Chapter 48: Sniper Drama (2)
After launching the channel, Kim Si-woo immediately started making calls, leveraging his greatest asset: his network. The past year had been the most connected of his 28 years, with ties to top actors, directors, network executives, and drama PDs—relationships unthinkable in his days as an ordinary nobody. More crucially, many of these connections were willing to help him.
His first call was to Shim Ji-young.
“Hello, Ji-young noona?”
— “What? Calling me first? Got a favor to ask?”
She teased, hitting the nail on the head.
Si-woo laughed awkwardly.
“Haha… I’m starting a YouTube channel and was hoping you could help. If not, I’ll ask Se-yeon.”
— “What? No way! I’m in. Want me to stir up some buzz? I’ll mention it on my channel first.”
His provocation worked perfectly.
— “We’re shooting together first, right? Don’t get swayed by Se-yeon’s 8 million subscribers.”
“Got it,”
Si-woo replied. Jung Se-yeon’s 8 million subscribers dwarfed even the combined following of Chocolate Entertainment’s biggest YouTubers, a testament to her success as a singer-turned-actor. Receiving a “love call” from someone of her caliber made Si-woo realize, ‘Am I kind of a big deal?’
Still, Ji-young’s 2 million subscribers were no small feat.
— “So, what’s the channel called?” she asked.
“Revenge Film,” Si-woo answered.
— “Talk about on-the-nose. Alright, let me know when you set a shoot date.”
“Thanks, noona.”
After hanging up, Si-woo texted the selected applicants, then called Lee Hae-soo.
— “Hello, Writer-nim!”
Hae-soo answered in less than a second, her voice brimming with energy.
“Hey, Attorney Lee. I’m calling about some YouTube-related legal advice.”
— “Oh… sure. Can you come by tomorrow at lunch?”
Her tone carried a hint of disappointment, though Si-woo wasn’t sure why.
“Sounds good. I’ll be there,” he replied.
After the brief call, Hae-soo’s reaction nagged at him.
‘Did I sound too businesslike? Should I have asked how she’s doing? Nah, I’ll check in over lunch tomorrow.’
***
The next day, meeting Hae-soo, Si-woo was puzzled by her appearance—more makeup than usual and dressed to impress.
“No glasses today, Attorney Lee?” he noted.
“You noticed…” she said, a bit shyly.
‘With glasses that big, who wouldn’t?’
Si-woo thought but kept it to himself. Over lunch, they chatted lightly.
“Been doing okay?” he asked.
“Um…”
Hae-soo hesitated when he didn’t answer right away, concern crossing her face.
“Something wrong?”
“Not sure if I’d call it ‘doing okay’… work’s been a lot,” Si-woo admitted.
“Is it… because you got caught dating those actresses?” she blurted out.
“What?”
Si-woo blinked, realizing she’d seen the tabloid articles.
“No, I’m not dating anyone. You saw those articles?”
“Phew, that’s a relief. Yeah, I saw the articles and the awards ceremony,” she admitted.
No wonder she’d misunderstood. Si-woo explained teaching the rookie actors, meeting Daisy Prava, and the university chaos with Park Woong-deok. Hae-soo was stunned by how much had happened.
“Anyway, nothing’s going on with the actresses. Three-timing? I’m not even dating! Those reporters are ridiculous.”
“Good to know,” Hae-soo said, relieved.
“Huh?”
“Oh, nothing! Let’s eat,” she said, quickly digging into her food.
Si-woo got to the point.
“So, I’m starting a YouTube channel and need help with contracts.”
“Of course! Send me your requirements, and I’ll draft them,” she replied.
They discussed the contracts and his YouTube plans.
“Your plan’s a bit risky, but show me before you proceed, and I’ll advise you,” Hae-soo offered.
“Thanks, Attorney Lee.”
“No problem. It’s my job,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Haha…”
Si-woo chuckled at her bluntness, eating quietly.
After finishing first, Si-woo excused himself to the restroom. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, and Hae-soo grew anxious.
‘Did he just leave? Was I too forward today? Or… the money talk? Did I come off as greedy?’
As she fretted, Si-woo returned, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Why so sweaty?” she asked.
“Restroom heater was intense… Shall we go?” he said.
At the counter, the server said the bill was already paid.
“I was supposed to treat you today,” Hae-soo protested.
“It’s fine. By the way, you look nice today. The perfume and outfit suit you.”
Si-woo said, his sharp eye catching her effort.
“And wear these—your heels must hurt.”
He handed her a pair of slippers.
“What? Thank you…”
Hae-soo said, stunned.
Walking to her law firm, she was silent, her ears burning red. Si-woo had lied about the restroom, running to a store to buy slippers for her blistered heels. Her heart raced. Wearing heels had been painful, but she thought,
‘Totally worth it.’
