Living is a cycle of frugality.
I held that thought as I kicked off my water-soaked boots and slipped into a pair of three-striped slippers. I jerked open the half-torn tent zipper, finding PD Nam Hee-seong waiting for me inside. The rain had stopped, but the soil was still muddy. And in this tent, with these people, in this air—nothing felt dry.
“Writer, here’s some coffee… it’s lukewarm, but here you go.”
PD Nam held out a paper cup.
I took the coffee, which was neither hot nor cold, and asked, “You’ve done the math, haven’t you?”
PD Nam nodded as if swallowing his spit.
“…Yes. But as expected, to make it to the end, it’s a bit—”
I knew why he trailed off.
No matter how much we pinched pennies, the production costs weren’t enough. Even with the generosity of the countryside and the help of the earthworms, filming cost money.
‘Taking it slow, filming everything, editing it, and then airing it neatly.’
That was how dramas were made these days.
But that was only for wealthy broadcasting stations.
Our options were clear.
‘The broadcast starts tomorrow, but we are filming today.’
We had to go with a daily-drama style, filming one day and airing it the next.
“…I’ve already set the schedule. We’ll film up to episode 4 while airing the first episode first. Honestly, there is no other way.”
I nodded slowly at PD Nam’s cautious report.
I already knew the broadcast was starting tomorrow.
I knew, but there was something ridiculous about listening to the news of the ‘first broadcast’ inside a tent, smelling the damp earth and feeling like I was squeezing a meager household ledger.
“It’s still thanks to you, Writer. An eight billion won investment… I truly couldn’t have imagined it,” PD Nam said, almost as if talking to himself.
I took a sip of the coffee and replied, “Eight billion won… that would buy about twenty studio apartments in Seoul.”
“…Haha, I suppose it would?”
“And yet here I am, digging for worms.”
It was a funny situation.
The coffee was lukewarm, the wind was cold, and the sky was dark.
In the midst of all that, the first broadcast of was tomorrow.
I could only hope that heaven would be moved by our sincerity.
***
Whether it’s the river or the sea, the countryside is all the same.
Adults might say, “Isn’t it great to breathe in the fresh air?” but to a bright 18-year-old high school girl, the countryside was just a prison without Wi-Fi.
Moon Yoon-seo, 18.
She lived in Guro-gu, Seoul.
She was an ordinary student who ate jambon-beurre sandwiches for dinner five times a week and couldn’t sleep without watching three YouTube videos, two TikToks, and one Netflix movie.
This same Moon Yoon-seo had been dragged to a remote mountain village where she had to cross a peak just to get a signal, all for her grandfather’s memorial service.
“Yoon-seo, put your phone down.”
“No way. This is the only spot where I can get even one bar of signal.”
“Since you’re at Hanmuni’s house anyway, look at the scenery. Give your eyes a rest from looking at electromagnetic waves all day.”
Her mother said that, but from Yoon-seo’s perspective, it wasn’t resting her eyes—it was no different from being in a total blackout.
What joy was there in lying on a wooden veranda, staring blankly at brassware bowls decorated with cold-water fish?
“We’re eating soon, so get inside.”
“Ugh, I said no. I’m not eating.”
“Now, Moon Yoon-seo. Are you going to keep being stubborn?”
Yoon-seo finally gave up on her dead smartphone and rolled over in front of the television.
It was a device embarrassing to even call a TV, a flat-screen CRT with a bulging back that made a ‘pop’ sound whenever it was turned on or off. A faint logo at the top read ‘Sky Wonderful.’
“What is this now…?”
The only saving grace was that the satellite dish her father had installed on the roof was still functional.
Thanks to that, Yoon-seo was able to turn the power on, and a drama appeared through the crackling static.
…The problem, however, was that the dramas and variety shows being aired were all over 20 years old, from the early 2000s.
One channel showed Heo Jun. Another showed Emperor Wang Geon. Yet another showed a rerun of Saturday Saturday is Fun.
‘I have no idea how people in the old days survived watching only this stuff.’
Yoon-seo almost threw the remote.
But she held back because she knew her back would be stinging from her mother’s hand if she did.
‘I really hope the memorial service ends soon so I can go home…’
The moment she grumbled, a strange message appeared on the screen.
[New Sitcom will be airing shortly.]
The title was unfamiliar, yet it felt strangely ‘modern,’ catching Yoon-seo’s eye.
“…Topsy-turvy what?”
Clutching the remote, Yoon-seo glared at the announcement on the TV screen.
The scheduled airing time was ‘5 minutes later.’
‘Ugh, whatever. Everything else sucks, so I might as well watch this.’
Yoon-seo dragged a large mat-covered pillow from a corner of Hanmuni’s room and settled down in front of the TV.
Just then, Hanmuni poked her head out from the kitchen while roasting sweet potatoes.
“Dear. What are you watching so intently?”
Yoon-seo tilted her head and replied, “I don’t know. It’s my first time seeing it. Do you want to watch too, Hanmuni?”
At her granddaughter’s pouty invitation, Hanmuni sat down beside Yoon-seo with a sweet potato in hand.
Tadh-da-ra-ra-ri-kung-jak-jak-kung-jak-jak♪
A cheerful opening melody played as the subtitles appeared.
The first scene opened on a quiet rural village, specifically a winding mountain valley that felt even more secluded.
In the yard of a worn-down Western-style house, a large family of twelve sat around a table.
“Alright, let’s decide on tonight’s menu!” the oldest son of the family declared in a booming voice.
“I want chicken!” the youngest said, raising a hand high.
“Chicken? Are you crazy! The chicken is our family’s guardian deity!” an uncle-in-law who worshipped the Chicken God jumped to his feet.
