Chapter 20: A Writer’s Revenge Takes Less Than a Decade (3)
A week after Revenger’s premiere, Kim Min-ho’s agency was swamped with frantic phone calls.
“No, this is the first we’re hearing of it. Please don’t publish speculative articles.”
“Yes, we’re still looking into it. Please wait.”
They were scrambling to clean up the mess caused by Kim Min-ho’s fans.
Hours earlier, frustrated by Kim Min-ho’s silence, the defendants suing for a settlement with Kim Si-woo decided to contact reporters. If Kim Min-ho would just apologize, dozens of lives could be saved, but his lack of response angered his fans. Their solution? Go public. It was ironic—trolls causing trouble and then publicizing it—but the fallout hit celebrities harder than ordinary people. As a result, Kim Min-ho’s agency was inundated with calls, and some reporters had already published stories based on hearsay.
[Kim Min-ho Ignores His Fans]
Despite being blameless, Kim Min-ho was painted as a celebrity who abandoned his fans, thanks to their malicious comments. With Revenger surpassing 1.5 million viewers in just seven days, his articles shot to the top of portal sites, amplifying the scandal. Seeing the headlines, Kim Min-ho slammed his car’s armrest.
“Damn it! Why am I dealing with this crap?!”
Revenger’s massive success had solidified his status as a top actor, yet this mess threatened to tarnish it.
“Min-ho, just apologize and be done with it. It’ll boost your image—‘Actor Bows for Fans.’ Sounds great, right?” his manager urged.
“Hell no!”
“Why not?”
“There’s reasons. Just drive.”
Unaware of the history between Kim Min-ho and Kim Si-woo, the manager was frustrated. Normally, Kim Min-ho would’ve jumped at the chance to polish his image, but now he was vehemently opposed.
“Fine… I’ll report it to the boss,” the manager sighed.
Kim Min-ho didn’t respond, lost in thought.
‘Those damn fans are screwing up my career? No way I’m apologizing to that bastard Kim Si-woo.’
But as the situation grew louder, his agency’s president summoned him.
“Just apologize. It’ll help your image and protect the movie. It’s a win-win,” the president said.
“Boss!” Kim Min-ho protested.
“I can’t! It’s not even my fault—why should I apologize?”
“You’re a celebrity, not a regular person. You’re a pro, right? If a Simple apology can gain you this much, you’d be crazy not to do it. Image is everything in this industry. You know how many ad deals are coming in? I’ve covered for you—booze, women, all of it. Can’t you do this one thing? Or are we done here?”
Kim Min-ho considered spilling the details about Kim Si-woo but, seeing the president’s expression, knew it was pointless. One wrong move, and he could lose everything.
“Fine. I’ll apologize,” he muttered.
“That’s my boy, Min-ho. We’re pros. Sometimes you gotta swallow your pride for the image.”
The president patted his shoulder. Kim Min-ho, clenching his teeth, left the building.
“Make the call. Say I’ll apologize. Now!” he barked at his manager.
“Y-Yes, sir.”
Soon, positive articles flooded in.
[Actor Apologizes for Fans]
[Kim Min-ho, a True Celebrity of Our Time]
[Even Trolls Are My Fans, Says Kim Min-ho]
Kim Si-woo saw the articles and smirked victoriously.
“He’ll call soon.”
As predicted, Lee Hae-soo rang him shortly after.
“Hello, Lawyer. I’m ready.”
- Saw the articles, huh? He wants to meet at 6 p.m. tonight. You coming?
“Of course! A famous actor’s coming to apologize—can’t miss that.”
- I’ll have everything ready.
Humming, Kim Si-woo changed clothes, excited to see Kim Min-ho’s expression.
At 6 p.m., the Blue Law Firm’s meeting room held Kim Min-ho, the defendants, and Lee Hae-soo. Kim Si-woo, however, was nowhere to be seen.
“So… when’s he showing up?” Kim Min-ho asked, irritation clear.
Lee Hae-soo smiled. “I don’t know. He said he’d come, so he will.”
“You—”
Kim Min-ho bit back a curse, glaring at the shamefaced defendants.
Ten minutes passed. Twenty. An hour later, at 7 p.m., Kim Si-woo finally appeared.
“Whoops, sorry. Got caught up with work…”
“Just get over here and accept the apology,” Kim Min-ho snapped, eager to leave.
“What’s the rush? Let’s hear what these people wrote first.”
Bang!
“You bastard—” Kim Min-ho slammed the table, but his manager quickly intervened.
“Min-ho, calm down.”
“Ugh!”
While Kim Min-ho fumed, Kim Si-woo was relaxed, almost enjoying the moment.
“Shall we start?”
Taking the papers from Lee Hae-soo, Kim Si-woo read the hateful comments aloud, watching Kim Min-ho’s face closely.
