Chapter 25: A Studio That Became a Home

A month had passed.

In front of an officetel in Yeongdeungpo District, Seoul.  

I got out of the car and briefly took in the surrounding scenery.  

To my left, I could see Exit 4 of Sadang Station on Line 9 of the subway, and to my right, Yeouido Park was dyed a deep crimson by autumn foliage.  

Behind me was a bustling commercial area lined with various famous restaurants, and across the street stood the main building of 085.  

From the entrance itself, this elegant officetel was reminiscent of a five-star hotel. Its name, The Shop, was well known as a residence commonly favored by celebrities.  

As I slowly stepped inside, I saw the central garden.  

The European-style sculptures and fountain in the middle were surrounded by four buildings of the officetel complex, all visible at once.  

I had heard that on the underground first floor of the complex there was a gym, a golf practice range, and a sauna, all available free of charge.  

Moreover, on the first floor were a restaurant, convenience store, cafe, and even a laundromat, so as long as you wanted, you could live comfortably inside the complex without stepping out.  

This luxurious officetel, with 24-pyeong floor plans, a deposit of 150 million won, and monthly rent around 2.6 million won, was exactly the writing studio arranged for me by CEO Hong Juhee.  

Though quite some time had passed since I moved in, I still hadn’t fully adapted, so I often took walks to explore the surroundings.  

Of course, I had lived in the most expensive homes in Korea before, coming from a chaebol family with handsome looks.  

Still, having proven my talent and being able to write in such a prestigious place made me proud in itself.  

Carrying a coffee carrier in one hand, I took the elevator up to the 5th floor, to my home—or rather, my studio.  

I opened the door softly and deliberately acted a bit boastful.  

“I brought coffee. Everyone, please have some while you work.”  

The change in environment wasn’t limited to just the studio.  

“Huh? Author, did we not order this?”  

“I just stopped by while out buying books, so I brought some.”  

“Thank you. We’ll enjoy it.”  

I even got assistant writers.  

CEO Hong Juhee personally selected and introduced the assistant writer duo who moved into my single-occupancy studio.  

I had pushed two desks together in the living room to create a workspace for the assistants.  

Since there were two rooms, I turned the larger one into my bedroom and writing space, and the smaller one into a lounge area for the assistants.  

After handing the coffee to my two assistants, I headed into my room.  

The south-facing room was bright and comfortable, likely because the sunlight streamed in so well.  

“Alright, shall we get started?”  

I pulled down the blackout curtains to completely block out the warm southern sunlight.  

Sitting in front of my desk, I leaned forward like a stork, stretching my back comfortably, and opened my laptop.  

This simple room, containing only a bed, desk, and chair, where I merged with my writing, was the moment I loved most.  

“Oh, this feels good, so refreshing.”  

*Shah*  

Assistant writer Lim Seonghee, with six years of experience, excelled at refining lines in scripts and organizing them cleanly to bring characters vividly to life.  

Four-year veteran Jeong Taemi specialized in flawless proofreading and enhancing the description of locations and props in each scene with intricate detail.  

Both were highly respected wherever they worked, recognized for their skills and the value they added.  

Because of this, they had recently become the assistants to the hugely successful writer Lee Jeonghyuk of < Twin Love >.  

They were overjoyed that the place was the very officetel they had dreamed of living in.  

Even Lee Jeonghyuk seemed to be one of the few decent-tempered writers they had encountered.  

Writers often harbored dark, gloomy places inside them, sometimes making unreasonable demands or abusing their assistants.  

But Lee Jeonghyuk didn’t come across as the type to cause such harm.  

More accurately, he simply didn’t ask for anything.  

At first, they believed the explanation that “We’re all new here, so it’s just a matter of getting used to things,” and spent their time passing the hours, leaving on time, and receiving their monthly salary with satisfaction.  

He didn’t even give off any hints or pressure to do anything.  

In fact, he mostly stayed locked up in his own room, so much so that it was hard to even catch his eye.  

He only came out when the rising stars Ahn Yuseok or Seo Jiwon dropped by.  

During the first week, the occasional visits by celebrities and the excitement of working in such a nice environment made them happy.  

But as week after week passed, the two assistants grew increasingly uneasy.  

“Unnie, do you think we’re okay?”  

“About what?”  

“That Lee Jeonghyuk… he doesn’t ask us to do anything.”  

“Hmm, maybe he’s the type who prefers us to ask for work first.”  

The thoughtful duo tried to support him by asking, “Author, may we look over your draft and help out? Even just with light proofreading?”  

Lee Jeonghyuk smiled brightly and replied, “If you do, I’d appreciate it!”  

But after reading the manuscript, they realized something.  

< The masterpiece < Twin Love >, which overcame the harsh backlash from IMEDIA and defeated The Queen to achieve an astounding 19.5% viewership rating >, was written by none other than Lee Jeonghyuk.  

They came to the stark realization that their help was essentially useless in front of this flawless draft.  

Because.  

“Is this really a script written by a human?”  

Every stage direction, line, location and prop designation, emotions—even every comma and period—was so impeccably perfected, they couldn’t bear to touch it.  

