Tempting the S-Rank Writer
Hong Hee-young's house was a luxury villa on the outskirts of Hannam-dong, complete with a small garden.
It wasn't quite on the level of Kim Ra-un's place, but it was still incredibly nice.
The moment he saw it, Do Hyun-woo could really feel that she was an S-rank writer.
You couldn't afford a place like this on script fees alone. You needed incentives like running guarantees or production equity shares.
But production companies weren't idiots—they didn't offer running guarantees to writers below S-rank.
In the global OTT era, they made a show of taking care of A-rank writers too, but Hong Hee-young had been in the game for nearly 20 years since her debut.
Just then, the door opened, and Hong Hee-young appeared in a cardigan.
"Hello. I'm Do Hyun-woo from SSK."
"I'm drama writer Hong Hee-young. You didn't have to come empty-handed."
"It's our first meeting. Couldn't show up empty-handed."
"Come on in."
After the awkward greetings, he stepped inside.
He'd watched plenty of dramas she'd penned, but meeting her in person for the first time, his first impression was that she seemed "pure" or "innocent."
She was wearing horn-rimmed glasses, probably to look more intense, but it didn't seem to be working.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
"Water's fine."
As he sat on the sofa, Hong Hee-young brought over a bottle of mineral water and spoke up.
"I was thinking of meeting outside, but figured I'd lose ground that way. Even stray dogs fight harder in their own yard, right?"
"It's not about gaining or losing ground. I'm the one here begging a favor."
"You're not what I expected."
"What do you mean?"
"I heard you wrangle actors like they're mice on set. Thought you'd be more intimidating."
"Me?"
Who the hell was spreading that nonsense?
His own staff said he was the easiest director to work with.
Maybe the extras?
"I have a million questions, but let's start with this: Why me?"
"Why you?"
"Like how you saved Kim Ra-un when he was crumbling. Figured you were trying to save Oxygen Alarm's writer too."
"Me? What's my motive supposed to be?"
"To prove your skills?"
"So, to prove my own talent, I called an S-rank writer knowing full well I'd catch hell for it, and dragged myself here in the middle of the night?"
Doesn't that sound ridiculous?
"You are intimidating."
"No..."
"Sorry. I've been a bit twisted lately. Writers get all kinds of thoughts after a flop. Feels like I'll be yesterday's news soon."
It was the story Yoon CEO had mentioned.
But Oxygen Alarm hadn't flopped.
"You'll never be yesterday's news."
"How do you know?"
"I read the Oxygen Alarm script."
"..."
Hong Hee-young stared at him for a moment, then said something out of left field.
"That's weird."
"What is?"
"I've heard 'great script' a thousand times before, but this time it hits different. Guess in this industry, it's all about the ratings, huh?"
The air softened since their initial greetings, and the conversation flowed.
"What do you think was wrong with Oxygen Alarm? I thought I wrote it well, but the ratings were disappointing."
"Hmm..."
"Speak freely. I might come off prickly, but I don't hold grudges."
"No need to be embarrassed. Our division head even bet whether you'd throw salt or water at me."
"I only use imported salt, so that's tricky."
"Water?"
"Only Evian."
Writers always had a way with words.
"Oxygen Alarm feels like two scripts mashed together, right?"
"...How'd you know?"
"No matter how talented the writer, there's a limit to mental bandwidth. Focus on the main plot, and subplots suffer—it's natural. But in Oxygen Alarm, the mermaid male lead and chaebol-heir female lead stories had equal density. Like two separate tales stitched together."
"Ah, so from episode 9..."
"Yeah. Personally, I think the director should've wrapped up the company conflicts quicker in the back half. That killed the characters."
Hong Hee-young mulled over his words and sighed.
"You're right. It was. Did you spot that and pass on it?"
"Pass?"
"My script. You rejected it."
"We hadn't even turned the first page of the pitch."
"Huh? Then why reject it?"
"Because Joo Young-hoon hated it."
Realizing it sounded petty, he added,
"He badmouthed my brother."
That sounded petty too.
Hong Hee-young chuckled.
"We have that in common."
"You have a good eye for people."
"Try writing dramas. You've got talent."
"Too many talented writers around me already. One's right here."
"Flattery skills too."
She chuckled again, then asked,
"Back to the start. Why are you here?"
"Not for Hong Hee-young the writer. For the Tug of War writer. I want to make Season 2."
