Bring Me That Writer—Now! (4)
So Yoon Dongwoo really was talking out of his ass after all. That bastard.
What had he said again? That tvM was desperate to get their hands on me right now? That the higher-ups would carry me off on their backs like a king? Yeah, right. That's the kind of talk that belongs in a pasture, next to the grazing cows.
I snorted inwardly and studied the man seated across from me. Judging by his appearance alone, I'd pegged him for an executive — director-level at the very least. And yet, look at the sorry sight in front of me now.
"Ahem. Kh-hem..."
Ever since we sat down, those two orphaned eyes of his had done nothing but dart around, reading my every reaction. He tried to mask his flustered state with the occasional dry cough, but his fingertips — trembling like a leaf in the wind — told the whole story.
Crash—!
"Ah— s-sorry, sorry!"
There it is. Now he can't even hold a water glass without dropping it. Looks like a veteran PD who's been through every wringer in the business; acts like a rookie who joined the company this very year. Well, of course. What sort of VIP would come running in person just to land some time-killer of a script that wasn't even worth reading? They'd probably just send a couple of interns to probe around first.
"Ahem. Writer, please, go ahead and eat. This cut here is wonderfully tender — absolutely melts in your mouth."
"Thank you. I will."
I plucked a slice of beef off the grill and popped it in my mouth. Seriously, though — just how old did this man think I was? On paper he had to be pushing forty, and yet here he was fumbling about like this. An odd wave of pity washed over me.
I should at least leave him a few words of wisdom when we part ways later, I thought. From this industry's revered 'senior,' you know.
"Is the food to your liking?"
"Yeah, it's... mmm."
Chew, chew.
Delicious. So this is the power of top-grade hanwoo? The moment I bit down, rich juices exploded across my tongue in pure rapture. But my reverie over the flavor didn't last long.
"Kh-hem. Writer, now that we've settled in a little... we'd like to make you a proposal."
"?"
"As I briefly explained over the phone — what would you say to simply commissioning a project with us directly? Separate from the contest altogether."
Come to think of it, he had mentioned something like that. Forget the contest, write a drama with us, we'll treat you better, blah blah blah.
"Naturally, whatever conditions you desire, we'll prioritize above all else. Signing bonus and compensation go without saying — as for a weekend prime-time slot, I'll personally stake my career on securing it for you."
"...?"
At the time I'd been too flustered to pay attention and had let half of it wash over me. But now, stone-cold sober, I heard every single word.
Not one syllable missed. And my honest reaction to those outrageous terms was this:
Make sense, please. This isn't even a good prank.
I was a total nobody — no professional track record, no amateur track record, nothing. And they were going to guarantee a weekend golden-time slot for a rookie writer like me? Not even a single one-off special, but a full miniseries?
This was a textbook sweet-talk-and-wipe-your-mouth con. Dazzle some clueless rookie with sugar-coated promises just long enough to get a stamp on the contract, and that's that. If I actually fell for it and signed? The attitude would flip faster than a pancake. They'd spout every excuse under the sun and slam the door on everything they'd promised, pretending none of it had ever happened.
No need to watch the tape to know how this movie ends.
With all my years in this industry, there was no way I couldn't see through such a shallow scheme. Hell, even if I genuinely had been a clueless rookie, I still wouldn't have bitten. You have to scale your lies to something believable if you want anyone to swallow them. A contract this obscenely lavish might as well have SCAM written across the forehead in permanent marker.
Sheesh. Typical rookie PDs — how is everything they do this sloppy?
Whether or not I clicked my tongue at him internally, the bearded PD kept chattering away like a motor was strapped to his jaw, redoubling his persuasion efforts.
"Quality is no concern whatsoever. If you can simply have scripts ready through at least episode four, I will get you an immediate, confirmed slot."
"...."
"And if needed, we'll provide a private office space, assistant staff, the works — full, generous support. As for the contract terms...."
Guaranteed secondary rights and rerun royalties, sole writing credit, plus a long-term partnership on top. An avalanche of terms far too extravagant for any rookie spilled out in an endless stream. It was shameless, sure — but it was also kind of hilarious, so I let him ramble.
But leave a man alone and the nonsense never stops. Finally my patience ran out, and a frosty tone shot out of my mouth.
"Excuse me."
"Yes?"
"Are you two messing with me right now?"
The two chattering PDs' eyes went round as a frog's.
"M-messing with you? Whatever do you mean?"
"Don't insult me with contract terms that aren't worth the air they're spoken with."
"...!!?"
Why were they carrying on like the sky was falling? Did I really look like such a sucker that they expected me to fall for such an obvious hustle? The audacity was almost impressive.
"Th-then, Writer, if even this isn't enough, we could always—"
Bzzzzt—!
That was the exact moment the bearded PD opened his stammering mouth. The phone sitting on the table erupted into a raucous vibration.
"...."
Both PDs froze mid-sentence, glancing between me and the phone with wary eyes. Oh, wonderful. I'd been just about to unload a satisfying double barrel of profanity, and now the moment had completely died. Who the hell was calling, seriously?
Clicking my tongue, I turned my eyes to the screen — and the corner of my mouth curled up all on its own the instant I saw the caller's name.
So the son of a bitch finally called. It was about time for the first shoot of Beyond Memory, and I'd been wondering why he'd been so quiet.
