There is a peculiar side to the human heart. Even when you understand something rationally, there are moments when you cannot accept it emotionally. For example, the situation I was facing right now was exactly like that.
On various leading drama community sites, *Topsy-turvy Twelve Zodiacs* was being mentioned quite a bit.
– Is anyone watching Aladdin TV lately? Lol.
– *Topsy-turvy Twelve Zodiacs*? I heard it was good.
– Why is the name like that? It sounds so cheap.
I scrolled down and clicked on a post.
– It’s actually hilarious. It’s been a while since we’ve had a sitcom that feels like a real sitcom. But it’s on Aladdin TV… It’s hard to even recommend it to anyone.
People who saw it said it was fun. No one said the quality was bad. And yet, for some reason, it couldn’t gain any decisive momentum to go viral. There was only one reason.
“IPTV,” I muttered, closing my lips and shutting the laptop.
Things couldn’t stay like this. Whether through marketing or something else, a clear turning point was needed. I had to make something happen before the show’s image was cemented as a ‘drama that’s good but impossible to watch.’
A knock sounded at the door. I recognized the voice.
“Writer, it’s me. I’m coming in for a moment.”
Seo Sun-ae opened the door carefully and walked in. She was holding a thick stack of documents, but her expression was entirely devoid of energy.
“Feedback came in from Aladdin TV. Total viewers for episode 2: 29,000.”
“…Haha.”
A laugh escaped me. It wasn’t a laugh of insanity, nor was it a number I could laugh about lightly. To think that a drama created with such grueling effort was only seen by 29,000 people. If the population of South Korea was roughly 50 million, that was a mere 0.058%.
“Still, it increased by 2,000 compared to last week,” Seo Sun-ae said with a self-deprecating smile as she set the papers down.
I noticed her shoulders slumped as she looked down. CEO Seo, who was already short, looked even more powerless with her shoulders hunched like that. I felt a pang of guilt. I hadn’t brought all these people together just to see this kind of result—especially not the people who believed in me and followed me.
However, at times like this, I couldn’t let my emotions take over. As soon as Seo Sun-ae left and the door closed, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I immediately logged in to ‘that’ place.
*Dum-dum—*
With a heavy sound effect, the Gatflix logo appeared.
**[Wish Ticket: 1 (B-grade)]**
My finger stopped over it. A B-grade wish ticket worth five billion won. It was possible to cash it out and put five billion won into my account. If I did that, I could immediately clear my negative balance and my credit card limits. I wouldn’t just be back at zero; I’d be deep in the black.
Of course, even without considering the raw cash value, it was a wish ticket with significant weight. I remembered how I had accidentally met A-reum through a Gatflix C-grade wish ticket.
‘Is it right to use this now?’
I hesitated for a moment—actually, quite a long time. Even so.
“…Let’s do it.”
**[Would you like to use a B-grade Wish Ticket?]**
“Use the wish. Promote the drama *Topsy-turvy Twelve Zodiacs*. If possible, worldwide.”
A brief silence followed. Soon, the screen flickered, and an answer appeared.
**[This wish is available. Would you like to consume 1 B-grade Wish Ticket to fulfill the wish?]**
“Yes.”
**[You have used 1 Wish Ticket!]**
“…Huh?”
That was it. There was no grand production, no sparkling special effects, and it would have been nice if at least some noisy firecrackers had gone off. Just like last time, only a simple sentence stating it had been used appeared.
“I feel like I’ve been robbed blind,” I muttered, staring down at my phone.
Ignoring the lingering sense of unease, I decided to wait for a while.
***
Oil overflowed in the desert, but laughter was rarer than sand.
The Abu Dhabi Royal Palace, specifically the largest and most golden palace at the edge of the desert, belonged to Prince Abdul Al Jahad. He had inherited an ambiguous position as fourteenth in line for the throne, along with a lifestyle that was much the same.
He was tired of camel racing, walking with tigers was a hassle because of the sweat, Twitter was censored, and even after scouring S Netflix, Disney Plus, and all sorts of OTT platforms, there was nothing he particularly wanted to watch.
That day, he let out a long yawn and was biting into a random date in the ‘Royal Banquet Hall B’ of the palace. Just then, he heard the whispering murmurs of the maids.
