Chapter 31: Flames of Ambition

H-Studio headquarters in Mapo-gu.

It was past midnight.

Hong Joo-hee, the CEO of H-Studio, was alone in the empty office, checking and cross-referencing the team’s collected projections and supporting data for the company’s sales in the latter half of this year.

Only after a long time did CEO Hong Joo-hee finally finish her work, letting out a deep sigh.

She stood up from her seat, stretched her stiff body, and walked toward the window beside her desk.

All she could see was a streetlamp lighting up a narrow alley in a residential area, but when she opened the window, the cool autumn breeze seemed to ease her suffocation.

‘I’ll have to move the headquarters soon.’

When she first founded the company, it had been nearly three years of barely managing to avoid running a deficit.

Back then, she was only relieved that she could at least pay her employees’ wages on time.

But H-Studio had become the industry’s hottest blue chip and the miracle of a small company, thanks to , which aired in the third quarter of this year and became an unprecedented hit at home and abroad.

Already, overseas OTT platforms were flooding her with requests to distribute  on their services.

Now that the company had passed its three-year mark, investors all around her were eager to step forward and recommend a KOSDAQ listing.

Since Hong Joo-hee also thought a public offering was essential, she was spending every night organizing the sales data herself.

‘If I think about how things were a few years ago, it really is true that you never know what will happen in life.’

Overwhelmed with emotion, Hong Joo-hee turned and opened the drawer under her desk.

Inside was a half-empty bottle of deep brown Glenfiddich 18-year-old whisky.

Hong Joo-hee was always fond of alcohol, especially whisky, and whenever she was alone in the office like this, she would pour herself a glass or two.

After pouring the whisky into a neat glass, she swirled it and brought it to her nose. The thick aroma—a blend of grapes, apples, and cinnamon—tickled her nostrils.

The scent alone was intoxicating, and with one sip, the unique sharpness of the single malt hit her first, then the sherry sweetness spread a gentle heat down her throat.

“Haa.”

Letting out a sweet, hot breath, Hong Joo-hee fell into contemplation for a moment.

Even a workaholic who lived for her job couldn’t help but think of an old lover at times like this.

Though in her mid-to-late thirties, she was still plenty attractive, and of course, she too had a love she could never forget.

He was from the same industry and, both professionally and personally, had a profound impact on making her who she was today.

‘I wonder if he’s doing well.’

He, too, had married his work, just like her, so whenever she found herself working late alone, she couldn’t help but wonder about him.

Unable to resist her curiosity, Hong Joo-hee picked up her phone and opened Instagram.

She searched for her ex’s account to see how he was doing. Coincidentally, a new photo posted just today caught her eye.

Above a neat coffee cup photo, there was a caption:

‘Had a wonderful meeting with a good person at a nice place. I hope you all have meaningful encounters like I did.’

And when she flipped to the next photo—

“What the—? You bastard!”

In the next picture, there was Jo Min-sung beaming brightly, with Lee Jung-hyuk sitting beside him with an indifferent expression.

---

The morning after meeting Jo Min-sung.

Someone was pounding urgently on the front door of unit 504 at The Sharp Officetel, forcing me to wake up early.

If it were Im Sung-hee or Jung Tae-mi, they would have just entered using the keypad, so the prime suspect had to be Seo Ji-won or—

“Writer! It’s me, Hong Joo-hee! Please open the door!”

As soon as I opened the door, before I could even ask what brought her here at this hour, Hong Joo-hee stomped inside and plopped down at the communal table in the living room.

There was a strange hint of anger in her demeanor, and I instinctively felt a little on edge.

Since I didn’t really have anything to offer, I carefully poured her a glass of water and set it in front of her.

“Um, what brings you here?”

“Writer. Did you meet with Jo Min-sung?”

“Huh? Oh, yes. I met him at the café near my place yesterday.”

I marveled at how small this industry was—news traveled so fast—and feeling guilty like a thief caught red-handed, I confessed to Hong Joo-hee before she could say more.

“He sought me out first, saying he wanted to sign a contract for my next project.”

“You mean .”

I hadn’t shown Hong Joo-hee the script for  yet, but it seemed likely that Im Sung-hee and Jung Tae-mi, whom she’d hired herself, had told her.

‘This could get awkward.’

Even though we’d discussed the terms professionally and tried to keep things fair, I couldn’t help but feel bad.

H-Studio was the company that had believed in my scripts and produced  back when I was a nobody.

“So it was just as I thought. Jo Min-sung just happened to ‘run into’ you, didn’t he?”

“Well, yeah, but… how did you know?”

“That guy, no, that bastard—pulls that stunt all the time. Trust me, I know him well.”

I had no idea how Hong Joo-hee was so familiar with Jo Min-sung’s ways, but feeling guilty for choosing another production company over her, I just quietly listened.

“He’s a real snake. Didn’t he go on about fate, saying you two were meant to work together or something like that?”

“Not quite… He didn’t go that far.”

“Huh, must’ve changed his tactics since last time.”

Before I could reply, Hong Joo-hee quickly continued.

“Whatever terms they offer you for the next project, we’ll match them. So, sign the contract for Ma Bok-soon with us, Writer.”

“Let’s calm down a bit, CEO.”

I waited for CEO Hong Joo-hee to settle down before replying in a calm voice.

“I’ll always owe H-Studio a debt of gratitude. But for my next-next project, , I’ll be going with Ten Entertainment.”