Kim Min-ho tried to maintain an indifferent façade, but he flinched at the particularly vicious comments.
‘Because of these trashy trolls, I have to apologize to that jerk…’
After hearing all the comments, Kim Min-ho was seething. He wanted to punch both Kim Si-woo and the defendants. As a celebrity, he’d endured countless hate comments himself, and claiming they didn’t hurt would be a lie. Like water droplets eroding a boulder, thousands of comments could wear down even the strongest mind.
Yet, for his own sake, he clenched his fists, stood, and bowed to Kim Si-woo.
“My fans messed up. I beg for your leniency. Please forgive them just this once. It’s my fault for not managing them better.”
Kim Min-ho, the prideful star, had lowered his head in apology.
“Alright. If a celebrity goes this far to plead, I’ll settle,” Kim Si-woo said smoothly. “Lawyer, let’s prepare the agreement.”
Kim Min-ho realized he’d been played—Kim Si-woo just wanted to see him grovel.
‘This bastard just wanted me to bow…’
‘I’ll get you back someday.’
Leaving the settlement papers to Lee Hae-soo, Kim Si-woo stepped out of the building, feeling refreshed.
“This is the life.”
***
As Revenger’s popularity soared, its team was in a festive mood. At W Film, Kim Dong-soo, who’d championed the project, was practically a hero.
“Told you it’d work! I’m not done yet!” he boasted.
“You’re the man, Dong-soo. Who knew you’d shine like this?” colleagues cheered.
They were drinking kimchi soup by the gallon, dreaming big.
“Think we’ll hit 10 million viewers?”
“Come on, 10 million for a debut film? I’d be happy with 8 million.”
“8 million? You’re guzzling kimchi soup too, huh? Hahaha!”
They eagerly awaited the results. At this rate, projections suggested at least 7 million viewers—enough to wipe out the company’s debts even at 5 million. Revenger’s low production costs, thanks to its realistic settings, ensured profitability even with modest turnout. Its massive success only amplified the profits.
The Revenger team wasn’t the only one celebrating. The Don’t Forget cast was also thrilled, knowing their script came from the same writer. Unknown actors dreamed of fame like Revenger’s stars.
But the process wasn’t smooth. The director Shim Ji-young brought, Park Woong-deok, had impossibly high standards. Even during script readings, his critiques stung. His favorite word? “Again!”
Even Shim Ji-young, who’d studied the script most, heard it three times. Jung Se-yeon got it five times. Other actors fared worse. Frustrated, Park postponed the reading for a week. When it ended, Shim Ji-young, dismayed by the heavy atmosphere, questioned if he was too harsh for day one. Park’s response was brutal.
“If you’re gonna half-ass it, stick to luxury supporting roles. Was this your attitude when you begged me to direct? You think masterpieces just happen? How many times do you think those actors read the script? You think memorizing lines and acting your part is enough? You don’t even know what this film is about or how it flows, and you call yourself an actor? I could grab anyone off Chungmuro to do that. I’ve read this script over 50 times, analyzing every detail, and you’re whining? Find another director.”
His words hit Shim Ji-young like a hammer. Revenger’s success, a solid script, and a great cast and director had made her complacent. Realizing her mistake, she bowed.
“I’m sorry. I was shortsighted.”
“You know it’s not just about you. It’s the director, writer, and dozens—hundreds—of people. Everyone has to be on point to be pros. If anyone’s not up for it, don’t show up next week.”
Park’s harsh words left the room heavy but not hopeless. They sparked determination. The actors dove back into the script, analyzing it dozens of times. They realized they needed Kim Si-woo.
“I’m busy,” Kim Si-woo said when Shim Ji-young called.
- Come on, just once! It’s not just me—the other actors are begging.
Seeing actors ask for his number, Shim Ji-young agreed: Kim Si-woo’s insights were crucial for the high-quality performances Park demanded. Even Jung Se-yeon requested a meeting, knowing his advice at the pub had saved her from Park’s wrath. But Kim Si-woo wasn’t interested.
“Why do actors keep asking a writer for acting help? I’m a writer, not an actor!”
- Then you should’ve come to the script reading.
“You said to call if there were issues or revisions needed.”
- That’s not the point… Please, I’m begging you.
“No way.”
Desperate, Shim Ji-young played her trump card.
- Fine, you wanna play hardball? I’ll give your number to the actors. Your phone will blow up ten times worse.
“…”
A sigh came through the phone.
“Fine… come to my place. I’m too drained to go out after writing.”
- Really?
“Yeah.”
- You’re inviting us to your house?
“…”
Beep… beep… beep…
The call ended abruptly, and Kim Si-woo felt a sudden unease.
‘They wouldn’t all show up at my house, right? They’re actors, for crying out loud.’
I like how the author has 0 social battery and doesn't realize the brilliance of his scripts yet.
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