Chapter 43: The Writer’s Table

Yeouido The Sharp Officetel, Writer Lee Junghyuk's workspace.

The rich, savory aroma filled the air from early morning.

Im Sunghee, wearing an apron, was simultaneously working on three different dishes.

She looked every bit the part of a chef from one of those cooking survival shows.

No wonder—the four-burner induction stove was occupied by black chicken simmering with various medicinal herbs, and a large frying pan was sizzling with a colorful array of Gujeolpan vegetables.

On the small kitchenette counter of the officetel, neat rows of pre-cooked Yukjeon were already lined up.

"Unni. Should I start the salad now?"

"No, salads get watery, so let's do it right before the writer arrives. He said he'll be here in thirty minutes, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay. For the wheat pancakes, the key is to make them flat and clean, so just focus on that and don't worry about anything else."

"Yep!"

At the living room table, Jung Taemi was frowning in deep concentration as she grilled the wheat pancakes for Gujeolpan on a burner.

Pouring the batter onto the pan with a ladle and gently swirling the bottom to make a perfect circle was a high-level skill.

Im Sunghee stabbed the chicken breast with chopsticks to check the temperature.

She touched her wrist with the chopsticks and smiled in satisfaction.

"Whew. The black chicken is cooked perfectly."

As she stood there, memories of her nightmare when she first started as an assistant writer six years ago flashed through her mind.

Im Sunghee had been afraid of birds since childhood.

Even seeing a pigeon ten meters ahead on the street would make her panic, and she wouldn't go near food made from chicken. Even fried chicken, so common, was more terrifying to her than nightmares.

But for a drama assistant writer, having a phobia of any kind was a luxury.

The first writer she worked for wrote a weekend drama where the male lead ran a chicken farm.

So she had to visit a poultry farm for research, and to describe a scene where the female lead catches a chicken barehanded, Sunghee herself had to grab a native chicken with her own hands, even though she was just a newly hired assistant.

Of course, she managed to overcome her ornithophobia thanks to that experience,

'Ugh. But thinking about how I fainted and ended up in the ER still makes me dizzy.'

Still, that incident was actually on the cute side compared to the other stories from her assistant days.

The first writer at least let her rest after she was sent to the emergency room; the second writer wouldn't even let her rest, making her slice carrots for an entire year.

The carrots, of course, were for snacks for the Pomeranian raised in the second writer's studio.

That Pomeranian only ate carrots grown in Gujwa, Jeju, and when Sunghee caught the flu and couldn't even swallow porridge, the writer sent her to a Jeju farm to fetch freshly harvested carrots.

That was when Sunghee first picked up a knife, and with those exasperating memories, she even got her Korean cuisine chef certificate.

'If only that was all.'

The third writer was a classic jerk who made assistants write the script segments for him.

He’d have assistants compete, choosing the best-written scene to insert into the script, unhesitant to hurt their already sensitive feelings.

He’d shamelessly present those scripts under his own name, creating the bizarre situation where assistants would write fifty-million-won scripts for a monthly salary of 1.5 million.

There was a fourth writer, too. If she had writer’s block, she would suddenly disappear.

Back then, Sunghee's main job was to coax and cajole the writer into sitting back down at her desk.

Sometimes Sunghee wondered if she was an assistant writer or an emotional garbage can, holding back tears as the writer screamed, pulling her own hair, swearing she'd never write again.

Once, the writer disappeared in the middle of a broadcast, so the production company used people to track her down, and Sunghee had to go all the way to Mapado to retrieve her.

Thanks to all this, Sunghee had become a diligent slave—no, assistant writer—who would cook, clean, fetch people, catch chickens, and even write, all for a two-million-won monthly salary.

"Compared to all that, our writer is an angel, an absolute angel."

"Don’t even mention it. Honestly, if I could keep working with Writer Lee Junghyuk forever, I’d happily be an assistant writer for life."

"Right? I heard from Ten Enter that Writer Lee even asked them to raise our salaries."

"For real? No wonder. I wondered why we were getting paid so much. I even felt guilty, thinking I was getting this much for doing almost nothing."

Jung Taemi divided the tall stack of white wheat pancakes, piled like the five-story stone pagoda at Mireuksaji, onto a large round plate as she continued.

"What will you do if you don’t win the contest this time?"

"Hmm. I know."

"Maybe we should just stick by Writer Lee’s side and never leave? These days, even if you win a contest, getting a drama to air is like plucking a star from the sky."

Im Sunghee knew exactly what Taemi meant.

Getting 2.5 million won a month, being the first to read flawless scripts from a writer with impeccable character,

And having opportunities to work with famous directors and actors—these were a dream job for assistant writers, offering money, experience, and peace of mind all at once.

On top of that, as Taemi said, the drama industry was in a deep freeze these days.

It's only because they stood behind Writer Lee Junghyuk that they didn’t feel the brunt of it—

After the global pandemic, the drama market had completely shrunk.

People, unable to meet face to face, had sat at home watching TV or streaming services, but now, as a reaction, nobody wanted to sit still for long dramas.

Shorts and YouTube videos you could watch quickly during commutes or after work had replaced series.

