The CEO’s office of Salamander Studio, located in Hapjeong.
Han Sung-joo, who was sitting on one side of the calm office, thought to himself.
‘It should be about time for the script to arrive…’
Han Sung-joo was one of the people most eagerly awaiting the script for Taeha’s next project.
There was a clear reason why Han Sung-joo had such high expectations.
It was partly because *Virus* had been a success, breaking into the top ten all-time drama ratings with the best performance a twelve-episode drama could show, but it was also because he truly loved Taeha’s scripts themselves.
A forgotten emotion.
There was something special in Taeha’s scripts that captured Han Sung-joo’s heart.
And it was a feeling he hadn’t been able to feel, no matter how much he wanted to, since Ho-jun’s death.
The lack of this emotion was the reason Han Sung-joo had fallen into a slump for a while, even after achieving successive successes.
However, since *Virus* awakened those feelings and even achieved success beyond expectations, Han Sung-joo couldn’t help but look forward to Taeha’s script.
Of course, Kim Seoan, the Producer directly in charge of Taeha, looked anxious.
Statistically, writers who achieved great success with their first work often failed to perform well in their second.
There were two main reasons for this.
First, the freedom they didn’t have during their first work could actually hinder them.
From actor agencies to broadcasting stations, every time a rookie writer showed their script, they were met with a variety of questions.
In other words, too many people tried to steer the ship, but it was unavoidable.
There were too many variables in the drama business to simply trust a rookie writer’s work and go with it.
The risk regarding production costs was also significant.
For that reason, rookie writers inevitably received a massive number of questions—everything from the absurd to difficult problems that even veterans might struggle to solve.
The number of writers who crumbled because they couldn’t maintain their balance amidst this barrage of questions was immense.
As a result, rookie writers had low freedom even when writing a single word, but this restriction disappeared once they started their second project.
Since their first work was a success, people began to trust the writer completely.
However, this wasn’t always a good thing.
Writers who were cautious about every little detail sometimes made mistakes once they gained freedom.
It was even common for such mistakes to create a butterfly effect that ruined the entire drama script.
The problem was that even if such issues were discovered, it was difficult to request revisions.
This was the second reason why writers who succeeded with their first work failed with their second.
Drunk on the success of their first work, they developed what was commonly called an ‘ego,’ and even if a legitimate request for revision was made, they wouldn’t fix it.
It was truly dangerous when a writer who had tasted the sweetness of success fell into such stubbornness.
Even if someone pleaded for them to trust the team and fix it just once, the writer would plead back, asking them to trust the writer instead.
So, it wasn’t strange for Kim Seoan, who was waiting for Taeha’s next script alongside Han Sung-joo, to be worried.
Furthermore, what Taeha was preparing was a campus youth drama, a genre where almost every possible story had already been told, making the difficulty level extremely high.
‘Well, it’s understandable to be worried. I’ve had many similar experiences myself.’
Nevertheless, Han Sung-joo believed that Taeha would deliver a good script.
He didn’t think the mysterious brilliance he had discovered in Taeha’s script would disappear just because it was his second work.
Rather, he was hoping Taeha would prove that he wasn’t wrong.
‘Ho-jun, who had something similar to Writer Kang, never got to show his next work to the world.’
This was another reason why Han Sung-joo was looking forward to Taeha’s script.
He wanted to see a scene where Taeha, who unknowingly reminded him of Ho-jun’s shadow, succeeded even with his next project.
He wanted to see that picture.
‘Please… you must pull it off…’
It was while Han Sung-joo was deep in thought.
Finally, the long-awaited contact from Kim Seoan arrived.
[CEO!]
[Writer Kang sent the planning proposal for his next project and the script for Act One!]
[Planning Proposal for Your Radiant Sparkle.hwp]
[Your Radiant Sparkle Act One_3rd Draft.hwp]
After receiving the proposal and the script for Act One from Kim Seoan and seeing the title *Your Radiant Sparkle*, Han Sung-joo immediately marveled at it.
It was a perfect title for a campus youth drama.
But on the other hand, he was slightly worried.
Regardless of the good feeling it gave, the title didn’t reveal much about the project’s focal point.
If he had to evaluate it, the specificity of the title was quite low.
‘Did he focus so much on the vibe that the meaning of the title became unclear? No, it’s not time for me to judge yet.’
Judging could wait until after he read the planning proposal and the script for Act One.
With that, Han Sung-joo checked the planning proposal first.
And before long, he slapped his knee.
He realized that the title *Your Radiant Sparkle* was a brilliant choice.
‘The focus narrator of the work is the Female Lead, but he gave the role of the regressor to the Male Lead…’
Indeed.
This work centered around the Female Lead.
It was natural, since the flow of the work unfolded and appeared through her eyes.
This part was well-explained in the planning proposal, but the interesting part was the unique point that the Male Lead, not the Female Lead, was the regressor.
