Chapter 157: The Hidden Writer

The moment Byeonghwa won Best Drama Series at the Emmy Awards, media outlets across the world exploded into action.

It wasn’t just Korean media.

International outlets also rushed to celebrate and analyze Byeonghwa’s historic achievement.

[All Eyes on Byeonghwa!]

[Byeonghwa Makes Emmy History with Five Wins, Including Best Drama]

[How Byeonghwa Swept Best Drama, Best Actor, and Best Actress]

[Everyone Saw It Coming—Byeonghwa Finally Rewarded with Five Emmys!]

[A Shame About Best Director? Still, Byeonghwa Earns Global Recognition]

[Why Byeonghwa? Why Black Reservation and Mess Fell Short]

[Mess Lacked Staying Power—Should Learn from Byeonghwa]

[The Real Hero of This Year’s Emmy Upset Wasn’t Black Reservation—It Was Byeonghwa]

Overall, public sentiment leaned heavily toward praise.

Most people believed Byeonghwa’s success was deserved.

Of course, not everyone agreed.

A small minority felt that winning five Emmys was excessive.

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— Five wins for Byeonghwa? Isn’t that a bit much?
— What is this, an Asian quota? lol
— Ddabanggu Game got five wins too, and now Byeonghwa? Seriously?
— Feels overrated.
— Some overseas articles are calling the results suspicious.
— Black Reservation and Mess were both excellent too.
— Honestly, Mess was way more entertaining.
— Wasn’t Black Reservation objectively better?
— Is there something going on between Netflix and the Emmys? Korean dramas are dominating too much lately.
— Seriously, the Emmys are losing credibility.

Still, those opinions remained a minority.

There would always be people who criticized something, no matter how successful it was.

The overwhelming consensus acknowledged Byeonghwa’s remarkable achievement.

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— Why are people even hating on Byeonghwa’s five wins?
— The jealousy is unreal lol
— No offense to Ddabanggu Game, but artistically Byeonghwa was on another level.
— Honestly, it felt like the obvious awards pick from the beginning.
— Writer + lead actor being the same person is basically an Emmy cheat code;;
— You clearly don’t understand the Emmys if you think box office numbers matter that much.
— Honestly, isn’t it weirder that Byeonghwa ONLY got five wins?
— Feels like being too commercially successful actually hurt them lol
— Twenty-one nominations and only five wins? Does that even make sense?
— Missing Best Director still hurts, though…
— First Korean drama to win Best Drama. That’s genuinely insane.
— Critics seem to love Byeonghwa even more than the general audience.
— One series winning both Best Actor and Best Actress? Crazy.
— Even crazier—Kang Tae-ha alone won Best Actor, Best Writer, and Best Drama.
— Kang Tae-ha basically carried three out of five awards himself lol
— His acceptance speech was incredible.
— Even overseas, people are talking about Tae-ha’s speech. They’re saying it was deeply moving.
— He gave the entire speech in Korean, too.
— Doesn’t Kang Tae-ha speak English fluently? Why Korean?
— Apparently he said it felt wrong to give a Korean drama’s acceptance speech in English lol
— Even his mindset screams Byeonghwa.
— National pride was crazy when Ddabanggu Game won, but this feels even bigger.
— A drama about the Imjin War winning Best Drama… still unbelievable.
— Kang Tae-ha looked ridiculously good in Prada.
— Why is Robert Wise attached to Kang Tae-ha all of a sudden lol
— Robert Wise literally just uploaded a picture with him on social media.
— He congratulated Byeonghwa on winning five Emmys too;;
— Wait, were they already friends?
— Nope, apparently Robert Wise approached him first because he was a fan lol
— No way, seriously?
— Robert Wise even replied to a DM explaining it. Said he became obsessed after watching Byeonghwa.
— Wow… Robert Wise… national pride rising.
— Han Yun-seong, Seon Min-gi, and Lee Seok-hyun better start sweating lol
— Kang Tae-ha out here charming older foreign men now ttt
— “Charming”?? Are you insane? lol

Thus, Byeonghwa’s five-Emmy sweep sparked endless discussion.

And almost every topic somehow led back to one person.

Kang Tae-ha.

His looks.

His outfit.

His Best Writer award.

His Best Actor win.

His contribution to Best Drama.

His Korean-language acceptance speech.

Even Robert Wise openly showing admiration for him.

No matter where people looked, it felt as though the entire world was talking about Kang Tae-ha.

And honestly—

Tae-ha himself felt it even more strongly.

The moment news of the Emmy victory reached Korea, congratulatory messages flooded in.

So many, in fact, that replying to them all would likely take days.

And unlike before, these weren’t only messages from acquaintances.

Many came from complete strangers.

‘Especially after attending the Emmys… I’ve been getting messages in all kinds of languages.’

It wasn’t just English.

Japanese.

Chinese.

French.

German.

Italian.

Messages arrived from all over the world.

At first, Tae-ha briefly wondered if his contact information had somehow leaked.

But that didn’t seem to be the case.

‘Most of them are overseas production companies trying to work with me.’

If someone wanted Kang Tae-ha as an actor or model, they had to go through AH Entertainment.

Contacting him directly actually lowered their chances.

Ignoring industry protocol rarely ended well.

But things were different when it came to Tae-ha the writer.

His agreement with Salamander Studio wasn’t an exclusive writer contract.

It was merely a content contract.

Meaning—

Tae-ha had only committed to Salamander Studio for his next project.

As a freelancer, he was still free to work with other production companies afterward.

He could easily make one project with Salamander Studio and then sign elsewhere for the next.

And since he didn’t have a dedicated literary agent, direct offers naturally ended up in his inbox.

‘Of course… that doesn’t mean I have any intention of leaving Salamander Studio.’

