At last, I was back in my homeland, Korea. Stepping onto the plush carpets of Incheon Airport, Seungjun inhaled deeply, taking in the air of South Korea. The air conditioning rendered the atmosphere delightfully crisp, filling his lungs with a refreshing coolness. Neither his skin, reddened and tanned by the scorching desert sun, nor his shaggy, months-uncut hair bothered him any longer. After three arduous months of filming a desert documentary, Korea felt like heaven itself.
“Senior. I am a proud citizen of the Republic of Korea.”
Heeseung, whose face was tanned dark save for the area around her eyes, muttered with a determined expression. Lee Heeseung, a third-year assistant director, had followed him, having been roped into the desert documentary shoot. Knowing that a drama enthusiast like her had spent three months in the desert felt somewhat like his responsibility, leaving him with a lingering unease. Seungjun patted Heeseung’s back, then gathered the exhausted staff and led them to a gukbap restaurant located within the airport.
Huddled around a spacious table, every single staff member had a face that was strikingly red. The desert’s heat was not something that could be escaped with mere sunscreen or artificial shade. The pervasive heat, creeping even into the shade, peeled away their skin and sapped their energy. Seeing their visibly emaciated forms, a sense of camaraderie surged within him. Seungjun clapped his hands to gather their attention, then declared loudly:
“Order whatever you want! Let’s eat until we burst!”
“I’ll have the yanggomtang. Can I order steamed egg on the side?”
“Of course. Don’t ask, just order.”
As Seungjun’s permission was granted, Heeseung shouted, “Each table orders separately!” and swiftly began collecting menu choices. It was gratifying to see her so enthusiastic, anticipating a feast after such a long time. When he stroked Heeseung’s head, he felt knots of tangled hair in places. This was because, after about a week without the luxury of a shower in the desert, she had decided it would be better to simply braid her hair into strange, almost dreadlock-like patterns.
Heeseung efficiently gathered the orders, completed the first one, and returned. Though she was someone who usually took on all sorts of menial tasks under him without showing any sign of hardship, it seemed even for her, filming in the desert had been an extraordinary ordeal. Perhaps her return home was exceptionally welcome, for Heeseung was uncharacteristically excited.
“I usually find filming more enjoyable than editing, you know? But there has never been a time when I preferred editing more than this.”
“You worked hard. You truly suffered.”
“Do I smell? I definitely showered, but why do I feel so grubby?”
“Go home today, shower, and get some proper rest. There’s no rush with the editing, so focus on managing your condition. Next time, we’ll make a proper drama.”
Seungjun encouraged her with words full of confidence. Sure enough, at the mention of ‘drama,’ Heeseung, who had been burying her nose in her arm and sniffing, snapped her head up. Seeing her nod, smiling brightly back at him, his resolve grew even stronger.
‘Drama.’ The word alone made not just Heeseung’s heart pound, but his own as well. Seungjun took a gulp of cold water to calm his excitement.
He absolutely had to make his next drama a success, ensuring he would never again be dragged into filming a documentary. Seungjun recalled the script in his bag, steeling his resolve. The drama script, which he had clung to every day even in the desert, was something Seungjun had personally written over several years. He had conducted research, gathered information, completed the synopsis, and then, whenever he found a spare moment from work, he had written up to the fourth episode. It had taken a long time, but he was equally pleased with it. He was confident that if he could just get it commissioned, he could present a truly compelling genre drama.
He planned to take the revised synopsis and script to the director and broach the subject once more. Although he had only received lukewarm responses so far, he had made significant revisions to the content during his three months in the desert. This time, it was possible the director might give him a different answer.
Steaming hot gukbap and deliciously fermented kkakdugi were placed on the table. Wondering how long it had been since he’d had a proper meal like this, Seungjun clasped his hands together tightly. ‘I will eat well.’ After offering a short, uncharacteristic prayer, he emptied a bowl of white rice into the earthenware pot. It was then, while he was absorbed in mixing his rice, that a familiar piece of news caught his ear. Seungjun raised his head towards the TV, which was broadcasting the latest entertainment news.
[Jung Euiheon, the lead actor of ORN drama , which concluded with immense popularity last Friday, has shared his thoughts on the finale.]
At the drama news, Heeseung perked up her ears. She turned her head, watching the TV in an awkward posture, and said:
“ was apparently a huge sensation. They say everyone watched it. And it was impossible to predict the ending right up to the final episode.”
“The director probably fought with the writer, revised the script, and wrote a ton of last-minute pages.” Seungjun replied with a cynical edge. had aired while they were deeply engrossed in filming in the desert. Though he had never had the chance to watch it, he knew very well who had directed it.
