Were You Planning to Sink This Drama All Along? (1)
An outdoor filming location for SBC's drama Suspect X. A set so massive it made jaws drop, dozens of cameras, and a hundred-odd staff members scurrying about the lot. Anyone could feel the full weight of a tentpole drama that the network was staking its survival on.
And amid all that bustle, a middle-aged man stood at a distance with his arms crossed, staring hard at the monitor. It was CP Han Kanghee, the de facto power broker of SBC's Drama Bureau. Though his eyes were trained on the A-list leads pouring their hearts out inside the camera frame, his mind was consumed by entirely different thoughts.
'Ha! That bastard writes now? The punk who couldn't even hack it as a PD and walked out?'
Not long ago, he'd heard that the main writer of Living with an Ex-Boyfriend by Chance—the rival drama airing in the same timeslot—was one Ji Yeonwoo. Back when the guy was still grinding away as a PD, he'd shown an interest in scribbling scripts, sure, but Han Kanghee had never dreamed he'd suddenly make his debut over at tvM.
Then again, maybe it was for the best. While he'd been racking his brain over how exactly to crush that insufferable punk, the man had crawled into his own grave of his own accord.
"Oh? Uncle! What brings you all the way out to the set today?"
Just then, a smooth voice broke into Han Kanghee's musings. A slender young man came slinking over, hair lavishly styled, makeup done, draped in a long puffer jacket plastered with luxury logos. The one who'd snagged the second male lead in this season's Suspect X—Han Kanghee's junior from college and the son of a major production company CEO: Kang Minhyuk.
"Ah, Minhyuk. You all set for the shot? Your visuals are sharper than usual today."
"Haha, of course. All thanks to you pushing me so hard, CP-nim. I was reading the script, and my character's scenes are an absolute gem, I tell you."
It went without saying that Kang Minhyuk was a parachute hire—someone Han Kanghee had installed, blatant as day. The busy CP's reason for setting foot on set in the first place was to boost the kid's morale.
"Yes, yes. Anyway, do well. This drama will be a crucial stepping stone for your career. You've got to make a solid impression here so you can move on to a proper lead role next time."
"Of course! Oh, right—Uncle. Did you happen to hear the news?"
"Hmm?"
Kang Minhyuk lowered his voice, a sly smile curling across his face.
"Do Jaehyun. You know that bastard? Word is he got cast in a tvM drama this time. Living with an Ex-Boyfriend—something or other."
"Do Jaehyun? Ahh. The theater-school type you said got on your nerves? Why would he end up there?"
"Kuk kuk, no idea. I hear he went crawling over to work as an extra—playing background characters without a single line of dialogue."
"Ha, really? Not even a bit part—a background extra? The guy's thrown his pride straight in the trash, huh."
Kang Minhyuk and Do Jaehyun. The truth was, the two men had once come out of the same theater troupe. But the important roles always went to Do Jaehyun, and at every decisive moment Kang Minhyuk found himself pushed aside, relegated to little more than a folding screen. His inferiority complex swelled like a snowball until, at last, he resolved to bury the man completely.
By cleverly wielding his father's connections and the broadcasting-industry clout of Han Kanghee, he had systematically blocked every single casting opportunity Do Jaehyun ever got. The result: a man once hailed as an acting prodigy with limitless promise was utterly blacklisted from the industry, his work dried up, reduced to scrambling for extra gigs just to scrape together a meal—right where he stood today.
"It's so pathetic it's actually hilarious, don't you think? Used to strut around acting so noble, so devoted to his art. Now he spends all day trembling outdoors collecting ten thousand won a day as an extra. Kuk kuk. When I heard about it yesterday, it was like a weight lifted off my chest."
At Kang Minhyuk's malice-soaked mockery, Han Kanghee let out a derisive snort of his own.
"Forget him. That guy's been cut loose for ages. Don't waste your energy—just focus on your script. Got it, Minhyuk?"
"Yes sir! I'll keep that in mind. Then I'll go get into position, Uncle."
With a polite bow to Han Kanghee, Kang Minhyuk headed toward the set, flanked by his handlers. Once the air around him had gone quiet again, Han Kanghee clicked his tongue in irritation.
