Do I Have What It Takes to Be a Senior?
Honestly, I wasn't sure if I had what it took to be a senior.
Not that I didn't—I really just didn't know.
Of course, my official title wouldn't be changing to Senior CE anytime soon.
It hadn't even been that long since I'd shed my Assistant CE label. No way they'd promote me straight to senior.
Besides, there'd never been a thirtysomething Senior CE in this industry.
But while the title stayed the same, the role and responsibilities would be identical to a senior's.
SSK leaned more toward job-grade pay than strict seniority.
That meant my salary, authority, and workload would all match a senior's.
It was like hiding an elephant under a paper lantern.
So I'd have to perform way better than your average CE.
Sure, even without my superpower, I was confident I could handle at least one project of my own.
I might not hit it big, but I wouldn't lose the company money.
But leading a team? That was different.
It meant taking responsibility for every single result from the CEs under me...
Could I do it?
Did I have what it took to shoulder all their efforts and outcomes?
That was the doubt filling my head these days.
And it made the outside world's praise for my eye for talent feel even more uncomfortable.
That's when my phone buzzed.
Not a call—a text. From the ENS manager's number, with the company president's business card attached.
"Just in case," my ass.
Show up at the meeting spot, and it'd be the slick-suited president waiting solo.
Still, business was business. I saved the ENS president's number...
"A web drama?"
Lightning struck my mind.
Commercial dramas involved tens of billions in company cash, so I couldn't help relying on my superpower.
But web dramas? Different story.
The company barely invested, and if things got iffy, I could dip into my own pocket.
The incentives rolling in soon would cover all the 20-minute web episodes I wanted.
If I didn't know if I had the chops, why not prove it?
Without the superpower. Purely on my own skills.
I wasn't delusional enough to expect massive viewership or trendsetting buzz from a web drama.
The web drama scene had grown, but it was still niche—only for those in the know.
What I wanted wasn't sky-high ratings.
It was self-confidence. Proof I could really pull it off.
I'd never worked without my superpower before.
Plus...
This could be fun?
High creative freedom. Totally my way.
Suddenly, my blood was pumping. I started humming, when someone slapped my shoulder.
"You look happy."
It was the division head.
"What brings you to the fourth floor?"
"Had something with marketing. Gotta head out soon, so I just came down."
"Evening plans?"
"Yeah. But what's got you smiling? You looked beat lately."
"Oh, just had a good idea."
"What?"
"How about shooting a web drama?"
Whether company-funded or self-financed, I'd have to report it anyway, so I mentioned it early.
The division head's face turned deadly serious.
"Hyun-woo. That's an addiction."
"Pardon?"
"Work's fun, I get it. That rush of chasing success? Beats any pleasure. But think long-term—work-life balance..."
The nagging only stopped when the marketing team lead showed up to drag him away.
His final plea was simple.
"Can't you just savor At Your Fingertips' success first? Huh?"
"Sure, yeah."
It'd wrap next week anyway.
What genre? Casting? Script?
"What're you thinking?"
"Don't you have that dinner?"
"Why're you changing the subject?"
The domestic AI startup Role Model AI.
The CEO's decision to sponsor At Your Fingertips wasn't just marketing.
It was because the character Han Kang-young's worldview mirrored his own so eerily.
He too worried that without homegrown AI, public sector industries would get swallowed by Big Tech.
So he felt a fated pull and poured 1 billion won into the drama.
Unlike Han Kang-young, though, the CEO wasn't a genius.
Their tech was lacking.
They couldn't afford top engineers either.
Not bankrupt yet, but in 1-2 years, they'd fold for sure.
So he prayed desperately.
"Please, please."
May the drama's success draw allies to his cause.
And...
They came.
Someone who'd planned to donate their fortune now wanted to talk, resonating with his vision.
The investor's pre-meeting demand was one: No returns expected—just prove he wouldn't lose that passion.
Tough ask.
He wasn't a genius like Han Kang-young, nor eloquent or charismatic.
But he couldn't run.
So he hypnotized himself.
Staring at Han Kang-young's photo daily, repeating:
"I am Han Kang-young. I am Han Kang-young. I am Han Kang-young. I believe in my mission, uphold integrity, never give up. I am Han Kang-young."
After endless self-hypnosis, the meeting arrived.
Coincidentally, At Your Fingertips finale day.
The long meeting started early evening and...
As the drama hit its happy ending.
"Looking forward to working with you, President."
"The pleasure's mine... thank you."
The investor sealed the deal.
"Kids, no running!"
"Wheeee!"
"Teacher!"
Jeong Soo-young, working at the daycare, glanced up at the sky during a rare quiet moment.
The autumn sky was vast, blue, and crystal clear.
Like a dreamscape.
Come to think of it, the past few weeks had felt that way.
Her husband kept popping up on TV, but it didn't feel real.
She'd told him to stay in Seoul after schedules since trekking to Cheonan was pitiful.
Memories kept surfacing: him sobbing over quitting acting, sleep-acting in his dreams.
"Is this really a dream?"
She muttered.
"What is?"
A familiar voice.
Lowering her gaze from the sky...
"Ta-da."
Her husband stood there.
Groceries overflowing.
Before she could speak, shouts erupted.
"Whoa! Uncle Han Kang-young!"
"It's Han Kang-young!!"
"Owner! Mom said you're the owner!"
The kids mobbed him, but the teachers amped it up.
"Y-you're really Han Kang-young?"
"How... why here...?"
Soo-young had never told them his job.
Then Kang Min-sik swept her into a hug.
In that moment, it hit her.
The rage he'd harbored for years was gone.
This was reality.
"Whoa! Gonna tell Aunt Sa Mo-yeon!"
"He's cheating! Cheater!"
"Affair! Mom said affair!"
Kang Min-sik and Jeong Soo-young burst into absurd laughter amid the kids' cries.
Yeom Jae-moon sat on a bench, feeling the crisp autumn breeze, then pulled out his phone.
He hadn't prepped specifically for today.
But he could do it.
Words he'd rehearsed forever.
No reply? Maybe.
Last saw her three years back.
But...
Even without one...
If it reached her, that'd be enough.
Friday, skipped work, slept in, then hit the convenience store.
All those fancy free meals lately—I missed kimchi fried rice.
Commoner blood?
Grabbing eggs, I scanned around—familiar faces everywhere.
Main promo model: Jeon So-ra. Snacks: Kim Ra-un's mug.
Ice cream: Min Jae-yul and Oh Ha-eun. And what's this?
Senior Min-sik on instant cup rice? Married man.
And the TOOL x At Your Fingertips collab drink: full cast plastered on.
Snagged one, plus eggs, spam, kimchi, to the counter.
Back home, cooked up kimchi fried rice, cracked open the drink.
"What the."
Tasted like crap.
Setting down the bottle, a pleasant autumn breeze slipped through the open window, brushing my fingertips.
Riding that wind, memories of the past year flooded back.
One person's fingertips grazed 15 years of pent-up rage; another's, a dream thought lost.
Not just them.
Everyone's fingertips had brushed their own stories.
And mine...
"Gotta taste the product before shooting the ad."
Just a really good day.