Episode 147: The Madman with Clear Eyes (2)
At least he knew how to read the room.
Not the clear-eyed madwoman, but PD Seo Dan-woo.
“Good work, Yujin-ssi. And… uh, I’m sorry.”
As I stepped down from the stage, PD Seo Dan-woo offered a compliment loaded with layered meaning along with a straightforward, honest apology.
I don’t particularly dislike people who can openly admit their mistakes and bow their heads.
Part of it might be because he’s still a rookie, but anyway, for someone carrying the burden of being a leader, bowing his head honestly isn’t easy at all.
Especially when the people he has to work with are watching the whole thing with clear eyes.
Even so, there’s no need to keep biting at someone who’s already showing genuine remorse like this.
‘Life’s full of twists and turns, after all.’
The goodwill I’m showing now might come back as some kind of favor later—who knows.
‘Hmm…’
To be honest, I kind of wanted to experience it once.
Strangely enough—and I’m not sure if this is the right way to put it—but really strangely, I’d never actually gone through a commotion like that before.
Considering that kind of uproar is like a typhoon-level natural disaster, and the frequency of those disasters is proportional to popularity, avoiding it entirely is practically a miracle on the level of regression itself.
I know that to other people who’ve suffered from this and ended up with neurosis, this sounds like the ultimate privileged complaint, and I’d deserve to get cursed out for it… but still, I was genuinely curious what it would feel like.
‘I didn’t expect it to take this form, though.’
Well, it was bewildering, sure, but it didn’t shatter my mental state or anything.
Maybe because it ended up as an incident rather than a full-blown accident—just a happening—and the cleanup wrapped up surprisingly quickly.
In any case, I finished what I was supposed to do without a hitch and came down.
Though it’s a bit embarrassing to say myself… I did it very, very perfectly.
“Which song did you like better?”
When I changed the subject, PD Seo Dan-woo gave an awkward laugh.
If the person at the center of the happening doesn’t even bother asking about responsibility or details and just casually talks about work instead, he can’t help but feel grateful.
In that sense, it once again confirmed that PD Seo Dan-woo really does know how to read the situation.
“Both were good, but… uh… no, never mind. Let’s go with the first one we shot.”
The answer that came back to my question was the same kind of thing.
‘Yeah, PD Seo really has zero talent for acting.’
That was a lie.
If he really meant it, he should’ve shaken off the honey-like regret dripping from his voice and just said it outright.
He’s just feeling guilty, that’s all.
If he honestly said which one he liked, the burden of my work not ending here would lift off him.
I liked that consideration of his, so I thought maybe I should lighten his load a little.
“Really? Was the a cappella version a bit too plain…? I actually thought it turned out pretty decent.”
“Ah, no, that’s not it… Ha, I really can’t win against you.”
At my deliberately downcast tone, PD Seo Dan-woo looked momentarily flustered. When I grinned at him, he immediately raised the white flag and started spilling his honest feelings.
“Yes. You’re right. How could I possibly dislike that song? Still, Yujin-ssi has other programs too… I was trying to give it up, but you’re really poking at my side here.”
I caught the brief pause in his words—the quiet lament over the writer’s trolling—and gave a small inner chuckle before calling over Su-hyeok, who had been waiting in the distance.
“Su-hyeok-ah! Give me one business card.”
“Yes, hyung!”
“Please contact me directly at this number instead of going through BNW. Once you send the edited version, I’ll sync the post-recording to it and send it right back.”
“I’m so curious how it’ll turn out that I think I’ll have to edit Yujin-ssi’s parts first now.”
“Pfft, to that extent?”
Watching PD Seo Dan-woo accept Su-hyeok’s business card with both hands like it was some sacred object and even declare he’d rearrange the editing order made me finally burst out laughing despite trying to hold it in.
Fortunately, that laugh seemed to lighten his expression quite a bit.
“But… you really aren’t going to ask anything about it, are you?”
The fact that PD Seo Dan-woo brought it up first said a lot.
Of course, there was no real need to ask why the writer had lost her mind like that.
I remembered Choi Si-yeon’s interview, but even without that, I had more than enough grounds to piece together the situation.
“I can more or less guess what’s going on.”
“I seriously don’t know what to say… Our Writer Shim isn’t usually the type to go that far off the rails…”
I clearly remembered how relieved he’d sounded when he muttered about her being away, but there was no need to nitpick that now.
