Mom's Visit and the Cannon Roar
Yoo Min-ah glanced at Sora, who was peeking out from behind Yoo Da-som. She couldn't help but chuckle a little. Sora was usually so mature and unflappable, but the girl she saw now was completely different. Maybe it was because her mom was there, but Sora was acting just like any other kid her age. It was a side of her she'd never seen on TV or even when she'd visited Sora's home in person. But somehow, that made her feel even more like the real Sora. And looking at her adorable, pretty face, it was impossible not to think so. Sora's looks weren't just good—they were top-tier. It suited her perfectly. Her mother, Yoo Da-som, was a beauty too. No wonder she was Sora's mom. And it was hard to believe they were the same age. That woman over there was already a married mom with an eight-year-old. Yoo Min-ah herself was still single, not even dating anyone. It felt like they couldn't possibly be the same age.
Yoo Min-ah shook off those thoughts. It wasn't that she was slow; it was just that the other side had started way too early. Guys her age rarely got married anyway. People aimed for their thirties these days. "Come on in."
Yoo Min-ah showed Yoo Da-som around the office where Sora worked. She hoped they'd make some good memories at Songi Media today. And they had to. The genre novel department was running solely on Sora right now. Without her, it wouldn't hold together. There was no other way to boost sales. That was why Team Leader Kim Sung-ho was running around everywhere. Even now, he was out scouting for writers like Sora. Yoo Min-ah never forgot to check Daldongne and other novel sites either. Genre novelists could pop up anytime, and plenty were active right now. Unlike pure literature writers who debuted through formal channels, anyone could become a genre novelist. They just trusted their writing skills and plot, then serialized their work. Publishers scouted the promising ones and offered to publish. It was like sifting jade from a pile of stones.
"Mom, this is my seat."
Sora took her mom's hand and gave her a tour of the office. Yoo Da-som looked pleased with the setup. Cleaning the office spotless in preparation for Sora's mom's visit had clearly paid off.
"Wow, you use this computer to write your novels, Sora?"
"Yeah. I type on this keyboard right here."
"My little girl is so amazing~ How are you so good at it when you've never even learned computers before?"
Sora flinched at Yoo Da-som's words. Her dad, Lee Tae-yoon, was basically a computer genius, of course. His whole job had been game development. A developer who couldn't handle computers was like a farmer who couldn't farm—it didn't make sense. But Yoo Da-som was different. She was computer-illiterate. She'd barely touched one in her life. So seeing her daughter handle it so expertly for the first time came as a shock. Well, she'd seen it on TV, but seeing it in person was another story.
"Must be because she takes after her dad?"
"Uh... y-yeah... I guess so."
Thankfully, Yoo Da-som didn't press further. Sora breathed a sigh of relief. If she'd asked where she'd learned, Sora wouldn't have had a good excuse. Sure, Byeolbit Elementary had computer class, but that alone didn't explain her proficiency.
Yoo Min-ah watched the mother-daughter duo warmly. No need to butt in when Sora was so excited, and Yoo Da-som seemed satisfied too. She stepped back to let them take in the office comfortably.
Wooden ships floated on the sea—something you wouldn't see in the modern era. The blue waters sparkled under the bright sunlight, a breathtaking sight in itself. A man in armor gripped his sword, then barked in a stern, concise voice,
"Fire the cannons!!!"
Boom-boom-boom! At his command, the cannons roared to life one after another. The crew on the wooden ships sprang into action. One volley wasn't enough. Unlike the armored man, the soldiers on deck wore uniforms emblazoned with the character for "water" in the center. Cannonballs hurtled through the air, smashing into the enemy Japanese ships mercilessly. Explosions rocked the decks, scattering the Japanese troops like grasshoppers. But the Joseon cannons showed no mercy, relentlessly pounding the enemy vessels. Debris flew as the blasts sent people tumbling everywhere. But it wasn't real—they were flying stuntmen. The explosions used gunpowder, but the debris was styrofoam props. Real wood shards could injure people. Skilled stunt performers were pulling off the action all around.
With the scene in the can, the director bellowed,
"Cut! That's a wrap!!!"
The "corpses" groaned as they got back up. Modern medicine couldn't revive the dead, after all. These folks had never died. Even the stern actor playing Admiral Yi Sun-sin ran over with a kind smile. "You okay?"
"Yes, all good!"
Even with safe styrofoam, accidents could happen. Skilled stuntmen handled the dangerous falls, but you never knew. Still, the pros did their jobs flawlessly.
"No need for reshoots—this is gold! Perfect take!"
The director and his assistants watched the footage with serious expressions. Their expertise let them judge quickly.
"Looks great."
"No need to redo it."
"We're flying through today!"
"Director's skills are legendary!"
In life and work, flattery was basic etiquette. Plenty of ministers died for straight talk, but none for flattery. Sweet words weren't a cliché for nothing. Kings loved eunuchs for the constant bootlicking and pandering—who wouldn't?
"Next location ready?"
"Standing by!"
As a historical drama airing twice a week, the schedule was brutal. Luckily, the scriptwriter kept up, so no script shortages. They were filming the early episodes, with scripts ready through mid-season. 2000s sets were pure Sparta. The famous sitcom High Kick! cranked out 167 episodes in half a year—something that'd take 4-5 years overseas with weekly episodes. Sleep deprivation was standard; shoots ran six days a week. No wonder actors collapsed. Overwork was normalized back then, not just for actors—regular jobs were six-day weeks with mandatory overtime. Most breadwinners left at dawn and came home at dusk. And the kicker: scripts arrived the day of filming. For drama where script was king, shooting on the fly was insanely tough. But Immortal Yi Sun-sin had some breathing room—the scripts came faster than they could shoot. No script, no shoot; you couldn't act lines or moves you didn't know.
"Alright! That's a wrap for today!"
The director pulled out his card. With a generous budget, dinners were almost daily. It was the least he could do for the exhausted cast and crew—treat them to food, drinks, and fun.