'So that's the level of the tvM crowd. Tch.'
A writer who couldn't last as a PD and ran off to wave a pen around. An extra stricken with art-sickness, so deluded about his own station he had the gall to get cocky. How on earth had such pathetic trash all ended up in one place?
'Pathetic bastards. Go on, then—flail around all you want.'
Since things had come to this, he'd make sure to trample them into the dirt, thoroughly and completely. The corners of Han Kanghee's mouth twisted into an unpleasant sneer.
Around that time, the set of tvM's Living with an Ex-Boyfriend by Chance rolled into full-scale filming as well.
"Ready, action!"
On the monitor, the actors came alive, and dozens of crew members held their breath, determined not to miss so much as a single intake of air. Watching the world I'd written take shape as reality through the camera lens was, frankly, a stranger experience than I'd ever imagined.
'Whoa... my script really is becoming a drama.'
The first shoot of my debut. Something was surging up in my chest. Joy? Euphoria? Being moved? Not even close.
'I'm going to have to live without internet for a while.'
It was a vague, formless dread. Watching the production of a drama destined to flop was not a pleasant way to pass the time. And the staff's excessive kindness only made me more uncomfortable.
"Writer-nim, is the monitor angle all right? Shall we swap your chair for a more comfortable one?"
"Writer-nim! Let me get you more hot packs—it's windy out here."
"You don't look well... Is something bothering you?"
Staff, the PDs, even the actors waiting on standby kept sneaking glances my way, watching my every move. Come on, I wasn't some royalty. I knew drama was a writer's game, but weren't they taking this a bit too far?
'Good grief, how am I supposed to breathe under this kind of pressure?'
If I stayed like this much longer, I was going to have an actual panic attack. I cooked up a convenient excuse and quietly rose from my seat.
"Ahem. I think my throat's dry from being nervous. I'll go grab some cold drinks from the convenience store nearby."
"Oh no, Writer-nim! I—I'll go! Just tell me what you'd like and...!"
"No, I'll go myself."
"Please, I'll be right back—!"
"I said I'll go. Please."
After barely fending off the youngest staff member, who threw himself in my path like a soldier making his last stand, I slipped out of the set as if fleeing the scene. Walking into the cold night air, I finally felt my jammed-up lungs loosen a little. When I reached the nearby convenience store, I swept the shelves clean of every variety of sports drink and canned coffee to hand out to the staff.
—Ding!
I headed out with two heavy plastic bags full of drinks, one in each hand. Did I buy too much? I had no idea what people would like, so I'd just grabbed everything. I was entertaining these pointless thoughts as I rounded the perimeter of the set again when—
"Ah! You're the one who went to buy coffee, right?!"
Someone abruptly blocked my path. A tall man with an easygoing charm and striking features that snatched your attention in a single glance.
But who was this guy? Before I could even ask, he snatched the bags right out of my hands. Shit—what the hell? A mugger?
"You're late, come on! We need to get into position!"
"Excuse me?"
"The extra captain is furious right now! Run!"
A question mark floated up in my head. Did he just mistake me for an actor?
'Oh, for crying out loud. Unbelievable.'
People did tell me now and then that I had an actor's face, but being mistaken for a real one was a new one. Should've gone into acting instead of directing, huh. While I was busy wearing a rueful smirk, he hauled me off at a brisk pace.
And a short while later, we arrived at the edge of the set. The man, having blended in among the waiting extras, bustled about handing out the coffee and drinks. Except—all of that was stuff I bought, damn it.
"Phew, exhausting. Want a coffee?"
"Of course. I paid for it, after all."
"Sorry, what?"
"...Nothing."
Sipping the coffee he'd handed me, I watched the scene unfold before us. The lead actors huddled over their scripts, running rehearsal before the cameras rolled. A ferocious determination burned in their eyes—not a single mistake allowed. But seeing that kind of passion poured into this drama of all things just made me feel guilty.
"Pretty incredible, aren't they?"
"...? Sorry?"
Just then, the man struck up a conversation without a hint of hesitation.