And the explanation that followed from PD Seo Dan-woo wasn’t much different from the interview Choi Si-yeon had given in my memories.
In other words, the behind-the-scenes story of how the character Ho-yeol’s entire narrative got scrapped because there was no suitable actor, turning it into a one-act play.
“From Writer Shim’s perspective, since it was her debut work, she must have had a lot of lingering regrets. And honestly, Yujin-ssi really does fit the image of the character Ho-yeol perfectly.”
Well, if it really was just this much, maybe I would’ve gotten cast even before regression.
In any case, the image I created today borrowed quite a bit from my Polaris days, and judging by the timeline, it lines up with when I would’ve been most active.
Since I have no memory of that at all, it seems Lee Hee-yeon must have cut things cleanly on her own.
Setting that aside, I decided to ask something I’d been a little curious about.
“But if I said I’d do it, could they actually get the show back on air?”
“Yeah, well… there are precedents, even if they’re rare. The original script got quite a bit of attention, so…”
Hmm, I see.
If even the heavily trimmed version had enough narrative juice to inspire an entire song, then at the very least it’s a work that easily clears the bar for being solid quality.
“Maybe…”
Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m volunteering.
“You said it earlier, PD-nim.”
“Which part…?”
“That you were glad I’m not the type who’s greedy for acting roles.”
“Ah.”
“I think those words fit me exactly.”
Based on Choi Si-yeon’s interview, it’s clear that this clear-eyed madwoman becomes an incredible hit writer in the future.
A debut work from someone like that would naturally draw a lot of attention even later on.
‘And if that gets added to Zia’s career, it’d be the cherry on top.’
That’s exactly why I can’t do it.
No matter how much I think about it, I don’t get even the slightest feeling that I’d be a positive addition.
Showing my face in a fictional story today is the first—and last—time.
“I see.”
PD Seo Dan-woo picked up exactly on the line I’d drawn and stopped right there in front of it.
There was a hint of regret, but the more I see it, the more I like the guy.
“You really are a rollercoaster of a person, Yujin-ssi. Earlier I was thinking it was fortunate you’re not greedy for acting… but now it’s the complete opposite. It’s a shame you’re not the type who’s greedy for acting.”
“Huh?”
“With an actor like Yujin-ssi… I feel like working together would be so much fun. If you acted even half as well as you sing, I’d be clinging to your pant leg begging you to do it.”
“Haha…”
His words were strangely similar to what I’d been thinking, but without overreaching—and because of that, I gave an awkward laugh and laid out everything I could offer.
“If you need a song for another project later, please contact me. I think I’d really enjoy doing OST work.”
“OK. Promise made. No take-backs when the time comes, alright?”
Instead of answering, I held out my hand, and PD Seo Dan-woo gripped it firmly.
That grip reminded me eerily of the clear-eyed madwoman from earlier, and the thought suddenly crossed my mind:
‘Yeah, figures.’
This seemingly level-headed PD and that writer really do seem like they’d make a great combo.
***
On the way back like that.
“What are you doing? Aren’t we leaving?”
“Ah, that’s… hyung.”
For some reason, Su-hyeok didn’t start the car right away.
And the way he couldn’t immediately explain why made it seem like he was waiting for something…
Screech.
The moment that thought crossed my mind, the car door suddenly slid open.
And then,
“Sorry, Yujin-ssi. Excuse me for a second.”
Zia appeared in front of me and said that, then quickly whispered instructions:
“Smile. I said smile. No—never mind, just turn your head. Don’t look at me, look out the window.”
I had no idea what was going on, but I did as told anyway.
Screech.
“Yujin-ssi. Sorry about this. Something urgent came up at the company, so I have to head back right away. I’m leaving Zia in your care for a bit.”
The door closed again with another sound, and from the passenger-side window, I heard Zia’s manager saying that.
“Su-hyeok-ssi, sorry about this too. Just look after her for a little while, please.”
“Yes, don’t worry.”
My head went completely blank for a second.
In this situation where it felt like everyone else had already agreed on everything except me—
And with the BNW manager’s words spoken loud enough for “everyone”—not just our side—to hear.
I roughly understood what the situation was.
‘Urgent company business, my ass.’
What kind of company is BNW?
