Chapter 133: Canceled

The Got Media office at Mecenatpolis, Hapjeong Station.

The employees and writers of Got Media had gathered in one place for the first time in a while.

The number of people already exceeded twenty.

I stood before the Got Media family, holding a microphone that felt out of place in my hand.

I had gone out of my way to gather the staff, who were busy writing drama scripts and supporting production in coordination with the studios, to tell them this.

"I’m planning to introduce a new system to Got Media from now on."

It was based on what I had experienced in the United States.

I had witnessed firsthand how a massive group of writers, centered around producers and showrunners, led blockbuster content. I saw how IPs born through such work methods gained global popularity and became a massive cultural industry in their own right.

Of course, given the reality of drama production in Korea, there would be many difficulties in transplanting the same method used in the US.

However, I planned to transplant at least a portion of the writer system I had seen in America into our company, Got Media.

"From now on, all the assistant writers belonging to Got Media will drop the title of 'assistant' and work under the title of 'Writer.'"

At the bombshell announcement that I would be removing the 'assistant' label, the writers gathered in the conference room began to murmur.

The method I wanted to propose was as follows.

First, the influence current assistant writers had on a project was inevitably minimal compared to those in the US.

Generally, in Korea, an assistant writer’s role was limited to collecting data for the main writer, running errands for them, and organizing simple typos or the directorial intent for each cut into a standardized drama script format.

"Now, assistant writers will also provide ideas for direction or take charge of individual character dialogue to work on the script."

The ones who showed the most negative reaction to those words were not the main writers like Im Seong-hee or Jeong Tae-mi, but the assistant writers themselves.

It was an expected reaction.

'They’ve only received that level of treatment because they’ve been doing assistant-level work until now.'

I wasn't trying to say their rank was low.

Providing ideas for a single character, direction, or situation was, simply put, like asking a part-timer at a pub to develop a new menu that would enchant customers. Or asking a convenience store part-timer to come up with a display improvement plan to handle inventory effectively.

It was no different from forcing 'ownership' on those who mainly performed auxiliary tasks.

There was a very obvious and realistic reason why they viewed themselves as part-timers and could not feel a sense of ownership even if they wanted to.

One of the assistant writers raised her hand and asked me a question.

"Go ahead."

"Writer, this might be rude of me to say, but suddenly asking us to directly involve ourselves in the script, write dialogue, and handle direction is a bit..."

She trailed off, unable to bring herself to ask if I was trying to get a free ride, so I nodded.

"Naturally, since everyone will be writing scripts as equals rather than as assistant writers, it’s only right that your treatment is upgraded as well."

"Huh? Really?"

"Yes. I don’t know the exact salary each of you is receiving, but I know it's nowhere near enough to suddenly assign you such major tasks."

Based on the youngest member who joined most recently, they would be receiving a salary of roughly 2,500,000 won.

After taxes, it would be a monthly salary slightly over 2,000,000 won.

Even if it was a position meant to build a foundation for their debut as a writer, I had no intention of increasing the workload while keeping the pay the same.

'People work as much as they are paid.'

What surprised me most in the US was the fact that the writers at TBO worked at one station, and even on one series, for such a long time like a family.

The answer was simple.

'They get paid several times more than people in our country.'

In fact, the annual salary of my mentor, Kay, was close to 100,000,000 won when including incentives.

That was why they could take pride in their work and have a strong sense of ownership as writers while writing scripts.

Of course, it was also a place where one could only survive by competing fiercely and knowing how to write better scripts.

Regardless, if I promised appropriate compensation and incentives that recognized performance, an ecosystem where healthy competition could take place would be established.

"For everyone currently receiving an annual salary through the existing pay system, I will double your annual salary as of today."

The confused faces of the assistant writers turned into expressions of joy at the unconventional proposal.

"Really? Double? Twice as much?"

"Wait, then how much is that?"

Everyone was happy, except for one person.

Director Seo Sun-ae, who was responsible for the company’s overall financial operations.

Of course, I had informed Seo Sun-ae of this in advance, but there was opposition at first.

However, I offered an alternative: I told her she could take the initial salary payments from the personal guarantees paid to me rather than from the company’s funds.

As a result, since it was a sacrifice of my own income structure rather than a loss for the company, we decided to proceed on the condition of a two-year grace period.

Seo Sun-ae worried until the end that it would be difficult for me to hold out, but...

'I also have the cash rewards from Gatflix.'

Aside from the guarantees, the rewards I was receiving through Gatflix had long since exceeded 100,000,000 won.

Under the premise that I would continue to release works in the future, it wasn't impossible to cover the increased salaries of the employees.

