Return of the Genius PD

PD Kim Jong-su scratched the back of his head vigorously as he spoke.

“Alright, I can accept that not revealing the writer’s identity is a serious issue, but so is the script. However-“

His eyes brightened as he raised an index finger.

“Just one face-to-face meeting. That’s all I’m asking. Just me and the director. No one else.”

Choi Won-jae shook his head.

“Revealing the writer’s identity isn’t on the table for negotiation.”

Kim Jong-su’s expression dropped at the firm response.

“The higher-ups won’t approve this. Not without some kind of compromise.”

Choi Won-jae remained unfazed.

“Faceless writers are rare, but not unheard of. In Hollywood, teams of writers often remain behind the scenes.”

“That’s America. This is Korea,” Kim Jong-su shot back.

“Then we’ll find a Korean broadcaster that’s more open-minded. One willing to accept a writer without a public face.”

As Choi Won-jae started to stand, Kim Jong-su quickly reached out, almost in panic.

“Wait! CEO Choi, no need to rush! You’re more impatient than you look.”

His words were shaky, but Choi Won-jae paused and sat back down with a polite smile.

“Unfortunately, this isn’t negotiable. The writer’s privacy is non-negotiable, it’s their core principle.”

“Is there really no room for compromise?”

“This writer would rather withdraw the work than reveal their identity. No middle ground on this.”

Kim Jong-su ruffled his hair in frustration.

“Ah, this is driving me insane.”

He chewed on some ice, searching for something, anything, that might sway Choi Won-jae. 

Then, Choi Won-jae spoke up first.

“I understand the risk you mentioned about face-to-face meetings being impossible.”

“Yes, and?” PD Kim Jong-su asked, narrowing his eyes.

“We’ll ease the production burden to compensate.”

Kim Jong-su leaned in. “How, exactly?”

Won-jae responded without hesitation. “The writer has agreed to delegate full authority over the production process to the broadcaster, including script revisions and casting decisions.”

Kim Jong-su’s eyes lit up.

It was true that every production staff member, from the director to the writer, worked toward a common goal: a successful drama. 

But could he truly align his heart with theirs? Disagreements were inevitable, leading to endless persuasion and bickering.

That’s why the idea of a writer with as much influence as a director willingly stepping back from the production process was unheard of.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, and one more thing,” Choi Won-jae added, raising a finger.

“We’ll also grant you the right of negotiating first for Writer Kyukyu’s next project.”

Kim Jong-su blinked. “And when do you expect…?”

“On the condition that the final episode is written within the year.”

Kim Jong-su leaned forward, intrigued. “Have they already started writing the next work?”

Choi Won-jae nodded. “‘Eccentric Doctor Ham In-ju’ is just the first button. The writer already has plenty more lined up.”

“So it’s just a matter of fitting those buttons into the right slots?”

“Exactly. Several scripts are already in various stages of revision and editing.”

Kim Jong-su took a moment to gather his thoughts.

‘Hmm…’

Kyukyu wasn’t going to reveal their identity, and while that posed a risk, they’d made up for it with considerable concessions: complete creative control over production and first dibs on future projects.

‘There’s really no reason to say no at this point.’

He made his decision. “I’ll have a contract ready within the week.”

It was as good as sealed.

* * *

Director Ko Dong-guk’s chronic headache never seemed to stop. The drama department was always riddled with incidents and accidents.

And today was no different.

PD Kim Jong-su stood before him, glaring, eyes filled with impatience.

“What is it this time? If you’ve got something to say, just say it,” Director Ko grumbled.

Without a word, Kim Jong-su pulled out an envelope, his resignation letter, and slammed it on the desk.

Ko narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“If you don’t agree to my terms, I’m resigning.”

“You should state your demands first.”

“Will you agree to them?” Kim Jong-su shot back, his frustration evident.

“Are you playing games with me now?”

Kim Jong-su cut straight to the point. “The writer Kyukyu refuses to reveal their identity.”

“Oh, really? And?”

“The same applies to the staff, the broadcasting company – everyone.”

“Well, well! Go on!” Ko taunted.

“Face-to-face meetings? Impossible. Now and in the future.”

“Great! That’s wonderful!” Director Ko mocked, spreading his arms as if ready to break into a dance.

“In that case, we can meet with Kim Seung-yeon!” he added sarcastically.

“But I’ve secured conditions to make up for it,” Kim Jong-su pressed, clenching his fist.

“They’ve agreed to delegate full authority over the entire production process to us.” He paused, then added quickly, “And I’ve locked in the right of first negotiation for their next project. They say they’ve got a mountain of scripts like Eccentric Doctor Ham In-ju stacked up.”

Director Ko stared at him silently for a moment, processing the information before speaking again.

“It’s a script we don’t even know when we’ll get! Don’t you know how writers are? They keep putting it off, then rush out some scribbles at the last minute!” Director Ko snapped.