As they reached the law firm’s entrance and prepared to part ways, Lee Hae-soo stopped Si-woo.
“Um… Si-woo-ssi.”
“Yes?”
Si-woo was startled by her sudden use of his first name instead of “Writer-nim.”
“Want to grab a coffee inside?” she asked.
“Uh… sure.”
He agreed, sensing that refusing might upset her.
Inside her office, cluttered with papers, Hae-soo seemed to realize the mess and quickly redirected him.
“Let’s… go to the meeting room.”
In the empty meeting room, they sipped coffee.
“How’s it been lately? Still swamped?” Hae-soo asked.
“Yeah, but I like it,” Si-woo replied.
“Because you’re making bank?” she teased.
“Haha, yeah… Wait, do I come off as too money-driven?”
Hae-soo asked, voicing her earlier worry.
“No, I like your honesty. Besides, something more important than money might come up someday,” Si-woo said casually.
Hae-soo fell silent, her heart racing with unspoken words. Since watching a movie together, she’d been eager for another chance to hang out, but their busy schedules kept them apart. She’d hesitated to call first, especially after seeing Si-woo surrounded by actresses at the awards, wondering if her feelings were one-sided. Now, with this rare opportunity, she cursed her inability to speak up.
Si-woo carried the conversation, and Hae-soo only managed responses until he left.
“I was going to suggest watching a movie… I’m the worst.’
She muttered, alone.
***
The next day, Si-woo received the contracts from Hae-soo and gathered the <Revenge Film> team at his newly leased office near his home.
“Hello, I’m writer Kim Si-woo.”
He began, addressing the group.
“What I’m about to do is over 90% for personal reasons. If it doesn’t align with you, feel free to leave.”
He outlined his plan: producing 15-minute web dramas based on the scandals and incidents of Chocolate Entertainment’s YouTubers.
“I’m doing this to settle a score with someone at Chocolate Entertainment,” he explained.
The team looked puzzled—why would someone so successful bother with this? Yet, none left.
“Since this is personal, I’ll ensure you’re well-supported,”
Si-woo continued, distributing contracts.
“Pay is industry-standard for newcomers—per project for actors, monthly for staff. I’ll cover equipment costs myself, and for those interested in film or drama, I’ll make connections.”
The team’s eyes lit up. Standard pay in a cutthroat industry was a rarity, and a top writer’s connections were a golden ticket. Some signed the contracts without reading, eager to seize the chance.
“Take your time to review before signing,”
Si-woo advised, passing out pens. Once everyone signed, he collected the contracts.
“Looking forward to working together. But, as you saw in the contracts, betrayal Isn’t an option. My scripts are copyrighted, but if anyone leaks them or pulls something shady, there’s a penalty. No negotiations, no leniency.”
The team swallowed hard but buzzed with excitement for the project.
“Let’s kick things off with a team dinner,” Si-woo suggested.
“Yes!”
They shouted, their enthusiasm overflowing.
At a nearby barbecue restaurant, Si-woo told them to eat freely, and they did—meat, drinks, everything—unaware of the grueling schedule ahead.
***
Work began the next day. Divided into acting, filming, lighting, sound, editing, and directing teams, they received a massive stack of scripts from Si-woo.
“These are all… scripts?” someone gasped.
“We’ll shoot in order, starting next week. Be prepared,” Si-woo instructed.
“Yes!” they replied, brimming with energy.
The only issue? No director.
“Guess I’ll need another favor.”
Si-woo muttered. Instead of Park Woong-deok, he texted Professor Kim Woo-soo:
— Hello, Professor. This is writer Kim Si-woo. I’m contacting you to ask for a referral. Please let me know a convenient time to call.
A reply came quickly: I’m free now.
Si-woo called immediately.
“Hello, Professor, it’s Kim Si-woo.”
— “You need a referral?”
“Yes. None of the applicants seem suited for directing. Ideally, someone my age or older. I’d ask Director Park, but his reliability’s a bit… questionable.”
— “Haha, understood. I’ll look into it and get back to you soon.”
“Thank you, Professor. If you ever need my help, just let me know.”
— “I won’t say no to that.”
Days later, a text from Kim Woo-soo arrived with a contact. Si-woo’s phone rang from an unknown number.
“Hello?” he answered.
— “Hello, Writer Kim Si-woo. This is Lee Yoo-jin, referred by Professor Kim Woo-soo.”
“Nice to meet you, Yoo-jin-ssi. Sorry to rush, but are you free today? I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
— “Yes, I’m available!”
They arranged to meet at a café. When Si-woo arrived, he froze—Lee Yoo-jin was none other than Professor Kim’s TA.