It might be a bit late to say this, but I—Writer Lee Junghyuk—have matured quite a bit.
Starting with *Twin Love*, followed by *Macho Restaurant*, *Killing Romance*, and others, I have produced a string of hits. Since then, the other works I planned and released through junior writers have also achieved great results, all becoming mid-sized hits or better.
In the beginning, I got on the path to success by essentially transcribing content from Gatflix word for word. However, since then, I have collaborated with Writer Kim Eun-sook and reinterpreted Gatflix works for remakes. Now, my personal skills as Writer Lee Junghyuk have improved to a level incomparable to the past.
Furthermore, as a human being, I am a self-proclaimed master of handling unfair setbacks. I lost my parents in an accident during high school. I had a daughter despite having testicular azoospermia. And my ex-wife, whom I thought was my savior, turned out to be a person less than human.
Regardless, I have now set up an office in Mecenatopolis near Hapjeong Station. I have become a VVIP at Min-guk Bank and am personally experiencing the formula of the rich—where money makes money—by benefiting from preferential interest rates. As a result, I am living a present filled with joy.
There is absolutely no reason for someone like me to crumble over yet another malicious twist of fate, the likes of which have always existed. Since I had already used a Gatflix wish ticket once before, I knew the rules. Gatflix does not allow the use of wish tickets for things that are truly impossible to achieve in reality.
For instance, wishes like creating a cure for hair loss, making vanished sperm great again, or making a sinister conglomerate collapse overnight were things that could not be achieved even if I spent billions. However, since Gatflix informed me that the current situation could be resolved with even a mere C-grade wish ticket, I could feel confident that I could overcome it just by bracing myself and pushing through.
If things really didn’t work out, I could just use a wish ticket. It was the kind of guts that only I could have—possessing an unrealistic cheat code in the face of a problem that could be solved realistically.
At any rate, following the old sage’s saying that one can walk out of a tiger’s den unscathed as long as they keep their wits about them, I sharpened my focus and decided to start with what I, as a writer, could do right now. I decided to pick up the pen again to write.
“Writer, you’ve never written by hand before.”
“I haven’t.”
“Then why are you suddenly writing a script by hand?”
“I just wanted to set the mood.”
Over the past week, the actions I took—inspired by what Miss Hong called a ‘crazy cult group’—were by no means meaningless. The passengers on a sinking cruise ship regained a sense of stability when they saw the captain confidently shouting, “It was a minor malfunction. There is nothing wrong with our Titanic.”
Although about 30% of the employees chose to resign, that was closer to the choice of those who had complaints and anxieties about structural reform rather than a choice made out of concern for the company’s downfall. The writers who stayed and believed in me even in this situation were able to step up with clear motivation—financial—and strive for a higher level.
CL Media and the Jeon family, its owners, would not retract their decision no matter what happened. Unlike in the past, the internal affairs of conglomerate owners can no longer be kept perfectly secure from the public. The conclusions drawn by experts who analyzed the movements of the core subsidiaries within the CL Group all pointed to one common goal for the group.
The three core subsidiaries—food, distribution, and media—and the dozens of branches under them were all on edge. The fact that the stock prices of the subsidiaries under the CL Group are fluctuating wildly every day is something even a child who knows nothing about stocks would know.
Their movements were flowing toward only one thing: the establishment and listing of the CL Financial Holding Company.
The death of CEO Jeon Young-hoon, who was the founder and former chairman, had triggered a bloody internal conflict among his relatives. The goal of the Jeon family was to drive up stock prices to secure sufficient funds while simultaneously receiving a massive amount of capital through the listing of the financial holding company.
All of this was to secure the inheritance tax necessary to inherit all the stocks and assets held by the former Chairman Jeon Young-hoon and succeed to the throne. Generally, the amount that those called chaebols pay in inheritance tax makes numbers like hundreds, thousands, or even millions meaningless.
The total inheritance tax known to be generated from the former Chairman Jeon Young-hoon is 1.8 trillion won. It is an astronomical amount that cannot be surpassed even if I were to shower Gatflix wish tickets everywhere. Even for CL, one of the five major groups that dominate the market, they must risk the life of the group to pay an inheritance tax exceeding a trillion won.
They must make the group’s size larger than ever before and list the financial holding company based on that to secure the funds. If the listing fails due to conflicts between relatives during the process of establishing the financial holding company, it would be no exaggeration to say that CL would be crushed to death by the very wealth they have built up until now.
Therefore, CL will also stake everything on this—no, on everything that will happen in the future. Those blocking my path are no longer just shameless people who committed adultery and betrayed their family ties. They are warmongers who have pushed themselves to the brink, prepared to do anything under a pressure greater than death, fearing they might lose everything they have built.
It was truly fortunate that I gained experience in the United States before this natural disaster struck. My experience there played a solid role in my current firm resolve. The second and third writers, the showrunners, and the producers I saw in the U.S. all had one thing in common.