“Have you only been deceived?” Kim Jong-su shot back.

“We’ve been deceived together! Both of us, flat backs of our heads! We’ll only know when we see it!” Director Ko grabbed a stack of documents and hurled them in frustration.

“How can you be sure it’s even scripts piled up, and not just a mess of random ideas?”

Kim Jong-su stood his ground. “Then just accept my resignation letter!”

“Go to HR and tell them.” Director Ko folded his arms, unyielding.

“Director, are you really going to do this?” Jong-su’s voice wavered.

“Are you?” Ko shouted, grabbing the back of his neck in exasperation. “Oh, you troublemaker! You’ll be the end of me!”

Ko sighed heavily, then softened his tone, trying to reason with him. “Jong-su, it’s not too late. Let’s bring back Kim Seung-yeon.”

“You’ve seen the script, haven’t you?” Kim Jong-su argued.

“The script is good! But so was Kim Seung-yeon’s!” Ko retorted.

Jong-su protested again, voice rising in passion. “We’ve got a future star writer on our hands! Are you really going to throw that away?”

Director Ko frowned deeply, rubbing his temples. “Oh, you’re going to give me a stroke before my time…”

The truth was, the conditions Kim Jong-su had secured weren’t bad. No, they were actually quite promising.

Complete control over the production for the network, that kind of leverage was rare and invaluable.

Ko leaned back in his chair, his frown softening as he contemplated the situation.

This arrangement meant that any future conflicts during the production process could be preemptively and fundamentally blocked. 

They could quickly film what needed to be filmed, cut what needed to be cut, and add what needed to be added; all while ensuring profitability.

A faceless writer, this was enough to offset the risk, even if they turned out to be a rookie. Plus, they had secured the right of first negotiation for the writer’s next work.

If the claim about having several scripts on par with Eccentric Doctor Ham In-ju was true, they could potentially create back-to-back hits with both their debut and follow-up at JTVN! 

The reputation of ‘Kyukyu,’ the genius writer who appeared like a comet, would surely grow.

A pure-blooded writer raised by JTVN!

Director Ko finished this train of thought and turned to the thoroughly excited PD Kim Jong-su.

“Hey, thickhead!” he called out.

Kim Jong-su replied with determination, “Yeeeeees!”

Ko sighed deeply, the weight of the decision settling on him. “Are you really confident?”

His voice was serious.

“Would I have brought my resignation letter for no reason?” Jong-su shot back.

The playfulness vanished from Director Ko’s face. “Jong-su, this is a big risk.”

“I know; it’s a drama going up against Kim Seung-yeon.”

“You know what that means, right?” Ko’s tone hardened. “Even a moderate hit in ratings will be a problem.”

“Yes.”

“They’ll start assigning blame.”

PD Kim Jong-su’s eyes twitched at the thought.

“Even if we hit the middle ground, they’ll say, ‘If it had been Kim Seung-yeon’s script, wouldn’t it have done better?'”

Jong-su raised his index finger, desperation etching his features. “We absolutely have to make it a big hit. Otherwise, we’re both in trouble. You might be okay, but I’ll be in huge trouble.”

-Gulp.

“15 percent viewership. No, make it 20 percent,” he declared.

“Just go all out, you chicken.”

“Fine! I’ll aim for 20 percent.”

Kim Jong-su’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “You don’t even remember the last time we exceeded 20 percent, do you?”

“Other broadcasters are struggling too, you idiot. Do you think ratings are child’s play?”

PD Kim Jong-su answered, his expression grave. “If we don’t exceed it, I’ll take responsibility.”

“How exactly are you going to take responsibility?”

With a dramatic flair, PD Kim Jong-su pounded his chest like a gorilla. “I’ll bark! During work hours! In the lobby! Powerfully, like a German Shepherd! Woof woof!”

“How are you a German Shepherd? Judging by your looks, you’re more like a pit bull terrier.”

“On the contrary! If we exceed twenty percent, can you channel a German Shepherd, Director?”

“Work hours? Don’t make me laugh! I can bark all day long!”

PD Kim Jong-su looked at Director Ko, practically begging. “Then please support me! Director! No, no! Team Leader! Just believe in me this once!”

“You only call me Team Leader when you’re desperate. Want to keep bringing up old times?”

“The only Team Leader in my life, before and after, is Team Leader Ko Dong-guk.”

Director Ko glared at PD Kim Jong-su but then sighed. “Huu, I understand for now, so get out.”

PD Kim Jong-su beamed. “You just said you understand!”

“I said I’ll think about it!”

“Shall we start drafting the contract right away?”

“Stop being difficult and get out! Out!”

Director Ko grabbed another handful of innocent documents and tossed them aside. “Go! I said go! Nothing ever goes right when I meet you!”

As PD Kim Jong-su turned around with an excited expression, the resignation letter Director Ko had thrown followed him, landing with a thud.

“Take your resignation letter with you, you blockhead!”