"The sunbaes over there. You'd have to be that obsessed with acting to survive in this business, right?"
"...."
Cradling the canned coffee in both hands, the man let out a soft sigh of awe. He had the face of a boy gazing up at an idol he worshiped.
"Performing in front of dozens of people like that—it's fascinating, and honestly, part of me envies them too."
"Do you want to be like that?"
"Hm? Ahaha! No. That'd be asking a bit much."
Even to himself it must have seemed a distant dream, because the man laughed awkwardly, waving it off.
"For me, just... standing in front of a camera and delivering a single line would be more than enough."
With that, he extended the hand holding his coffee can and gently clinked it against mine.
"But someday, that day will come, right? I don't know when it'll be, but if I just grit my teeth and hold on, someday... ahaha."
"...."
As a brief silence settled between us, the assistant director's megaphone rang out from the main set in the distance.
"Extras playing café customers! Please gather over here! We're checking your blocking!"
At the call, the man snapped back to his senses and hastily set his empty can down on the ground. Then, as if on cue, he pulled a battered, dog-eared notebook from his jacket.
'What's that now?'
Just when I thought he was leaving, the man stopped in place and began scribbling away like a man possessed. The fingers gripping his pen were white with pressure. Unable to contain my curiosity, I leaned over for a peek—and let out a small gasp of astonishment.
Inside that tattered notebook, along with every line of dialogue from today's scenes, was a densely written character analysis of nearly every single role in Living with an Ex-Boyfriend by Chance. He'd even meticulously studied the blocking and split-second emotional arcs of extras who didn't have one word of dialogue.
"You copied down everyone else's lines in detail too? Why?"
At the question that spilled out of me before I knew it, the man laughed sheepishly and scratched the back of his head.
"Oh, this? It's just fun, you know?"
"Fun?"
"Yeah. If I were cast in that role, how would I breathe in front of that camera? What expression would I wear? I imagine it over and over, constantly."
"...?"
"Ahaha, does that sound like I'm overstepping?"
He added with an uneasy smile:
"But when I keep turning the characters' lines over in my mouth and trying to feel what they're feeling, it's like—for just a moment—I'm the protagonist of this story. That feeling is so overwhelming I can't stop."
"...."
"And above all, the script is just good. The dialogue crackles so much that letting it slide by would feel like a waste—I can't help digging into it. Haha."
An answer so romantic it bordered on foolish in its pureness. It hit me like a blow to the back of the head, and I went quiet. No—wait. He was digging into my script—my script that was explicitly designed to flop—this seriously? Why?
As I stood there staring at him, seized by this strange, indescribable emotion—
"Writer-nim! What are you doing all the way over here! We've been looking everywhere for you!"
The assistant director, spotting me from a distance, came sprinting over, white as a sheet. At the same moment, the handsome man's movements froze dead.
"You need to head back, Writer-nim! Director Woo is looking for you right now!"
"...Writer-nim?"
The man looked back and forth between the assistant director and me as if he couldn't believe his ears, and then an earthquake began to quake through his pupils.
"You—you were the writer?! Oh no, I'm so sorry! I thought you were a background extra playing a café part on standby with the rest of us...!"
The man went pale and bowed at a rigid ninety degrees. He looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole on the spot. Oh come on, it wasn't that big of a deal. I waved my hand with an awkward smile.
"It's fine. The set's a madhouse—it could happen to anyone. I understand."
I turned away from his stiff, frozen figure and walked back with the assistant director. But partway there, she glanced back over her shoulder and murmured to me under her breath.
"Writer-nim. Did that bastard do something to you earlier? Make some kind of mistake?"
"Sorry?"
Her tone dripped with open hostility and displeasure. I looked at her, puzzled.
"No? Nothing happened. Why?"
"That's a relief. I'd strongly advise steering clear of that guy. He looks harmless enough, but he's rotten to the core."
"...? Rotten?"
"Yes. His reputation in the industry is awful. He's been burned so many times he's been effectively blacklisted."
"...."
"And they say he's been grinding away in this business for seven years? And he's still scraping by on extra work—that tells you everything. Trash. Bottom-tier trash. We only called him today because we were short on bodies; any other day, we'd never have hired him."
