Suddenly Misunderstood (3)

Life never unfolds the way you expect it to.

I was feeling that proposition in my bones, staring at the little scrap of paper in front of me.

"..."

"W-Writer-nim? Is something the matter?"

I looked back and forth between the man sitting across from me, stroking his bushy beard, and Clause 1, Article 1 of the contract.

The man before me was, without a doubt, that same awkward soul who had sweated buckets and read my every mood at the barbecue joint last time.

And this man was Woo Youngtaek? THE Woo Youngtaek, tvM's hottest A-list PD? What's more, the man sitting quietly beside him was apparently the production head of Ace Pictures — top-tier in the industry.

But the real shock came on the next page.

Insane.... How many zeros is that, exactly?

The signing bonus and per-episode fee blew past every notion of common sense.

And then the total production budget: 50 billion won? For a moment I wondered if my eyes were broken, glaring at the numbers as if I needed magic-eye glasses to read them.

Naturally, the numbers did not change.

Wait. So everything that happened at the barbecue place wasn't a joke? It was all real?

Speechless, I could do nothing but stare holes into the contract.

Drawing on my years of grind as a PD, I picked apart every clause — the penalty terms, the copyright ownership, even the hidden poison pills buried in the fine print.

But there wasn't a single flaw to be found. No — the more I read, the more it was nothing but terms that were freakishly, pathologically slanted in my favor.

Huh.... Did these people all drink the same poisoned Kool-Aid or something?

Or was there some behind-the-scenes story I didn't know about?

Say, the heir-chaebol who runs the production company ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠read my script and was so moved he started flinging money around. Or they've completely mistaken me for some heavyweight writer hiding behind a pen name instead of a total rookie.

Or failing that.... well, there had to be some other reason.

Deciding to probe a little, I asked PD Woo Youngtaek:

"This.... you're not messing with me, are you?"

"S-sorry, what?!"

Watching Woo Youngtaek's face go from bone-white to downright translucent, I was the one who ended up embarrassed.

What could possibly have turned him that pale? Feeling awkward, I quickly brushed it off.

"...Never mind. That was a joke."

"I-is it perhaps that you're unhappy with the casting?"

"No.... hmm...."

This man really puts his heart into talking nonsense.

Clicking my tongue inwardly, I shifted my gaze to the back of the planning proposal — the casting lineup.

Right, so the problem was that the names attached to these actors were simply too heavy.

Choi Taekyung, a blue-chip Chungmuro star, and Cha Yerin, a walking ratings guarantee. If this dazzling banquet was laid out on the table and it still flopped?

Would the public say, "Ah, the acting was a bit disappointing"? Or would they say, "The writer wrote that script with his feet"?

A hundred times out of a hundred, the latter.

Yoon Dongwoo, you bastard. This is the exact opposite of what you told me....

As anxiety welled up and I blankly ran my eyes over the actors' names, PD Woo Youngtaek carefully added:

"W-well, Writer-nim, you don't need to worry about the casting. As you can see, all the first-choice actors are reviewing the offer positively."

"Is that so...."

"Yes! We have in-person meetings scheduled as early as this week. Unless something major comes up, the lineup will be confirmed exactly as is."

Woo Youngtaek meant it as reassurance, but for me it was nothing short of a death sentence.

That's the biggest problem of all, you idiot!

What was I supposed to do?

My bank account was far too skeletal for me to kick this astronomical sum to the curb.

But signing on the dotted line meant dreading the catastrophe that was sure to arrive soon after.

Damn it. Should I laugh at this, or cry?

Just as I was anxiously racking my brain—

"!"

A brilliant scheme flashed through my mind like a bolt of lightning.

Hold on — there's a meeting with the actors, you say?

Yes. That was it.

Top stars with high-flying egos typically show up before the stamp goes down with a mountain of demands tailored to their own tastes.

Especially an actress like Cha Yerin, notorious in the industry for tearing scripts apart at will and running sets like her personal fiefdom.

But what if I went to that meeting and flat-out ignored every single one of the actors' demands?

What if I went even further — slashed their appearance fees, declared I'd rewrite their screen time as I pleased, and acted like an unrepentant tyrant?

They'd get a hundred percent pissed off and walk on their own.