* * *

At the same time, the scream from the director’s office echoed throughout the entire floor.

“Go! I said go!”

Ji-won, who had just returned from vacation, smiled at the sound and glanced at his smartphone.

[How did the meeting go?]

[PD Kim Jong-su seems like an interesting person?]

[Haha,PD Jong-su is indeed unpredictable.]

[But are you sure about his skills?]

[Yeah, I trust PD Jong-su.]

[Anyway, I think we’ll hear from them soon.]

[CEO Choi, you’re pretty capable, huh?]

[If it goes through, give me a cut of the contract fee; I’m running out of rice.]

Laughing at Won-jae’s message, Ji-won set his smartphone down.

PD Kim Jong-su and Director Ko Dong-guk were always bickering like the “dumb and dumber” duo of the drama department, constantly producing incidents and accidents. But thanks to them, the drama department was always lively.

However, Ji-won knew the romantic era of the drama department would end with their retirement. After that, only cold numbers – cost, revenue, and ratings – would fill their vacant positions.

He wanted to delay their retirement a little longer.

First, PD Kim Jong-su.

Although his works tended to be “excessively” inconsistent, the dramas he directed were always hot. Ji-won didn’t dislike his passion. That’s why he was the most suitable director for Ji-won’s first work, Eccentric Doctor Ham In-ju.

“I’ve done everything I can as a writer for now.”

With that thought, Ji-won spread out a large sheet of scratch paper and picked up a pen. He stared intently at the blank spaces, ready to fill them.

‘Let’s move on to the next plan.’

He had learned something important in his past life: some things can be poison if used incorrectly, but if used well, they can become powerful weapons.

In his case, it was the proposal.

If the script was the highest-quality cooking ingredient, then directing was the cooking itself.

Ji-won’s essence was that of a director.

A director transforms a script into an exquisite dish, and creating a proposal was like crafting the recipe for that dish.

With renewed focus, Ji-won’s pen filled the scratch paper relentlessly. His proposal-writing skill had been proven in his past life, and this time, it was his own script.

Ideas on how to direct the project kept popping up endlessly.

Scratch, scratch, scratch…

The pen glided effortlessly across the paper, almost dancing with excitement.

-A list of potential actors who would perfectly synchronize with the characters.

-Artistic settings to capture the atmosphere of Daon Hospital, the main stage of the drama.

-Optimized production environments already integrated into the script based on her vision.

The experience accumulated from her past life kept flooding her with inspiration.

How much time had passed?

When the scratch paper was so full that there was no more space left to write, the pen finally stopped. A smile spread across Ji-won’s face.

“Perfect.”

The proposal, completed in one fluid motion, resembled a well-designed blueprint.

But that satisfaction was fleeting.

-Crunch.

Without hesitation, Ji-won crumpled the proposal. In an instant, what could have been described as “beautiful” was transformed into a roughly crumpled ball of paper. She walked over and tossed it with a swift “whoosh.”

The bait was thrown – bait that could never be ignored by the right person.

The fisher awaited a bite with calm anticipation.

.

.

.

A little while later…

“Who left this trash here?”

Deputy Chief Kim Dae-young’s eyes caught sight of a crumpled paper ball rolling on the floor as he returned to his seat.

‘If I look at the contents, I’ll probably have a rough idea of who threw it away. Just you wait.’

He carefully unfolded the paper and narrowed his eyes.

It’s a proposal? “Eccentric Doctor Ham In-ju” is the contest entry, isn’t it?

He was already aware that a two-way battle between the rookie writer and Kim Seung-yeon was underway. 

He had been watching with interest, wondering how good the script must be for Director Ko to consider it over Kim Seung-yeon.

“Is this from Team 2? A proposal for a script that hasn’t even been decided yet? They’re certainly overflowing with enthusiasm.”

Deputy Chief Kim Dae-young smiled as he scanned the crumpled scratch paper.

As he examined the paper more closely, his expression gradually turned serious.

He hadn’t yet read the competing contest scripts; he was just keeping track of current trends. Even so, he had a hunch that “Eccentric Doctor Ham In-ju,” featured in this proposal, would end up winning the grand prize.

The panoramic view and operating room of Daon Hospital sprang to life in his mind. The conflicts and aspirations felt between the main characters in the layered story resonated deeply.

‘Was it the power of the script or the power of the proposal?’

He couldn’t confirm that since he hadn’t read the script, but it was clear that the skill in writing this proposal was far from ordinary.

“…Who wrote this?”

With this proposal in hand, it wouldn’t be too difficult to knock on any production company’s door and secure investment. 

The production methods and directing plans detailed in the proposal were vividly visualized in his mind.

‘Would you look at this?’

Deputy Chief Kim Dae-young became curious about the owner of this proposal. He could be certain that this person would make a big splash in the near future.

A smile full of curiosity spread across Deputy Chief Kim Dae-young’s face.