Human Garbage (2)
When, exactly, had Jo Duho started acting like a complete bastard in earnest?
Now that I thought about it, the turning point was pretty clear.
Wasn’t it when he found out the “The genius writer” he’d been slobbering over was one of Han Jaekyung’s works?
That was why people had to be careful with their words.
Duho had praised Sword-Bound Gentleman to the heavens, calling it “that deep, rich flavor you can’t get from bratty little writers who haven’t even dried the blood in their heads yet.” Then the moment he learned who the author was, he became the kind of illiterate idiot who couldn’t even match a writer to the script he’d almost signed.
Duho was famous for being narrow-minded to begin with.
The man had spent more than a month chewing on the fact that Jaekyung had rejected him, and then, when he learned the manuscript he’d personally chosen was from the very writer he’d been trashing, how could he not go ballistic?
He was unbearable back then.
His face kept turning red and blue all day long, and if he heard two people whispering to each other, he’d take it as them gossiping about him and explode at them.
And, as if things weren’t bad enough, his hostility toward Jaekyung only deepened.
He’d been talking shit all along, and then the shit he’d said came flying back like a boomerang and made him lose face. So whenever even the letter “J” in Jaekyung’s name came up, he’d start frothing at the mouth.
Yeah. That was a sight worth seeing, all right.
Of course, that was the only period I could really laugh about.
“How’s filming going? How’s that disrespectful bastard’s script holding up these days?”
“Ah, well, the production’s going fine, actually. Yes, sir!”
Need I even say more?
PD Min Byeongki was the director on Sword-Bound Gentleman.
After he’d ended up in the director’s seat for one reason or another, Duho started dropping by him every time, asking about the progress of the project even though they weren’t close at all.
Couldn’t you smell the malice all over it?
The reason was obvious.
From Byeongki’s perspective, there was every reason to feel humiliated.
“You know how it is, right? These rookie bastards have nothing, but they still bark at you and insist they’re right. You’ve just got to be firmer than they are.”
“Ahaha, r-right, of course!”
“That bastard’s rotten at the core, I’m telling you. No matter how impressive he makes something look on paper, you have to doubt it three times over. I’m only saying this for your own good, you know that, right?”
The reason Duho said things like that was because he looked down on me.
Because he thought that unless he himself interfered, Sword-Bound Gentleman would fail.
Right. He was trying to use me as the card that would make the drama collapse.
For Duho, this had to be made into trash, no matter what, because it was the work that had embarrassed him.
One wrong read on a script?
If Sword-Bound Gentleman failed now, then everyone who’d picked it would have been wrong, and his personal pride would be restored.
As for Jaekyung’s reputation? That would be ruined too. He’d become nothing more than garbage that lured people in with a flashy façade and wrote nothing of substance.
The hope that he might be able to bury me completely in the industry was thick and heavy in those toadlike folds of skin and those snake eyes of his.
It would’ve been a lie to say I didn’t feel a flare of temper.
There’s a limit to how much you can patronize someone.
Just how much more was he planning to disrespect me?
If I can just get the ratings up, I could crush a bastard like this in one go...
I cursed him out in my head, but—
“...Hey, Byeongki. Are you even listening to me?”
—I’d gotten too absorbed in my thoughts and missed what he’d said.
A chill ran down my spine.
When Byeongki, startled, looked up, that was what he saw.
“Yes, yes!?”
“You were spacing out? You just ignored me?”
Blue veins stood out on Duho’s forehead.
The harsh breaths he kept huffing out through his nose were far more threatening than before.
Panic cracked open in my pupils.
I knew immediately that I’d fucked up, but it was already too late.
“Hey, do you think I’m a joke now too? Huh!? Who do you think you are!?”
Duho suddenly barked at him.
Byeongki’s eyes went spinning in their sockets.
W-what the hell? Why is he freaking out again?
Was it because he’d been thinking about something else for a moment?
Or because he’d failed to keep his expression under control?
Whatever the reason, one thing was certain: the situation had crossed the point of no return.
Duho, already on edge these days, had finally exploded.
Byeongki’s heart began hammering like mad.
He’d always been like this.
The moment someone who could hurt him started acting threatening, his mind went completely blank.
Tunnel vision would set in, and sometimes he’d start hyperventilating too.
And every time that happened, the rage he felt was even worse than before.
Fuck... why me...?