“Did you see that drama yesterday? *Twin Love*!”
“Oh my gosh, I was just about to ask you about that. Isn’t it so good? Especially An Yoo Seok, he’s so handsome.”
“They don’t call him ‘Asia’s Prince’ for nothing.”
“Asia’s Prince? Who? Me?”
When Abdul approached and asked, the maids were startled.
“Oh, yes. You are the Asia’s Prince, Your Highness.”
“Haha. I’m joking. Who is An Yoo Seok?”
“Well…”
One of the maids carefully spoke up.
“Forgive me, Your Highness, but he is an actor who is currently appearing in dramas produced in South Korea…”
“Are you talking about K-dramas?”
Abdul recalled a few K-dramas he had seen on S Netflix. He didn’t particularly remember the names of the writers or actors, but he remembered enjoying them. Since he was bored and looking for something to do, this was perfect.
“*Twin Love*? That’s good? Is there anything else you’d recommend?”
“Ah, if that’s the case… *Macho Restaurant* and *Flower Blooming on a Withered Branch*, written by the same writer, are also very excellent.”
“Really? Then have them played in the private theater. I finally have something to watch.”
“However, Your Highness, there are no official subtitles, so it may be uncomfortable for you to watch.”
“Do I need subtitles to translate my emotions?”
He did need them. The maids quickly recruited an attendant who was fluent in Korean to provide live translation. Thanks to that, Abdul was able to binge-watch *Twin Love* that night while shedding tears. The next day, with bloodshot eyes and flared nostrils, he started *Flower Blooming on a Withered Branch*.
Abdul finished the drama in three consecutive days, even skipping meals. Next was *Macho Restaurant*, followed by *Killing Romance*.
“Exactly who is this writer named Lee Junghyuk…?”
After a week of laughing and crying thanks to Lee Junghyuk, Abdul immediately summoned his attendants.
“What is Writer Lee Junghyuk’s latest work?”
The attendant who had recommended *Twin Love* replied.
“It is called *Topsy-turvy Twelve Zodiacs*, currently airing on a place called Aladdin TV.”
Abdul fell silent for a moment.
“…What? Topsy… what?”
“It seems to be a Korean onomatopoeia for a state of messy chaos.”
“Where can I watch it?”
“I beg your pardon, but… it is only being aired on a rather small and very fringe station in Korea called Aladdin TV. As for subtitles, there are no Middle Eastern ones, let alone English ones, so we have not been able to see it either.”
Abdul muttered quietly.
“A station using the name Aladdin is a minor one in Korea… How surprising.”
He stood up from his seat.
“Procure that drama within three days. And that place called ‘Aladdin TV’… I should pour some oil on it to make it live up to its name.”
Thus, Abdul Al Jahad’s interest began. Of course, the small ball launched by Gatflix did not stop there.
At a laundry site in Bangladesh, an 11-year-old boy named Amid was carrying a water bucket as large as an adult’s shirt on his shoulders. As he thrust clothes into the running water and beat them with a wooden branch, a bronzed hand appeared before his eyes.
“Hey, now isn’t the time to be doing laundry.”
Amid’s older brother waved his hand and shouted.
The local children had swarmed around the free internet signal near a hospital where word had spread that ‘the Wi-Fi works.’ Among them, a video was playing quietly. The title was *Udangtangtang God of Twelve*.
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t know. But these guys are all weird. It’s funny.”
On the screen, a family who couldn’t eat meat because of the Twelve Zodiac gods they served finally reached the conclusion that they could eat duck and cheered. Then, when a news report about bird flu suddenly appeared on the TV, they all stopped their chopsticks at the same time.
Amid burst into silent laughter at that scene, and the child next to him asked.
“Why are you laughing?”
“It just… reminded me of when my dad and uncles had a dinner party.”
“Does your dad believe in the Zodiac gods too?”
“No. When there’s meat in front of them, they have no religion.”
The laundry site was filled with laughter for a while. And the child who shared the video added hashtags.
#Weird_Korean_Sitcom #IDontUnderstandButILaugh
In a Mongolian ger, a 68-year-old woman was watching a video on an old tablet. Her shepherd husband tried to change the channel, but when he heard someone in the video say, “We have to apologize to the Chicken God,” he stopped and asked.
