Three Scenarios, Clack Clack!
I was in the office, slurping chocolate milk through a straw while hammering away at the keyboard. Back when I was a guy, I never really cared for sweets. Chocolate, candy, all sorts of sodas—I could eat them if I had to, but they weren't my thing. But after switching to this little girl's body, everything changed. I craved sugar like crazy; I never imagined I'd love it this much. Does your body changing really alter your tastes too...? They say people are slaves to their hormones, and damn if that wasn't spot on. Maybe these female hormones were messing with my appetite right now. Otherwise, there was no explaining my sweet tooth obsession.
"Sora~ We've got a visitor."
Yoo Min-ah poked her head through the door. I squinted at her and asked,
"The professor again?"
The visitor who showed up every other day was Professor Lee Yeon-ji from Se-yeon University. She always grilled me on literary knowledge. Of course, as a plagiarist pulling from memory, I had no clue what she was talking about. I hadn't even gone to college as a guy, let alone majored in Korean literature. There was no way I knew the specialized stuff she threw at me. I was just your average high school grad scraping by.
But after I showed her Song of the Sword, her obsession kicked into overdrive. When she suggested I go to grad school, I shuddered. Even with my limited knowledge of universities, I knew grad school was a massive hellhole. Rumor had it those students got ground to dust under their professors' heels, day and night. Wasn't there a famous anime that compared them to kids who'd made the wrong choice? Not that grad school was inherently bad—it had its merits, like assisting professors directly and building knowledge. Just not for me. I had zero need to pile up literary expertise.
But Yoo Min-ah just shook her head.
"Nah, today's from somewhere else... A friend of writer Kim Min-gyu's. Ring any bells for you, Sora?"
"A friend?"
"Yeah."
"Oh... Got it. I heard about him last time."
Come to think of it, Kim Min-gyu had mentioned it before. He'd asked me to help his friend just once. If a screenplay writer was coming to me, his plot must be seriously stuck. I'd never hit a wall writing novels. Most stories about writers dwell on the agony of creation, the stress of pulling tales from thin air. But for me, it was just transcribing what was already in my head. I didn't add unnecessary fluff or tweak things on a whim if they didn't suit me. Little changes like that would snowball and warp the story later. And messing with a completed novel from my memories? Bad idea from the start.
I hopped down from the chair. Pat pat! With these short legs, every step felt like it came with an adorable sound effect. Having short legs was honestly depressing. My strides were slow, everyone towered over me, and I was always craning my neck up. Height was the key factor in daily life. Sure, people gaslight you into thinking it's no big deal, but nothing mattered more. Even if your looks were average, height made up for it. The reverse? Brutal. A guy at 150cm? Unless he was drop-dead gorgeous, life would be a struggle. No wonder some risked surgery to grow taller.
At least I was a girl—that softened the blow a bit. Women got less flak for height. Still, too short was too short, so I wished for just 160cm.
I headed to Songi Media's reception room. When I opened the door, a middle-aged man about Kim Min-gyu's age sat waiting. Same age as his friend, I figured. I bowed politely.
"Hello. I'm Lee Sora, a student at Byeolbit Elementary School."
"Uh... yeah, nice to meet you, kid."
He nodded, impressed by my manners.
"Uncle here—or maybe grandpa now?—anyway, I'm Park Sung-min, scribbling away at movie screenplays!"
I smiled. Old folks always melted for kids. It was etched in their genes. If elders hated children, there'd be no point in living. Back in cave days, seniors couldn't hunt or forage anymore—joints too stiff. All they had left was watching the kids and sharing their wisdom. Maybe that's why Park Sung-min grinned warmly too.
"Your manners are impeccable. Listening to you, who'd guess you're just a kid?"
It stung my conscience a little. Sure, I looked like a child, but inside lurked the soul of a downtrodden old man. Anyone who knew the truth would freak. Not that it would ever happen. No tech existed yet to swap minds or bodies—not in this modern age, anyway. Who knew about the future?
"I heard from writer Kim Min-gyu. Your plot's jammed up?"
I cut to the chase. He'd called himself an uncle or grandpa now. We were close enough that "writer-nim" felt formal. "Min-gyu grandpa" might even get a hearty laugh and a head pat. Folks in the arts thrived on connections. Networking was huge power. They say in entertainment, manage your contacts right and 80% of success is yours. Take film translators—some were abysmal, full of errors that twisted whole movies. Yet they never got booted; they got more gigs. Why? Talent second, connections first. Not that it was bad; networking was a legit social skill. I admired them for building those empires.
So I decided to network too. Starting with Se-yeon University's Professor Lee Yeon-ji, drama writer Kim Min-gyu, and now this famous screenwriter. Keep expanding, and someday it'd pay off.
"You got it. Getting old means the brain just... clogs up, y'know?"
"That's one problem I can't fix..."
We chatted a bit. I couldn't offer real advice—my experience and skill paled next to his decades in screenplays. I'd just been a day laborer. No matching that veteran aura. But chatting wasn't the point. There was something better.
"I whipped up some movie scenarios. Three of 'em. Wanna take a look for inspiration? Might spark something."
"Huh?"
Kim Min-gyu had asked me to help his friend, so I'd prepped ahead. Writing screenplays didn't take long with a full movie reel in my head. I remembered every film I'd ever seen, dialogue and all. For me, it was like eating cold porridge—easy. Fine details might escape me, but plots and lines? No sweat. And that was plenty for filming; I'd scripted dialogue, actions, everything. One felt skimpy, so I did three—hits from my era, of course.
"What? You wrote three already?"
Park Sung-min gaped, jaw dropping in shock. He looked floored.