Even morally, if he ever considered such a thing, he would discuss it with them first.

But in truth—

He had no intention of leaving at all.

Even among the countless overseas offers were globally renowned studios such as Winner Pictures.

Yet Tae-ha remained unmoved.

CEO Han had supported him unconditionally from the very beginning.

Where else would he go?

And it wasn’t simply loyalty keeping him there.

‘Maybe in the past, working with a global production company would’ve mattered. But not anymore.’

That was the truth.

Back then, global studios held all the advantages:

Massive budgets.

Industry expertise.

Worldwide distribution.

If someone wanted international success, working with those companies had once been essential.

But things had changed.

Now, even non-global studios had enough capital and production know-how to create exceptional content.

And with worldwide OTT distribution, accessibility was no longer an issue.

For Tae-ha, there was little reason to go overseas.

The benefits existed—

But the drawbacks felt larger.

‘Acting would be different, though.’

More importantly—

He already had something else demanding his attention.

Currently, Tae-ha was waiting to hear whether any directors had taken interest in the screenplay he had been preparing with Salamander Studio.

The film:

The Hidden Writer.

‘Honestly… chances are slim. But you never know.’

Tae-ha wasn’t overly optimistic.

He had poured everything into the screenplay, yes—

But effort alone never guaranteed success.

And more than anything, Tae-ha wasn’t the type to start another project while one was still unresolved.

So after returning to Korea carrying the honor of five Emmy Awards, Tae-ha spent his days quietly replying to congratulatory messages one by one.

And just as that endless stream of gratitude was finally nearing its end—

Bzzzzt.

His phone vibrated.

A message from CEO Han.

Tae-ha tilted his head.

‘Didn’t we already talk right after I got back?’

Then—

Bzzzzt.

Another message arrived.

Finally checking his phone, Tae-ha saw:

[Writer, this is huge!]

[No—seriously, absolutely HUGE!!]

The moment he read those messages—

Tae-ha instinctively knew.

It had to be about The Hidden Writer.

***

Inside a quaint study steeped in the scent of old books—

A man sat quietly reading a screenplay.

At first, his expression remained unreadable.

Blank.

Calm.

Unmoving.

But somewhere along the way—

Something changed.

The face of the man, who had been reading in complete silence, gradually began to show signs of excitement.

His eyes sharpened.

His breathing slowed.

And by the time he reached the final page—

He simply sat there.

Still.

Silent.

As though unable to move.

Slowly, the man lifted his head.

He carefully placed the screenplay on the desk.

Then, with deliberate movements, he removed his glasses and rubbed his face.

Only then did the tremor become visible.

His hands were shaking violently.

Not from age.

Not from fatigue.

But from overwhelming shock.

“…No way.”

The words escaped his lips almost unconsciously.

At the same time—

Joy spread across his face.

It was inevitable.

Because what he had just finished reading was no ordinary screenplay.

It was a masterpiece.

No—

A masterpiece among masterpieces.

The kind of work one might encounter only once in an entire lifetime.

And he had just finished reading exactly such a story.

“…This came from Salamander Studio?”

His voice carried disbelief.

The company had only recently stepped into the film industry.

Yet somehow—

A screenplay of this caliber had emerged from them.

That screenplay was none other than:

The Hidden Writer.

Of course—

The man had no idea that Kang Tae-ha had written it.

There was a reason for that.

“Interesting…”

A faint smile formed on his lips.

“Salamander Studio is confident.”

“Keeping the writer’s identity hidden on purpose…”

That was precisely what had happened.

Originally, Salamander Studio had wanted to attach Tae-ha’s name to the screenplay immediately.

After all, Kang Tae-ha was no longer simply an actor.

He was now an Emmy-winning writer.

Attaching his name alone would generate enormous buzz.

But Tae-ha himself had opposed it.

Strongly.

He wanted the screenplay judged solely on its merit.

Not because of his reputation.

He didn’t want directors accepting the project simply because it was “Kang Tae-ha’s work.”

Of course, most respected film directors weren’t shallow enough to choose projects based on fame alone.

Still—

There was always the possibility.

A what if.

And Tae-ha hated that idea.

Because of that, the screenplay had been distributed anonymously.

No name.

No profile.

Nothing.

Only the work itself.

And so—

The man who had just finished reading it never once imagined Kang Tae-ha.

Instead, countless names crossed his mind.

Famous writers.

Legendary screenwriters.

Industry veterans.

But none of them fit.

“…Who in the world wrote this?”

The man leaned back slowly.

His thoughts drifted from one renowned master to another.

Yet none felt right.

It wasn’t that they lacked the ability.

No.

Several of them certainly possessed the skill to write something exceptional.

But The Hidden Writer felt different.

Its voice.

Its pacing.

Its emotional rhythm.

The way tension quietly accumulated before exploding—

Everything about it felt distinct.

Unique.

So unique, in fact, that no Korean writer currently active came to mind.

There was no resemblance.

No familiar fingerprints.

It was as if an entirely new storyteller had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

“…I should just ask directly.”

The man reached for his phone.

Without hesitation, he dialed CEO Han’s number.

The ringtone echoed briefly.

Then—

Click.

A voice came through the receiver.

— “Hello?”

The man spoke immediately.

“This is Joo Chan-seong.”

The name alone carried weight.

Joo Chan-seong.

A legendary filmmaker.

The auteur behind the acclaimed Revenge Trilogy.

A director praised as one of the greatest cinematic visionaries of the modern era.

A man who had ultimately claimed Best Director at the Cannes Film Festival.

Not just domestically—

But internationally recognized as a master.

And now—

That very man had become interested in The Hidden Writer.

The screenplay Kang Tae-ha had quietly created in secret.

The moment had finally arrived.