“What is that fellow saying?”
“He says he sinned against a chicken.”
“Is it a world where even chickens need forgiveness…?”
Soon, the two sat side by side in silence and watched until the end. The video quality was poor and the translation was a mess, but… it was warm, desperate, urgent, and a total mess. That loose, topsy-turvy chaos was strangely comforting.
Meanwhile, at the King Sejong Station in Antarctica.
“Dr. Park, what was that you were watching yesterday? You were laughing so hard.”
“Oh, it’s a sitcom airing in Korea. It’s truly ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous? Then why do you keep watching it?”
“Well, as I watch each episode, I strangely grow fond of it. It’s that same sentiment from back in the day when our parents would leave the TV on every evening.”
At the same time, Alicia, a 17-year-old K-Pop fan living in Manila, Philippines, happened to see Seojiwon’s face on social media.
“Whoa, she’s in a drama too?”
She immediately searched for Aladdin TV, but soon posted a tweet mixed with tears.
“Seriously, why can’t I watch this? What even is IPTV?!”
In very strange corners all over the world, wordplay that wasn’t translated, sitcom situations that exploded without context, and concepts like the ‘Chicken God’, ‘Cow God’, and ‘Rat God’—which weren’t easy to translate into any language—were stimulating parts of people’s brains beyond the realm of language.
This flow crossed borders, spreading from a bright yellow laundry site to an oasis where sandstorms blew, and even to a research lab in the frozen Antarctica… The small, unfamiliar name began to spread.
*Topsy-turvy Twelve Zodiacs*
The viewership ratings were miserable, but strangely, requests for translations by country began to surge.
Why? Why is this sitcom funny even when I don’t understand it?
That question soon led to ‘Who is this writer?’ and further to ‘How on earth did Korea make something like this?’
***
Gat Media office.
The first Middle Eastern comment posted on the bulletin board said:
-“Comedy is a blessing.”—
Jeong Tae-mi spoke up.
“This… it’s a good thing, right?”
Im Seong-hee nodded slowly.
“Yeah. It’s good… but why is everyone watching this?”
At that, President Hong Ju Hee, who was sitting next to them, muttered.
“…I don’t know. Has the world gone mad?”
“Writer. Is this really ours?”
Pyeong Taek-su held out an iPad screen in front of my eyes. The video playing on the screen was definitely *Topsy-turvy Twelve Zodiacs*. It was the scene where the Chicken God, Rabbit God, and Cow God families were fighting over duck meat, unable to reach a conclusion, only to freeze upon seeing the news captions.
However, the subtitles on the video were not in Korean.
“Do… do you know what language that is?”
“It looks like Hebrew, or maybe… Arabic?”
“The hashtag underneath says #BlessingOfWeirdFamily… or something. I guess the person who translated it was confused too.”
Pyeong Taek-su swiped through the screen. Twitter. Instagram. TikTok. Even Tumblr accounts. Memes and clips of *Topsy-turvy Twelve Zodiacs* were spreading quietly and strangely. Most reactions were things like, “What is this?”, “Why is it funny?”, and “I don’t understand it but I keep watching.”
‘Global word of mouth…?’
To be precise, it was closer to a passive obsession from people around the world who were addicted to content they didn’t understand. I quietly turned on my laptop and opened a Google search.
‘Topsy-turvy Twelve Zodiacs’.
The posts following the search term were quite extraordinary. Pyeong Taek-su, who glanced at the screen from the side, spoke as if he couldn’t believe it.
“Unbelievable… to think the Chicken God would work as a global trend.”
‘…Is this the effect of the B-grade wish ticket?’
I couldn’t say it out loud, but I quietly thought of the Gatflix wish ticket.
One week ago, I had used the B-grade wish ticket. I had requested the Gatflix system to ‘maximize the marketing for *Topsy-turvy Twelve Zodiacs*,’ and the system had agreed.
So, I thought something would change immediately. An explosion of calls from reporters? A flood of casting requests for the actors? Love calls to enter overseas platforms?
There was none of it. Really, nothing. Since absolutely nothing happened, I had even wondered if I had been scammed.
However, the B-grade wish ticket had brought a marketing effect I hadn’t even imagined.