Chapter 36

I worried that Kang Minjae, with his unusually high empathy, might get too worked up. After all, he had been the one right by Na Eun-seong's side, comforting her most when she was suffering from cyberbullying over this very issue.

I placed my hand on his trembling fist under the desk—a warning that I wouldn't let him screw this up. But Kang Minjae just looked up at me in surprise. Then, in a voice too quiet for the other side to hear, he replied,

"I'm fine."

What the hell had he misunderstood?

I lifted my hand from his fist and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠opened my mouth.

"You said discussions with the PD about Your Distance from Me began in 2006. Do you have any documentation to prove that?"

"Of course."

"Testimony from the PD alone lacks credibility."

"Haha, is that so?"

"But it's strange. Normally, drama writers register copyrights as soon as they have a rough outline solid enough to discuss with a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠PD. Why, then, did an experienced writer like you, Jeong Hyejin, wait a full year until 2007 to register it?"

"The synopsis was delayed due to reviews on other projects. You don't register copyrights just because the basic setup is ready."

Yoo Jungwon fired right back.

"I see. So then, Your Distance from Me—which was just an idea at that point—fleshed out into its current detailed form around May 2007. That means it's hard to rule out the possibility that you added those elements after the March 2007 contest, once you'd seen Between Us."

"……The synopsis reached its final form in May 2007, but the core setup was complete well before that. You know what a synopsis requires, right? Not just basic elements, but a certain level of plot outline too. I just needed time to finish that part."

"I see."

"……Attorney Cha. You're being awfully rude."

I'd just acknowledged her point—why was I the rude one?

I wanted to end this pointless war of nerves. There was nothing more to gain from them.

"So, why don't you tell us what you're after."

"Writer Jeong Hyejin feels deep sympathy for the aspiring writer whose manuscript she couldn't use because Your Distance from Me was announced first. Having been an aspiring writer herself on the way to her current position, she knows how heartbreaking it is to scrap a script prepared specially for a contest."

"Yes. And?"

"She didn't plagiarize, but she empathizes with the aspiring writer who loved her work so much……"

"Get to the point."

I could guess what they wanted. Yoo Jungwon's long-winded preamble had a purpose: a pathetic attempt to mitigate the inevitable image damage from proposing a settlement. I had no interest in hearing it.

"Na Eun-seong's reckless accusations have damaged not just the image of Your Distance from Me, but also that of writer Jeong Hyejin and Blue Island Media."

Image damage was the natural consequence of wrongdoing. Was I the one who didn't understand how the world worked?

"Let me stress again: this isn't an admission of plagiarism. To minimize our side's image damage, we're willing to offer Na Eun-seong a modest consolation payment in exchange for dropping the charges."

"Just dropping the charges is all you want?"

"No. We'd also like you to issue a press release confirming that writer Jeong Hyejin did not plagiarize Na Eun-seong's script."

"How much consolation money are you thinking?"

As I asked, Kang Minjae grabbed my thigh hard. He leaned his head toward me and muttered under his breath,

"Don' thay somethin' sthupid, idiot. Thaying that ith……"

It sounded like he was gritting his teeth, saying, What the hell are you doing?

I pried his hand off my thigh and looked back at them. Yoo Jungwon replied with a just as I thought expression.

"One hundred million won. Equivalent to the grand prize from Blue Island Media's 2007 contest."

Wasn't that stingy? Every media outlet was buzzing that Your Distance from Me had raked in over twenty billion won. And they were offering a measly hundred million?

If we won in court, the damages would be far higher. No way would we settle for that.

"A hundred million is hard to swallow. Sure, it matches the contest prize, but the benefits of winning aren't just the cash. There's the honor of having a drama named after you air, plus royalties based on broadcast length. If you're serious about settling, shouldn't you factor that in too?"

Yoo Jungwon whispered briefly with Kim Hyuncheol, then shot back confidently.

"Fine. Factoring in a newbie writer's royalties at ten million per episode, we'll go up to three hundred million."

"You still haven't accounted for the honor of the drama airing under her name."

Yoo Jungwon smiled smugly.

"I don't know what Na Eun-seong has in mind, but three hundred million is our ceiling."

They clearly thought we'd bitten the bait. They seemed convinced from the start that we'd come here to haggle over settlement money.

If I'd really wanted to deal, I could've pushed for more. But before coming, Na Eun-seong had made it clear: no settlement, no matter the amount. Her earnest plea to reject even ten billion on the spot still rang in my ears.

"I see."

"Since Na Eun-seong isn't here, you probably need time to consult her. Want to step out for a call? Or should we give you more time?"

"No need."

"Does that mean you'll settle for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠three hundred million?"

"No."

Their four faces across the table froze instantly. Quite the sight.

"We have no intention of settling."

"Hey, Attorney Cha!"

"See you in court. Oh, and if after receiving our complaint you decide you're willing to pay the damages we demanded, feel free to call anytime."

The damages in our complaint totaled 7.67 billion won: seventy percent of Blue Island Media's net profit of ten billion (seven billion), plus seventy percent of Jeong Hyejin's royalties of 960 million (about 670 million).

Whether their small-time offerers could handle that was another question.

"We'll be waiting for your call."

On the way home, we ducked into a nearby hole-in-the-wall haejangguk spot. Thanks to our pre-meeting bet, buying the meal fell to me.

Kang Minjae, who'd wanted to bet on grabbing a drink, had unexpectedly won and was in high spirits. While waiting for the food, he chattered nonstop about how I'd flattened Yoo Jungwon's nose.

"Man, I really thought you were gonna settle when she made that offer. Scared me for a second."

He set down a water glass ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and spoon in front of me as he said it.

"As if."

"Yeah, guess I still don't know you that well, Attorney."

Kang Minjae grinned ear to ear.

"Which seonji haejangguk?"

"That one. Inner organ soup over here."

He politely directed the server holding the steaming pots, then dug in like a man who'd starved for days. The guy who'd griped that haejangguk was too cheap a prize for winning the bet was nowhere in sight.

"I'll go pull the car around."

After the meal, Kang Minjae dashed to the parking lot. Meanwhile, I called Taesik.

I pulled the phone away from my ear at Taesik's roar over the speaker.

Back at the office, I sent Kang Minjae home, then called Na Eun-seong to fill her in on the meeting.

She was shocked they offered three hundred million. Truth be told, so was I—at least a little. Tripling their initial offer so readily was as good as admitting how badly they wanted a settlement.

But I didn't peg Yoo Jungwon as the type to fumble basic psychological warfare. Which left one conclusion: they'd pegged us as desperate settlers from the start and thoroughly underestimated us.

Not exactly cause for celebration. It proved that to some of the public, Na Eun-seong looked like the bad guy.

Winning in court to restore her image was our job too.

Either way, now that we'd forced their hand, Yoo Jungwon would start prepping for trial in earnest. It raised the bar for us, but I didn't regret it. Better to go all-out in the first trial than drag it through appeals, wasting time and energy.