WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Potter
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ The Genius Writer Who Will Never Fall Again ◈
Chapter 7: Director (2)
──────
There was something Seong-hun-hyung once told me.
“Do you know Director Min Byeong-gi?”
“Violent Crimes Unit 17?”
“Yeah, that director. Isn’t that director incredible?”
It was unusual.
Seong-hun was an elite among elites, a director who had studied film since childhood. The line had blurred somewhat with the rise of OTT platforms, but film directors generally did not think highly of drama directors.
Unlike dramas, films gave directors the reins. That demanded exceptional ability, and a subtle hierarchy existed between directors of the two genres.
At the time, Seong-hun was a rising star beginning to earn recognition at home and abroad.
For him to champion a drama director who had only won a single award was extremely unusual.
Yet that day, he had sounded very excited.
“Who would’ve thought drama action could be directed like that?”
“I watched it too. They did it well. Though every technique they used looked expensive.”
“It was the opposite. They spent less than it looked like they did. They just pushed the performance to its limits through composition and pacing.”
“Oh?”
“It’s instinct. They already have the scene in their head before the cameras even roll. They know how the camera should move to follow it, how the lighting should work, how every visual element should come together!”
That was how Min Byeong-gi earned the nickname, the Magician of Tempo.
No matter how much dramas were considered a writer’s game, it was the director’s job to bring them to the screen.
In that process, Min Byeong-gi went beyond firmly establishing a story’s tone. Sometimes, he captured details of a scene that even the writer had not clearly envisioned, increasing immersion. Other times, he edited an overly elaborate section to give it the right momentum and connected it to the next scene.
What was the result?
Viewers who encountered action touched by Min Byeong-gi would be swept up in it, leaving lavish praise like, “A drama that’s dangerous to binge-watch at night.”
By the time I died, he had become influential enough that his name would always come up when people talked about Korean action directors.
I’d be an idiot not to take him.
Geomgye Ilgun was inevitably an action-heavy genre, so a director who understood pacing was indispensable.
The problem was how to convince Chief Go.
“Ah, sorry. That name was so unexpected.”
Go Young-chan rubbed his chin.
My job here was not to force the issue. It was to plant enough grounds for Go Young-chan to find the choice reasonable.
“I think it makes perfect sense. I had a hard time tracking it down myself.”
“Tracking down what?”
“Your last project before you became chief, [Espionage After a Kiss].”
“Huh? Ah, Byeong-gi was on that one! He joined as an assistant director!”
“There were several scenes in it that stood out enough to feel almost out of place. The wire action in episode three, the knife action in episode seven, the chase scene in episode thirteen, and the shootout in episode fifteen.”
Go Young-chan’s eyes widened.
‘Of course. He was pressed for time and handed those scenes over wholesale. That was the result.’
Later, Min Byeong-gi would tell that story in an interview.
“I could tell from the angles. He used forced perspective to heighten the sense of speed, dynamic angles to increase movement, yet restrained the focus so it never left the characters. It had a different sensibility from your straightforward, weighty style, Producer.”
Perception was frightening.
I did not need to add anything more. From now on, Go Young-chan would unconsciously consider Min Byeong-gi while selecting a director.
More importantly, Go Young-chan was no fool. He had reached that position through skill, so he would check for himself, if only out of curiosity.
That was enough.
‘If it doesn’t work...’
Well, I might have to use a fairly extreme method then.
Anyway, I had just finished speaking when it happened.
“...Writer Han.”
Go Young-chan’s expression suddenly hardened.
I flinched. Had I overstepped? Was he especially strict about this sort of boundary?
My thoughts spun wildly.
My prediction was wrong.
“You’re that knowledgeable about visual techniques too?”
“Pardon?”
“...You understand directors, their individual styles, that well!?”
“...?”
There was a hint of moisture in Go Young-chan’s eyes, but his features were so fierce that he looked murderous instead.
My survival instincts surged without my permission.
Putting that aside...
“...In the end, aren’t dramas made by everyone together? I believe good work comes from sufficient respect and trust for each other’s fields.”
I meant it sincerely.
The industry might see things differently, but good directors were as rare as good writers.
Even the whites of Go Young-chan’s eyes were bloodshot.
