Bring Me That Writer. Now! (1)
In a quiet corner of a café, a middle-aged woman sat tapping away at her laptop. Her name was Seong Yura — a star writer whom the industry had crowned the Queen of Rom-Coms.
"You're late, Chief Han."
"Aigoo, Writer Seong. My apologies for keeping you waiting. I didn't realize you'd already arrived — haha."
Han Kanghee, a chief producer at SBC's drama bureau, arrived at the table late and plopped down with the sleek, oily smile of a man who'd long since mastered the art of sliding through life unhurt.
"Have you eaten? There's a very private Japanese place nearby that I know well — shall I take you there? The food is simply incredible."
At that, Seong Yura lifted a finger and pressed it to her lips. Quiet. Along with the gesture, she delivered her words in a flat, indifferent tone.
"Give me a moment. Could you keep it down, please? I'm in the middle of a flow right now."
"Ah, yes, yes. Of course. Don't mind me — write comfortably, haha."
To sit across from a person and stare only at a laptop screen — by any measure, the rude one here was her. Yet Chief Han let out an easy, genial chuckle and waved it off with practiced charm. Inwardly, he might have clicked his tongue — 'look at this high-and-mighty woman' — but on the surface, his smile was a flawless piece of business engineering.
"Oh, sorry. I got so absorbed for a second there that I lost myself."
"Ahaha. Not at all. When you're writing, you ought to focus only on the writing. I understand completely."
"So — what is it you wanted to say? As you can see, I'm quite busy."
They were holding a conversation, yet her gaze remained nailed to the laptop screen. Despite the blatant brush-off, Chief Han kept that good-natured smile firmly in place. It was the survival technique that had carried him through this cutthroat industry.
"Haha, nothing much — just business. You're preparing your next project, aren't you?"
"If that's what this is about, you're too late."
She was buried up to her neck in the contest. The final round was just around the corner, and barring some freak upset, she'd take the grand prize too. After that, filming would make her even busier.
"I think my next work is going to be with tvM."
"tvM, you say... so the rumor that you submitted a script to the contest is true after all?"
He'd phrased it as a question, but Han Kanghee already knew. In this business, news had a way of leaking no matter how hard you tried to bury it — and that went double for a writer of Seong Yura's caliber. Every broadcaster in the country was watching her every move.
"That's how it worked out. So whatever I do with SBC will have to come later."
With that, Seong Yura was about to rise from her seat — but the words that followed from Chief Han stopped her cold.
"I heard that only the grand-prize winner gets picked up for drama production."
"...And?"
"Word is there's a strong favorite already lined up for the grand prize."
Her face, usually so composed, crumpled in an instant. Writers, as a rule, were people with towering pride — and for someone like her, who'd already produced hit after hit, that rule was only truer. Never less.
"Who told you that?"
"Haha. My nephew handles outsourcing over there, so he's got a good ear for the internal scuttlebutt. You know PD Woo Youngtaek, don't you?"
"Yes. Very well."
Woo Youngtaek, a veteran PD at tvM. He'd been directing dramas for close to fifteen years and had churned out no small number of hits. What's more, his eye for picking material was exceptional — his career, you could say with certainty, bore not a single blemish.
"They say the man's gotten fixated on some strange script and is pushing it hard."
"PD Woo? The PD Woo?"
"Yes. Honestly, I don't understand it myself. The man's instincts have dulled something awful — to fail to recognize a script by our Writer Seong here."
What nonsense. Han Kanghee was a CP at a rival network, and even he knew the truth — so how could they not? In other words, they'd chosen a different script knowing it was Seong Yura's. Knowing, and still tossing her aside.
"...."
Seong Yura, a star writer courted by broadcaster after broadcaster, had wanted for a long time to tear off the label of "Queen of Rom-Coms." So she'd ambitiously prepared a crime thriller, a total inversion of her usual fare — but it being her first attempt, her hesitation was only natural. And then, right around then, word of tvM's contest reached her.