"Why that one? It's 10 years old."
"I watched hundreds of rom-coms hunting for one to produce. This was the best."
"You don't make Season 2 of everything fun."
"You're not buying it."
"Feels like you're holding back."
He hesitated, then spoke.
"Saw something recently. People in a relationship that seemed unbreakable, but the power dynamic flipped completely."
Thinking back, his first thought watching Tune was, What if this guy messes with Eum Sung-hyun again?
Maybe Tune's lie about being friends with Eum Sung-hyun was his subconscious saying, I'm the kind of guy who gets a pass.
But that was pointless now.
The gap between Tune and Eum Sung-hyun was insurmountable.
Eum Sung-hyun could now choose mercy—or not.
"Seeing that, Tug of War popped into my head."
"Out of nowhere?"
"Precisely at the underground parking barrier that wouldn't lift. It should've recognized my plate, but it ignored me."
Tug of War was the story of Woo-yeon, who could only push away, and Pil-yeon, who always pulled her in.
We're coincidence.
No, fate.
That was the drama's iconic line, and they got their happy ending.
"But what if years pass and Pil-yeon tires out? Life wears him down, love wears thin, and he can't pull anymore."
Woo-yeon would panic like him at the barrier.
She needs to pull, but he won't.
"Then they reunite after 5 years. Or 10."
"Woo-yeon would realize how immense Pil-yeon's love was. She'd want to start over."
"Yes. The dynamic reverses. Woo-yeon pulls, Pil-yeon pushes."
"Would Pil-yeon even push?"
"Life needs twists. In the drama, Pil-yeon's troubles resolved too neatly. No twists would feel off."
"...True. Back then, I just lacked skill."
"More like instinct. You knew digging deeper would get rough again. Ended at the smoothest point."
"So, Do Hyun-woo, you think Woo-yeon and Pil-yeon's sequel story would be fun?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"Huh?"
"That's not all. You'd need original IP rights, original cast..."
"Casting's TBD. Ideal, but not essential."
"Time passed?"
"Yeah. Say 10 or 15 years—plausible new faces could work."
Hong Hee-young tapped the table, then nodded.
"Fine, worry about that later. It's not cheap, though. Minimal budget's 80 billion these days."
"Oh, didn't mention. I'm thinking 12 episodes at 20 minutes each. Webdrama."
"...Webdrama? For Season 2?"
"No multi-arcs. Just pure Woo-yeon and Pil-yeon."
"No, wait."
She looked baffled.
Yeah, this was the biggest hurdle.
Honestly, he'd avoided saying "webdrama" on purpose.
No reason for an S-rank like her to do webdramas.
She wouldn't tarnish her image, but the fee? Per-episode 5 million or more.
His plan wasn't her from the start.
Get her interested via persuasion, then hire a separate writer with her as advisor.
"No business strategy?"
"I have one. Can't lose money."
"Who's talking loss? Did you do zero business math?"
"...? I said I had a strategy."
"No!"
Staring into his eyes, she stammered,
"You're saying you came here just to make that story into a drama?"
"Yes."
"Just 'cause it'd be fun?"
"Yes. Obviously?"
He wanted to test his instincts without superpower help. Perfect timing—Tug of War came to mind.
"What if it flops with me? Bad for both of us. 'Saved Kim Ra-un, now cocky to the skies.'"
That wasn't the issue.
The problem was relying on superpowers for success.
But he had a fix for that.
"I'd study."
"Study?"
"Drama production. I've been winging it."
Retired actor straight to hire, assistant CE to full project—no real foundation.
Time to go back to basics.
But as he finished, Hong Hee-young burst out laughing.
"Ah, got it. Wondered why Gongbeomche writers ghost-wrote for you... This is why."
"Not ghost-writing. Full credit."
"I know, big T. Pointing that out?"
Still laughing, she said,
"Refreshing. Been ages since anyone pitched me like this. Usually it's budget, channel, cast first."
"I consider those. Story's priority."
"Why Kim Ra-un then? Most fitting?"
"Yes."
"Getting your vibe now."
She smiled slyly.
"Let's do it. I'll write the script."
"Yourself?"
"My story—who else?"
"Fee negotiation needed."
"Do I look broke?"
He glanced around instinctively.
"No. Of course not."
"Saw your interview. Gongbeomche writers said it looked fun. Me too..."
She took off her glasses.
"Looks fun."