Chapter 35: The Whims of the Youngest Blockbuster Writer (1)
Park Sung-ah followed Shim Ji-young into the elevator, ascending to the meeting room at Triple Actors. The agency’s CEO, Han Seung-jin, stood abruptly upon their arrival.
“Shim, where’s Writer Kim Si-woo? Why’s Sung-ah here?”
“Si-woo went home. Thanks to her, he’s in a foul mood.”
Ji-young replied, glaring at Sung-ah.
“What? Why? What happened?” Han demanded.
Ji-young turned silently to Sung-ah, who shrank under the scrutiny. Han, his expression hardening, gestured to the seats.
“Let’s sit and talk. Sung-ah, tell me everything honestly.”
“Yes…” Sung-ah sat, visibly intimidated.
“So, what did you do?” Han pressed.
Sung-ah recounted her story, starting with the drama shoot in Gangneung. She’d seen Kim Si-woo there, seemingly making Kim Ji-hyun cry, and confronted him, assuming he was trouble. Ji-hyun tried to stop her. Later, at the agency, she mistook him for her own stalker and called security.
“Did Ji-hyun say he was a stalker?” Han asked.
“No… just that he was someone she knew,” Sung-ah mumbled.
Han was dumbfounded. Sung-ah had acted on baseless assumptions.
“Did Ji-hyun call him a stalker? Did he take your picture or touch you?”
“I didn’t know he was a writer…” Sung-ah trailed off.
“You didn’t know, so you blew it out of proportion? Do you realize what you’ve done? The guy you sent packing is the writer of Revenger—the youngest to hit 10 million viewers!”
“What…?”
Sung-ah gasped, stunned. She’d thought he was just a creepy fan following her and Ji-hyun.
“If Ji-hyun had just said he was a writer…” Han muttered, frustrated.
“She probably couldn’t,” Ji-young interjected.
“They weren’t on good terms then. She wouldn’t risk a scandal, especially as a rising star. Though, there might be other reasons.”
Ji-young, aware of Ji-hyun’s attachment to Si-woo, could guess why she stayed vague. Sung-ah sat silently, head bowed, while Han massaged his temples.
“Ji-young, what do we do? We can’t lose him. Should we—you, me, and Sung-ah—go apologize?”
“He’d probably refuse to see us,”
Ji-young said.
“Si-woo’s stubborn. Once someone’s on his bad side, they’re done. But if he likes you from the start, he’ll stick by you unless you really screw him over.”
She’d seen it with Ji-hyun—his kindness was reserved for those he considered close.
“So, what now?” Han asked.
“Nothing. It’s over. We wait until time fixes it,” she said bluntly.
“Damn it!”
Han shouted, standing to stare out the window. He was tempted to terminate Sung-ah’s contract, even if it meant paying a penalty, just to secure Si-woo’s scripts.
“This is stressing me out…”
After a long silence, he called softly,
“Sung-ah.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied.
“Let’s rethink your contract renewal.”
“What?”
“And stay out of my sight for a while. Got it?”
“Yes… I understand.”
She said, shaken. Two mistakes had jeopardized her acting career.
***
Back home, Si-woo showered and collapsed onto his bed, head throbbing from stress.
“I’ll think about it after some sleep.”
He muttered. His sensitivity made stress hit harder, and his go-to remedy was sleep.
Waking up refreshed, though not entirely free of his emotions, he decided, “Forget it.” To distract himself from Sung-ah, he sat at his computer and opened YouTube. A new idea sparked.
“Maybe I should quit movies and try YouTube. I’ve got money now—might as well do what I’ve always wanted.”
He sifted through old documents filled with ideas. His knack for imitation wasn’t limited to films or dramas.
“These still look good… but they’d cost a ton.”
In his unemployed days, he’d dreamed of being a YouTuber, but his ideas required hefty budgets. He’d even bought books on it, only to find them useless.
“Time to call in an expert.”
He decided, scrolling through his contacts.
Park Woong-deok, Park Chan-young, Kim Dong-soo, Shim Ji-young, Jung Se-yeon—his phone was a who’s-who of industry heavyweights. Park Woong-deok, with his experience, expertise, and connections, was the obvious choice, but Si-woo hesitated.
‘He’s probably busy. Plus, asking him means drinking.’
Instead, he settled on Kim Dong-soo, the production team leader at W Studio. Clearing his throat, he dialed.
Ring, ring.
After just two rings, the call connected.
“Team Leader Kim Dong-soo?”
“Yes! Writer-nim, it’s Kim Dong-soo!” came the enthusiastic reply.
Once casual with Dong-soo, Si-woo’s status as the writer of a 10-million-viewer blockbuster had made him untouchable.
