The New Manager (7)
Studio Initial
The sprawling building looked less like a production company and more like a factory — or, more accurately, like someone had simply erected an entire set and called it an office.
The entrance alone was extravagantly dressed. The wallpaper, the architecture, the ornaments — all of it was eerily familiar. It was a perfect replica of Future Co., Ltd., the primary setting of Ghost Story Company.
Beneath stark white walls that called the Backrooms to mind sat a riot of mismatched, colorful decorations. Dim light leaked from ceiling fixtures and indirect lamps. The place was strangely bright and yet deeply unsettling.
I was still reeling from the uncanny accuracy of it all when something else caught my eye. Official Ghost Story Company merchandise sat on display as if it had been manufactured specifically for the shoot — a perfect fit.
"It's completely identical now. Just like Future Co., Ltd.," Chun Yeonho said, marveling. "The quality's way better than last time I was here."
Ghost Story Company was a blockbuster drama series with a production budget of a staggering fifty billion won. When I'd first heard that number, it hadn't really registered. Just a vague sense of, Ah, so they're going all out. Spending a lot. That was about it. Famous films sometimes blew past four hundred billion, so fifty didn't feel like anything to get worked up over — even accounting for the fact that Hollywood played in a different league entirely.
But among Korean films and dramas, the highest production budget on record was sixty-five billion. Fifty billion put this among the largest-scale drama productions the country had ever seen. Standing here on the actual set, the sheer scale of it finally hit home.
As we made our way to the third-floor conference room where the script reading would take place, the entire interior of the building had been dressed to match the corridors of Ghost Story Company. Walking in alone at night would have been enough to make your skin crawl. They'd stripped and replaced the wallpaper, the ceilings, the floors — thoroughly enough that they could keep using the place like this even after filming wrapped.
"Wooow…"
Park Seoh-ah was as absorbed in looking around as I was. Ghost Story Company was the most successful webtoon in Korea, and its overseas breakthrough had been absurdly massive. With a fandom that solid behind the source material, the merch alone was said to have pulled in a hundred billion won.
The story itself was built to cultivate a devoted fanbase — a company that secured, contained, and managed surreal ghost stories. Fascinating tales, the abilities tied to them, their weaknesses. Perfect fuel for endless arguments over which one was stronger or scarier. That high floor was probably why the investment had gone this far. Even in a worst-case scenario, they could recoup the budget. Or maybe they'd simply decided it was an investment that couldn't fail.
Between the buzz and the budget, nothing was lacking. Chun Yeonho mentioned there were even rumors that another thirty billion might still be poured in.
All the way up to the third floor, countless eyes turned our way — every one of them drawn to Han Ahyoung and Park Seoh-ah's beauty, murmuring in admiration. Between the two of them, they were easily top-tier even among professional actresses.
Han Ahyoung met the stares with total indifference, as if attention were simply her due.
"Hello! I'm Park Seoh-ah, a rookie actress."
Park Seoh-ah, on the other hand, greeted every single person with a sparkling smile. Most of them looked like staff or production personnel. Anyone who exchanged words with her immediately softened; whatever walls they'd been holding up crumbled on the spot. Whether they looked prickly or cold, man or woman, she gently took them over one by one. With Park Seoh-ah, there was nowhere she could go and find someone who hated her. Who could possibly dislike a girl that kind and that pretty?
"Why are you greeting every last person? Just get on the director's and the actors' good side."
Han Ahyoung said it like Seoh-ah was being a nuisance, like she was laying it on too thick — but that was just her personality. And Park Seoh-ah, as always, took it in stride with her gentle charm.
"But they're all amazing people making this project together. It's so cool."
She flashed a bright smile at the staff member she'd just greeted, locking eyes with him steadily.
"Right? Let's all do our best together."
"Y-yes…"
His voice cracked. His pupils trembled like aspen leaves. His face went up like a firework, the look of a teenage boy falling in love at first sight. The badge around his neck read Props Team. His head jerked in an awkward nod, the corners of his mouth twitching. He clearly wanted to smile coolly, but his facial muscles had locked up and refused to move. In short, he'd short-circuited.
I knew exactly how that felt. If I locked eyes with Park Seoh-ah like that, I'd— ah. I shouldn't think about that. Outside, I had to restrain myself.
I pulled myself together and made the rounds with my own greetings. Fortunately, no one was particularly cold toward me either.
"You're not an actor?"
"No. I'm Park Seoh-ah's manager. Pleasure to work with you."
A few people asked me that. Having inherited Dad's genes along with my little sister, I wasn't exactly ugly. Handsome enough that people questioned me as a manager; ordinary enough that I wouldn't stand out as an actor. I was already content with that.
The one thing I had to watch was when I greeted the female staff. Something strange would stir in my body, and sometimes a short, ragged breath would slip out. I wish she'd order me around… Before I knew it, that was the thought running through my head.
We were nearly at the conference room for the script reading when Chun Yeonho whispered to me.
"Watch yourself with the director. Keep the coffee tributes coming."
So I was the one who had to be careful with the director. And coffee tributes weren't something Chun Yeonho was exempt from either — that stop at the café earlier had clearly been for the director's sake.
The conference room held about eight long tables arranged in rows, each seating roughly ten people. In front of every chair sat a nameplate listing the character from Ghost Story Company and the actor's name. About half the cast was already there — some faces I recognized, others I'd never seen. I hadn't realized there were this many roles.
I scanned the room, tense. The actors were chatting among themselves, the atmosphere warm and lively. The set vibe seemed pretty good.
