Chapter 65: A Call from the Blue House

Yeouido’s The Sharp Officetel.

In this venerable drama writer’s studio, many officials gathered under the surname Lee’s wise king, all tirelessly devoted day and night to crafting stories for the people.

Every corner of the living room was filled with ancient records and materials on Joseon history, as well as copper models of astronomical instruments, rain gauges, and other inventions from the Joseon era.

It was almost impossible to tell if this place was a drama writer’s studio or a Joseon-era history museum—or perhaps a research lab.

In the midst of this, Lee Junghyuk was reading the script with a solemn face, like a monarch reviewing his ministers’ petitions.

“Hmmm. Is this truly the best we can do?”

As Lee Junghyuk murmured, Im Seonghee and Jeong Taemi—who styled themselves as his Chief State Councillor and Left State Councillor—hurriedly lowered their heads, attentively awaiting his words like refined court ladies.

“If I may, Your Majesty, if you would only point out which line troubles your mind, we shall amend it swiftly.”

“The Sejong I envision has always liked meat and is a passionate man in his relationships with women. Yet, in here, he comes across as nothing more than a scholar obsessed with learning. What are we to do about this?”

Clicking his tongue, Lee Junghyuk turned a sharp gaze around and asked,

“Why is the Minister of War so silent?”

At those words, Pyung Taeksu—who had recently been selected by Lee Junghyuk to assume the important role of Minister of War—quickly responded.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, the records show that Sejong was close to learning from a young age, taking Confucius and Mencius as his friends rather than games. His interest in practical systems and objects was also extraordinary, so I believe it is right to portray him as the ultimate scholar who combines the strengths of both the literary and scientific fields.”

Lee Junghyuk stroked his smooth, beardless chin and nodded.

“If the Minister of War says so, it must be so. Then, I’ll trust you and leave this line to you. But if Sejong ends up looking like nothing more than a goody-two-shoes, I’ll have words with you.”

“Yes, I accept your command.”

“Well then, let’s conclude today’s meeting here.”

With a thump, Lee Junghyuk set down the script and, looking around, asked carefully,

“So, what would everyone like to do for lunch today?”

At his words, Pyung Taeksu, who had been bowing, slowly raised his head and spoke.

“Your Majesty, I’ll have jjamppong.”

“I’ll have ganjjajang.”

“I’ll have tang-bok-bap.”

The ministers, having finished their royal conference, decided on Chinese food for lunch.

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In less than 30 minutes, a delivery man from the Chinese restaurant rang the doorbell.

At the sound, Pyung Taeksu, the youngest, rushed over to open the door and greet the deliveryman.

“Delivery.”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll pay by card.”

This place used real Chinese restaurant dishes instead of disposable plastic, and the food was delicious enough that they ordered from here often.

With more people around, it had become impossible to cook every meal like before, and Im Seonghee, who used to handle the cooking, had recently become too busy with back-to-back script deadlines, so delivery had become the norm.

Taking my bowl of ganjjajang, the dish I’d chosen, I poured the black bean sauce over the noodles and began mixing it eagerly with chopsticks.

The glossy black bean sauce and the springy noodles coming together always made me feel good, no matter how many times I heard it.

Slurp—taking a big bite of ganjjajang, I looked at Pyung Taeksu and asked,

“How’s the work going? Is it manageable?”

“Yes, hehe. Thanks to you reflecting my ideas, it’s been so rewarding. I really enjoy it.”

In truth, the odd sort of royal conference we’d just held was all Pyung Taeksu’s idea—a certified history buff.

‘Wouldn’t it help if we added some historical authenticity to our meetings, too?’

So, with some skepticism, we’d occasionally tried it when stuck on a scene or a line, though it hadn’t made much of a difference for me personally.

Still, whenever we held these Joseon-era roleplay meetings, Taeksu’s eyes would light up, and he’d pour out quality ideas like a scholar from the Hall of Worthies. For his sake, we sometimes indulged in these little sessions.

“I’m glad. If there’s anything you want, feel free to say so. As long as the ideas are good, I can accommodate anything.”

At my words, Pyung Taeksu let out a friendly laugh, picked up a fried dumpling, took a bite, and continued,

“To be honest, before applying as a drama assistant writer, I’d heard some scary rumors. But this is completely different.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Are we a bit more laid-back than most?”

“Oh, Writer-nim, this is beyond laid-back! I’ve never met anyone who treats assistant writers as well as you do, giving us so much autonomy.”

“Same here.”

So, with the warm atmosphere lingering, we finished lunch.

“For today, let’s just go over the casting board we talked about yesterday, and then everyone can head home early.”

“Really? That sounds great!”

“Yes, I feel like the script is at its peak now, and I want to send out the casting board and the script before the weekend.”

“Let’s get started, then.”

After tidying up the Chinese dishes and leaving them outside, since everyone wanted an early finish, we decided to jump right back into the meeting without a break.

The remaining task was to organize the list of actors to suggest for the casting of .

I’d cast for ordinary modern roles many times, but never for historical roles that required sageuk makeup.

So, this time, rather than focusing only on popularity or acting skills, we decided to gather ideas from all the assistant writers to match the perfect actor to each part.

“We’ve been thinking about it, and for the young Sejong role, An Yooseok seems perfect.”

“Because of the ‘unrequited love guy’ image he’s built up since Twin Love, he has an untainted innocence, but he doesn’t look childish, so he’d be a great fit for young Sejong.”