They felt like they could just hold up their phones and film it anywhere, and it would be a masterpiece.  

“What are we supposed to add or fix here?”  

Even if they hired world-class novelists to rewrite it in 10 rounds, they doubted a more precise and faster script could be produced.  

Just as Sherlock has Watson, and Batman has Robin, drama writers have their assistant writers.  

But the typical tasks of assistant writers don’t involve chasing criminals or shooting guns.  

Mostly, they help with drafting, revising, and polishing the scripts.  

Only by doing so can the assistant writers prove their usefulness in “supporting the main writer.”  

Of course, calls regarding contracts or schedules directed to Lee Jeonghyuk were handled by them, but this was no call center.  

There weren’t constant phone calls all day, and the assistants hadn’t come here just to answer phones.  

“Ugh, I really didn’t want to pick up a knife again.”  

“Unnie, no way!”  

In the end, to prove her worth, Lim Seonghee picked up a knife.  

She gathered ingredients left neglected in the kitchen and placed them on the cutting board.  

That’s right.  

The six-year veteran assistant decided to cook instead of writing.  

Having worked for a writer who was obsessed with home-cooked meals, she had mastered all types of Korean set meals.  

The fridge held only some gifted Korean beef, kimchi sent by CEO Hong, and rice.  

There were no cooking utensils aside from a pot for instant noodles, but that was no problem for the six-year veteran assistant.  

Watching Lim Seonghee begin to prepare “Kimchi Hanwoo Nembi Solbap” with just one battered pot, Jeong Taemi nervously grabbed a snack.  

“I have to do something too!”  

*Shah*  

Lately, I had one nagging worry.  

Though the current drama I was writing, < Macho Restaurant >, was almost finished and close to completion, I just couldn’t feel confident.  

“Will this really break 20% viewership?”  

It was a work I chose myself, and even I was amazed by how solidly structured the story was while writing the script.  

But having experienced < Twin Love >, I realized the biggest factor in sustaining high ratings was undoubtedly ‘aggression’.  

 was made up of warm, healing episodes without even a trace of romance or conflict—so it lacked the aggression element entirely.  

To clear the main quest of Netflix, I thought this might not be enough.  

Lost in thought, I was suddenly hit by a sharp, savory smell.  

*Hungry? Want me to make you something to eat?*  

Actually, I had thought about telling them to avoid cooking because the smell distracted me, but I let it be.  

Since the assistants arrived, they had taken over receiving and forwarding miscellaneous work calls, allowing me to focus purely on writing.  

Just knowing there were people at home made me feel like I was no longer a lonely recluse, and I felt quietly satisfied.  

I really thought CEO Hong had made the right choice in bringing assistants.  

At that moment, there was a gentle knock on my door.  

I got up and opened it to find Lim Seonghee, wearing an apron and smiling brightly.  

“Author, aren’t you hungry? Please eat while you work.”  

“Huh? Did you cook because of me?”  

“Oh, it’s a job to make a living. Of course, you should eat while you work. Come on out.”  

She naturally took my wrist and led me outside.  

On the island countertop installed as an option in the kitchen, a home-cooked meal was laid out.  

Steam was rising from the rice mixed with braised beef and kimchi.  

There were assorted side dishes and water—I had no idea how she made it all.  

It was clearly a lovingly prepared meal.  

“There wasn’t much in the fridge, but please eat a lot, author.”  

“Th-This isn’t ‘not much’ at all?”  

That wasn’t all.  

Jeong Taemi appeared from the assistants’ lounge, holding a duster and dustpan.  

Ah, maybe that’s why the floor looked so clean and shiny today, and the furniture gleamed.  

“Did you clean?”  

“Well, that room seemed to have the best ventilation, so I hung the laundry first.”  

“Why are you doing stuff we didn’t even ask you to do...?”  

“You should get a vacuum cleaner and a dryer too, what do you think, author?”  

“Yes, well... if you need them...”  

Something… something had changed.  

The three of us sat around the dining table eating dinner, and somehow, this really felt like a ‘studio’ that had truly become a ‘home.’  

But I felt guilty about this.  

I couldn’t let such auspicious things fall on the assistants, who had also been writing for a long time like me.  

“Thank you for the meal, but from now on, you don’t have to do these things.”  

The two suddenly looked startled, as if I’d said something unheard of, and shook their heads rapidly from side to side.  

“No, no way!”  

“But even so, why would the assistants do this...”  

“Please, at least let us clean the house, author.”  

“No, that’s...”  

“Please! We want to do it!”  

“Well... if you want to...”  

They did it willingly, without being asked or expected, so all I could do was be thankful.  

Thinking about it, until now I had only written with these two without truly communicating properly, so I felt a little sorry.  

I scratched my head sheepishly and asked them,  

“By the way, what’s your favorite drama genre?”  

Lim Seonghee, who was good at cooking, liked youthful romances like < Twin Love >.  

Jeong Taemi, who was good at cleaning, preferred thriller noir genres that excluded romance.  

Hearing that, I asked the question I had been worrying about earlier.  

“Then, what genre do you think would get the highest ratings?”  

Without hesitation, the two answered in unison,  

“Obviously, makjang dramas.”