A private banking room at Min-guk Bank.
I was nervous for the first time in my life amidst the calm classical music. To think the day would come when I’d break into a cold sweat just looking at my bankbook.
“Writer, I’ve completed the restructuring of the asset structure as you requested.”
Manager Gwak Dae-pal turned his laptop toward me, his face also looking somewhat tense. A bold title appeared on the screen: [Min-guk Bank VVIP Management Status]. Beneath it was a substantial number.
Total Asset Liquidation Status: â‚©8,374,200,000
“I’ve liquidated some of your domestic funds, the high-yield bonds, and part of your deposit assets. As you requested, I’ve balanced it at the 8 billion won mark. Your VVIP status will still be maintained.”
I nodded, staring at the laptop screen. I couldn’t wrap my head around the numbers. No matter how many times I counted the zeros, they didn’t seem to end.
8 billion won. To think the day would come when I’d not only earn such a fortune but actually spend it.
“Are you planning another large investment?” Manager Gwak asked cautiously.
“Yes, well… I have a personal project I’m preparing,” I said in a nervous voice for some reason.
Even if I was withdrawing more than half of the assets I had accumulated so far, the fact that it was going toward the production of a TV sitcom would sound reckless to anyone.
“I’ve saved up some money from stocks, copyright fees, and old IP settlements. It felt like the right time to use it.”
“Writer… it’s not a health issue or an emergency, is it?”
“No, not at all. Quite the opposite,” I said, my voice finally steadying with conviction. “It’s more like I’m making the gamble of a lifetime.”
Gwak Dae-pal’s eyes widened. However, he soon gave a professional smile and asked, “I knew you were planning something great. Is it… related to a drama?”
“Ah, yes. I’m going to try making one.”
“Wow, are you producing it yourself?”
“Yes. This time, I won’t just be writing the script; I’ll be overseeing the entire production.”
“That’s… that’s wonderful. If it’s your work, I’ll have to make our entire bank staff watch it. Though they’d probably find it on their own anyway. Every time you release a new work, the employees here go wild over how fun it is.”
I smiled and bowed my head slightly. “Then please continue to manage the remaining assets well.”
“Of course. I’ll make sure the remaining portfolio is adjusted for stability.”
“Thank you.”
I looked at the laptop screen one last time as I rose from my seat.
8 billion won.
‘I never thought I’d actually end up using this…’
In truth, this money came from invisible sources as well. It was an amount bolstered by Gatflix rewards, currency exchanged from Viewing Passes, and unofficial settlements that only I knew about.
I gave a brief farewell and left the bank. As soon as I got into my car and closed the door, a deep breath escaped me.
“Whew…”
As I started the engine, I muttered to myself. “I’m almost laughing at how far I’m going.”
But as ridiculous as it felt, I was more sincere about this project than any script I had ever written. I would put this drama out into the world no matter what. It wasn’t for the money or out of a desire for fame.
It was just that this script deserved to be seen.
***
“Is the information I asked for ready?”
“You mean the production cost proposal?”
Seo Sun-ae scratched her head. Despite my unreasonable request, Seo Sun-ae and Hong Ju Hee had rolled up their sleeves to help, making the first steps toward producing the sitcom much easier.
“Based on the total length of this project, I’ve estimated the unit production costs. It comes to a minimum of 700 million won per episode, and under the conditions Aladdin mentioned, it could go up to 1 billion won.”
“We have to meet those conditions. Building the sets and the basic cost of costumes will be significant. We can’t cast only rookies for every role, either. No matter how low-budget a sitcom is, the costs are nothing to sneeze at.”
I nodded. “I suppose so.”
“So, who is the investor?”
In response to Seo Sun-ae’s question, I took a sip of my coffee and answered slowly. “Me.”
“…What?”
“I’m going to invest.”
For a moment, the air in the meeting room seemed to stop flowing. Seo Sun-ae dropped the pen she was holding with a *clack*, and Hong Ju Hee opened her mouth but couldn’t find any words.
“Writer, wait a second. You’re saying… you’re going to personally invest more than 700 million won per episode?”
