Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Animation Rather Than Film
The response to the sequel video featuring Cha Seoyoon and the polar bear was weaker than I expected.
└The cinematography is absolutely insane though
└Nobody can compete with this level of CG. Amazing work
└But why did you put Cha Seoyoon in a full-body suit? At least show her face
└I think they covered her completely because it’s 100% CG and not actually acted by Cha Seoyoon
└Still, with 30THC’s skills, it feels like they could generate Cha Seoyoon entirely from scratch even without footage
└They’d still need portrait rights permission for that
Was it because even her face was hidden beneath the full-body suit?
Once her face disappeared, she genuinely stopped feeling like Cha Seoyoon and instead felt like a completely different person.
From that, I realized something.
The public places enormous importance on real-life actors themselves.
If that weren’t true, actors wouldn’t get removed midway through dramas because of real-life scandals.
People simply cannot completely separate actors from the characters they play.
‘People want to watch real human actors perform. The better the acting, the deeper the actor’s life story, the more audiences immerse themselves into that performance.’
No matter how beautiful an AI-generated realistic model might look,
the moment people realize it’s AI,
their attraction immediately fades.
Unless it’s animation, there’s clearly a limit to how much audiences can emotionally immerse themselves into artificially generated people within live-action media.
Actors need to exist in reality too.
They need press conferences, fan meetings, real-world interactions.
That’s human instinct—
the social desire to feel another person’s warmth.
“But seriously, why is this person still not replying after clearly reading my message….”
Was it because I ignored their desperate request for advice?
Still, only a few days later I’d sent them a purchase offer asking to buy the screenplay.
From their perspective, it probably looked like I’d spent all that time carefully considering whether or not I liked the script enough to buy it.
So why no reply?
Studio RedSpit.
A film production company owned by acclaimed young director Im Hwashin, currently in his forties.
None of his films had yet surpassed ten million viewers.
But every single movie he’d produced so far had turned respectable profits,
earning him strong trust and recognition from distributors and investors.
CEO Lee Minseong clicked his tongue while watching Director Im Hwashin bury his head in frustration again today.
“Director, protesting won’t change anything. Impossible is impossible.”
“I’m not protesting right now.”
“I’m telling you, no domestic investor will fund that screenplay. If you insist on making it, just take it to NetPrince.”
“But NetPrince only pays a fixed amount and buys everything outright.”
“And that fixed amount isn’t exactly small. More importantly, it guarantees you won’t fail financially. Investors still haven’t recovered from their trauma yet.
And this isn’t just ordinary sci-fi—it’s space opera. No matter how famous Director Im Hwashin is, everyone runs away screaming.”
Im Hwashin, his beard rough and overgrown, narrowed his eyes.
“Someone told me to just sell them the screenplay.”
“Oh? Nice.”
“A minute ago you were saying I should take it to NetPrince.”
“Better to quickly sell that thing and spend the production time making another guaranteed hit instead.”
“They offered 20 million won. But only for the animation rights.”
“Whoa now, that’s too much greed. Even if it’s space opera, this is still a screenplay personally polished by the great Director Im Hwashin. Trying to snatch it up for only 20 million won?”
“But they think I’m just an unknown aspiring writer.”
“Our director’s doing the undercover boss thing again? Please stop doing stuff like that.”
“If people know it’s an Im Hwashin screenplay, they automatically overpraise it. I need objective evaluation without my name attached.”
“Who does that? Definitely not me.”
Im Hwashin frowned while staring at his monitor.
[Sender: BrainClick]
The ridiculously long message could basically be summarized like this:
—Sell me your screenplay for 20 million won.
—But only the animation rights.
From the other side’s perspective, it was actually a generous offer.
After all, they believed they were dealing with a nobody aspiring writer.
‘But what kind of nickname is BrainClick? Seriously, BrainClick?’
The nickname sounded immature and childish.
Yet the black-and-white animated storyboard video they uploaded only hours after he posted the screenplay was the work of an absolute master professional.
The problem was that he had absolutely no idea who it could be.
‘Who the hell are they?’
He’d already contacted every skilled person he could think of.
Pretending he’d merely stumbled across the storyboard video through someone else.
—Wasn’t me.
—Do I seriously look that unemployed to you?
—Hey, does it even make sense to create something like this within a few hours? Just drawing the animation frames alone would take days.
‘Then who is it?’
More than their identity, he desperately wanted to know why they wanted to buy this screenplay.
‘They’re saying they can actually turn this into animation.’
Im Hwashin had never once considered adapting it into animation.
