Broadcast Filming Begins
The filming date for Such Things Happen was finally set. Employees at Songi Media sprang into a frenzy of activity.
It wasn't some major publishing house, yet they were going to be on TV! And not just any cable channel or fringe station—it was SBA, one of Korea's big three terrestrial broadcasters.
Some people hated appearing on TV, but most loved it. In this era, just being on television was enough to spark buzz. Friends and family would call, insisting you tune in if you popped up in a variety show or even a news clip.
Of course, with smartphones becoming widespread and all sorts of new media popping up, TV appearances weren't the badges of honor or trophies they once were.
To welcome the film crew, they polished the building to a shine. They even instructed the cleaning staff to go above and beyond their usual routine, and they rushed to repair every nook and cranny that needed fixing. They couldn't risk looking bad on air. It would have been weird not to prepare for a hit TV program.
Just like how the military scrambles to renovate everything when a general visits, the in-house facility management companies at Songi Media were hit with a bolt from the blue. They ended up working twice as hard as usual.
And so, the day of filming arrived.
"This is where that genius genre novelist Sora works?"
The PD from Such Things Happen said. He'd gotten a rough summary from the writer: a first-grader writing books. Publishing at that age... what incredible talent.
One of the staff following the PD chimed in.
"That's what they say. A first-grader..."
Teen authors were a dime a dozen. Upper elementary kids had more than enough skill to write books. And it would be odd if middle or high schoolers couldn't manage it. Talent varied, of course, but kids that age could churn out a book if you told them to.
But not teens—kids in that vague "zero-something" age bracket writing books? That was one-of-a-kind rare. You could practically say it never happened. Sure, with adult guidance, they might produce something, but it wouldn't rise above a jumble of words. No theme, no fun—just a pointless book born without meaning.
They weren't even old enough for proper novels anyway.
Time was tight.
The shoot was just one or two days. Such Things Happen had a fixed format: film 2-3 unusual people, split into segments, 20-30 minutes each. To get 20 minutes of airtime, one day was plenty, depending on the subject's vibe.
Even studio variety shows shot in a day and squeezed out over an hour.
"Let's go."
The PD led his staff into the Songi Media building. Everything was pre-arranged, so security waved them through. They watched with curious eyes, mesmerized by the massive broadcast gear—especially the cameras, huge and heavy, worth tens of millions each. Security had probably never seen the real thing up close. This wasn't a company that got film crews.
The president of Songi Media was already waiting in the lobby. If it were a big publisher or corporate titan, he wouldn't dream of appearing on TV. Presidents of conglomerates didn't do terrestrial variety shows. But for a mid-tier publisher like his, it was a golden opportunity to put their name on the map in Korea.
"Hello."
"Hello. I'm PD Choi Tae-young from Such Things Happen."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Kim Yun-sik, president of Songi Media."
After brief introductions, filming began. President Kim Yun-sik's role was to introduce the star of the show—the prologue, basically.
"Uh... we have the youngest author at Songi Media—uh... she's incredibly young and tiny—um..."
Despite being the president and middle-aged, Kim Yun-sik trembled before the camera. Classic camera fright. He botched a 30-second take four times with NG calls. The PD finally waved it off.
"Okay!"
Editing could cover it. No point wasting tape chasing perfection. It wasn't even a crucial segment. Worst case, hack it together in post.
Kim Yun-sik begged for one more take, swearing he'd nail it confidently, but the request was ignored. Four NGs were enough; they had what they needed from the front. The president slunk away with a dejected look. He wasn't the star today anyway.
The PD marched his crew triumphantly to the fifth floor, where the main attraction awaited. The writer had raved about how adorable and fluffy-cute she was—now he was curious. If someone from broadcasting gushed like that, she had to be stunningly pretty and cute.
Broadcast folks saw idols, models, and variety stars with looks that put civilians to shame. Their standards were sky-high. Praise from them meant the kid was a gem from the start.
The PD opened the door.
Inside stood a man of indeterminate middle age—not quite middle-aged, not quite young—a recent college grad-looking woman, and in the center, the little kid.
Choi Tae-young's eyebrows shot up at the sight of the child.
Frankly, Korea was a hardcore looks-obsessed country.
If you were pretty, everything was forgiven; handsome, same deal. Even murderers or heinous criminals got subtle defenses if they were hot enough.
Back in the early 2000s—not ancient history—a female robber's wanted poster caused a huge uproar because she was too beautiful.
Brain-dead fans even made a cafe to protect her. Over 60,000 members praising a lady bandit.
Other countries had it too, but not this extreme.
In looks-worshipping Korea, that kid's face would eat the screen alive. He got why the writer hyped her. Sora was already a winning lottery ticket. At that age with those looks, by middle or high school, she'd be the local goddess.
"Hello. I'm PD Choi Tae-young from Such Things Happen."
"Hello. Songi Media genre..."
After the quick intros, PD Choi Tae-young turned to Sora. Sensing his gaze, she greeted him politely.
"Hello, PD sir. I'm Lee Sora, first grade at Byeolbit Elementary School."
"Uh... h-hello?"
Choi Tae-young was already struck by something extraordinary from her greeting. A kid that age using formal speech... and so poised and courteous, like someone with decades of social experience.
"Before we start shooting, let's do a quick briefing."
As Choi Tae-young spoke, his staff rushed forward. They explained the rough concept to the Songi Media employees and today's star, Sora. All shows had scripts, even "real" variety. Nothing started from zero—without structure, it flopped or veered off-topic. "Script fodder" wasn't a term for nothing in real variety.
Guidelines prevented that. Especially crucial for civilians. Pros could improvise without a script, but regular folks? No way.