“The amount I have prepared right now is a little over 8 billion won. At 700 million won for twelve episodes, it adds up to 8.4 billion, but we can save about 400 million if we’re as frugal as possible.”
“Haha… ah, right. So you’re joking, right?”
“No. I’m serious.” I set my cup down with a light smile. “You both know I’m not very good at joking.”
“8 billion won… how on earth did you prepare that much?”
“I’ve earned quite a bit over the years.”
“You earned it…?”
I cleared my throat lightly and continued. “I liquidated some OTT and copyright settlements, as well as a few overseas deals. The settlement for the remake options on my previous works was quite large, too. I also sold some of my company shares, and a lot of post-tax revenue that I had deferred earlier came in all at once.”
Jo Min-seong and Hong Ju Hee’s eyes widened slightly.
“Most people don’t know it, but I’ve surprisingly worked quite a lot. And as for the investment… I’m not just doing it blindly. I’m looking at the work itself.”
I quietly pointed to the script for the first episode sitting on the desk.
“This script needs to be out in the world. And right now, if I don’t invest, it won’t happen.”
“Even so, for you to handle the entire amount by yourself…”
“I thought that too. But then PD Nam Hee-seong read the script and was the first to volunteer to produce it. After meeting and talking to him… it reminded me of the days when I was struggling just to get a drama made.”
I looked out the window.
“A shabby building, no heater in the office, relying on a single packet of instant coffee while your heart raced just looking at a script. It’s been a long time since I felt that.”
I turned my head back.
“Aladdin TV might be a small company, but the people there are real broadcasters. People who sincerely want to make dramas.”
Jo Min-seong and Hong Ju Hee were silent.
“I didn’t start this just because I wanted to show off. I had conviction, and I started this because there are people who support that conviction.”
I stood up.
“So, don’t worry about the money, you two. Honestly, I’m only starting this because I trust that I have both of you.”
Jo Min-seong finally spoke up. “…But Writer, seriously, 8 billion? 8 billion won?”
I shrugged. “You don’t become a Min-guk Bank VVIP for nothing.”
After saying that, I left the conference room. My coffee had gone cold, but my heart felt hot.
***
The sound of the conference room door closing echoed. Those left behind after Lee Junghyuk’s departure remained sitting in the same positions. No one could speak first as they simply stared at the door.
“…Wait, am I the only one who still hasn’t processed this?” Hong Ju Hee spoke quietly. Her eyes were wider than usual, and her voice trembled. “8 billion?”
“He said it was a little over 8 billion won, to be exact,” Seo Sun-ae added, her tone suggesting she was correcting it quickly before anyone could doubt it.
“He’s doing that… alone?”
“And he’s going all-in on a sitcom production.”
Silence fell again.
“With that kind of money… couldn’t you start a local broadcasting station?”
“No, if you had that much money, you’d just buy a building and live comfortably as a landlord collecting rent. Why would you go through the headache of making a drama?” Seo Sun-ae muttered under her breath. She looked down at the script in silence, unconsciously rubbing the edge of the paper with her index finger.
“Is he really doing this with his own money?”
“It’s incredible, truly.”
Of course, there was no hint of criticism in anyone’s tone.
“But you know,” Hong Ju Hee said, looking up. “…Would the Writer really be able to just throw out a sum like 8 billion won that easily?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean… I’m just curious. We’ve worked together for a long time. I saw his previous dramas, and I was the one who handled the contracts. I have a rough idea of the royalties and settlements he’s received so far.”
The air in the room became deathly quiet.
“No matter how well he earned… could it be…?”
Before she could finish, Hong Ju Hee covered her own mouth.
“…Could he have taken out loans and scraped every penny just to make this project happen?”
“Is there really a writer who would scrape together their entire life savings and take out loans just to make a single drama?”
“That’s insane.”
“I knew the Writer had a gambling streak, but this scale is unbelievable.”
“…Seriously, isn’t he crazy?”
“Where else in the world is there a writer who would bet their life and push forward with a script they wrote themselves like that?”
“I really hope this project does well.”
When Hong Ju Hee finished speaking, Seo Sun-ae was thinking the same thing. For this one time, she prayed that the world would follow his lead.
