Chapter 102: The Knife of a Genius

People who make a living by writing stories may not be quite as sharp as shamans, but they still know how to read people.

Of course, coming from me—who misread Jeon Min-jung back in my third-rate writer days and ended up divorced in a snap—it might sound less than convincing.

Still, I pride myself on having developed a decent sense of observation, having written so many dramas about the things that happen between people.

I can guarantee this: that young genius, Park Rael, swaggering around in rapper-like clothes with his blonde hair, is either poorly raised or a high-functioning sociopath.

They say you shouldn’t judge people by appearances, but I just had a feeling.

“Writer Rael, what made you start writing?”

“My mother’s a novelist. You know Han Kyung-ah, right?”

“Ah, is that so.”

If his mother is Han Kyung-ah, the renowned novelist who became the first Korean to win the Jeonmi Literary Prize and is known for both her works and her character, then his upbringing was probably not lacking.

Which means, as expected, this bastard—no, this young writer—is definitely a high-functioning sociopath.

And this is not because I was quick to judge just because Park Rael, when asked his opinion of the  script, immediately brought up my previous works.

“But among your works, I liked , , and even , but  was a bit disappointing.”

“Disappointing?”

“Well, the first two felt like a perfectly crafted luxury watch—characters, structure, development, everything was flawless. It made me realize there were people besides my mom who could write so calculatingly well.”

“So?”

“Hm, but the later works… how should I put it, they had too many unnecessary embellishments. If I had to describe it, it was unpleasant—like drawing eyebrows on the Mona Lisa.”

“Unpleasant?”

To writer Lee Jung-hyuk, Park Rael seemed like the textbook example of a ‘bratty, rude kid who says whatever he wants.’

Rael’s biting critiques just now were clear proof that he was a sociopath, unable to empathize with others’ feelings.

It’s absolutely not because, at thirty-seven, I got miffed that my writing got criticized by a kid young enough to be my nephew.

He’s a freak.

How did he know to praise only the scripts I wrote straight from Godflix, and criticize the ones I tweaked myself?

I was only stunned for a moment by his uncanny insight. Rael’s sharp critiques didn’t end with my work—they immediately turned to Director Bong.

“By the way, about your new film, Director Bong. Setting it on a moving train to discuss hierarchical structures was a good choice, but why did you make the route a loop?”

“Well, that’s to show how the psychological urge to express one’s desires within a class structure is endless, a cycle that repeats.”

“Personally, I lost interest as soon as the loop was revealed early on. If the train had a straight route with a definite end, you could’ve created more extreme situations.”

“Hm, that’s a new perspective. So if it were you, what kind of scenario would you have created?”

“If the train route had limits and you added a time constraint, you could show riots erupting right from the start. Since you already established a ‘post-apocalyptic ice age’ backdrop, there was no need to dwell on the lower class’s previous life. If you trimmed that down, you could’ve emphasized the fear and wariness the upper class felt toward the lower class.”

Park Rael, whom I thought only smashed my own pride, was in fact an indiscriminate nutcracker, shelling everyone’s walnuts without distinction.

‘I misjudged him.’

I thought he was just a talented young writer, but the way he dissected and analyzed scripts was more like a master butcher.

What sort of literary upbringing must he have had under Han Kyung-ah to wield such a sharp knife at his age?

What made Rael’s critique strike so deeply was not that he was criticizing for criticism’s sake, but that he reinterpreted the work from a perspective even the creator hadn’t thought of.

Even the creators, upon hearing him, could only think, ‘If we’d done that, it really would’ve been better,’ because his arguments were so convincing.

If he’d taken apart my work like he just did with Director Bong, I might not have been able to stand it—I might have run away in tears, clutching my script like a child.

Maybe I was lucky that knife was pointed at Director Bong instead of me.

Of course, unlike me, the two veteran directors—both multiple award-winners and already masters—just laughed off the brash genius’s remarks.

But it was obvious that even they were human. I could see veins slowly bulging on Director Bong’s forehead as he listened.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed; Director Jang, a senior in the drama world, stepped in to mediate the escalating knife fight—er, debate.

“All right, let’s talk while we eat. This delicious meat is getting overcooked.”

“Oh my, I went on too long without realizing. Haha, I just got a bit carried away hearing such an interesting interpretation after so long.”

After displaying knife skills that would have stunned anyone in the film industry, Park Rael’s face was as calm as if he’d just finished a casual chat.

Watching him nonchalantly munch on perfectly grilled samgyeopsal, I felt an odd sense of rivalry.

So, acting the mature adult unfazed by his barbs, I made a point to thank him, trying to look magnanimous.