“Above all, if it’s your script, An Yooseok will agree to anything.”

Since I’d been thinking of An Yooseok myself, the casting for the young Sejong role was quickly decided.

“But do you have a particular actor in mind for Sejong?”

Since  was bound to become a sageuk for Sejong, by Sejong, about Sejong, everyone’s focus was on who would play the main role, leading most of the story.

It wasn’t finalized yet, but I’d already sounded out the actor and was pretty sure, so I saw no need to keep it a secret.

“For King Sejong, I’m thinking of Lee Sungjae.”

At the mention of Lee Sungjae’s name, Jeong Taemi, who was sipping coffee, coughed as if the drink had gone down the wrong way.

“Lee Sungjae? Is he even in Korea right now?”

As expected of industry insiders, it seemed they’d all heard rumors of Lee Sungjae filming major roles overseas.

“Yes, until just last month he was in Daebudo.”

“Why in Daebudo? Was he shooting a movie?”

“No, just went fishing. Both Lee Sungjae and Jeong Sungwoo are huge fishing enthusiasts.”

Only then did Jeong Taemi recall how I’d vacated the studio for a night recently, her eyes going wide.

“No way, did you go fishing with them?”

“Yes, we met through Park Hyungjun and spent the night at Lee Sungjae’s villa after fishing.”

“What the—why are you only telling us this now?!”

“No one asked.”

“Well, that’s true…”

There were already a fair number of top domestic stars who’d expressed interest in my work, but someone at Lee Sungjae’s level apparently hit different even for them.

He was said to be nearly impossible to book unless it was for Hollywood, so I supposed their reaction made sense.

“Yes, it’s not confirmed yet, but I had a deep conversation with him about the project, and he showed not just a positive but an enthusiastic response. So I want to put him on the casting board for Sejong.”

“Wow, if he really gets cast, then…”

Im Seonghee shook her head, tongue clucking, as she looked at the anticipated cast list.

Just the names so far—An Yooseok and Seo Jiwon, both the trendiest among the MZ generation, plus Park Hyungjun, whose acting was beyond question—would have made for a hit lineup. Adding Lee Sungjae, who was becoming a global top star, would make this the most glamorous cast yet.

“By the way, I plan to send the finished script to Lee Sungjae’s agency today.”

“If he really plays Sejong… wow, just imagining it gives me chills.”

With everyone’s expectations running high, I gathered up the finished script and slipped it into a document envelope.

I’d heard back in Daebudo that he still preferred to receive scripts in hard copy, the old-fashioned way.

I immediately used my phone app to call a quick courier and entered the address for Lee Sungjae’s agency.

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Immediately after the  casting meeting ended.

A motorcycle express courier arrived at “Art Company,” the production and management agency founded by actors Lee Sungjae and Jeong Sungwoo.

The thick brown envelope was delivered straight to Lee Sungjae in the CEO’s office as soon as it reached the front desk.

“A quick delivery from Writer Lee Junghyuk, sir.”

“Thank you, please hand it over.”

“Sir, just reminding you, you have a meeting with the CL Media advertising team in two hours.”

“Yes, I’m aware. Thank you. You must be busy—please go about your work.”

Receiving the brown envelope from the neatly dressed female secretary, Lee Sungjae leaned back deeply on the black leather sofa in the center of the office, crossing his legs.

With a serious face, he opened the envelope and pulled out the dozens of pages of script, setting it on his knee.

“It’s been less than a month since we discussed this in Daebudo, and he’s already sending the script. Just as rumored, he works like a machine.”

But if the script itself read like something written by a machine, Lee Junghyuk’s recent reputation wouldn’t stop Lee Sungjae from rejecting it outright.

“To think such a young writer would boldly send the script first… I like it.”

Calmly, Lee Sungjae turned the first page of Lee Junghyuk’s script, .

For a while, the only sound in the CEO’s office was the quiet flutter of turning pages.

About an hour later.

Lee Sungjae, wearing a faint smile, picked up his phone from the side table and called the secretary’s office.

-Yes, sir?

“Let’s postpone today’s ad meeting. Something more important has come up.”

-Understood, I’ll reschedule and let you know.

“Oh, can you also reserve the same Korean restaurant as last time for dinner tonight?”

-Yes, I’ll book the private room as before.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Lee Sungjae, lost in thought as he pored over the script, propped his chin on his hand and stared intently at Lee Junghyuk’s writing.

“It’s the real deal, as expected.”

A satisfied smile spread across Lee Sungjae’s lips.

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Late evening.

After sending the assistant writers home, Lee Junghyuk stayed alone in the studio, busily pounding the keyboard as he worked on the next script for .

Then, his phone buzzed with an incoming call from a number he didn’t recognize.

Lee Junghyuk hesitated, thinking it might be from Art Company, before picking up.

“Yes, this is Lee Junghyuk.”

-Hello, is this Writer Lee Junghyuk’s phone?

“Yes, that’s right. Who’s this?”

-Ah, yes. I am—

Contrary to my expectation that it would be Lee Sungjae, the voice was unfamiliar.

The caller cleared their throat, paused for a moment, then spoke up.

For some reason, a peculiar tension hung in the air, and I unconsciously swallowed.

And the caller’s identity was someone I had not anticipated at all.

“This is Cha In-tae, Public Relations Secretary at the Blue House.”

A call had come from the Blue House.