Without question, it was the most burdensome gaze I had ever experienced.
I looked away before I knew it. A damp voice pierced my ears.
“...You’re a good person.”
“...”
“Right, I understand. I’ll choose while keeping Writer Han’s words firmly, firmly in mind!”
“Yes, well...”
I would appreciate that.
...Anyway, that was how the meeting ended.
The fortunate part was...
[Writer Han! It’s Chief Go! I thought about the director, and like you said, Byeong-gi really is perfect!]
The objective had been achieved somehow.
* * *
Every group had people who could not adjust to society.
No matter how strict its hierarchy was, there would always be someone who secretly looked down on their superiors.
Min Byeong-gi was both.
A slightly stale rookie PD whose directorial debut had flopped spectacularly.
He had once dreamed of becoming a film director. He had done well at university film festivals and small independent festivals after graduation, and had looked forward to a bright future. But the reality of being an unknown director had discouraged him, so he turned to dramas and was now diligently collecting his salary as a working PD.
Byeong-gi’s goal here was to live quietly, steadily, and for a long time.
No, to be more honest...
‘I’ll build connections, quit, and get the hell out of here!’
The terrestrial network drama department was practically the heart of the broadcasting and entertainment industry.
Byeong-gi’s distant dream was to build up enough experience and connections here, resign one day, secure respectable investment, and make an amazing movie.
What a grand dream!
That might be said, but Byeong-gi really was remarkably good at managing scenes. Even when he took on his directorial debut, his abilities had been outstanding enough to earn recognition from experienced PDs.
The problem was that the debut project had been a melodrama, his complete countergenre, and his career had gotten tangled up because of it.
Another problem was that he knew that far too well and was still full of himself.
In any case, someone like him had every reason to find the current situation troublesome.
“So, Byeong-gi! This contest’s final selection will be your second project!”
“S-so suddenly...?”
“Yeah! I met the writer, and he’s a really good person! You’re a lucky bastard!”
Young-chan, the most senior chief, laughed heartily and slapped Byeong-gi’s shoulder twice.
That display of force from someone who looked capable of breaking rocks with his fists crushed the objection rising in his throat.
‘Isn’t this the guy Senior Jo was throwing a fit over?’
If someone had to choose the most influential PD at WBS, Jo Du-ho would be among the top three.
Byeong-gi neither respected nor followed them.
No, when they thought about it, they rather hated that person on a personal level. But being on Jo Du-ho’s bad side was not a good choice for Byeong-gi’s long-term plans.
Whether it involved relationships within the company or external business ties, there were quite a few things that could get badly tangled up with just one word from that person.
Byeong-gi bowed and scraped.
He wanted to avoid it somehow.
“I-I don’t know if I can do it...”
“Of course you can! You’re fantastic at action! This one’s a historical noir! Sword fights, bam! Chases, bam! Gang fights too!”
“I-it does sound interesting, but...”
“More than that, Writer Han specifically picked you! They say Writer Han uncannily identified the parts you directed in [Espionage After a Kiss] and praised them to the skies?”
“...Really?”
Byeong-gi’s ears perked up.
Like so many people starved for recognition, hearing that someone had discovered and acknowledged him raised his inner favorability by about ten points.
‘N-no! I still have to think about my career...’
‘But I am only doing this because the higher-ups ordered me to. Is that really a problem?’
‘No, Jo Du-ho is emotional as hell. That bastard makes a scene over the slightest thing every day.’
‘But isn’t this a real opportunity? If the writer is my “fan,” then working together...’
Somewhere along the way, Jae-kyung had become Byeong-gi’s fan in his mind.
With Young-chan’s recognition added on top, he began to think this could turn into something if he handled it well.
It was a fantastic blend of shallow resolve and an inflated ego.
His heart gradually tilted in one direction.
‘Hmm. Maybe this worked out for the best? I read that script too.’
When Geomgye Ilgun was still a blind submission, and the entire drama department had been run ragged reading the entries, he had read it and thought he wanted to direct it himself.
That was how much potential Byeong-gi saw in it.
He had quickly given up on that thought because of office politics, but what could he do if things had turned out this way?
‘What if I make it a huge hit?’
Then Jo Du-ho would be nothing special.