After all, we are much older than Rael. We should at least have this much composure.

“Ha ha, Writer Rael, you have quite a knack for criticism. Thank you for your insights.”

“Yes, and I hope you get your old form back, like you used to. Try to recapture your original spirit. Don’t get obsessed with pointless things like humanism.”

Scratch the composure—I take it back.

At that moment, I made up my mind.

I’d add one more name to my list of archrivals.

From now on, my Number 1 enemy is Jeon Min-jung from CL Media.

Number 2 is this blond punk, Park Rael.

You might say it’s petty to hold a grudge against someone more than ten years younger, but even a lion uses all its strength to catch a rabbit.

I’ll make sure to compete with every script that punk writes and get better ratings no matter what.

“Right, since you’re all done, can I have my phone back now?”

“Oh, dear. I’m not as fast a reader as Writer Rael, so I haven’t even gotten halfway through yet.”

“In that case, I’ll just send you my script directly. We agreed to swap anyway.”

“I’d appreciate that. Once I read it, I’ll delete it right away.”

“Sure. It doesn’t matter to me if you pass it around. Read at your leisure.”

After adding each other on KakaoTalk, a script file came from Park Rael almost instantly.

Once I got home, I was determined to read Rael’s script thoroughly and then write an even better one to surpass his.

Leaving behind my jumbled feelings, the face-off at the blood-soaked samgyeopsal restaurant came to an end.

***

Late at night, after everyone had gone home.

Back in the studio, I went straight to my room, turned on the laptop, printed out the file Rael sent, and began reading it word for word.

About an hour passed.

“Haa.”

With a heavy sigh, I let the final page of his script fall from my hands.

“So this is what a real genius is.”

Park Rael was, without a doubt, a born genius.

Inside his script was a mind-blowing story, one I couldn’t believe was written by someone only twenty-two.

From the very first scene, his direction and detail conjured vivid images just by reading.

The intense pace of the opening, the sheer scale of the incidents.

Even if it were just simple structure and action, that would have been impressive. But the dialogue he wrote between characters was so real, it took my breath away.

The recklessness of a thug, the fragile voice of a wounded girl—both were written with such vividness that it was almost savory.

The psychological conflicts between characters went beyond mere emotion—they were political, intricate, woven so tightly that not a single thread was out of place.

To top it off, the script, , belonged to the most niche of niche genres: the “death game” genre.

He took an unrealistic premise seen only in Japanese comics and portrayed it through a distinctly Korean lens, making it so convincing you could almost believe such a brutal death game might exist in real life.

If the first episode of this script had been posted on Godflix, I bet it would easily have scored over four stars, unlike the three-star works I’d seen so far.

How could someone just twenty-two, with such a short life, write a script with such depth and detail?

When I was twenty-two, Lee Jung-hyuk was just struggling with part-time jobs, barely keeping up with studies and writing, too busy surviving each day to think deeply about human nature.

By the time Park Rael reaches my age, who knows what kind of masterpieces he’ll have created?

‘Could he possibly have a Godflix account too?’

Curious, I searched the entire Godflix catalog. There wasn’t even a similar title, let alone another work in the “death game” genre.

They say that people who witness something truly transcendent just lose the will to resist, utterly crushed.

To me, Park Rael felt like a monster from the Cthulhu Mythos—an insurmountable wall.

Having seen both Rael himself and his monstrous script, I lay awake all night, Pandora’s box wide open, unable to sleep a wink.

***

Meanwhile.

Seo Soon-ae arrived at God Media’s office early, her face aglow.

Her elation was thanks to having just finished reading Lee Jung-hyuk’s latest script.

‘This one’s going to be a hit too. Seriously, this guy can really write.’

From early morning, Seo Soon-ae called Lee Jung-hyuk to thank him for such an outstanding new work.

How many rings did it take?

Soon, his voice came through the receiver, a little subdued—perhaps it was still early.

-Hello.

“Writer! I just finished your new script and had to call you right away.”

-Ah, yes. I see……

“Writer, you really poured your heart into this one, didn’t you? Of course you always write well, but I didn’t know you could pull off something on this scale.”

-Was it interesting?

“Of course! If you sent this to any other studio or broadcaster, they’d be begging you to work with them!”

-Maybe so. I’m sorry, but I have a lot to think about right now. Could you call me back later?

“What? Writer? Is something wrong…?”

Click.

“Huh? He shouldn’t be waking up at this hour…”

She wondered if he might be sick.

“Gasp!”

But Seo Soon-ae, having experienced Lee Jung-hyuk’s low energy and voice once before, felt chills run down her spine.

The memory of a terrible experience came back.

“Don’t tell me… he’s in another slump?”