At the assistant director's words, I turned my head and watched the man's receding figure. His shoulders, sagging limp and defeated, looked worlds apart from the man who'd been bubbling over with pure, childlike wonder just moments ago. But his reputation was bad?
That face that had smiled so happily while watching the actors perform. That earnest voice, passionately declaring that even a bit player could be the hero of the story. Judging from those fragments alone, there was no way he looked like a bad person.
"That man just now—do you know his name?"
"Sorry? His name?"
"Yeah. Just curious."
The assistant director blinked, then reluctantly opened her mouth.
"It's, uh... Do Jaehyun. Anyway, Writer-nim, just treat guys like that as invisible. Getting tangled up with them is nothing but a headache."
"...."
Do Jaehyun. I slowly rolled those three syllables around on my tongue. Somehow, it felt like a name I wanted to remember.
But just then, a beast-like roar erupted from the direction of the main set and blew my musings to pieces.
"Hey, you bastards! What are we going to do about this?! I told you to find me a solution—ANY solution!"
...Huh?
Following the assistant director back onto the set, I found myself stopping dead in my tracks. The filming lot that had been buzzing with energy just moments ago had frozen over like a morgue.
The staff stood around like children caught with their mouths full of honey, exchanging wary glances, while at the center of it all, Director Woo Youngtaek's face burned red as if it might burst at any second.
"This is insane! We can't shoot like this! We're about to lose every single daytime scene! At this rate, everyone packs up and goes home!"
"D-Director-nim. Then should we revise the schedule, push all of Baek Kangmin's scenes back, and film other shots in the meantime...?"
"Don't talk nonsense! Today's entire set blocking is built around Baek Kangmin's character! Without him, the scene transitions don't even connect!"
What on earth had happened? I'd already been wondering when Baek Kangmin—the second male lead—would show up. But instead of the actor, a catastrophe had come crashing onto the set first.
"Sh-should we at least contact Baek Kangmin's agency?"
"Hey, you idiot! What exactly are you planning to say to the agency?! That lunatic got drunk and drove into a person! A seven-year-old kindergartner!"
"Th-then what do we do?"
"What do we do, you blockhead?! You want us all to go down with that ticking bomb? Pull him from the cast. NOW!"
A drunk hit-and-run. Against a seven-year-old kindergartner, no less. Hmm. This was a bigger disaster than I'd anticipated.
Baek Kangmin. The second male lead of this production—and the centerpiece of today's scenes. The problems springing from his absence were not going to be one or two. Today's outdoor shoot that had to be wrapped immediately, plus all the equipment that had been tightly configured around Baek Kangmin. If we scrapped this, millions of won in production costs—money that bled out by the day—would evaporate into thin air. On top of that, securing this location again would take a minimum of several months. It was, in a word, completely screwed.
"Goddamn it! Put out an emergency casting call! He doesn't even need to know his lines—just grab anyone off the street who can stand there like a mannequin and nod on cue!"
The gentle, soft-spoken Director Woo was nowhere to be found; in his place, a snarling demon was unleashing a torrent of curses. And it wasn't just the director. Every staff member and associate on set, minds blown, was frantically working their phones. It was pure, unfiltered pandemonium.
"Um... Writer-nim, did you hear the news?"
"Yes."
"Oh, you just seem so calm.... Are you all right, Writer-nim?"
Am I all right? What was there to say. Of course I was.
'Handled well, this could blow the whole game wide open.'
Watching the production run smoothly had been suffocating me. But thanks to the bomb Baek Kangmin had detonated, I suddenly felt like I could breathe again.
That's right—my debut drama that had failure written all over it. Now I had the perfect indulgence: 'Ah, we flopped because of that bastard Baek Kangmin!' The blame would land squarely on a lead actor's risk, not on my writing. A sturdy lifeline had just been lowered to me. I held back the laughter leaking out and asked, in a voice full of worry:
"So what happens now? Is today's shoot cancelled?"
"...We'll probably have to recast the role first. But finding an actor with an open schedule right now isn't as easy as it sounds.... Haaah, what a nightmare."