After all, Jo Du-ho was just a loser who strutted around after delivering a few moderately successful romantic comedies.
That thought suddenly occurred to him.
‘If the writer’s my fan, I’ll have control on set, and the directing will be mine too.’
People with oversized egos, unwavering self-confidence, and no actual record often carried the vague expectation that they were destined for success.
Unfortunately, Byeong-gi was no exception.
‘...Is this my turnaround?’
Min Byeong-gi saw something.
At that moment, he changed his mind.
“I’ll do my best! I’ll repay your faith in me, Chief!”
“Good! That’s the spirit, you punk!”
Grin!
Byeong-gi smiled.
Right. Couldn’t he just crush a Jo Du-ho he neither knew well nor liked with his results?
‘Because I can do it!’
A few days later, swollen with dreams, hope, and confidence, he arrived for the meeting with Jae-kyung.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Director. I’m writer Han Jae-kyung.”
Director, not PD.
That choice of word stimulated the film-director identity inside Byeong-gi, and his chin rose a little higher.
When he first met Jae-kyung, Jae-kyung’s sharp, imposing appearance had intimidated him a little, but that feeling had faded.
“Yes, well! Nice to meet you! I’m Min Byeong-gi!”
Byeong-gi plopped down in his seat.
He did not know that the very bottom of his shallow character was being analyzed in real time by a regressor tightly wound with malice toward humanity.
* * *
This industry was surprisingly small.
Everyone knew everyone after only a connection or two, and stories about what someone was like were constant drinking-table fodder, whether they worked in film or drama.
I had spent my whole life in that industry.
That meant I had a rough idea of what kind of person Min Byeong-gi was.
“How should I put it? A bit of a loser? No guts, but a huge ego, so you have to put him in his place once in a while to wake him up?”
That was not my assessment.
It came from a certain senior who embodied the lowest rung of society’s stereotype of writers.
They remained one of the negative examples from my life that I still remembered.
Credibility?
It could not have been more credible.
“Heheh, our first meeting was really fun. So this is what I did back then...!”
That person was the writer of [Violent Crimes Unit 17], the hit drama that made Min Byeong-gi a star director.
Anyway, if I wrapped that person’s words in socially acceptable language, Min Byeong-gi could be summarized as someone who had no ill will but was unpleasant in how he acted, and who had ability but an ego larger than that ability.
It was unfortunate.
‘As expected.’
At that moment, I could no longer deny that my senior’s words contained an intuition that pierced through people.
“Haha! So you recognized that technique! You see, if you imitate speed ramping with a shaky cam...!”
“Writing is definitely important. But dramas are visual media in the end! And visual media is an art of sight, you know?”
“A director needs a director’s ego! As for me... you could say I’m already complete in that area? You can stop worrying about filming, just like that! Though I suppose you chose me because you already knew that! Haha!”
A little praise, and he was like this.
At some point, his brain seemed to have gone mad with dopamine. He had forgotten what kind of meeting this was and was chattering away as if drunk.
He was not usually someone who would be pleasant to work with.
But was a personality problem a serious flaw to me?
‘It isn’t.’
Sexual favors, affairs, suicide, drugs, school violence, tax evasion.
Having gathered every stone of infinite hell, like that purple bald guy from the movies, and snapped my fingers at my own life, this was truly no problem at all.
We could not forget that we had a business relationship.
What mattered in business was not, “How close can we become?” It was, “How reliably can we realize mutual benefit?”
By that measure, Min Byeong-gi was still an S-rank prospect.
After all, aside from his personality flaws, he had no notable shortcomings, and his ability was outstanding.
Even his personality could be managed.
‘Let’s see...’
I was, after all, a regressor.
I had a guidebook for dealing with people.
‘...Right, I remember.’
“First, set the mood! You have to look a little pissed off!”
I interlaced my fingers and rested my chin on them.
My expression was slightly displeased, and I let my voice turn low.
“Hmm, I listened to you carefully.”
“Y-yes?”
“I said I listened carefully.”
I raised the corners of my mouth slightly.
As though I were holding back discomfort.
I was not about to do anything extraordinary.
“But there’s something I’m curious about. May I ask?”
I would simply exercise my writerly power for the first time in a while.
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