Which only made him more curious.
After long deliberation, he finally started typing a reply.
[After much thought, I’ve decided to respond….]
I arrived early at the meeting location and waited.
For some reason, I felt nervous.
I reread the animation rights contract one more time.
I’d simply printed out a standard industry contract form and added the purchase price separately: 20 million won.
“Are you perhaps from PreCutter?”
A cautious voice.
I looked up and flinched in surprise.
The other person also startled slightly after meeting my eyes.
I had a feeling we were both thinking the same thing.
‘He’s a pretty late-blooming aspiring writer. One of those cases trying to finally chase a youthful dream in middle age.’
A face that looked around forty.
A bushy beard and casual clothes.
Honestly, he looked exactly like a somewhat famous movie director.
“Yes. I’m the representative from PreCutter here regarding the rights purchase contract.”
“Y-You’re much younger than I expected….”
“I’m just an ordinary employee.”
PreCutter.
The name of the LLC derived from <Premium Cut 3000>.
My setting was that I was merely a rookie employee sent out with instructions to get the contract stamped.
This setup was supposed to prevent pointless long conversations, but—
“…The Korean animation industry is basically dead. Are you planning to produce this in Japan or America?”
Why was this late-blooming aspiring writer so talkative?
I was getting tired of wasting time, so I frowned slightly while replying.
“I’m just a rookie employee who doesn’t know anything. I was only told to get the contract signed. If you’re not planning to sign it, please tell me now so I can report back immediately.”
“…Ah. Then let’s sign first.”
At last, the animation rights to this screenplay were mine.
20 million won vanished from the 100 million I’d earned through data restoration,
but it didn’t feel wasteful at all.
“Will my screenplay truly become animation someday instead of simply ending up as part of someone’s collection?”
It was destined to become a high-quality work unlike anything that had ever existed before or would ever exist again.
But according to my role,
I was merely a low-ranking employee sent to collect signatures.
“The higher-ups seem to seriously believe in its potential too. I don’t know much beyond that.”
“But I’ve never heard of a company called PreCutter before. It seems like you have an incredibly talented animation director there. Could I maybe know their name…?”
“Sorry, but I’m just a low-ranking administration employee who joined recently, so I honestly don’t know much.”
This late-blooming aspiring writer uncle was absurdly persistent.
The video app does not create stories by itself.
Not because it lacks the ability.
It intentionally excludes that feature.
Probably for reasons like preventing users from losing interest too quickly and encouraging creativity.
The app itself was designed around the philosophy:
‘How can we keep users deeply immersed in video content creation?’
Still, honestly, I don’t think I personally possess much talent for media production.
But that doesn’t matter.
I can simply find good screenplays, purchase them,
and leave the actual visualization to the video app.
‘Video app. Alright, let’s make one first.’
【Beginning pilot video production.】
Live-action films have countless restrictions involving real-model registration and permissions.
But animation has none of those issues.
Because it only uses 2D characters.
A full 130-minute animation was completed almost instantly.
The characters’ voices were replaced with fictional voices generated by the future app itself.
Yet they sounded impossibly natural, like real voice actors actually existed.
30th-century technology really was astonishing.
Modern video editing software companies would probably despair if they saw this.
The first draft was now awaiting approval.
Which meant it was time for the mandatory rejection round.
‘This part here bothers me somehow. I can’t explain it, but I just don’t like it.’
‘This expression feels way too gloomy. Was this really the best you could do? Couldn’t you improve it more?’
‘This isn’t bad. But it’s not exactly great either. It still needs refinement.’
‘How should it change? I don’t know.’
【The imagery inside Cha Doyoung’s mind is becoming more concrete.】
【Improving the pilot video based on the revised imagery.】
I honestly had no idea what exactly I was imagining,
but it conveniently read the images inside my head and reflected them automatically.
The pilot video itself was created instantly,
but my endless nitpicking and interference lasted for hours.
Several long hours of passionate complaints and revisions later—
comparing the original version to the heavily modified one—
‘Let’s just go back to the original version.’
The thing thrown into the trash wasn’t the pilot video.
It was my criticism.
Annoyingly enough, the parts I wanted to “improve” ended up feeling excessive once applied.
Individually, the sequences weren’t bad.
But they disrupted the overall flow.
No wonder this thing was a video app from a thousand years in the future.
【Suggestion.】
【How about additionally producing a six-episode series version alongside the feature-length version?】
Huh?
A six-part series version too?
【Short-form serialized uploads are more suitable for WeTube.】