In campus youth dramas, time regression had become a common trope.
It was fresh at first, but because of its convenience, it had been used too much.
It had reached a point where the structures of campus youth dramas dealing with regression were all becoming similar.
It was so severe that some said the only difference was the number of regressions.
However, the setting where the man the protagonist unrequitedly loved was the regressor was something he had never seen before.
The proposal even included this line of dialogue:
[“My life has been turned upside down three times because of you… So why do you have such a sad face?”]
In other words, it meant the Female Lead was aware that the Male Lead had regressed three times to change the future.
And that was why the title *Your Radiant Sparkle* made sense.
From the Female Lead’s perspective, the Male Lead, who was a regressor, felt like a being with a radiant sparkle among ordinary people.
But unfortunately, the future the Male Lead wanted to change by regressing didn’t include the Female Lead.
The proof was that even after regressing three times, the relationship between the woman and the Male Lead hadn’t changed at all.
And this was the second reason why the title *Your Radiant Sparkle* worked.
The Female Lead, who watched and remembered the three regressions, secretly made a vow while looking at the Male Lead.
[“How can I make you smile? After much thought, I made a promise. I’ll be the one to make you smile. So that if you ever happen to think of me, even by accident, you’ll smile quietly.”]
[“So, I’ll change it. Even the future you couldn’t change.”]
A promise to make him a radiant sparkle.
The dialogue carried that determination.
Because of this, Han Sung-joo couldn’t help but think that the title *Your Radiant Sparkle* fit perfectly.
However, Han Sung-joo wasn’t just surprised by the project’s great title.
He was even more amazed by the unique setting of the work.
Even though countless campus youth dramas had appeared, the setting of *Your Radiant Sparkle* had never been dealt with before.
That was why Han Sung-joo marveled at the fact that Taeha had found such a setting.
It might be a setting one could think of just by changing their perspective slightly.
But that was the hardest part.
Maintaining clichés while subtly twisting them to create a sense of defamiliarization.
Thanks to the uniqueness of the setting, Han Sung-joo’s expectations for the script naturally grew.
This was why Han Sung-joo, having finished the planning proposal, hurriedly opened the script file for Act One.
And as he read the script, Han Sung-joo was forced to be surprised once again.
“This… is unbelievable.”
Because the script for Act One, which he thought would be a bit depressing, was developing in a very energetic and bright way.
It was a typical rom-com itself, and Han Sung-joo soon realized how such a mood was possible.
‘He portrayed the Female Lead’s personality as a multi-dimensional character with a firm heart beneath her brightness, rather than a flat, Candy-type protagonist.’
There was a reason why Candy-type female leads weren’t used often lately.
Because of that flat characterization, scenes where they became a nuisance to those around them inevitably appeared.
The proof was that at some point, the expression ‘Candy-type lead’ began to be used interchangeably with ‘nuisance lead.’
However, as if he had predicted this, Taeha gave the setting that the Female Lead’s brightness came from her firm heart.
This was to avoid nuisance scenes naturally by giving the character depth.
If there was a reason for one’s actions, it was impossible to be a nuisance even if one wanted to.
‘I can feel that he put more effort into character development compared to his previous work. The Female Lead is especially impressive.’
However, as he continued reading the script, Han Sung-joo couldn’t help but feel a bit puzzled.
Compared to the Female Lead’s complexity, the Male Lead’s character depth was somewhat lacking.
Since the planning proposal also simply described the Male Lead as a younger man and a regressor, the confusion grew.
His role felt too limited and instrumental.
‘What’s going on? Did he focus so much on the Female Lead that the Male Lead’s character development is lacking?’
Han Sung-joo was one of the few people who knew that Taeha felt he hadn’t given the Female Lead enough narrative in *Virus*.
Of course, in Han Sung-joo’s opinion, both the Male and Female Leads of *Virus* had plenty of character depth.
If they hadn’t, it would have been impossible for *Virus* to receive that much love and achieve such results in the first place.
But as a creator, he respected Taeha’s thought that the Female Lead’s characterization was lacking.
In fact, he thought it was a good thing.
One had to feel a sense of lack to avoid complacency and develop in the next work.
So he had cheered for Taeha, but if it continued like this, it would be somewhat disappointing.
Because right now, the Male Lead’s character was completely flat while trying to fill the void of the Female Lead’s characterization.
It was enough to make him wonder if the characterization in *Virus* had been better.
But,
“Wait!”
After reading the last scene of Act One, Han Sung-joo changed his mind.
And he marveled once again.
He realized how many steps ahead Taeha was looking while writing the work.
The Male Lead’s final line was as follows:
“You have to forget me, Sister. If you don’t, we can never be happy.”
Indeed.
The Male Lead of *Your Radiant Sparkle* knew.
He knew that the Female Lead remembered all of his regressions.
And the Male Lead’s goal was to erase her memories.
Solely for her happiness.