Chapter 38: Hello, I’m the Blockbuster Writer (1)
The reason Pyo Bong-soo, CBS’s production chief, wanted to meet Kim Si-woo was simple: dramas.
CBS’s recent dramas had been flops compared to other networks, but abandoning the format wasn’t an option.
When his close friend Park Woong-deok raved about the writer of his latest film, Pyo jumped at the chance for an introduction.
Si-woo caught on quickly.
‘Of course, it’s about a script. Fine, I’ll trade a script for connections.’
“I’ve got something written…” Si-woo said hesitantly.
Shim Ji-young, Jung Se-yeon, and Pyo’s eyes lit up, with Ji-young the most shocked.
“What? When did you write a drama script?”
“Just… bit by bit every day,” Si-woo shrugged.
At the news of a completed script, Pyo grabbed his hand.
“If it’s alright, could CBS produce it? We’ll pay generously.”
“Sure, but… can I give it to you later? I need to register the copyright first. I’ve had some trouble recently,”
Si-woo said, embarrassed as he recounted the Choi Dae-ho incident.
Pyo sighed, understanding the situation.
“Ugh, some people…”
“It’s fine. But in exchange for the script, can I make one request?” Si-woo asked.
“What’s that?”
“Can I pick the main and supporting cast?”
“Hmm… that might be tricky. Budgets are tight.” Pyo hesitated.
“I don’t mean unilaterally. Just… if possible, could we use my chosen actors?”
Park Woong-deok chimed in.
“Bong-soo, trust this kid. He’s got a good eye, even if he’s a bit dense.”
“Dense?” Si-woo protested.
“Come on, showing your idea to some friend of a friend and getting it stolen? That’s dense.” Park teased.
“Fair…”
Si-woo admitted. He’d been naïve, but the real villain was the thief, even if they dodged legal trouble.
“Anyway, keep your promise,” Si-woo said to Park.
“Promise? Oh, the introduction? Sure.”
Park replied, though Si-woo suspected he’d forgotten.
“Oh, and Director, can I get two tickets for the public screening?”
“Two? For your parents?”
“No.”
“You ungrateful brat.” Park scoffed.
“I’ll show them after the release.”
“Tch… a girl, then?”
Park squinted suspiciously.
Si-woo met his gaze with an odd expression.
“Well… if you say so.”
“Oho! Actress? Staff?”
Park pressed, as Ji-young and Se-yeon leaned in curiously.
“Lawyer,” Si-woo clarified.
“Lawyer? Damn, Kim, you’re a player! When’d you charm a lawyer?”
Park ruffled his hair. Ji-young bit her nails, and Se-yeon stared blankly into space.
“It’s not like that! She just seems overworked, and I owe her for her help—past and future. It’s just a small thank-you.” Si-woo insisted.
“Yeah, right. No such thing as ‘just friends’ between a man and a woman.” Park teased.
“It’s not!”
Si-woo protested, but the odd drinking session wrapped up.
The next day, nursing a hangover, Si-woo emailed his scripts to Lee Hae-soo for copyright registration: one drama and two films. That would bring his total to four films and one drama—an insane portfolio for a first-year writer.
One film script went to W Studio. Kim Dong-soo, mortified by the Dae-ho fiasco, had apologized profusely, though his own lawyer confirmed nothing could be done legally.
Dae-ho had skillfully skirted the law, making it nearly impossible to prove theft, especially with only a teaser out.
Si-woo also gave W Studio the script, requesting casting rights for main and supporting roles. They granted most of his control, with lead actors chosen by mutual agreement. In exchange, he opted out of involvement in script readings, shoots, or directing.
At his computer, Si-woo scoured actor profiles, matching them to his script’s characters.
“Busy, busy…” he muttered.
Casting alone left no time for YouTube, but he couldn’t delegate it entirely, wary of someone like Kim Min-ho slipping into his project.
“I need someone who knows actors well…”
***
By Friday, Pig-ical 100’s first episode dropped. Watching it, Si-woo’s suspicions hardened. The YouTuber’s opening remarks sealed it:
— “So, I suddenly got to do this big project. About two weeks ago—three for you viewers—Chocolate Entertainment showed me this amazing proposal. It sounded so fun, so we rushed to shoot it. It might be rough, but enjoy!”
