Chapter 86: Drama Over Authenticity

Had somehow reached its sixteenth episode.

If it were the usual miniseries size, the story would have ended here.

But since this was a fifty-episode epic historical drama, the child actors’ parts had just finished, and now King Sejong’s story was about to properly begin.

‘Phew. Epic dramas aren’t for just anyone to write.’

With so many characters appearing, and events and situations erupting simultaneously from all directions, there were countless things to keep track of.

Still, I was lucky our team had Pyeong Taek-soo, our reliable history buff.

“Oh, Writer. Since it’s 1425, what about holding an archery contest? According to the Annals, Sejong watched the soldiers on horseback shooting arrows at Gyeonghoeru, and as a prize, he awarded a bow. If we say he met the warrior Chunbok at that contest, it’s historically plausible.”

“Oh? That’s good! Let’s go with the archery tournament episode, then. I’ll lay out the storyline by this afternoon and send it over. Please research the materials related to archery competitions.”

“Yes, sir.”

I quickly wrapped up the story planning meeting and returned to my room.

My plan was to outline the entire episode 17 today.

 had already finished preparations and begun filming, and with the broadcast scheduled for March next year, I needed to have two-thirds of the scripts written before it aired to ensure the series could finish without a hitch.

On top of that, today was the first broadcast of , co-written with Writer Park Eun-sook.

With simultaneous broadcasting in Korea and Japan, it was set to attract a lot of attention.

I had watched countless rough edits, but this would be my first time seeing the finished product, so no matter how many dramas I’d done before, I couldn’t help being nervous.

Tomorrow morning, I’d probably be buried in feedback about .

‘So, I must absolutely finish this today!’

I practically chugged a triple-shot iced Americano and sat down at my laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard.

Fueled by caffeine, in just three hours I wrote out the rough outline, main characters, and dialogue for episode 17 of .

“Huff, huff. I burned myself out.”

With my eyes bloodshot from hardly blinking in concentration, I sent the file to the assistant writers.

Thirty minutes later, Lim Sung-hee, Jung Tae-mi, Pyeong Taek-soo, and the rest of the assistant writers (whose names I still couldn’t remember) gathered in the meeting room, each giving feedback.

“Wow. This is going to be really fun! Especially the scene where Warrior Chunbok saves Sejong from an arrow—that’ll drive the female viewers wild.”

“I’m not the only one who saw it that way, right? Why not lean into the bromance and give them some more ‘feed’?”

“What do you mean, ‘feed’?”

“Like, give them material to work with. There are lots of female viewers who love when men’s friendships or loyalty go so deep it’s like they can’t live without each other. Even a little ‘feed’ and they’ll make up their own backstories and discussions, expanding the story into secondary or even tertiary versions. It’s very effective for promoting the original work.”

“Isn’t that usually in BL works?”

“Eh, if we went that far, it’d be too direct. I’m just saying, just a little. The general audience won’t notice, but the diehard fans will jump on it.”

“So it’ll look like a love line to the fans, and just a friendship to the general viewers. Is that what you mean?”

“Yes! And writing love lines is your specialty, Writer. If you play to that strength here, I think it’ll really appeal to the public. Since it’s a traditional historical drama, it does feel a bit heavy otherwise.”

“Okay.”

I decided to incorporate Jung Tae-mi’s suggestion and liven up that part a bit more.

Of course, I did feel a slight aversion to writing about some kind of thing between two men, but as she said, if I made it look like ‘excessive friendship’ in a noir style, it should be workable.

Seeing the twenty-something assistant writers nodding eagerly at her words, I figured the younger generation really needed this sort of kick nowadays.

Back in my room, I concentrated again, revising the story, when a careful knock sounded at the door.

“Yes?”

“Um, Writer, do you have a moment?”

“Oh, sure.”

Pyeong Taek-soo, the only assistant writer I spoke casually with, shuffled in, hesitant.

Ever since we’d pulled an all-nighter together and gone to the bathhouse, we’d somehow gotten comfortable with each other.