There’s no way they’d issue an emergency summons while sidelining artist care, which is the single most important job for any manager.
This was just a formality.
A little show to let Zia and me go back together.
Zia’s manager was one of the very few people in the know about our relationship, after all.
Soon the car began to move smoothly, and only then did I finally turn my head away from the window and ask.
“You wanted to go back with me that badly?”
To be honest, today had been a little tiring.
On top of preparing for Project Trinity’s stage, I’d stopped by the shop twice, and even though the shoot wrapped up quickly, the time spent filming hadn’t been short at all.
‘Compared to my peak days before regression, this schedule is laughably relaxed.’
But spending time this busily had been a really long time ago, and above all, after regressing and adapting to this genuinely laid-back daily life for just under a year and a half, I’d gotten used to the ease.
Still,
“Why, do you hate it?”
Watching Zia ask that while undoing the tight ponytail she’d worn for the shoot, any trace of fatigue vanished completely.
Because Zia focusing on her work looked so incredibly beautiful.
Because the fact that she’d secretly planned this cute little prank behind my back was so unbearably lovable.
“No? Who said I hated it?”
Even though the day was winding down, I let my rising energy fill my voice completely as I answered. Zia glanced briefly at Su-hyeok, then let out a light snort of laughter.
“I thought you’d be curious about how it happened, so I was going to explain… but I guess you’re not curious?”
Hmm… I already know everything there is to know, hearing or not.
But that doesn’t mean I can just brush off Zia’s effort.
“Huh? You’re allowed to tell me? I thought I wasn’t supposed to ask.”
“Ahem, ahem.”
While Su-hyeok—who knew full well that I’d already heard the whole story from PD Seo Dan-woo—desperately tried to hold back his laughter at my antics, Zia began recounting what had happened with Choi Si-yeon.
Throwing in reactions here and there as if hearing it for the first time wasn’t even acting—it was below amateur level.
“Well, that’s pretty much it.”
“Really? Should I do it?”
From the back seat behind the passenger side, I could see Su-hyeok’s shoulders shaking, but Zia didn’t seem to notice.
“Forget it. I saw it today and realized—you’re really not cut out for acting, Yujin. Just stick to singing. Singing only.”
“Why? It’d be fun, wouldn’t it?”
It was a pretty sharp assessment, but since I completely agreed with it, that only made it funnier.
Unfortunately, the teasing didn’t last long.
“Pfft. Do I not know you? You’re never going to do it anyway, so why even say it?”
Just as I knew Zia well, she knew me just as well.
Having neatly nipped my prank in the bud, Zia sank deep into her seat and muttered,
“By the way, I’m a little worried about the writer… Seeing her go full throttle like that back there, I don’t think she’s going to give up easily…”
What’s the big deal about that?
‘If I just don’t do it, that’s the end of it.’
Even a government official can quit if they want— if I say no, what can that clear-eyed madwoman even do?
At best, she’d just send scripts to the agency or something.
With that thought, I let out a small chuckle.
Then—
Viiiibration.
My phone, which had been silent until now, started buzzing one after another.
It was from the Project Trinity production team.
[The kids seem so nervous they can’t sleep.]
[We might need to do something…]
Along with those messages came a video.
And in that video were five full-blown clear-eyed madmen.
In other words… the bizarre sight of the kids doing endless squats in the dorm living room in the middle of the night.
The moment I saw it, a certain instinct that had been dormant inside me snapped awake.
“Zia-ya. Sorry, but I need to stop by somewhere.”
“Huh?”
“Su-hyeok-ah. Let’s head to the kids’ dorm.”
“What’s going on? What is this? The kids are so cute!”
While Zia looked bewildered, I handed her my phone to show her the video. As her laughter burst out, Su-hyeok smoothly turned the wheel. I let out a small sigh.
‘Aish, these precious little ones, seriously.’
I’d sent them back early to rest, and here they were pulling this nonsense. The fact that the only thing on my mind was how to whip them into shape told me one thing:
I guess I’m never going to be an angelic producer like PD Seo Dan-woo.
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TL Note:
This novel has been completed.
Chapters 148–178 are available on My Patreon (Premium Tier) together with 5 other novels.
Link: https://www.patreon.com/cw/Vritratls
[This series is in the “Regressed Idol” collection]
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