A cable network, less pressure, less to gain but also less to lose. On top of that, the winning script would be directed by none other than PD Woo Youngtaek, which made it a gamble with ratings more or less guaranteed. And yet — things had turned out like this.
'This is... a little disorienting.'
She couldn't make sense of it. She was a writer who deserved to be welcomed on bended knee, and this was the treatment she got. Surely there couldn't have been a script by a bigger name than hers among the entries?
"Writer."
Just as she sat there dazed, Chief Han spoke carefully.
"Rather than subject yourself to that humiliation, why not do this properly with us? If you'll just come over, I'll make absolutely sure to clear out a prime weekend slot for you."
"...."
"It's about time SBC produced another masterpiece, isn't it? Hmm?"
It was an abrupt proposal, but Seong Yura's mind began racing. And her deliberation didn't take long.
Tak.
The laptop screen she'd been staring at the whole time snapped shut. Only then did Seong Yura's gaze turn fully toward Chief Han.
"Fine. But I have a condition."
"Oh, just name it. I'll arrange anything at all."
His manner was somewhat domineering, but the corners of Chief Han's mouth had torn open practically to his ears. A condition? Whatever it was, he'd meet it and then some. When the great Seong Yura had rolled into their hands whole, vines and all, why on earth would he begrudge her his liver or his gall?
"That no-name script PD Woo Youngtaek is so hung up on — I don't know when it airs, but I want mine scheduled head-to-head, same time slot, against theirs."
"Excuse me? You mean you want a direct showdown?"
"Why? Not confident?"
"Ahaha, not at all. When the opponent is the incomparable Writer Seong, who would dare try to rub shoulders with you? I just wondered whether it's worth going to all that trouble just to crush them."
"That's how it'll be. That's my condition."
Her pride had taken a proper gouging — and so she fully intended to flatten PD Woo and that insolent writer of his into the dirt.
"Let's just see how this plays out. Whether PD Woo's precious instincts were right, or wrong."
A dense venom settled into Seong Yura's eyes. And Chief Han Kanghee, watching her from across the table, crowed victory to himself — all the while laboring under the delusion that this year's greatest drama of the back half would be born from SBC's hands.
"You goddamn writer! I'm handing you the grand prize on a silver platter — why won't you just take it?! Why?!"
If you were going to pull this, why show me your work at all? Why get my hopes sky-high and then quit? Woo Youngtaek clutched his pounding head and groaned.
"Son of a—"
Had another broadcaster really reached out to him? To a nobody of a rookie writer, no less? No — he couldn't possibly be a rookie. A rookie wouldn't have nerves of steel like that; a rookie would've been jumping for joy like a kid the moment he heard he'd been shortlisted for the final round. No, this had to be a famous name. "Ji Yeonwoo" was just a pen name — nobody had ever heard of it before.
"PD Woo. He keeps ignoring our calls — what do we do...?"
"...Ugh."
Woo Youngtaek raked a hand through his hair, then let out a deep sigh.
"What can we do? We let him go."
"B-but isn't it a shame to lose him just like that?"
"Then what am I supposed to do? Clutch the phone all day? What's that going to change?"
"...."
"Ugh. Well — at least we've still got Writer Seong Yura's script to console ourselves with."
The moment those words left his mouth, the bomb went off.
—Bang!
"Everyone, stop what you're doing and listen up."
The conference room door flew open and Chief Ha Doun strode in, his face set like stone. The office went quiet in an instant, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over it. From the moment he spoke, every PD's eyes in the room swung to him alone. And then the bombshell dropped from Ha Doun's mouth.
"Writer Seong Yura dropped her script."
"...!!"
"E-excuse me?!"
The strongest candidate for the grand prize, gone dark — and on top of that, Writer Seong Yura abandoning the contest entirely. There was only one sentence that could capture the situation now. Yeah. Fucked. Well and truly fucked.
"It seems another network got a whiff of it and snatched her up. Those prize-less bastards."
In the whole room, only Chief Ha Doun — who didn't know the full story — could keep his composure.