Of course, I didn't do this simply out of a desire to be a pushover and give to those around me.

'Without investment, there is no success.'

I believed that the future version of Got Media I envisioned would become a massive writer group capable of generating tens of billions of won in sales.

However, I planned to include individual contribution levels in the evaluation of all future works.

And for those whose contribution fell below a certain level, I intended to build a system where they would unfortunately no longer be able to stay with Got Media.

"Instead, I will receive character concepts and directorial ideas that can contribute to the work every month through an anonymous blind system."

I spoke in a firm voice toward everyone who was still excited.

"Those who fail to do their part will unfortunately find it difficult to continue as writers for Got Media."

This resolute competitive system was an essential foundation for becoming a tight-knit and intense group like the writers I met at TBO.

I intended to push forward with TBO's method, where everyone submitted ideas from an equal position rather than unconditionally agreeing with the main writer, and the best ideas were selected and developed through blind evaluation.

'More than half of them might end up leaving the company.'

It might feel cold, but I had already set this direction to some extent with Seo Sun-ae.

As if sensing my intention, Im Seong-hee raised her hand and asked me a question.

"How do you plan to fill the vacancies created through those blind tests?"

"I plan to post job openings for year-round recruitment. The salary will be under the same unconventional conditions I offered all of you."

In the South Korean drama scene, there are countless writers who have debuted with a single work—even a hit—but cannot continue writing due to personal circumstances or various positional reasons.

Even if someone wrote a drama that hit number one in viewership ratings ten years ago, if they can't find a production company to work with on their next project, 'Writer' becomes a title in name only.

There were likely at least several hundred talented writers who became no different from unemployed people who write, experiencing financial difficulties and giving up on their careers.

If I gave such people unconventional salary conditions and the opportunity to participate directly in scripts and create dramas with their own ideas...

'Better writers with far superior skills will likely start gathering in place of the mediocre assistant writers we have now.'

This wasn't simply for the sake of replacing personnel.

Even if they eventually left, as the writers who started as assistants and the established writers mingled and competed...

The established writers would do their best not to fall behind.

And the assistant-turned-writers would grow rapidly, struggling not to miss the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity given to them.

Of course, for such a system to work, we needed original IPs with certain quality, like *A Song of Fire and Wind*.

And naturally, I already had a treasury of IPs that had been proven certain many times over.

Gatflix.

I, who distributed the Gatflix originals, would serve as the showrunner.

I just needed to have a second and a third.

Naturally, that second and third would be my long-time partners who had taken responsibility for my writing life.

"Writer Im Seong-hee and Writer Jeong Tae-mi will be in charge of coordinating and selecting everyone's opinions. Naturally, I will treat you accordingly."

It was an organizational restructuring plan that placed Im Seong-hee as the second and Jeong Tae-mi in the third writer position.

"You’ll both have to play big roles going forward. I’ll leave the choice to you."

Actually, while my personal trust in the two of them was firm, today was the first time I was asking them what choice they would make.

'Even if we have the bond of working together, work is work. I have no intention of proceeding with a soft heart.'

If even one of the two didn't accept the duties of the second or third writer, I planned to recruit people interested in such a large-scale project among established writers as quickly as possible.

Fortunately, Im Seong-hee and Jeong Tae-mi did not let me down.

"Just leave it to us. It's thanks to you, Writer, that we were even able to debut like this."

"And we've never lost out by listening to you. You're someone who can smell money like no other, right, Writer?"

Laughter leaked out inside the conference room, which had been somewhat stiff, at their playfulness.

As I was asking for everyone's opinions on what genre to choose for the future projects of Got Media's collective writers, Director Seo Sun-ae hurriedly took her phone and stepped out of the room.

Through the glass window of the conference room, I saw her face looking urgent as if she were receiving a pressing call.

Since she was the one overseeing various matters related to production studios in our company, I assumed it was just another typical work task.

However...

When I saw Seo Sun-ae return with a dark, pale face, an ominous feeling that something had gone wrong began to surge within me.

"Then, let's end today's meeting here. I will organize and guide you through the details of the matters discussed today at a later time."

After confirming that all the employees in the conference room had returned to their respective workshops and offices, I looked at Seo Sun-ae, who had cautiously re-entered the room, and asked.

"Did something happen?"

"The works that Writer Im Seong-hee and Writer Jeong Tae-mi were working on..."

"What about them? They're already going into production."

"Yes, they were."

Seo Sun-ae bit her lip and scratched her head before finally delivering the bad news to me in a dismal voice.

"They've all been canceled."