“Hey, Team Leader. I need some help,” Kim Si-woo said.
“Help? Of course! Tell me what you need,” Kim Dong-soo replied eagerly.
“It’s about YouTube. I want to start a channel. Know anyone who could guide me?”
“YouTube?”
Dong-soo paused, caught off guard.
“Yeah, why?” Si-woo asked.
“No reason… just curious why you’d want to do it.”
“I just feel like trying it,” Si-woo said casually.
Dong-soo hesitated, then suggested a plan: test Si-woo’s ideas through an established YouTube channel.
“If your idea’s good, they’ll likely pitch producing it themselves. If it’s weak, it’ll be tough, but it’s a safer start.”
“Won’t that be a burden on them?” Si-woo asked.
“Nah, don’t worry. A good idea will spark their interest.”
Dong-soo assured.
“Want me to introduce you to someone reliable?”
“That’d be great,” Si-woo agreed.
They set up a meeting with Dong-soo’s contact. The conversation shifted to awards season.
“By the way, Writer-nim, are you attending any award ceremonies?” Dong-soo asked.
“Award ceremonies?”
Si-woo hadn’t even considered it. New to the industry, less than a year in, such events weren’t on his radar.
“You’ll probably get invites to the big ones—Phoenix Film Awards, Taesan Arts Awards, Daefangul Film Festival. Phoenix and Daefangul are in December, Taesan’s in April next year…”
‘Ugh, sounds like a hassle.’
Si-woo thought. Suits, cameras, and mingling with actors on live TV? The prep alone sounded exhausting.
“I guess I should go?” he said tentatively.
“Definitely,” Dong-soo urged. “Most people in the industry would kill for an invite. You’re a unique one, Writer-nim, hating the hassle.”
“I just don’t like complications,” Si-woo admitted.
Dong-soo explained that ceremonies weren’t just for awards—they were prime networking opportunities. Logically, Si-woo knew attending made sense for his career, but his heart resisted.
Returning to YouTube, Dong-soo mentioned a college friend at a major content production team.
“I’ll set you up with him soon. Just prep an idea file.”
“Thanks,” Si-woo said.
“No problem! Call anytime you need something.”
After the call, Si-woo prepared two files: a movie script and a YouTube content proposal.
“The script’s for Dong-soo if things go well. Hope the YouTube idea doesn’t flop…”
Originally meant for Triple Actors, the script now seemed destined for W Studio due to someone’s blunder.
Days later, Dong-soo arranged a meeting with his contact. At a café, Si-woo met Choi Dae-ho from Chocolate Entertainment.
“Hello, I’m Kim Si-woo, writer.”
“You’re… younger than I expected,” Dae-ho said, surprised.
They dove into the discussion.
“I heard you want to start a YouTube channel?” Dae-ho asked.
“Yeah,” Si-woo confirmed.
“It’s tougher than it looks. Few make real money. It’s trend-sensitive, arguably harder than films. Even for a 10-million-viewer writer, jumping in blindly feels… overconfident. Big content shoots burn cash fast. You don’t think YouTube’s easy, do you?”
Dae-ho rattled off YouTube’s challenges, critiquing Si-woo harshly without even seeing his proposal.
‘What’s with this guy’s attitude? He hasn’t even looked at my ideas.’ Si-woo thought, sensing disdain.
“Dae-ho, he’s the youngest blockbuster writer. He’s bound to have something brilliant.”
Dong-soo interjected, trying to ease the tension.
“Ahem… Can I see your proposal?” Dae-ho asked.
“Sure.”
Si-woo said, handing it over, still uneasy.
Dae-ho skimmed it, frowning.
“Honestly, it’s tough. Too niche, and the budget looks high. As expected from a film writer—it doesn’t vibe with YouTube. Got anything else?”
“No…” Si-woo admitted.
“What? The great 10-million writer shows up with just one idea? Are you messing with me? Waste of time, Dong-soo. Don’t call me for this again.”
Dae-ho stormed out, leaving Dong-soo to apologize profusely.
“Sorry, Writer-nim. He’s not usually that rude…”
“It’s fine. Guess my content didn’t click. I’ll hold off on YouTube until after awards season.”
Si-woo said, his confidence slightly shaken despite knowing Dae-ho’s opinion wasn’t absolute.
***
Two weeks later, Shim Ji-young called Si-woo about the film’s press screening.
“Hello?”
— “Hey, noona.”
“You coming to the press screening?”
— “Nah, I’m kinda busy.”
“Busy with what? Writing a script?”
— “No, I’m hunting down some thieving bastard.”
Ji-young startled. “Thief? What thief?”
— “Yeah, gonna track him down and crush him.”
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