In this era of quick-hitting, dopamine-rush content, the virtues of traditional drama had long faded.

"But I still want to write my own stories. Don’t you feel the same?"

"Well… I do."

Sunghee’s longing to write, in truth, was all thanks to Writer Lee Junghyuk.

Having been an assistant for two years longer than Taemi, Sunghee was even more accustomed to this life.

There was no hardship in making a living, and having rolled around in this field long enough, she’d gotten used to almost everything.

Instead, she’d grown afraid of new challenges.

The idea of writing on her own, without the safety of being an assistant, now felt awkward.

But it was this writer’s studio that broke her habits.

When Sunghee first felt the urge to work in dramas,

When she’d tried to savor every episode only to end up staying up all night,

When she’d empathized with the protagonist and anxiously wondered what she would do if she were in their shoes—this place brought her back to those days.

Writer Lee’s stories, in a drama market worn down and battered from every side, made Sunghee’s heart race again.

They reignited the flame in her that was on the verge of dying out, giving her the desire to write stories like that herself.

"We’re writers too."

"Whew. But, unni, this is really off the record, but I heard that those who made it to the final round of the contest have already been contacted."

"What? Really?"

"I can understand if I didn’t make it, but I thought you’d at least get to the final round, unni."

"Ha…"

With her spirits crushed, Sunghee plated the black chicken.

The charred flesh of the bird looked just like her burnt-out heart.

"Drama is really tough."

***

Hoo—

I savored the nicotine wrapping my mouth in the smoking area outside the officetel for the first time in a while.

The smoke, drawn deep into my lungs and exhaled, cut through the air and dissipated.

I hadn’t been able to smoke at all, not in the hospital, nor while watching Godflix before that, so it tasted incredible.

"Now I finally feel alive again."

I stubbed out the cigarette down to the filter in the ashtray and headed to my studio.

"Wow! Writer! Congratulations on your discharge!"

"You can’t get sick again now~"

As soon as I opened the door, Sunghee and Taemi greeted me warmly.

With such hospitality, it almost made me think that being sick now and then wasn’t so bad after all.

"What… is all this?"

More than anything, I couldn’t help but gasp in admiration at the lavish spread on the table.

Black chicken, Yukjeon, Gujeolpan, shrimp salad, all sorts of kimchi and seasoned greens. And as if that wasn’t enough, there was even pot-cooked rice in a cast-iron cauldron. I was truly at a loss.

It was the perfect feast to celebrate a hospital discharge, enough to make the table legs buckle.

"Can I… really eat all this?"

"You don’t have to finish it all, so don’t push yourself and chew thoroughly."

"I barely stopped unni from bringing this to the hospital. Now that you’re out, eat as much as you want."

"Heh. I’m spoiled thanks to you two."

The black chicken, simmered for twelve hours according to Sunghee, was the most tender and flavorful Samgyetang-type dish I’d ever had.

I’d only heard of Gujeolpan before but never tasted it. Eating the meticulously sliced vegetables, meat, and mushrooms all wrapped together brought a clean, refined flavor that made me feel like I was eating high cuisine.

Even the Yukjeon and salad—no king’s table could outdo this.

"Is there anything I can do to thank you both?"

"Thank us? We did it because we wanted to!"

"Your good health is all the thanks we need, writer."

I insisted they come out for a walk with me.

In each of our hands was a cup from the café on the first floor—Earl Grey for them, a warm Americano for me.

"Seo Ji-won keeps complaining that the set is boring these days. I guess he really loved working on Twin Love."

"I get it. A friend who works lighting says he still talks about how fun the Twin Love set was. I heard he begged the director to get on Macho Restaurant this time."

"Did you see the trailer for Ahn Yoo-seok’s new movie?"

"Yeah! CEO Hong sent me premiere tickets! Want to go together next time?"

"Sounds good! That would be so fun!"

Sunghee and Taemi chatted as we walked through Yeouido Park.

Even with the chilly weather, walking over the gentle hills made us feel pretty warm.

"But actually, I do have something I want to say."

"Huh? Please go ahead, writer."

"We’ve been talking too much, haven’t we?"

"Not at all. I was actually waiting for the right moment to say this."

I’d brought them out, offering to repay their kindness, but with only drinks in hand, I felt a bit guilty—so I decided to say what was on my mind a bit sooner.

"Would you two continue working with me from now on?"

"Gasp! I’d love that!"

Taemi responded with sparkling eyes.

But Sunghee, who had been cheerful until now, suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"Um… Writer, I’m sorry, but I think I want to really try writing for myself this time. I’m truly grateful for the offer. But I’m already in my mid-thirties, and I want to give it my all with complete focus. If it doesn’t work out, then I’ll stop. Please don’t misunderstand—I’ve been really happy as your assistant writer."

Sunghee spoke, haltingly but sincerely, as if making a big decision.

Having worked long as an assistant myself, I understood exactly how she felt.

I was actually grateful for her honesty.

"I understand. It’s a shame, but it can’t be helped."

But I hurried to add something, worried there might be a misunderstanding.

"But the proposal I’m making isn’t for you two to remain as my assistants."

"Then… what is it?"

"How about you both write your own stories?"

"What?"

"Us?"

"Yes. In your own names."