“Um, about the suggestion Tae-mi gave earlier. I thought it over, and I think it strays a bit from the core of our work.”

“Really? Which part?”

Even hunched over, Pyeong Taek-soo’s large frame looked like a bear as he spoke slowly.

“We’re working on an epic historical drama. Of course, adding a love—no, a friendship line between Sejong and Chunbok would be interesting and popular, but… I’m worried it might compromise the authenticity of portraying King Sejong.”

“Hmmm.”

“Warrior Chunbok is already a fictional character. Wouldn’t it be enough for him to serve as someone who remains loyal to Sejong, enduring all hardships in silence?”

“You think it’s too much to give Sejong and Chunbok a strong emotional line?”

“Yes. There’s also the story with Jang Yeong-sil after episode 30. If the emotional lines between Sejong and the characters get too strong, I’m worried it’ll overshadow Sejong as a human and make the story all about events.”

“But on the other hand, having Sejong experience various emotions and turbulent events with many people is a good thing. People just don’t respond to bland stories anymore.”

“I’m worried that those sensational events might bury the human side of Sejong.”

Though careful, Pyeong Taek-soo stated his opinion clearly.

I agreed with him, but also saw openings to argue back.

As a history buff, he clearly wanted to highlight King Sejong’s humanity.

“Humans are complex, so naturally we feel many emotions in relationships—that’s what humanism is. Taek-soo, I get what you’re worried about, but I’ll make sure not to miss that aspect. Still, I fundamentally believe that in drama, what matters most is fun. I’ll always put elements that are fun and appealing to the public as my first priority.”

“Yes, I understand. Thank you for listening even if it was presumptuous of me.”

“Nonsense. If anything ever bothers you like this, feel free to say so. Got it?”

“Yes!”

Pyeong Taek-soo retreated from the studio like a loyal minister offering frank advice to the king.

That’s what a real ‘concept’ is—not a show, but genuine.

Impressed anew, I buried myself back in my work.

Later, by late evening, I’d laid out the plot and script outline, so I settled in to watch the first episode of  with a peaceful heart.

I’d told everyone to go home early, but all the assistant writers stayed behind and came to my house together.

Since it used to be my studio, the living room was the perfect place for us all to watch the broadcast.

“Look! The title at the upper right disappeared! Guess it’s starting after the commercials.”

“My heart’s pounding.”

And so, the drama I’d poured my soul into for half a year began.

***

The very next morning at 7 a.m., after  aired.

The official ratings tallied by Nelson Korea were 17.8%.

It was the highest first-episode rating for any Korean miniseries drama in the last seven years,

And since final episodes usually get the highest numbers, even by that standard, it was a staggering figure, ranking in the top ten for dramas over the past five years.

In fact, it was close to the final episode rating of my drama  from last year.

It even blew past the premiere ratings of , which had surpassed 20% and earned a bonus from Godflix.

If things continued smoothly, some predicted the final rating could exceed 30%.

That would make it the undisputed number one among drama ratings in the last seven years.

I thought my emotional ups and downs had lessened after doing three dramas.

But this report card filled me with such joy I couldn’t contain my emotions.

Until now, getting an A+ for copycatting Godflix scripts was one thing—

But this time, the grade was pure, the product of my own ability.

“Waaaaaah!”

I let out the emotion that had been building inside.

Of course, half the credit still belonged to Writer Park Eun-sook, but the other half was mine and mine alone!

-The writer is insane.

-No, the rating is what’s insane!

-Wow, no wonder the first episode felt so good—the ratings are through the roof!

[As expected, the combination of Park Eun-sook and Lee Jung-hyuk delivers!]

[Not a traitor but a patriot! Japanese viewers already flocking to watch?]

[Global OTT platform crashed as  opened due to server overload]

The  group chat was flooded with articles and community posts.

For a moment, I worried that maybe they were only showing me the good stuff, but when I checked the portal news, the entire entertainment and culture section was all about .

I clicked on a column by a well-known culture critic.

This critic was famous for cutting through writers’ hearts with sharp words.