***
That morning, news alerts popped up one after another.
[Breaking News] ‘The Rose Has Bloomed’ Becomes First Asian Drama to Win Best Series at the Golden Film Awards
[World Drama Breakthrough] South Korea’s ‘The Rose Has Bloomed’ wins Best Series at Golden Film Awards.
[Spotify News] “The Evolution of K-Drama”… Writer Park Ra-el Stands Tall on the Global Stage
On social media, the hashtag was already ranked number one in real-time.
#TheRoseHasBloomed #WriterParkRael #KDramaPrestige
Clicking on one of them, a short video began to play. Amidst the cheers of foreign reporters, Park Ra-el was taking the stage. A black suit, neat hair, and a familiar face. She still carried herself with that well-dressed poise.
On the television, MBS News was broadcasting this scene repeatedly with the anchor’s commentary.
“Earlier this morning, at the twenty-eighth Golden Film Awards held in Singapore, Writer Park Ra-el’s ‘The Rose Has Bloomed’ won the ‘Best Series’ award, the grand prize in the drama category.”
“This is a first for a Korean drama and marks only the third time in history that a non-English work has entered the main awards. The jury praised the work for its ‘exceptional narrative strength and cultural implications.'”
“In her acceptance speech, Writer Park shed tears, saying, ‘If Korean dramas can become the center of global empathy, it means the power of narrative is still very much alive.'”
I turned off the screen without saying a word.
‘The Rose Has Bloomed’ was a well-made drama. Excellent directing, good actors, and a solid structure. Most of all, Park Ra-el had never wavered.
I picked up my coffee cup, but I couldn’t drink and set it back down.
*Clack.*
A small sound followed by silence.
“Good for her,” I said to myself.
It wasn’t out of loneliness; it was just the truth. No matter how hard I tried, there would always be someone a step ahead of me. So it was fine. If she was the first, then I just had to go further later.
I opened my laptop. The cursor was blinking at the final sentence of the first draft for the twelfth episode of *The Clattering Twelve Zodiacs*.
Someday, my turn would come too.
***
“This is a bit much, isn’t it?” Hong Ju Hee said, turning her monitor around.
A news article with a provocative title appeared on the screen.
[“Once on the Same Stage, Now on Different Paths”]
[Park Ra-el at an International Awards Ceremony, Lee Junghyuk with an IPTV Sitcom?]
The lead sentence was even more blatant.
“The two writers were once symbols of the scriptwriting world that led terrestrial broadcasting. However, they are now showing clearly divided paths. Park Ra-el, who won on the world stage, and Lee Junghyuk, who is making a comeback with a new sitcom. Who, in the end, is the winner?”
“What is this?” Hong Ju Hee said crossly. “Do they see Writer Lee Junghyuk and Writer Park Ra-el as some kind of rivals?”
Jo Min-seong opened the comment section on his laptop.
[Lee Junghyuk is finished.]
[Who watches dramas on IPTV these days?]
[The person who deserves the award got it.]
“Ha, they really don’t know anything…” Hong Ju Hee couldn’t swallow her words and slammed her pen onto the table. “If you haven’t read the script, keep your mouth shut. They just assume it’s a failure because it’s on IPTV.”
Jo Min-seong’s expression hardened as he spoke. “Well, we’re not exactly in a position to talk. Even we thought the Writer was joking when he first said he wanted to do it with Aladdin.”
Hong Ju Hee nodded. “That’s true.”
Everyone fell silent. It wasn’t a powerless silence, but a quiet determination.
Jo Min-seong spoke up slowly. “…But isn’t it strange?”
“What is?”
“The Writer. His expression didn’t change at all, even after seeing those articles.”
Hong Ju Hee’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That… actually makes him scarier.”
Hong Ju Hee nodded. “I don’t even have a clue what he’s thinking inside.”
“That’s why I feel like we have to make this even better.” Jo Min-seong said one last thing. “So that instead of some trashy article, the work itself can prove that he was right.”
Among those nodding, a small vow spread quietly. That vow soon turned into action.
Thankyou for the chapter!