“What I’ve written is a story about the victims. While the protagonist resolves their grievances, I genuinely want the focus to remain on the victims themselves. If you dissect each episode, much like a collection of short stories, each victim essentially becomes the protagonist of their own segment.”
Nam Yiwon, who had absorbed his words without so much as a flicker of expression, calmly nodded.
“While having distinct protagonists for each episode isn’t necessarily a bad approach, when viewed as a cohesive drama, the overarching protagonist remains the lawyer. If our central character lacks a compelling narrative, viewers will inevitably disengage with each passing episode. We absolutely need an element capable of captivating our audience throughout the entire run of this drama.”
“Adding a bit of narrative is fine, but there’s no need to completely alter character settings or introduce a new main—”
“Simply ‘adding a bit of narrative’ won’t suffice. Just look at this synopsis.”
Nam Yiwon punctuated his words by tapping the synopsis laid out on the table. The oppressive silence was punctuated only by a few nervous coughs and the soft rustle of flipping papers, filling the air with an uncomfortable tension. Knowing full well that everyone was casting furtive glances his way, he merely offered an unreserved smile.
“Just by reviewing these character settings, doesn’t it appear as though they were meticulously designed with the sole purpose of pondering, ‘How can we ensure this drama utterly fails?’ What are your thoughts, Lee Heeseung?”
Just then, the assistant director, who had been taking a drink beside Lee Heeseung, promptly spat out the water he’d just taken into his mouth. As he coughed, his face flushing crimson, Lee Heeseung’s eyes widened dramatically beside him. The moment her wavering gaze shifted to him, Seungjun found himself unable to endure it any longer.
‘There’s a limit to how much one can treat another like a fool,’ Seungjun fumed. ‘At this point, even the encouraging words we exchanged about doing our best felt like nothing more than deception.’ With a jarring scrape of his chair, Seungjun rose to his feet. Lee Heeseung, who had been fidgeting nervously and casting anxious glances, interjected in a hurried tone.
“Well, it’s not quite *that* extreme.”
She darted a quick sidelong glance at Seungjun before carefully adding,
“There are certainly some areas I believe would benefit from a few adjustments.”
Lee Heeseung’s cautious demeanor sent a chill through Seungjun’s chest. Nam Yiwon, observing this, deliberately shrugged his shoulders at Seungjun, as if to provoke him.
“A ‘few adjustments,’ you say. Frankly, it’s so overwhelming I barely know where to begin. For starters, our protagonist is a widower, yet there’s absolutely no narrative concerning his deceased wife. What purpose does this particular setup serve? Is it merely a device to preclude any potential love interests?”
“That *is* rather peculiar, Seungjun.”
Seonghyeon added, a sly grin playing on his lips. Indeed, as Nam Yiwon had pointed out, it was a deliberate choice to exclude a love line, leaving Seungjun with no viable defense. His intention had been to prevent any distractions, ensuring the focus remained squarely on the victims’ narratives. ‘After all,’ he mused, ‘if each case proves compelling enough, does it truly matter whether the protagonist is married or a widower?’
His objectives diverged so wildly from Nam Yiwon’s that they might as well have been from different worlds. Seungjun clenched his jaw, glaring fiercely at the man. But Nam Yiwon remained undeterred.
“Furthermore, his name is Kim Youngsik. Do I truly need to elaborate further, everyone?”
As Nam Yiwon swept his gaze around the room, soliciting agreement, someone offered in a meek, almost inaudible voice, “Kim Youngsik *is* a somewhat old-fashioned name, isn’t it?” It was, predictably, the assistant director who had earlier choked on his water.
After a precarious silence stretched on, with no one daring to interject, Seonghyeon finally proposed a break.
“Shall we take a break?”
He hadn’t managed to utter a single word he’d prepared. He had meticulously compiled and distributed a synopsis summary, complete with profiles of actors he deemed suitable for the principal roles, only for Nam Yiwon to casually flip through them and then utter…
He desperately needed a breath of fresh air. With that, Seungjun exited the conference room.
****
This was likely the last true day of respite he would enjoy before diving headfirst into full-scale production. Seungjun slept until his eyelids were swollen and puffy. Attributing it to his erratic sleep patterns, having been awake until the early hours of dawn, he finally roused himself only when the sun was already high in the sky.
They hadn’t even truly begun, yet things had already deteriorated to this extent. At this rate, he would be utterly drained and burnt out long before the drama even aired. A wave of regret washed over him; if only he had known, he would have taken a month off after the documentary editing was complete. He wished he had just packed his bags and gone on a spontaneous trip by himself.
Seungjun thoroughly ransacked his refrigerator in search of something to eat. While he usually opted for quick, often haphazard meals due to sheer laziness, he knew that failing to nourish himself properly could lead to a collapse, potentially cracking the back of his head. He needed to eat well to muster the strength to fight—or rather, to collaborate.
A thorough search yielded just enough ingredients to concoct a somewhat meager stew. Seungjun retrieved a can of tuna, purchased so long ago he couldn’t recall, and some kimchi that was highly likely to have soured. After habitually eating at the company cafeteria every day, he wondered how long it had truly been since he’d cooked. Just as he rolled up his sleeves and began his preparations, a vibration startled him.
Seungjun shuffled his feet, dragging himself towards the bed. At this point, it would be more surprising if the call *wasn’t* from Nam Yiwon. Even as he retrieved his phone, buried beneath the blanket, he felt no particular warmth towards the incoming call.