Top stars who live and die by their pride would never stomach the antics of some green-as-grass rookie writer.

I'd drive these overpriced actors out the door with their own two feet, then fill their shoes with cheap, cost-effective no-name actors.

And then, even if the drama crashed and burned later on, I'd have the perfect excuse ready-made: the limits of the casting.

Right — after all, if the leads aren't famous, you can't generate any buzz to begin with.

The moment the thought landed, the crushing weight in my chest burst open like a dam.

Suppressing the vicious smile that kept trying to force its way out, I feigned the grave face of an artist lost in creative torment, and called out to PD Woo Youngtaek.

"PD Woo."

"Y-yes! Writer-nim!"

Facing PD Woo Youngtaek as he gulped down dry spit, along with Manager Kim, I laced my fingers on the table and declared quietly:

"Those actor meetings you mentioned for this week."

"Ah, yes! We're coordinating the schedule now."

"I'll be attending those myself."

"...?"

"Excuse me...?"

At my words, PD Woo Youngtaek and Manager Kim blinked at me like fools.

tvM Drama Bureau, Production Department 1, Director's office.

PD Woo Youngtaek slid the finalized staff roster and casting status sheet across the desk to CP Ha Doun.

CP Ha adjusted his glasses and scanned the documents.

Beneath the heading Director: Woo Youngtaek, the pages were densely packed with core personnel from the heavyweight outsourced production house Ace Pictures.

"The entire production side is going through Ace?"

"Yes. The camera and lighting crews are Ace's in-house teams, and I'm personally reaching out on the art and CG side — outsourced contracts under review."

"Tight setup. Good. The looks on the main and supporting cast aren't bad either."

Ace Pictures — the studio that had fired off hit after hit on terrestrial broadcasting.

And for casting, the list ran from first choice down to fifth, lined wall to wall with stars whose names alone turned heads.

These were not the caliber of names that should even be attached to a debut writer's script — but in a capitalist society, there was nothing money couldn't do.

"Guess all that money we smeared on the walls was worth it."

The budget had shot vertically from 30 billion to 50 billion won.

And since this was a script where character charm made up eighty percent of the work, a special directive had come down from the bureau chief himself.

Don't skimp a single won on the actors.

Thanks to that, the production team had ample ammunition to assemble the most luxurious lineup imaginable.

This much should satisfy even that notoriously fussy writer.

A satisfied smile spread across Director Ha Doun's lips as he ran his eyes down the casting board.

"Hm?"

But the moment his gaze caught one particular name, a crease quietly dug itself between Ha Doun's brows.

"By the way, PD Woo. All fine and good, but can the set actually be controlled like this?"

"Sorry?"

"The actors. You've gathered nothing but egos the size of hot air balloons."

Actors with inflated name value in this industry expect the entire set to orbit around them.

Financial wrangling at the casting stage is child's play.

Making unreasonable demands of the staff is routine, and they throw tantrums to force their way into the script itself and bloat their own screen time.

And what about the power struggles between actors? At this rate, he worried less about the acting than whether the set would function at all.

"This one especially is a problem."

Tap, tap.

CP Ha jabbed the pen at the female lead's first-choice entry.

There sat the name of Cha Yerin — a rising star whose stock was soaring by the day.

"You know how much trash talk came out of her MBS miniseries last year, right? She's infamous for shredding rookie writers' scripts to ribbons and turning the entire set atmosphere into a dumpster fire."

"Ah, yes. Well, she is an actress with very strong convictions of her own."

"Hey, you punk. Convictions my ass. She's just reckless."

Deep worry bled through CP Ha's voice.

"This script is a rookie's debut work. You think a fierce one like her is going to sit still? It's obvious as daylight — she'll roast the writer alive before filming even starts and twist him around her finger."

No matter how much people babbled about him being Writer Seo Eunhye's beloved protégé, to the actors he was just an easy mark of a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rookie who knew nothing.

And what's more, Writer Ji Yeonwoo was a pure "page scholar" who had never once set foot on a drama set.

There was a very real danger of the script careering off into the mountains, steamrolled by the lead actors' turf wars.

"Director-nim."

But Woo Youngtaek's reaction to this grave warning was nothing like CP Ha had expected.