“Instead of that, how about beef for once? I’ve been feeling weak lately and craving some good meat,” the second child shouted.
“That… would be a very hurtful thing to say to someone who worships the ‘Ox’ God. If you’re feeling weak, offer a prayer instead of looking for beef,” the oldest brother said, his nose twitching.
“Then how about pork?”
The third child made the suggestion with an expectant face, but—
“Seriously, is pork always the easy target?”
Silence fell over the table.
It was a tense standoff where they couldn’t touch chicken, pork, or beef.
“Then… duck?”
Everyone nodded at the same time.
Duck was the only one no one worshipped as a god. It wasn’t an animal that belonged to the twelve zodiac signs.
“Aww, duck again? I’m sick of it.”
“Hey, but there’s no flavor more reliable than duck.”
“Fine, let’s go with duck!”
“Agreed!”
The scene shifted.
The family was at a local mart’s sale corner, filling their basket with duck bulgogi sets.
“It’s a 2+1 deal!”
“Sweet! A duck feast!”
They looked so happy that Moon Yoon-seo let out a small chuckle.
“What is this…? It’s funnier than I thought.”
Hanmuni, sitting beside her, also smiled warmly.
And so, the family returned home and began happily grilling the duck.
“Cheers! A toast with grilled duck!”
The uncle-in-law who worshipped the Chicken God piled his plate high with duck meat as if anything was fine as long as it wasn’t chicken.
It was then.
A news report broke out on the TV they had left on in the corner of the living room.
[This is an emergency news report. A highly pathogenic avian influenza for ducks is spreading nationwide.]
In an instant, the chopsticks at the table stopped simultaneously.
The cult-like family who worshipped strange gods froze like a still frame.
“…”
A duck leg fell from the uncle-in-law’s hand.
“…Uncle?”
“Oh, goodness! If I’d known this would happen, I would’ve just had pork belly!”
“No, beef would have been fine!”
“If it’s duck flu, does that mean chicken would’ve been okay?”
The scene showed the family members setting down their chopsticks and starting their meeting again with serious faces.
Yoon-seo started laughing out loud at the sight.
“Puhahaha!”
Hanmuni set her sweet potato aside and held her stomach with both hands, laughing brightly for the first time in a while.
Moon Yoon-seo thought to herself.
‘I guess there’s actually something fun on rural cable?’
When the first episode of ended, Moon Yoon-seo rubbed her cheekbones, which were sore from laughing, and muttered, “Wow, I haven’t laughed like that in forever.”
Hanmuni stared at the empty plate and threw in a comment.
“My, my. Lately, dramas have been nothing but noisy, but this one smells like how people actually live.”
“Hanmuni, I’m hungry. When are we eating?”
“Right, my baby is hungry, so we should eat quickly.”
Yoon-seo looked at Hanmuni and smiled softly along with her.
***
At the same time.
A meeting room on the second floor of Aladdin TV headquarters in Gayang-dong, Gangseo-gu, Seoul.
PD Nam Hee-seong sat with his arms crossed in front of a scratched meeting table, staring at the numbers displayed on the projector.
“Alright, the broadcast is over… Let’s check the reaction on the viewer message board for a change.”
Not just PD Nam, but Manager Jeong and all the other Aladdin staff members logged into the board and scrolled down.
— is hilarious lolololololololol
— I admit, this work saved IPTV ;;
— I feel like I found a great hidden restaurant
— It looks so tacky but it’s so damn funny T_T
Positive comments like these were pouring onto the viewer board.
“Has anything like this… ever been posted on our station’s board before?”
“Never. Wasn’t it always just complaints?”
“The only things that usually got posted were ‘bad reception’ or ‘subtitle error.’”
In the midst of that, someone shouted in a joyful voice.
“The number of viewers increased! They say it went up by 8,000!”
“Ohh, 8,000 people?!”
The room turned into a small festival.
However, Nam Hee-seong didn’t uncross his arms.
If you quietly tapped on a calculator, it was easy to see.
Out of fifty million citizens, 8,000 people was 0.016%.
In terms of viewership ratings, it was a negligible level that could be considered within the margin of error.
“It’s not something to be happy about…”
Nam Hee-seong stared down at the monitor without uncrossing his arms.
8,000 out of fifty million.
Doing the math on a calculator resulted in the number 0.016%.
“But it still increased by 8,000. We haven’t had an influx of viewers like this recently,” Manager Jeong shouted excitedly.
The meeting room felt as if small firecrackers were about to go off.
But Nam Hee-seong quietly lifted his coffee cup.
The smell was cheap, and the taste was even cheaper.
He let out a self-deprecating chuckle, thinking it somehow suited their current situation.
“Well, sure. If you think of it as 8,000 endangered bats entering a cave where no one lived, I suppose you could brag somewhere about magnificently restoring an ecosystem.”
Manager Jeong snickered.
“Ehey, PD Nam is doing it again. Why are you so cynical?”
“I’m trying to speak as positively as possible in my own way. Interpretation is free.”
Outside the window, it had grown dark.
The gray concrete buildings soaked in rain and the long, stretched sky of Gayang-dong were visible.
It wasn’t dazzling or grand.
But it felt like a new station was quietly being built in a place no one cared about, like the extension of Subway Line 9.
Nam Hee-seong looked down at the monitor.
He read one small new post that had appeared there.
— I’m definitely tuning in next week.
He smiled slightly.
He had vowed not to get his hopes up, but for some reason, he started to look forward to next Wednesday evening just a little bit.
If you want, I can format the previous chapters the same way so everything looks consistent.