Does Anyone Get to Be a Drama Writer? (2)

The editing suite at the tvM Variety Bureau in Sangam-dong. There, Yoon Dongwoo sat staring at a monitor, letting out one hollow laugh after another.

"Wow. This is genuinely, ridiculously well-written."

The screen he was looking at was filled edge to edge with text. It was the manuscript file for the romantic-comedy novel that Ji Yeonwoo had sent him.

He was already on his third full read-through of Yeonwoo's script. Setting aside the fact that the writer happened to be a close friend, it was undeniably excellent work. Sure, what would a variety-show PD like himself know about judging drama scripts? But if even a complete layman found it entertaining, that meant the pure fun factor was off the charts.

The dialogue was sharp enough to drop straight into actors' mouths as-is, and the instinct for how to break a scene apart was astonishing even to Dongwoo, a man who cut reality footage for a living. On top of that, the characters—leads and supporting cast alike—were uniformly vivid and unforgettable.

They say no script is perfect, but this one met Yoon Dongwoo's personal definition of perfection to the letter.

"Ugh. Even I feel bad letting this sit around. The guy really should have been writing all along."

Yoon Dongwoo scrolled down, then clicked his tongue. The man had written something this entertaining, yet he himself insisted on dismissing it as nothing more than an amateur's hobby.

"So that's the so-called 'my writing sucks' syndrome, huh?"

Come to think of it, Yeonwoo had always had an exacting eye for drama. Which was probably why writers had hated him more times than he could count—his ego-touched colleagues did not take kindly to some know-it-all assistant producer second-guessing their scripts. That stubborn streak was likely part of why, even after five years in the industry, the guy still hadn't gotten his debut.

And that same man was several times harsher on his own work. Excessive perfectionism and the 'my writing sucks' syndrome had conspired to produce exactly that result.

"But seriously, this is not the kind of quality you let rot on a hard drive."

Yoon Dongwoo muttered, chin propped on his hand. However he sliced it, it was too good to be shelved as a hobby.

Tch. Clicking his tongue, Dongwoo started hammering at his mouse.

There was something a little funny about a variety-bureau PD submitting someone else's script to his own network's drama-bureau contest. But that guy was the type who would never walk up and submit it himself, so Dongwoo wanted to prove his talent to the world by any means necessary. He'd already told the man yesterday, so there was nothing to agonize over.

—Tap-tap!

He sloppily filled in the required fields and slapped the episode-one-and-two script file straight into the attachments. Adding Yeonwoo's contact information completed the form. With every input box filled, Yoon Dongwoo hovered his cursor over the [Submit] button.

—Click.

Confirming the popup, Yoon Dongwoo grinned and leaned back in his chair.

"Whew. I really just went and did it."

Of course, Dongwoo knew perfectly well that the industry wasn't easy street. No matter how entertaining the writing, the first spoonful was never enough to fill your belly. He didn't expect anything like a miracle—sweeping the grand prize or getting greenlit overnight and going straight into production.

"It's his first outing, so making it past just the second round of judging would already be a triumph."

Even that much would be enough to rekindle the guy's crushed spirit. And if he rode that momentum and truly spread his wings, what could be more rewarding for a friend to witness?

'And hey, this way I get to read his next script too.'

Though honestly, that was the bigger reason of the two.

The tvM Drama Bureau conference room. The staff inside were buried in judging the contest submissions. It was eye-gougingly exhausting work, but the first round ended today.

"Seriously, how many times are we going to see the same premise? Fine, chase the trends—but this is just copy-paste, isn't it?"

"The dialogue is straight out of 1987. 'You're a woman I simply cannot figure out.' I'm losing my mind."

They'd probably already fished out everything worth fishing. Concluding ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there was nothing left to salvage, the PDs slogged through the remaining entries with zero expectation.

"Nothing's grabbing me. Aside from Writer Seong's piece, it's all the same old same old."

"Well, it's a new drama from Writer Seong Yura—she gets a free pass to scheduling anyway. Is there even a point to picking a script?"

"But isn't Writer Seong going too far, though? Word is she's poaching rookies' meal tickets just because there's nothing left for her to win."

"Who cares. There's no restriction on eligibility, is there? Rookie or star writer—anyone who wants to enter, enters."

The contest billed itself as a breeding ground for rookies, but in reality it was nothing short of a masked talent hunt for star writers. That was how wide the gap between newcomers and established names had grown.

