"The character is so complex, I figured no one could pull off a full 100% Kyu-bo. So I tweaked the structure a bit…"
Her debut work—she wanted it perfect, even if just a little. Park PD nodded quietly, letting her finish, understanding completely.
"I never imagined an actor would deliver over 120% Kyu-bo. And at twenty-five."
"I agree completely."
The thrill of a character exceeding your vision. He knew her sentiment wasn't exaggerated; he felt it too.
"So, I want to go back to my original concept. But…"
She voiced the dilemma within her dilemma. "It feels too soon to decide. We need to see the first broadcast to judge."
No matter her experience assisting Kim Soo-rim, she was still a rookie. Without having staked her own franchise on the line, that uncertainty and hesitation were inevitable. That's why she was laying it all out for Park PD.
"Here's what I think."
Now was the moment his seasoned insight shone, guiding her decision.
"This is the way to go."
Park PD shared his thoughts candidly—and
Flash.
Seo's eyes sparkled as she listened.
* * *
Lying on his bed, Woojin sank into thought. Choi Kyu-bo's final words from their meeting echoed in his ears.
"You're the first person I've ever opened up to like this. Feel honored~"
A playful tone, but laced with heartfelt sincerity.
"I'll look forward to your own unique take on me, separate from mine. Take care."
A bit tipsy, uncharacteristically cheesy for Kyu-bo.
"I can't tell you about that mission directly. You'll learn it in time. But as a hint…"
A subtle clue to what the mission entailed.
"My ending has two possibilities. For you, it's success or failure of the mission. But don't worry—just act well. Everything will work out~"
It boiled down to a binary choice. The key to unlocking it? Woojin's acting.
"What the hell does that even mean…"
No matter how he puzzled over it, the precise meaning eluded him. But one thing was crystal clear: as an actor, he just needed to focus on his performance.
"Right. I'll stick to doing my job."
An actor speaks through acting. Woojin's conviction hardened once more.
—Message received~
His phone buzzed just as he clenched his fist, firing up his resolve. It was a text from assistant director Woo Seung-hyun PD.
To all cast members:
Wanted final scripts for episodes 3 & 4 have been sent via email. Please review.
To prevent leaks, delete the email after checking.
Woojin immediately opened his laptop, downloaded the script, and deleted the email. Then he began reading slowly.
"Ah…"
Propping his chin on one hand, eyes glued to the screen, he let out a quiet sigh. Episode 3 included a flashback to Choi Kyu-bo's childhood. Though he didn't appear in it himself, a mix of pity and rage welled up regardless.
Especially the scene where Kyu-bo confronted the orphanage's ugly truth—it choked him with emotion. The images from last night, and Kyu-bo's raw wounds as he confessed them, replayed vividly in his mind.
"……."
An actor reads the script, analyzes it, imagines, and embodies the character's emotions and state. Then expresses it through the camera. That's acting. The time invested—the actor's effort—determines its quality.
But now, without even trying, just reading pulled him in, breath and emotion flowing naturally. Witnessing the real person endure it firsthand was worlds apart from mere analysis.
Sad. So sad.
Woojin's eyes had grown misty. He wiped the tears and dove back in.
The gripping plot wouldn't let him look away. And from a debut writer's pen? Unbelievable prose. So engaging, time flew by.
—RRRRR.
His phone rang then.
"Hello?"
—Is this Baek Woojin?
"Yes, speaking."
—Hi, it's Park Soo-hyun.
The actress playing Im Eun-soo. They'd bonded at the dinner and exchanged numbers.
"Sunbae, hi."
—Oh, come on, none of that sunbae stuff. Just call me noona.
She was two years older.
"Got it, noona. What's up?"
—Hey, is Woojin free today? Any schedule?
"No, nothing."
At his reply, Soo-hyun paused, as if debating whether to ask.
The usually upbeat, cheerful woman was hesitating—must be a tough request.
"Noona, what's going on? Just say it."
—If it's okay with you…
Her voice shy.
—Could we practice together?
A polite plea from a 15-year veteran acclaimed since child acting days.
"Practice?"
—Yeah. Practice, and… I want to learn from you.
Yesterday, today—unexpected events kept piling up.
* * *
He arrived at Flower Entertainment, Park Soo-hyun's agency.
"Woojin! Over here!"
She waved from the entrance, welcoming him.
"Sorry, it's cold and I dragged you out here."
"No biggie. It's close to home."
"Let's head in."
Woojin followed her inside. As one of Korea's top three actor agencies, the building screamed cutting-edge. He gawked, awestruck.
Whoa… SJ doesn't even compare.
Like a frog leaping from the well, naive to the world. Seeing a major agency ignited fresh ambition.
"Here we are—our company's practice room!"
With lighter steps, he followed her to her dedicated third-floor space. Soundproofed and spacious. No wonder people sing the praises of big agencies.
"Anyway, shall we start practicing?"
"Sure. How do you want to do it?"
"Just like you usually do alone. I'm curious about your method, and I want to learn by watching."
A 15-year vet with a stacked filmography. Top of the 20s actress pack for acting chops—asking a total newbie like him for tips. Her eyes brimmed with trust, weighing on him.
But Soo-hyun seemed unfazed.
"Don't feel pressured."
Reading his face, she took the lead.
"Truth is, I've been struggling with acting lately."
She opened up slowly. "I don't even know if I'm doing it right anymore."
Embarrassing for a 15-year pro, yet it poured out naturally.
"Felt like a robot repeating the same thing. Acting lost its fun."
Mannerisms. The disconnect from rote repetition killing originality.
"At some point, I thought, 'Just do what I always do.' Honestly, I barely read the script even after casting."
Woojin was stunned by her confession. Those flashes of genius at reading—from minimal prep? Pure talent.
"Your acting hit me like a shock. In the reading alone, you vanished, leaving only the character. First time I'd seen it."
She was convinced: that was just a glimpse of his skill.
"It reignited my passion. Watching you. I want to learn your approach and effort."
The hardworking, talented Soo-hyun—already a complete actress—begging earnestly. To become even better. Her secret as an irreplaceable top actress? Endless effort, greed, passion.
"No, noona. I'm the one who wants to learn from you."
They smiled at each other. Just like her inspired by him, they were KAFA alumni. Synergy with a perfect acting partner? Always thrilling.
"Okay, then—I'll do it my way, like you said."
"Great!"
"It might be tough…"
"Psh, no problem. I've got stamina."
Soo-hyun clenched her fist, face alight with zeal.
And exactly one hour later.
"Huff… huff…"
She was drenched in sweat, gasping raggedly.
"You do… huff… this every day?"
"Yep. Every day."
"Wow, insane. Totally insane."
Just his daily physical training, vocal, and diction drills had wrecked her.
"Up. Basics done."
For a split second, as she lay sprawled, 'Should I bail now?' flashed through her mind. But Woojin's hand pulled her up with a smile, and she rose.
As the two moved to the next phase, focusing intently—
"That's the rookie, right?"
"Yes."
"What's his name?"
"Baek Woojin."
"What do you think?"
Two men stood outside the practice room, having watched them.