“Hey, are you saying your senior doesn’t make sense? Huh? This bastard gets more arrogant by the day. What, you think that drama’s actually going to be a hit? Even you think I’m easy to push around!?”
Everyone knew this was all insecurity because Sword-Bound Gentleman was going smoothly.
Could anyone help him?
He had the thought, but there wasn’t a single person there who could stop Duho.
Huuup, huup—he tried desperately to steady his jagged breathing, but it wasn’t easy.
He opened his mouth, thinking he had to say something, but all that came out was a trembling voice like a newborn lamb’s.
“N-nooo... th-th-that’s not—haha...”
“Not what, you bastard! Speak properly!”
Duho’s fist clenched.
Then, just as he was about to slam his hand down on the desk with his face reddening to the point of bursting—
“Director.”
He froze.
The whole room went silent, so quiet you could hear a fly buzzing.
It was a voice familiar to Byeongki.
When he turned his head, he saw who it was.
He looked like he might burst into tears.
“W-writer? H-how did you...?”
There was Jaekyung.
He was radiating that trademark crooked aura of his, his eyes dried-out and dead-looking as he glanced back and forth between me and Duho.
Why did I feel relieved anyway?
As I watched him, I superimposed someone else over Jaekyung’s figure.
Hey, did you beat up my lackey?
The same guy who had bullied me miserably back in school, but who would come running like a ghost and beat the shit out of anyone who tried to bully me, so that nobody ever dared touch me.
...Minchan?
My schoolyard bully, Kim Minchan.
For a moment, I could almost see his silhouette behind Jaekyung’s back...!
* * *
People are disturbingly easy to turn malicious.
They can hate someone without any grand reason, without suffering any real harm. That’s just what people are like.
So what about someone who’s actually been dealt a real, major blow?
I had the answer in my own heart.
What a piece of work.
Then and now, he was still a man I couldn’t find a single thing to like about.
Even though it had been so long since I’d seen him after the regression, I still felt my insides twist the moment I looked at him.
No, worse than back then.
Maybe it was because I’d seen him strutting around on the strength of his own authority.
Maybe it was because he’d picked my director as the target for his temper tantrum.
What a beautifully functioning world this was.
All because he’d done two dramas well, some bastard like that got to grab power too.
I’d preferred not to see his face for the rest of my life if I could help it, but I knew our paths would cross eventually, since we moved in the same circles.
It was only unfortunate that today had to be that day.
I was boiling inside, but—
...Not yet.
There was a different place for that bastard to blow up.
So for now, I had to swallow it down.
With that thought, I said to Min Byeongki, “I tried calling you a bunch of times, so I came all the way over. We’ve got the project meeting today, remember?”
“Ah... r-right...?”
“Let’s go. I don’t have time to waste.”
That was when it happened.
“Well, well. And who do we have here?”
The big toad twisted his mouth into a sneer, his face still bright red.
Then, as if he suddenly wanted to act like he was somebody important, he even straightened his back.
“You’re the award-winning writer Han, aren’t you? This isn’t our first time meeting, is it?”
“...Yes. I was rude last time. An urgent matter came up.”
“How urgent could it have been that you didn’t even make one phone call afterward? I was truly disappointed.” He chuckled. “Heh heh.”
He spoke in that sleazy, easygoing way of his, with no idea how vulgar he looked.
Like some delinquent playing at being a grown man.
“Sorry, but could I take PD Min Byeongki with me? I came here for the project meeting. I also don’t have much time because of my writing schedule.”
Duho’s eyes flew wide.
He looked thoroughly insulted.
I was just trying to avoid making us both even more uncomfortable by lingering here—was that really so hard to understand?
As I was thinking that, Duho muttered in a low voice, “...Ha, this fucking—”
Because the room was so quiet, everyone heard it.
“Haa, now look at this, all kinds of shit crawling out of the woodwork...”
Duho ran a hand back through the sparse hair on his head and looked at me.
Seeing him like that brought back an old memory.
Before the regression, when his scandal had broken and I’d hurriedly called him, there’d been something he’d said.
Now even these worthless little bastards are—!
The filthy mouth was as consistent as ever.
And I still had no idea why he loved that word so much.
I was just about to let it pass when—
Why the fuck is he cursing?
—something snapped in my head as I listened.
My blood ran hot.
I suddenly didn’t want to let it slide anymore.
That’s why you can’t do a damn thing about nature, I guess.
Put me in front of a bastard like him, and my “writerly nature” just came alive.
“Hey. Writer Han.”