Far from looking troubled, the corner of his mouth actually curled up into a sideways smirk.

"You don't need to worry about that at all. The thing you're worried about will never happen."

"Oh really. You punk. You think you can control Cha Yerin? Your head'll get cracked open just standing near her."

"No. Why would I be handling that? The writer will sort out the pecking order all by himself."

"What?"

Woo Youngtaek recalled Ji Yeonwoo's frost-chilled eyes from a few days ago, and the bombshell declaration that had come with them.

Those actor meetings happening this week. I'll be attending those myself.

What else ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could that mean? It was a beast's declaration of war — a vow to snap the actors into line from day one.

No doubt the actors would bring plenty of swagger of their own, but he simply could not imagine that writer ever wagging his tail at some piddling actors' turf games.

"What the hell are you talking about, kid? You've got something you're betting on, don't you?"

"Ah, well. There is something. You'd understand if you met that writer yourself, Director-nim."

At Woo Youngtaek's face — utterly devoid of a shred of doubt — CP Ha stared at him as if he were looking at a madman.

Inside a black van gliding along the Riverside Expressway.

Manager Choi, in the passenger seat, looked up from checking the schedule on his tablet and broke the silence.

"Yerin, you haven't forgotten the in-person meeting with tvM tomorrow at 3 PM, right?"

From the back seat, Cha Yerin answered in a languid voice, eyes closed as if exhausted.

"I know. Woo Jungtaek or whatever his name is — that ahjussi's project. Though I don't get why the first meeting has to be such a whole production. Not even a table read. Exhausting."

"Hey, hey. I told you to fix that mouth of yours."

"What did I do."

"Aigoo, fine, whatever. Just behave a little tomorrow, okay? I hear the writer's attending this meeting in person."

"Hm? Really?"

Both of Cha Yerin's closed eyes snapped open.

And at the same time, a deeply interested smile spread thick across her red lips.

"Puhuhu. What's this? Quite the fighting spirit for a debut writer, aren't we?"

"...What are you scheming now."

"Nothing~ really. Just wondering how I should cook this cute little writer-nim?"

A green rookie writer with zero on-set experience.

For an actress, there was no easier prey, no more delicious morsel to sink her teeth into.

What's more, the gap in power between them made the pecking order crystal clear — to a rookie writer, Cha Yerin was nothing less than a predator.

"Hehe~ How shall I roast this one alive, I wonder."

How to pad her screen time, how to hoover every drop of the character's charm over to her own side.

Cha Yerin was humming a little tune, happily lost in her fantasies, when Manager Choi — who had been watching her expression in the rearview mirror — nearly choked and scrambled to stop her.

"Yerin, I'm telling you, you HAVE to behave this time."

"Oh, stop overdramatizing. I'll handle it just fine."

"No, this one's really important."

The desperation in Manager Choi's voice climbed a full octave.

"That powerful shaman told you last time, remember? She said you absolutely must take this project. That's why the division head himself drilled it in — no matter if the sky splits in two, you cannot let this tvM drama slip away."

"Ugh, my ears are bleeding, seriously. I heard you, okay? How many times are you going to repeat the same thing? Annoying."

"...Right. If you heard me, then let's just get through tomorrow's meeting quietly. Okay? I'm begging you here. And apparently there's word going around that this writer is... something else entirely. There's definitely something to him."

Manager Choi rubbed his palms together, pleading, but Cha Yerin only gave a dismissive snort.

"So what if there's something to him? Worst case, he's just some baby writer, isn't he?"

"Still.... better safe than sorry, no?"

"Ugh, suffocating. Just sit there quietly, oppa. I'll handle it perfectly."

Once she spotted prey that looked easy, she simply wouldn't let go until she'd torn it apart and left the bones behind.

She was terrifying — and she was his actress.

Manager Choi finally let out a long, deep ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sigh and shook his head.

"Hmmm~ If we're doing this anyway, maybe I should be a little greedier? When else am I going to fill my plate, right? Am I wrong?"

"Aigoo.... don't even say it. That writer's the one I feel sorry for."

And Manager Choi prayed, silently and earnestly.

For the peaceful repose of the writer who would soon be sacrificed.