"So here's the thing: that script, Living with an Ex-Boyfriend by Chance. We've got no alternative now, so we're giving it the grand prize no matter what and pulling it up as our main tentpole for the back half of the year. With Writer Seong lost to us, that script is the only rope we have left. We stake everything on it, no matter what. Understood?"
Ordinarily, this would have been cause for Woo Youngtaek to whoop for joy — the project he'd staked his name on, chosen for the grand prize and picked up for production. But right now, Woo Youngtaek and every other PD in the room were turning as white as sheets.
"First, everyone prep for the planning meeting. Woo Youngtaek — you know the writing treatment is on your head, right? So you handle contacting the writer yourself."
"...."
Ha Doun rattled off his orders rapid-fire. But the men who usually scrambled to move at his word didn't budge an inch today. How to put it — they looked like they were just scrambling to read the room. For a long moment a heavy silence hung over the office, until Ha Doun's voice came out laced with irritation.
"What the hell are you all standing around for?! Stop dawdling and get moving!"
"S-sir... Chief. It's just that—"
While the junior PDs stood quaking and stealing glances at one another, Woo Youngtaek finally decided to fall on his sword.
"The writer's gone dark on us..."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"He won't answer calls, and some of us have been blocked outright... no matter how many times we reach out, it's total radio silence."
"...?"
"I think... this writer's been poached by another network too. Just like Writer Seong..."
The already leaden air of the office sank even heavier. And Ha Doun — who'd been gaping like a man whose soul had left his body — watched his expression twist, then erupt like a volcano.
"You goddamn lunatics!!"
"We're sorry!"
"The final round is in a matter of days and the writer's gone dark?! We just lost Seong Yura and now you're feeding me this bullshit?!
"We're still trying to reach him—!"
"Don't try — go and grab him!! Isn't there an address on his submission form?! Get over there and pound on his door right now!"
"Th-there's... no address. Only a phone number was listed..."
"You little shit!! Then track him down somehow and bring him back!!"
Chief Ha Doun's roar, veins bulging at his neck, thundered through the entire drama bureau.
"Go get that writer right now! Tell him we'll clear out a prime-time slot if he wants scheduling, and that we'll offer him top-tier treatment if it's about the fee! Grab him by the collar or hang off his pant leg, I don't care — offer whatever terms it takes, but persuade him no matter what! Understood?!"
"Y-yes, sir!! Understood!"
Writer Seong was already a fish lost to them, but the writer of Living with an Ex-Boyfriend by Chance was still, as far as anyone knew, unclaimed. In the worst case, the correct read was that another network had already made contact — but for now, they had to assume the best. Because they had no alternative.
They had to catch him. By any means necessary, no matter what.
"Hahh...! Mark my words. Per the rules, submissions have to be in by noon on Friday, four days from now. Have parts three and four of that script in hand by then, no matter what."
"Yes, yes, sir!"
And so, out of nowhere, a state of emergency descended upon tvM.
At that same hour, in tvM's variety department editing room.
"Ugh, the subtitle timing keeps skewing weird."
Yoon Dongwoo clicked his mouse lazily, one slow drag at a time. Then, out of nowhere, a group-chat notification on the company messenger in the bottom-right corner of his monitor began flashing like crazy. It was a room where coworkers from every corner of the broadcaster had gathered — a room known, in the local slang, as the "Grapevine."
At his colleagues' lively chatter, Yoon Dongwoo tilted his head. What on earth had happened?
Nothing beat watching another department's house burn down. Yoon Dongwoo took a leisurely sip of coffee and typed out a reply.
"...! Kuhk!"
In that instant, a startled cough burst out of Yoon Dongwoo. Oblivious to the coffee dribbling down his chin, he stared blankly at the three characters plastered across his monitor.
"J-Ji Yeonwoo?!!"
Could it be—
"Holy shit! Ji Yeonwoo — you absolute lunatic!"
The curse came out on pure spinal reflex. With that one short burst of profanity, Yoon Dongwoo fumbled his phone out in a panic.