“Yes, PD Jo.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m trying to take our director with me.”
“You think this is funny?”
“Were we that close?”
“What’s with that tone?”
“Do you have a problem with it?”
“You—!”
How should I break him?
If I left him alone, he’d obviously keep tormenting Min Byeongki.
Company politics weren’t my problem, but I wasn’t about to let some bastard like this crush the morale of one of my people.
Should I keep dealing with him directly?
No, even if I did, nothing would change.
There was one very simple rule.
In the 2013 broadcast world, people might actually throw punches behind closed doors, but in public, they’d always be forced to make up over drinks.
No matter how much I was an outside collaborator, a little verbal sparring wasn’t enough to make this fun.
So what should I do?
Fortunately, there was a way.
No—there was something far more definite than that.
This was where I took a lesson from my senior’s wisdom.
Listen carefully, kid. No matter where you go, you can never forget the writer’s spirit.
What kind of bullshit are you gearing up to say now...?
Listen. If some bastard starts picking a fight, you have to make him think touching you will ruin his life. And not just him—you have to make everyone who sees it think the whole room’s fucked.
What?
Blow the whole thing up. Make everyone tense and on edge. If that bastard rushes in frothing at the mouth, everyone should think, “We’re all screwed.” That’s when they start crawling on their bellies.
Senior, please go to hell.
Be strong, my junior. Talent forgives everything. The writer’s only real crime is being boring.
I never imagined there would come a day when I’d put that into practice.
Time to start.
Soon, the bomb would go off.
So I poked him a little harder.
“Did I perhaps say something wrong?”
“Wrong? Wrong!?”
“If I did, I apologize.”
There was one thing good about being a writer.
“I spend all my time writing, so I’m not very good at dealing with people.”
If you said something vaguely rude and then added “because I’m a writer,” people would just accept it.
“Pfft...!”
Someone finally failed to hold back their laughter and let out a sound.
The big toad whipped his head around, trying to find the culprit, but everyone else only avoided his gaze.
Well, maybe don’t be such a bastard all the time.
There was nobody here willing to step up for a man with no goodwill.
This bastard didn’t even understand that simple truth.
Was this what the spirit of hongik ingan was all about?
His face was getting so red it looked like he might keel over from high blood pressure.
So here... we go.
Time to drive the stake in.
“If you don’t even have anything to say, why are you clinging to me like this? Honestly. Let’s go, Director.”
The moment I said that—
Got him.
The idiot, who was already prone to igniting at the slightest provocation, finally blew.
“You fucking bastard!!!”
With a roar, Jo Duho raised a hand, his eyes wild.
His whole body jiggled as he flung that bloated arm at me with all his might.
It was slow.
And I wasn’t particularly thrilled about his hand touching my face either.
Still.
Go on, then.
Looks like we won’t have any more reason to see each other in dramas.
Smack—!
It felt like a hot brand had been pressed against my cheek.
And then, at the best possible moment—
“...Stand down.”
A voice I was happy to hear throbbed through the space.
It was completely different in kind from Duho’s yowling.
Not a pig’s grunt, but a beast’s growl.
You know that feeling when the temperature in a room seems to drop?
Not the literal air temperature, but that psychological shrinking sensation, that subtle shift in the atmosphere, when the human brain foolishly decides the room has gone cold because of one person’s presence.
A man radiating that kind of presence was standing by the door.
Jo Duho’s face went white in an instant.
“Ch-Chief...?”
Chief Producer Go Yeongchan.
The peak of the authority our world had to offer in broadcasting.
The top practical manager, and one of the people in this station who looked on me most favorably.
Now then. I’d come here to have a meeting, only to find this situation.
A subordinate was striking an outside collaborator—a writer.
Not even his own assigned writer, not even someone he knew personally, but a new writer handpicked from a contest and brought in here, right in front of CCTV and a room full of witnesses.
If I were to turn around and leave here with my eyes rolling back, it would become a case worthy of a criminal complaint.
Exactly the kind of situation my senior loved: one where everyone instinctively realized they were fucked.
In other words, I had just dumped a truckload of justification into the writer’s lap.
What was the chief witness supposed to think?
I didn’t know for sure, but there was one thing I could say without hesitation.
Look at that murderous expression.
I hadn’t known that man could even make a face like that.
And I also hadn’t known a human face could have that many veins in it.
I made my decision.
“Jo Duho. What the hell are you doing?”
I’m never going to act out like that again.