But reading from beginning to end, the prose was so plain and precise that it put my heart at ease, as if I’d taken a digestive.

-“ by Park Eun-sook and Lee Jung-hyuk is the perfect prescription for today’s weary audience hungry for love and emotion.”

-“In particular, Writer Lee Jung-hyuk has a knack for soaking his stories in ‘love,’ that eternal emotion humans yearn for from birth to death. Looking over his works (let’s leave out his debut, ), you can easily find the common thread of ‘love.’”

-“If he tries anything outside romance, I’ll protest. Wouldn’t anyone try to stop a master who can make the perfect kimchi stew from suddenly opening a pasta shop?”

There were parts that stung, but overall, it was a review that seemed to know my writing better than I did.

It reminded me that not just anyone can be a critic.

‘Love. Love, huh…’

I tried reflecting on the stories I’d written so far as ‘love.’

 went without saying, and even  and —though not romance genres—were ultimately stories where the emotions between characters were tied by ‘love.’

More precisely, it was closer to ‘humanity.’

Especially in , even though it was an affair-filled, makjang genre, when Mabok-soon, having taken revenge on her mistress and ex-husband, was left with an inexplicable emptiness, it was the support from her friend, child, and new man that helped her find a new life.

That’s why not only general viewers, but even the industry called it a ‘luxury makjang.’

Of course, it was all thanks to Godflix.

Come to think of it, maybe all the Godflix dramas could reach perfect endings because of this ‘humanity.’

No matter how provocative or ruined the situation, they always managed to wrap things up flawlessly.

Never neglecting the virtues of drama.

To put it simply: grab attention with drama, then stick the landing with a great ending.

‘Hmm. I guess I really should keep making kimchi stew.’

Reflecting on the feedback for  and my entire filmography so far, I now had a clear direction for .

After talking with Pyeong Taek-soo yesterday, I briefly wondered if I should pull back on the sensationalism and mix in more humanism,

But now I was sure: I’d capture viewers with a bold, well-seasoned flavor.

‘After all, the ending is already set.’

With historical dramas, history decides the ending—you can’t change it.

Of course, King Sejong’s story will end with his great achievements and a happy ending.

So in between, I have to season it heavily and pull the viewers in.

The love line between Sejong and Warrior Chunbok was definitely effective bait.

I packed my things and hurried to the studio.

Not wanting to waste time driving, I took a taxi and jotted down scenes in my phone’s memo app as they came to mind. Then, an unwelcome message arrived.

-Writer Lee Jung-hyuk. Thanks to you, we’re receiving excellent reviews. Thank you.

It sounded stiff—probably run through a translator—but Sakura’s message was still careful, different from before.

In the past, I would have replied with excitement and all sorts of flowery words,

But now I just gave the standard, “Yes. Thank you for your hard work.”

Later, more messages came: Japanese articles and “They say you might win Writer of the Year—congratulations in advance.” I replied, “Thank you,” and that was it.

Snowflakes drifted outside the taxi window.

On the radio, the anchor announced it was the first snow of the year.

-Writer! Congratulations on the first broadcast of this year’s best drama, .

-Next week, I’m inviting precious people and planning a Christmas Eve party.

-I’m sending you an invitation!

Seo Ji-won sent me a crudely drawn invitation, looking just like something an elementary schooler would make.

-Don’t laugh! It’s the concept these days.

As if reading my mind, another message followed right away.

I was about to refuse, thinking I was too busy for some Christmas party, when I saw the irresistible lines at the end of the invitation.

-Who helped you make a successful variety show debut?

-Who went to the Halloween party with Sakura, but won’t come to Seo Ji-won’s Christmas party?

*If you don’t come, you’ll stub your pinky toe on every doorstep. Wherever you go, the elevator will always be broken, so you’ll have to take the stairs. At every crossing, you’ll hit a red light.*

With such a cheeky and adorable postscript, I had no choice but to reply, “I’ll be there.”

It definitely had nothing to do with the fact that the taxi on the way to the studio got stuck at a red light for the fourth time.