"Excuse me a moment — I need to take this call."
I tossed the announcement at the two dazed PDs and stepped out of the room. The moment I pressed answer, Department Head Han Kanghee greeted me with blazing enthusiasm.
"Ahaha. It's been a while, Department Head Han Kanghee."
"You little punk! What the hell did you do before you left?!!"
Whew. Straight to the curses, no hello, not even a breath. Some things never change.
"And if needed, we'll provide a private office space, assistant staff, the works — full, generous support. As for the contract terms...."
Woo Youngtaek had never once thought of Ji Yeonwoo as a 'rookie.' If anything, he'd judged him to be a far bigger name than even a polished A-list writer, and had offered terms to match that stature — terms so extravagant they bordered on insulting overkill. He'd barged ahead and blurted out top-tier treatment that had never even been cleared with upper management, all on his own authority.
I suppose I'll be seeing the bureau chief's face again soon enough.
The projected cost had ballooned far beyond his original estimate. But so long as there was a near certainty that the writer before him had come out of the legendary Seo Eunhye's own fold, the concept of 'waste' simply did not exist at this table. Losing him over a few measly savings would be a catastrophe of the highest order. Of that much, Youngtaek was absolutely certain — that with this enormous gamble, he would clinch victory.
"Don't insult me with contract terms that aren't worth the air they're spoken with."
"...!!?"
Even his desperate, all-in wager fell pitifully short for this monster of a writer.
E-even this isn't enough...?
Every trace of Woo Youngtaek's usual composure evaporated, leaving him gaping like an idiot. What more could he possibly add on top of this? The terms he'd just reeled off were ones that even celebrated A-list writers would applaud with both hands. And this man hadn't so much as blinked — he'd actually seemed offended. Youngtaek couldn't begin to fathom what scale this writer operated on.
...So he really is Seo Eunhye's disciple. That arrogance, that unshakable confidence — he's the spitting image of his teacher.
Woo Youngtaek realized that the rumors he'd heard from the PDs who'd worked alongside Seo Eunhye were no exaggeration. The haughtiness they'd described with disbelieving shakes of their heads was overlaid, perfectly and unmistakably, on the young writer sitting right in front of him.
Damn it all.
The calculator in Woo Youngtaek's head began spinning like it had overheated. How much more would he have to pile on? What kind of insane conditions would it take to win over this unbearably proud writer? And just as Youngtaek was drowning in the swamp of confusion, hammering away at that mental calculator without a moment's rest—
Bzzzzt—!
Shattering the heavy silence, Ji Yeonwoo's phone on the table whined into life. Youngtaek's gaze dropped reflexively — and he watched, in crystal clarity, the caller's name that bloomed across the screen.
...!!
Woo Youngtaek's eyes bulged so wide they threatened to pop clean out of his skull. Han Kanghee? THE Han Kanghee? That snake of a CP at SBC's Drama Bureau?! But his shock was only the opening act. The true tragedy — the one that sent his heart plunging through the floor and into the basement — unfolded the very next second.
Twitch—
Up it went. The corner of Ji Yeonwoo's mouth — that same mouth that had remained utterly impassive and ice-cold the entire time Youngtaek had been laying out premium hanwoo and showering him with every benefit imaginable — curled upward. Right after he checked the incoming call from none other than Han Kanghee himself.
"Excuse me a moment — I need to take this call."
"...."
"Ahaha. It's been a while, Department Head Han Kanghee."
And with that, Ji Yeonwoo slipped out of the room in a voice positively dripping with good cheer. Click. The door shut firm behind him. And in the mind of the man left behind, every misaligned puzzle piece suddenly snapped together with a magnificent clack, spinning into place and conjuring up a colossal storm of misunderstanding.
"P-PD-nim...! Did you see that? The person who just called the Writer...!"
"Oh, damn it all! Han Kanghee! That fox of a man!"
Now, at last, everything made perfect sense. Why this high-and-mighty writer had brushed off their calls again and again. Why he hadn't spared so much as a glance at terms this spectacular. Han Kanghee — that man had caught the scent and gotten to him first.
Of course. He'd already received an offer from SBC that defied imagination, so the conditions Youngtaek had laid out must have looked like nothing more than a 'pathetic little joke.'
"Those shameless bastards, AGAIN!!"
Having finally grasped the full picture, Woo Youngtaek slammed his fist down on the table in a fit of nerves.
"P-PD-nim, what do we do now? If we just sit here, isn't SBC going to steal him right out from under us...?"
The youngest was right. If they sat on their hands any longer, the most anticipated drama of the year was about to be snatched away by their competitor, SBC. That absolutely could not happen.
"Whew...."
Woo Youngtaek shot to his feet. This was no longer a board that could be handled on a lone PD's freelance authority. To crush SBC's aggressive play, he needed a nuclear option — something even more reckless, even more outrageous than anything they could throw.
"Jiyoung. When the Writer comes back, tell him I'll return shortly — make it sound good."
"Y-yes? Wh-where are you going?"
"To make a phone call. Whatever it takes, keep the Writer glued to that seat until I'm back. The moment he looks like he's about to leave, text me immediately!"
Barking out his orders in a frenzy, Woo Youngtaek scrambled out of the room. Then he yanked his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.
I have to land him. No matter what it takes, this writer belongs to us.