A coincidence in timing? Unlikely. The YouTuber’s channel had no prior mention of such a project. It was shot in a flash, as if racing to beat someone else to it.
Despite his suspicions, all Kim Si-woo could do was watch the video. As expected from a major production, it was decently entertaining.
“Fine, take that one. Just wait.”
Si-woo muttered, his resolve ignited like kindling.
After finishing the episode, he made a call.
“This is Writer Kim Si-woo.”
— “Hello, Writer-nim. I’m Kim Jin-man, the PD for your drama. Just call me PD Kim.”
Si-woo had contacted the drama producer recommended by Pyo Bong-soo.
“Got it. I’d like to discuss casting. When’s a good time?”
— “Whenever suits you, Writer-nim.”
The excessive deference made Si-woo uneasy, but he pushed through.
“Oh, you got the script, right?”
— “Yes, received.”
“I’d like to pick actors by next Wednesday and meet then. That okay?”
— “Absolutely. I’ll pass it along.”
Hanging up, Si-woo spent the day scouring actor profiles online.
By Saturday, he drove to Incheon, where Lee Hae-soo lived in a modest studio near a university, despite her high-earning lawyer status. “Is this the place?” Si-woo wondered, stepping out of his car.
Lee rushed over, flustered.
“Sorry! I don’t get to rest much, so I overslept…”
“It’s fine,”
Si-woo said. They’d planned to meet in Seoul, but her oversleeping prompted him to pick her up.
“What do we do? I made us miss the movie. I’ll buy new tickets.” she offered.
“No, it’s not about buying tickets…”
“What? It’s only 3 p.m.—it’s over already?” she asked, confused.
“It’s… a press screening,” Si-woo clarified.
Her face fell further. They hurried to a Seoul theater, but Si-woo’s attempts to console her en route failed. By the time they arrived, the screening had ended, and people were being ushered out by staff.
Seeing Lee on the verge of tears, Si-woo scanned the crowd and spotted a familiar face.
“Hae-soo-ssi, wait here.”
He dashed over. “Team Leader! Hey!”
“Oh? Writer Kim? What brings you here?” It was the editing team leader for ‘Don’t Forget’.
“I was supposed to bring a friend to the screening, but I overslept and missed it. I know it’s a big ask, but could you play it once more? I really want to show her…”
The editor glanced at Lee, misreading the situation with a knowing smile.
“Of course, we’ll screen it. We rented the theater for the day, so it’s fine.”
“Thank you!” Si-woo said, bowing repeatedly.
“Go on in. We’ll start it now.”
Si-woo returned to Lee.
“Let’s go.”
“Huh? Oh… okay.”
She said, assuming it was a lost cause.
But they stopped at the snack counter.
“Why here?” she asked.
“Movies need popcorn. You’re buying, though,” Si-woo teased.
“Deal! I’ll get squid too!” she said, brightening.
In an empty theater, they sat dead center. As the lights dimmed and ‘Don’t Forget’ began, Lee ignored the snacks, utterly engrossed. Si-woo, having seen it before, was less focused but still struck by the actors’ raw emotions.
‘Can’t interrupt her… was gonna suggest eating the popcorn.’
He thought.
‘She said she wasn’t into movies, but she’s hooked.’
As the film hit its climax, Lee started sniffling, tears streaming. Si-woo quietly passed her a handkerchief. She nodded gratefully and wiped her eyes.
When the film ended, Si-woo spoke up.
“Hae-soo-ssi, enjoy it? Not bad, right? I wrote it.”
Lee, still wiping tears, didn’t respond immediately, grappling with her emotions. After a moment, her voice hoarse, she said,
“Writer-nim.”
“Yeah?”
“I think… I love movies.”
She admitted, head bowed. Suddenly, she looked up, grabbing his hand.
“From now on, I’ll protect your work!”
Her intense, slightly unhinged gaze startled him.
“Uh… thanks. I’m counting on you,” he said, unsure.
He didn’t realize then that Lee Hae-soo, now a fervent fan of his films, had become a formidable ally.