Foremost on the PDs' lips was one name: Writer Seong Yura. She was the star writer they called the Queen of Rom-Coms, the dependable heavyweight billed as a guaranteed ratings hit in this industry. With a titan like her personally submitting an entry, the outcome was all but decided. They had combed through even the scripts filed right up to the deadline, and not a single dark horse had emerged.

"Alright, alright, finish up what you're reading and head home. It's all the same anyway."

Just as voices heavy with fatigue began to drift around the conference room—

Creeeeak. The door slid open and a man walked in.

"Well, hello there, my little wage slaves. Reading hard, I hope?"

It was PD Woo Youngtaek, the most senior man in the room. At his entrance, the zombie-like PDs straightened their backs and forced out greetings.

"Yes, yes. Anything worth digging up?"

"No, sir. Not really—nothing besides Writer Seong's piece."

"The overall level seems to drop every year. Nothing leaps out and grabs you."

Hmm. Another year, another star-writer ending, then. It stung a little, but landing a heavyweight like Seong Yura was plenty. He hadn't expected anything anyway, so Woo Youngtaek let it go.

"Hmm?"

Then his gaze snagged on one corner of the room. There sat Ahn Jiyoung, the rookie PD who had joined the network just this year.

Normally she was the first to react to everything, all bright smiles and eager nods—the baby of the team. But right now she wasn't saying a word, just staring fixedly at the tablet PC in front of her.

'What on earth is she so absorbed in?'

Woo Youngtaek shot her a puzzled look, then quietly crept up behind her.

"PD Ahn. PD Ahn."

No response. Just how deep was she in this?

"Hey, Ahn Jiyoung. Jiyoung."

This time he called louder and gave her shoulder a light tap. Only then did she snap back to reality, flinching so hard her shoulders jumped. She whirled around to face Woo Youngtaek and stammered out her words.

"P-PD-nim? When did you get ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠here?"

"Just now. What were you looking at so hard you forgot to breathe? Writer ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Seong Yura's entry?"

"N-no. It's not Writer Seong's script, but...."

There was something strange about Ahn Jiyoung's face. A hazy, lingering daze—the look of someone not yet fully back from the world of the script. And holding onto that feeling, she went on.

"It's even better."

"What?"

"I don't know who wrote it, but this is the first time I've ever read a scenario this entertaining."

Better than Writer Seong Yura's script? Woo Youngtaek swallowed a scoff.

'There she goes—every now and then, the baby shows her age.'

She was normally so meek and agreeable, and here she was getting all worked up, completely unlike herself. Woo Youngtaek held out his hand, unimpressed.

"Whatever it is, let me see it too."

"Yes, sir. Here."

Woo Youngtaek took the tablet and began scrolling through the synopsis with an indifferent eye. The title was Living with an Ex-Boyfriend by Chance. From the title alone, it reeked of the most predictable rom-com imaginable.

Nothing special here, right?

Out of habit, Woo Youngtaek set out to hunt for the script's flaws first. Was the prose too breezy? Was the opening setup forced? How did the characters handle their dialogue scenes? He fully intended to dig up exactly what was backing the rookie PD's bold claim that this thing was 'more fun than Writer Seong Yura's work.' And yet—

"...?!"

Swipe! Swipe!

How many minutes had passed? The boredom had drained from his face. The finger turning each page was moving faster and faster.

Gulp—

Woo Youngtaek was no longer looking for flaws. No—he couldn't find any. At this point, he was simply reading the script, purely and purposelessly, for the story itself.

"...."

This script focused not on the tender love between a couple, but on their conflict. It painted that conflict so painfully, realistically that your chest tightened—yet the unexpected reunion that followed the breakup was hilariously, ingeniously funny.

"...Ah."

Woo Youngtaek's finger stopped dead, mid-turn to the next page. And at the same moment, a sigh heavy with loss escaped his lips.

"...."

A truly great story is one where it hurts, physically hurts, that there is no next page. That was exactly what PD Woo Youngtaek was feeling.

For a long while he sat there, staring blankly with his mouth hanging open. Then at last, a single question burst out of him.

"Ji-jiyoung. Who wrote this...?"

"I don't really know, sir. The pen name says Ji Yeonwoo, but I've never heard the name before. I can't even tell if it's a real name or not."

There was no way this was a rookie writer. He wasn't exaggerating—the thing had genuinely been a more gripping read than the script of Seong Yura, a real, bona fide star writer.

'Who the hell are you...?'

He had no idea. But one thing was certain. If the script could keep up the same pace as episodes one and two, a masterpiece was going to be born. Of that, Woo Youngtaek had absolutely no doubt.