Picking out the director was easy enough. One man had a mountain of coffee cups stacked on the table in front of him — every last one still pristine, untouched. He wore a thick, unkempt beard and a baggy outfit that looked like something grabbed off a market stall. His heavily wrinkled face sported a large mole. He had the look of a stubborn, exacting man. His mouth worked rhythmically, chewing gum, which only made him harder to approach. His appearance was anything but clean — frankly, he was a mess. And somehow that made him look even more like a director. It was the same logic as hiring a programmer: the guy with the turtle neck, rounded shoulders, greasy hair, and a plaid T-shirt somehow inspired more confidence than the polished one.
The people beside him had no nameplates, so I couldn't tell exactly who they were, but it was obvious they all held high positions.
Park Seoh-ah and Han Ahyoung drew every actor's gaze as they approached the director first to greet him. Honestly, I was most curious about Han Ahyoung. Would she humble herself to get on the director's good side, or greet him exactly as she was?
"Collecting coffee again, I see, Director Geon."
"There's our Ahyoung. How's your condition?"
"Same as always."
"That's a pro for you — always ready. Need anything? Just say the word. There's nothing we wouldn't do for our lead."
The director's gums bloomed into a full smile — the kind of smile I wouldn't have guessed he even knew how to make. After that unexpected warmth, Han Ahyoung moved down the line, greeting each person in turn.
The woman beside Director Geon was the drama's writer — the adaptation writer, in this case. Next to her sat the casting director, the production PD, the camera director, and the assistant director. I was pretty sure that in film you said "director," and in drama you said "directing PD." Film and drama were similar enough that the lines blurred, but that was the usual distinction. Though calling the director a "director" while calling the assistant an "assistant director" instead of "assistant directing PD" still struck me as odd.
That thought lasted only a moment before Han Ahyoung greeted the person seated to Director Geon's left.
"Writer Cocoa, your style is amazing as always. Is it even legal for a writer to be this pretty?"
"Oh, stop — hearing that from you is embarrassing, Ahyoung. I don't hold a candle to you."
Writer Cocoa…!
The webtoon artist behind the smash hit Ghost Story Company was sitting right there. She was a woman — and a rather beautiful one at that. I'd pictured webtoon artists as the glasses-wearing, slightly neglected type, but between her makeup and her clothes, she had an aura that could have fooled anyone if you'd dropped her among the actresses. Han Ahyoung hadn't been empty-flattering.
Eyes followed Han Ahyoung as she glided to her assigned seat with elegant steps, and they kept following even after she sat down. She exchanged greetings with the other actors as well. Just as the director and the original creator had treated her warmly, the cast was no different. She held easy conversation even with the veteran actors. Most of them praised her beauty and her craft, openly envious. In this room, Han Ahyoung was the protagonist. The whole world seemed to revolve around her. She was a far greater actress than I'd ever realized.
Park Seoh-ah had said she wanted to catch up to someone like that. Was there anything I could do for her? I wanted to be useful.
Meanwhile, Chun Yeonho was presenting his coffee to Director Geon and offering his greetings. Park Seoh-ah bounced over with her own cheerful hello — but unlike the staff outside, the reaction this time was ordinary.
"Mm. Come on in."
Director Geon, in particular, was completely indifferent to Park Seoh-ah's radiant smile and fresh greeting. The difference from how he'd treated Han Ahyoung was night and day. How could anyone look at Park Seoh-ah and not break into a doting father's smile? Was the man simply devoid of emotion?
He just chewed his gum and looked at me.
"Manager?"
"Yes."
"Coffee?"
"Right here."
He said it like he'd left an order with me. I didn't show any displeasure — I just quickly pulled the thermos from my crossbody bag. I'd wanted to introduce myself properly, but the situation didn't allow for it. All I could do was hand over the coffee. I didn't even get to say my name.
I held out the thermos with its cool ice cubes floating inside. The director pushed an empty paper cup toward me.
"Pour it."
When I just stared, he jerked his chin, urging me on. Up until a moment ago, the urge to take orders and submit had been rising in me — but maybe it was because a man was the one giving the command. My mood went completely cold. I was a masochist who only wanted to be dominated by women. A masochist who could never beat a woman. Of course, mood aside, I had no choice but to obey.
Clink.
Listening to the ice knock together, I looked at the mountain of coffees on the desk. Some people, like me, had brought thermoses; others, like Chun Yeonho, had bought café drinks. Even a rough count put the total past twenty. No coffee maniac drank this much. This director wasn't evaluating the actors — he was evaluating the managers. Maybe a manager he didn't like would be a bad influence on the actor. Which meant he could order you to do anything and you'd have no choice but to give it your all. Pure power-tripping.
I poured carefully. Director Geon brought the cup to his nose.
"Instant mix?"
"Yes."
"Tsk. Who brings cheap instant crap? No basics."
"…"
"If this tastes bad. Tsk. Handle it yourself."
Handle what myself?
Just as the director was about to take a sip, he stopped, set the cup back down, and looked at me.
"What are you staring at? Get out."
"…Ah. Yes."
It felt like he was establishing dominance over the new guy on purpose — kicking me out before tasting the coffee just to make me more anxious. I glanced around discreetly, then left with Chun Yeonho.
Come to think of it, there wasn't a single person who looked like a manager left in the conference room. Apparently we weren't allowed to watch the script reading.
On the way out, my eyes met Park Seoh-ah's. The sight of her sweet little smile melted my worries away. I'd been flustered, sure — but I hadn't actually felt tense or anxious. If it tastes bad, handle it yourself, he'd said.
As if it could possibly taste bad.