The phone number, which he had stubbornly refused to save, illuminated the screen. After glaring at the last few digits—which he had, against his will, already memorized—Seungjun finally answered the call.
“What.”
–Senior. Good morning!
“Just state your business.”
–You’re home, aren’t you? I’m right outside your place.
True to his infuriating nature of always blindsiding people with unexpected remarks, he did not disappoint this time either. Seungjun stammered, wildly gesticulating with the scissors he had been holding, intending to cut kimchi.
“How did you get my address…? No, why are you even here?”
–We have somewhere to go today. I’ll be driving, so you just need to show up. I’m at a cafe called ‘Ganada’ right across from your officetel.
“I was just about to eat lunch. If this is about work, we can discuss it at the office—”
–I bought you a sandwich, Senior. Just quickly get ready and come out, okay? I’ll be waiting~
“Hello? Hello! …That insane bastard!”
An enraged Seungjun slammed the phone he was holding onto the bed. Still seething, he continued to furiously snip at the air with his scissors as he stormed towards the kitchen. He then threw the kimchi he had taken out back into its container, only to have kimchi juice splash onto his new T-shirt.
His freshly donned T-shirt was now splotched with kimchi juice, and his hair was a wild mess. After silently scrutinizing his disheveled appearance, Seungjun flung the scissors with a clatter into the sink. He opened a cupboard, revealing the tea ceremony set he had once received as a gift, presumably to help him ‘calm his temper.’
‘Chamomile, chamomile,’ he muttered to himself.
Working in this industry frequently presented moments where managing one’s temper became a formidable challenge. To rein in his anger, Seungjun had often indulged in the tea ceremony as a hobby. While he wasn’t a connoisseur, he found that a warm cup of chamomile undeniably had a soothing effect. He opened the glass jar, deeply inhaled the fragrant chamomile through his nose, then slowly exhaled through his mouth, repeating the ritual.
He inhaled, then exhaled; inhaled, then exhaled, systematically expelling the emotions that were the very source of his stress. ‘It’s work,’ he reminded himself. ‘It’s the job, not Nam Yiwon. This is merely a necessary process one endures while producing a drama.’
“Hoo…”
Once his agitation had gradually subsided, Seungjun retrieved the tea ceremony set. He meticulously arranged the pieces on the table, then set water to boil. The soft gurgle of water simmering in the pot brought a distinct sense of calm to his mind.
‘Who does he think he is, showing up uninvited and ordering me out?’
“Hoo…”
Seungjun sat demurely, slowly bowing his head to the empty space before him. He then sequentially poured the boiled water into the water pitcher, teapot, and teacups, preheating each vessel. As the water cooled, he focused on the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat, consciously quelling his anger. He refused to let his mood dictate his demeanor.
‘I didn’t even eat the sandwich he bought last time, and he’s brought another one? Insane bastard.’
“Hoo…”
With a wooden spoon, he carefully placed three spoonfuls of chamomile into the teapot. Discarding the now-cooled water into the waste bowl, he then poured the water from the pitcher into the teapot. Seungjun closed his eyes, savoring the delicate aroma that wafted from the brewing chamomile.
The chamomile’s fragrance was delightful, potent enough to momentarily eclipse the lingering scent of kimchi juice on his clothes.
‘I want to slap him with kimchi.’
“Hoo…”
He first lifted the saucer to his chest, then carefully placed the teacup upon it. Seungjun leisurely inhaled the fragrant steam before bringing the warm rim of the cup to his lips.
Cafe ‘Ganada,’ a modest establishment situated on the ground floor of the officetel building across the street, was a place Seungjun, despite living nearby, had only ever noticed in passing and never once visited. The entirety of its parking consisted of a single, narrow space directly in front of the cafe. Parked conspicuously there, outshining the cafe itself, was a brilliant red Porsche sports car.
The man, clearly the owner of the gleaming vehicle, waved from behind the cafe’s large glass window. Seungjun had worried what embarrassing ensemble this attention-seeker would choose to humiliate his companion this time, but thankfully, he was dressed in a rather unremarkable coat today. While the coat was a vibrant blue, it still fell within the bounds of normalcy.
Nam Yiwon spotted Seungjun, rose from his seat, and stepped outside. His expression was composed, yet his eyes sparkled with an almost childlike excitement, as if he were utterly thrilled to have disrupted someone’s sole day of rest.
“I thought you’d shower and come out right away, but you took quite a while.”
“I was having some tea.”
Seungjun knew it was rude, yet he deliberately stated the truth. He had hoped to provoke him, but Nam Yiwon was too busy retrieving something from the passenger seat to properly hear him. The man handed him a large paper bag and chattered away.
“It’s the sandwich I mentioned last time. It’s a cold sandwich, so you can just eat it as is. I bought two, just to be generous~”
“Where on earth are you planning to go, showing up at my place unannounced? I only get Sunday off, and I have to see your face again today?”
“Location scouting.”
Nam Yiwon pretended not to hear Seungjun’s complaints, personally opening the passenger door and even offering a gentle nod. A red sports car and a blue coat — what a patriot, Seungjun thought with a scoff as he climbed into the passenger seat. If it was an extension of work, he couldn’t avoid it.
“Next time, tell me in advance. How did you even get my address?”
“You’re dressed rather cutely, aren’t you?”
Nam Yiwon changed the subject as he started the engine. Seungjun looked down at his own outfit—a sweatshirt and jeans. He really needed to buy some new clothes soon. Despite having chosen what he thought was a relatively neat outfit, he was being condescendingly called ‘cute’ by someone younger than him.