The solidarity inherent in those groups—where they clashed endlessly and fiercely to create scripts to the point where I wondered if they really had to write like that—came from a leadership that was prepared to take full responsibility for the results and led everyone based on that.
Was the situation of those who were writing series so massive that even the original creator could not tie up the ends any more peaceful than mine? No. It was a place where they had to endure criticism from tens of millions, perhaps even hundreds of millions of people, in multiple global languages.
One could never lead a group with ordinary determination or mediocre leadership. And a group led in such a way would never be qualified to become a major studio enjoying global popularity.
Do or Die.
Because they were people prepared to endure all of that with a head-on spirit that was forced upon people back in the eighties, they were able to continue such mega-series for nearly ten years. A resolve to offer up one’s heart was necessary.
Of course, at my stage, which is still weak compared to them, it is difficult to expect every writer to have a do-or-die determination like in Hollywood. But it is always important to take the first step.
‘The direction is set, so all that’s left is to go straight.’
While I was frantically writing the planning document for the sitcom *The Rambunctious Twelve Zodiacs* in this new way, I belatedly noticed that a certain alien noise had begun to mix into the peaceful atmosphere of the Gat Media office, which was filled with the sound of typing like crackling firewood.
*Tap, tap…*
“Sigh.”
*Tap, tap, tap…*
“Siiiiiiigh.”
Searching for the source of the noise, I slowly lifted my head and looked around, only to find Hong Ju Hee sitting in a corner of the pantry. Recently, Hong Ju Hee had been visiting our Gat Media office frequently.
She started coming to the office a few days ago under various excuses, and today, it seemed she had come to work here since very early in the morning. Even if we were in a cooperative relationship, we weren’t exactly family eating from the same pot; our companies were strictly different. I could have coldly told her, “Don’t just loiter here; go to your own company,” but no one, including me, ever bothered Hong Ju Hee.
Unlike me, who was holding onto the Gatflix wish ticket as a last resort and acting bold, she—as the owner of a small business left all alone—was truly… truly…
“I had a good dream for a while, I guess.”
She was on the verge of her company going bankrupt. The reason was simple. Because she had maintained a blood alliance with Gat Media, she had been marked by CL Media and was paying the price for it. It was just like how a friend who takes the side of a bullied student also becomes an outcast.
Of course, the party being bullied was currently using a strange ‘app’ to hypnotize himself and such. Unfortunately, Hong Ju Hee didn’t even have a shoulder like that to lean on.
The writers going in and out of the pantry felt her gloomy aura and recoiled, whispering among themselves, “Why on earth is that woman just sitting there?” Even though I knew this, I decided to pretend not to notice and approached Hong Ju Hee to check on her.
“Um, CEO Hong. How have things been lately?”
“All the projects that were in progress have been canceled, and the staff who were going to work with us have all run away. The only connection I have left is you, Writer.”
“Ahem, it must be very difficult.”
“Lately, there are no employees even when I go to our studio. I felt like I would lose my mind if I stayed there alone, so I came here. Writer, you’re not going to kick me out, are you?”
“Of course not. We’re practically family.”
Practically family, but not actual family. So, I couldn’t boastfully pound my chest and reassure her with irresponsible words like, “Don’t worry, I’ll take responsibility for everything.”
‘Should I suggest a merger with my company instead?’
Just as I was thinking of extending a helping hand like that…
“Say, CEO Hong, instead of doing that, why don’t you just come to our company?”
“Me? To your company, leaving H Studio behind?”
Seo Sun-ae appeared out of nowhere, as if she had sniffed out my hidden thoughts like a ghost.
“Oh my, Writer, what kind of disrespectful thing is that to say?”
“?”
“Even if our Senior Hong looks a bit tired and lacks energy right now because things are difficult… she’s a person who started as an intern at One Star Dragon, gained recognition in this industry, and set up and ran her own company through her own strength.”
“!”
“She’s not the kind of weak person who would just grab the hand you held out because things are briefly difficult, abandon her own company, and take refuge in our Gat Media, where I—her junior—am the CEO. That’s not who my Senior Hong is.”
Seeing her junior, Seo Sun-ae, shouting with the veins in her neck bulging, saying things like, “How could you make such an insulting proposal to such a self-made person like my Senior Hong?” Hong Ju Hee looked at my awkwardly extended hand with eyes full of lingering regret and replied with difficulty.
“T-That’s right. I was just complaining a bit because it’s hard. Oh my, oh my? Look at the time. I have a meeting soon, so I’ll be going… now!”
Watching Hong Ju Hee’s back as she scrambled out of the office as if fleeing, I clicked my tongue and shook my head.
“CEO Seo, I didn’t see you that way. You’re quite a cruel person.”
“Me? Why? I told you, my Senior Hong isn’t that weak.”
“No, never mind… Let’s just work. Let’s work.”