Nam Yiwon.
A star director who had debuted at a young age, achieved a string of major successes, and recently gone freelance. He was known as a Midas touch, with a knack for unearthing talented rookie writers and delivering hit productions. While his unique career and appearance, more suited to an actor than a director, seemed to capture public attention, Seungjun, being in the same industry, knew the true story.
In drama production, which required significant capital, the most crucial element was the story, meaning a talented writer. Yet, Nam Yiwon primarily worked with ‘rookie’ writers who were still green. Though he claimed to ‘enjoy fresh stories’ and be ‘interested in consistently discovering talented writers,’ what he truly desired was simply a rookie who would subserviently follow his every command.
Nam Yiwon revised scripts in real-time. This was precisely why he assiduously sought out rookie writers who wouldn’t dare object even if he changed things as he pleased. Established writers loathed working with Nam Yiwon. To quote Lee Ruri, a writer who had penned numerous hit dramas:
‘Director Nam Yiwon brings up ideas that didn’t even exist yesterday and tries to persuade you to weave them into the script today. It’s Director Nam Yiwon’s motto that the final scene of each episode must always be a cliffhanger, and there’s no room for compromise on this. He’s out of his mind, and anyone working with him finds it difficult to maintain their sanity.’
Seungjun let out a small, derisive chuckle, then refocused on his meal. Heeseung, who had been unable to tear her eyes away from the entertainment news, spoke up:
“They say the actors from are making the rounds on all the popular variety shows these days. They’re filming so many commercials too. We even saw a Jung Euiheon commercial on our way here, didn’t we?”
…
“Jung Euiheon’s kiss scene was apparently incredible. My friends told me it caused an uproar the day it aired.”
The girl, who usually never fussed over actors or roles, was uncharacteristically rambling on about trivial matters. As he listened in silence, waiting for her to finally get to her point, Heeseung lightly tapped the table with her chopstick-clutching fist.
“Senior. Next time, let’s definitely do a drama. We can do it too.”
‘So, that’s what she wanted to say, hence the lengthy preamble.’ He found himself being encouraged by the very person he wished to encourage. Seungjun chuckled softly and replied with confidence:
“Of course. Am I a drama PD or a documentary PD? This time, I was dragged into it against my will, but next time, I’ll be doing my real job.”
“Yes! I’ll take good care of my condition and be ready and waiting.”
“Eat plenty.”
“Yes.”
As Heeseung pushed a mouthful of gukbap into her mouth, her puffed-out cheeks caught his eye. Gazing at her chapped and darkened skin, Seungjun reaffirmed his resolve.
‘Just you wait. I’ll create a masterpiece drama soon enough.’
****
“Your face got really tanned, hyung.”
Youngjin looked at Seungjun’s face with a sympathetic gaze, brushing back his hair. Seungjun silently drank his coffee and nodded. He felt like he had heard ‘your face got tanned’ at least three times already.
Youngjin was Seungjun’s boyfriend of just under half a year. Four or five months was a decent amount of time, but since it included the three months Seungjun spent in the desert, it couldn’t really be considered a long relationship. Youngjin, a friend of an acquaintance, had seen Seungjun’s photo and asked if he could be introduced. They met, and Seungjun found him cute and kind, which he liked. He also liked that Youngjin wasn’t in the industry. That’s how it was at first.
Seungjun glanced at his phone to check the time. Two hours had already passed since they met. It was the first Sunday after the documentary shoot, yet sitting around doing nothing felt like a waste of time. His mind was entirely preoccupied with the script. He had even decided on a new title, , and five episodes were almost completely outlined. After conducting the final interview he had scheduled for research, he would be able to further refine its completeness.
He planned to take the revised synopsis to the director sometime next week. Every second was precious for that, and sitting around endlessly, repeating the same conversations, was driving him crazy. This time, he absolutely had to get it commissioned. There were no other options.
Just as he was about to suggest taking Youngjin home, Youngjin, fidgeting with his empty drink, spoke up:
“It just occurred to me, was quite good. The ending was a bit funny, but it was enjoyable for the first time in a while. Did you watch it, hyung?”
It was Nam Yiwon again. Perhaps because it had only recently concluded, talk of that drama was everywhere. Seungjun replied indifferently:
“No. I was in the desert, remember?”
“It was a crazy drama. You should watch it, hyung.”
“Everyone watches those outrageous dramas to complain about them, but it’s not really my taste.”
“It’s a taste-breaker. My friends and I were tearing our hair out while watching it, I tell you. Oh, by the way, hyung, are you acquainted with ‘s PD?”
Seungjun, who had been idly stirring his straw, paused and looked up.