“We can match the conditions, too. Writer, we’re preparing to list on KOSDAQ next year, and if that happens, we’ll be able to support you better than ever.”

“I know. But right now, H-Studio isn’t in a position to produce both my next and next-next projects at the same time. Physically, it’s just not possible.”

Knowing herself that producing both projects simultaneously was impossible, Hong Joo-hee fell silent and looked subdued.

“I’m not saying I won’t work with H-Studio anymore. I just want to get as many of my works out there as I can.”

I continued in a gentle voice, as if to comfort her.

“I’m not saying I won’t work with H-Studio anymore. I just want to get as many of my works out there as I can.”

“I got a bit carried away. Even if we sign the contract for the next-next project right now, it’s not realistic to get it started quickly, just as you said.”

“Yes, but don’t worry. As long as the timing works out, I’ll always bring new projects to H-Studio first.”

“Hearing you say that puts me at ease. Understood, Writer.”

Hong Joo-hee quietly rose, bowed her head lightly, and bid me farewell.

“Sorry for barging in so early. I have a meeting about , so I’ll be leaving now.”

“Okay, take care on your way out.”

Hong Joo-hee left the studio looking much calmer than when she’d first arrived.

Stepping outside, she walked through the garden of The Sharp Officetel complex, trying to compose herself.

‘Yeah, Writer Lee Jung-hyuk is right. He is. He is….’

But Jo Min-sung’s smug face as he uploaded those photos kept coming to mind, and her anger flared up again.

With the style she knew of that bastard, he definitely wouldn’t let go of Lee Jung-hyuk easily once he’d set his sights on him.

‘He probably knew full well that I already had a contract with this writer and still went after him.’

Just thinking about fighting with that guy over Writer Lee Jung-hyuk in the future made her head spin.

“Ugh, that bastard is so annoying!!!”

Her resentful shout rang out loud and clear, even reaching Lee Jung-hyuk, who had quietly stepped out onto the terrace to watch Hong Joo-hee leave.

---

Times have changed.

The husband hurrying home from work to catch the drama, and the children waiting for the fried chicken he would bring.

The enthusiastic housewives calling the TV station to complain when their favorite character died, swearing they’d die too if the protagonist did.

All those things have disappeared like sand slipping from a broken hourglass, and in this era, watching a live broadcast has become a cheap joke.

A man was walking along Teheran-ro in Gangnam-gu.

A middle-aged man with a rugged, rough impression wore thick, half-gold-rimmed glasses, with a square-shaped bandage stuck to the spot where the nose pads rested.

He entered one of the many high-rise buildings lining Teheran-ro.

In the spacious first floor, six elevators were busily ferrying people up and down.

The man waited his turn and got on. Looking at his face in the elevator mirror, he let out a wry smile.

‘I really am getting old.’

That morning, while washing his face with his glasses off, he’d hit his nose on the corner of the bathroom shelf so hard a chunk of skin had come off.

In the past, just because he took his glasses off, he wouldn’t have missed where the shelf was, and even if he did, he would’ve reacted in time not to get hurt this badly.

The little bandage was proof that times had changed, and his own body was growing older, too.

—10th floor.

With the elevator’s announcement, the doors opened, and Jo Min-sung, already waiting in the hallway, greeted him warmly.

“Nice to see you again, Director Jang Byung-hyun. How have you been?”

“Yes, Min-sung. Seeing you looking well, I’d say you’re doing fine.”

“Oh, Director, did you get hurt?”

“It’s nothing. Just a little bump.”

Following Jo Min-sung’s lead, Jang Byung-hyun moved to the meeting room and sat down slowly with a short sigh.

“So, you met Writer Lee Jung-hyuk?”

“Yes, the conditions he asked for were a bit tricky, but I think I can make it work.”

“Good. I knew you’d get it done, Min-sung. Let’s hope things keep going smoothly….”

Jang Byung-hyun thought back to the works he’d made that were hailed as masterpieces.

, , , , , and so on.

The dramas he’d crafted always hit at least 20% ratings, with several even approaching the ultra-rare 40%.

However.

All of those were works he’d made in his prime, in his thirties and forties.

Recently, his dramas barely managed to maintain 10% ratings, and together with Park Eun-sook, he’d been called a has-been master.

“The contract with Writer Lee Jung-hyuk will go through for sure. You don’t have to worry so much.”

“Director Jo, aren’t you curious why I’m so insistent on Writer Lee Jung-hyuk?”

“Well, he got great results with , and you saw his potential there, right?”

“That’s true, but that’s not all.”

Jang Byung-hyun, quietly reflecting on his filmography, finally spoke in a heavy tone.

“That Park Eun-sook—she was eaten alive by that young guy.”

Jang Byung-hyun and Park Eun-sook.

They both shot to stardom with the 40% hit drama  when they were young.

For some reason, after that, they never worked together again and each rose to the rank of master in their own right.

Jang Byung-hyun felt both stiff competitiveness and a strange sense of kinship with Park Eun-sook.

So, when Lee Jung-hyuk—whom he’d acknowledged as a writer—had directly beaten Park Eun-sook in a fair contest, he felt a primal pull toward him.

“When is the meeting with Writer Lee Jung-hyuk?”

“A week from now, near Yeouido, where he’s based.”

“There’ll be drinks, I suppose.”

“If it goes well, yes.”

He himself was like a fading ember, while Lee Jung-hyuk was the hottest wildfire burning today.

Jang Byung-hyun felt an overwhelming urge to get close to the flame that was Lee Jung-hyuk.