Just as she said, the staff were running themselves ragged on their phones, hunting for a replacement.
But securing a same-day pickup for an actor with Baek Kangmin-level name recognition and looks—short of some mid-tier supporting player—was next to impossible.
"Choi Minseong says his schedule won't work!"
"Director-nim! We reached Park Seongjun's agency, but they say jumping into a replacement role with no prep time is out of the question..."
"Hey! Min Seongho is in a whole different league! Did I tell you to call up any random nobody? What's wrong with you, idiot!"
The names of top stars flew in and out of the staff's mouths. Plenty of actors were dropping out over scheduling conflicts, but there was also no ruling out the possibility that things might actually work out.
'Hmmm. An opportunity this hard-won—no way it's allowed to pan out. No way.'
Some A-list star of Baek Kangmin's caliber rolls in out of pure luck and smooths the whole thing over? Absolutely not. What I wanted was for the catastrophe Baek Kangmin had just caused to deal a fatal blow to this drama's prospects as well. So then—whom should they cast instead?
"Whew. Writer-nim, I'm truly sorry to ask this but..."
While I was racking my brain, Director Woo came trudging over.
"Do you happen to know any actors? Anyone you can call right now who might passably replace Baek Kangmin...?"
"Hmm...."
As it happened, I was already mulling over the exact same question. Just—for a completely different reason.
"Ideally someone with a face, if you can manage it. As you know, Writer-nim, the 'Han Taeyoon' role Baek Kangmin had..."
"A character whose entire plausibility is his face."
At my answer, Director Woo nodded like a man possessed.
"Yes, yes! Exactly! Acting chops aside, we need overwhelming visuals—the kind that make viewers instantly accept the character the moment he appears on screen. But not one actor with that kind of face has an open schedule, so... honestly, I'm losing my mind here."
Director Woo was a hundred percent right. The 'Han Taeyoon' in my script was a walking David statue—a cheat-code character whose face alone papered over every hole in the narrative.
'Hmm....'
I stroked my chin, lost in thought. An actor so devastatingly handsome he had every justification to be shoehorned into the Han Taeyoon role—but whose acting was garbage or whose filmography was a pitiful wreck. An actor who could drive the final nail into the coffin of this trainwreck of a drama. Of course, such a gem wasn't just lying around for the taking.
'Hmm. No one's coming to mind, though.'
Just as I was thinking that and let my gaze drift absently—there he was. At the fringe of the chaotic set, a man was gathering his things and turning to leave with a bitter look, filming having ground to a halt. The extra actor I'd spoken with earlier.
'Oh...?'
A striking physique that pierced right through his shabby old jumper. Sharp, sculpted features that seized the eye instantly even standing in a dark corner no lighting rig reached. Judged on face alone, he could effortlessly crush the man widely considered the industry's visual poster boy—Baek Kangmin himself. And in the moment I stared at him, dazed, the assistant director's whispered warning struck my ears like a phantom echo.
—His reputation in the industry is awful. He's been burned so many times he's been effectively blacklisted.
—Seven years in this business and he's still scrambling for extra work—that tells you everything. Trash. Bottom-tier trash.
The gears in my head began meshing and turning at a frenzied pace. Visuals? Crushes Baek Kangmin—plausible enough to satisfy the director and every staff member. Name recognition? Thoroughly unknown. A complete nobody whose name the public had never heard. Acting ability? Seven years in and still stuck playing extras—a certified bomb. And the moment the thought completed itself, a gasp escaped me like a gust of errant wind.
"Ah!"
"...?! Wh-what is it? Did someone come to mind?!"
He was right there. The perfect indulgence—the ultimate card to devour my debut drama whole, standing right over there.
"Director-nim."
"Yes! Yes, yes! Go ahead!"
Director Woo looked up at me with the desperate eyes of a man who'd just spotted his savior. I raised my hand without hesitation and pointed at a man slowly disappearing into a corner of the set.
"He's right there. The actor who suits Han Taeyoon."
"...Sorry? That man? I've never seen his face before—do you know his name?"
A lonely figure trudging away into the distance. I spoke his three syllables with total conviction.
"Do Jaehyun."