Chapter 3
‘I have to step in.’
Doyun’s hometown. His mother’s workplace. The sandy beach where he used to play with his siblings.
Ensuring that this cherished place becomes the backdrop for a masterpiece drama that remains beloved 20 years from now would hold great significance in the new life he was about to live.
Doyun took out the film camera, which was essentially a keepsake from his late father.
‘Hmm, but I wonder if this still works?’
Click!
The moment he pressed the shutter, his heart pounded fiercely.
‘Ah, I used to love taking photos.’
How did the picture turn out?
He was so excited to see if the film had been exposed to light that his heart raced.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he felt this way.
Perhaps Doyun loved viewing the world through a frame.
Reality might not be art, but when carefully composed within a frame, it could become a masterpiece for the ages.
Thump. Thump-thump… His heart began to beat wildly inside his chest.
Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming urge to create a world within the frame—a drama.
‘Looks like my path is to be a drama producer, after all.’
Being able to excel at something you loved was a blessing.
So why not aim to create a record-breaking masterpiece in this life?
A deep smile spread across Doyun’s face.
***
“It’s like riding a streak of good fortune, isn’t it? How else could you explain Jeon Sera agreeing to the role after just seeing the first episode of the script? And then, after seeing episode two, even the high-and-mighty Lee Jugeon was begging for the role, asking to be cast as the lead. Ha ha ha. But what’s with the director and writer fighting?”
Though his words were a mix of praise and frustration, Jeong Woon-young kept stealing glances at Han Jiseon’s reactions.
Jeong Woon-young, now the head of H Productions, was a veteran director in his late 50s who had made several hit dramas for MBS.
At one point, he was even called “The God of Weekend Dramas” and was expected to continue his winning streak.
But trends had shifted, with advertisers pouring money into short mini-series rather than long family dramas.
Apparently, younger viewers were captivated by 16-episode mini-series focusing on the growth and romance of the male and female leads.
‘Is a drama just about gathering pretty actors to tell a love story?’
Though he himself had created some of the most dramatic plotlines, Jeong Woon-young clicked his tongue, lamenting how shallow modern dramas had become.
Yet he was doing his best to produce mini-series, as they were now the mainstream trend.
Of course, he had long since lost his edge as a director, so he borrowed younger directors from the network.
He also managed to secure Han Jiseon, a popular drama writer.
As soon as episode two of the script was completed, Jeon Sera, the CF Fairy, and Lee Jugeon, dubbed the “Prince on a White Horse,” volunteered to play the leads.
It seemed like all they needed to do was say, “Let’s start filming.”
‘Who knew the director and writer would ruin it with a power struggle?’
Wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, Jeong Woon-young spoke.
“Writer Han, Director Beom-un is new to mini-series and wanted to make it look polished, so he suggested moving the filming location to Haeundae. Isn’t Busan a bit far? He’d have to commute several times a week, but he’s willing to do it. So, please let it go.”
The fight between Han Jiseon and Lee Beom-un at the Gangnam Japanese restaurant was over the filming location.
Han Jiseon had envisioned an isolated coastal village when writing the script, but Lee Beom-un wanted to film in Haeundae.
[Is Haeundae isolated? Are you insane!]
After a drink, Han Jiseon couldn’t forgive Lee Beom-un for changing the filming location without consulting her.
Just because he had directed two one-act plays, did he think he was a director now? Ridiculous.
Seizing the opportunity to set him straight, Han Jiseon started an argument.
Things could have ended quietly there.
But Lee Beom-un, full of pride as a network-trained director, couldn’t tolerate being openly insulted by the writer.
Is being successful everything? Let me tell you, I’m the one directing this drama!
Unwilling to lose this territorial battle, Lee Beom-un shouted threateningly.
[Did you just call me insane? Have you lost your mind?]
In the drama industry, there was no clear hierarchy between directors and writers.
Viewer ratings determined the pecking order, and box office success defined one’s reputation.
But to have both ratings and success, as well as a sharp tongue?
Han Jiseon was exactly that kind of person.
Han Jiseon nitpicked at every word, and Lee Beom-un, unable to keep up verbally, resorted to yelling.
‘Why didn’t anyone step in to stop that mess?’
A journalist from the entertainment section, who happened to be in the next room, couldn’t believe their luck.
Even though it was their mother’s birthday, they whipped out a laptop and typed up an article, sending it out immediately.
And this morning, an investor called. If the drama fell through, they’d pull their funding.
Feeling like his insides were burning, Jeong Woon-young lit a cigarette.
“Beom-un said you deliver such sharp dialogue, Writer Han. He’s confident the drama will succeed.”
“I suppose he was so confident that he insulted me? Ha, this is ridiculous. I can’t work with him. Assign a different director.”
At Han Jiseon’s words, Jeong Woon-young hesitated.
Who else? The directors you approve of don’t want to work with you!
Unable to voice this, he could only try to calm her down.
“I’ll make him apologize. No, I’ll make him beg for forgiveness.”
“You think Director Lee will apologize? This is the same guy who badmouthed me all over town.”
***
“Apologize. Immediately.”
Leaving Han Jiseon’s office, Jeong Woon-young called Lee Beom-un.
Unlike the cautious tone he used with Han Jiseon, he was far less polite with his junior from the network.
“I’m at the coffee shop on the first floor of the Life Office building. Get over here, apologize to Writer Han, and by next week, scout a quiet seaside village for outdoor shoots.”
From the other end of the line, Lee Beom-un grumbled resentfully.
[Why do you always take her side, Senior? I’m the one who deserves an apology. She called me a lunatic!]
“If you film this drama successfully, you won’t hear those kinds of insults anymore!”
[You’re telling me to bow down to Han Jiseon? To become a filming machine who just shoots whatever the writer writes? No, I won’t do it.]
With a click, the call ended.
“Ugh, this is driving me crazy.”
This junior clearly had no respect for his seniors!
Jeong Woon-young clutched his forehead, feeling his blood pressure rise.
It wasn’t an option to fire Lee Beom-un just because Han Jiseon demanded it.
Lee Beom-un was not only a fellow MBS alumnus but also someone the current drama director had high hopes for.
Replacing him with another director could make it difficult to secure future drama slots.
If Jeong Woon-young didn’t support his own people, the drama director would have no reason to support him either.
As Jeong Woon-young racked his brain, he thought of Kim Doyun, the junior PD who had once managed the difficult and temperamental Han Jiseon.
Who would have thought that someone like Jeong Woon-young, once called the “God of Weekend Dramas” and now a production company president, would regret losing a junior PD who quit the company?
In his heart, he wished he could double Doyun’s salary just to bring him back.
‘Han Jiseon didn’t act out this much when that guy was around.’
Somehow, he felt that if Kim Doyun had stayed, the fight between the two wouldn’t have happened at all.
‘Should I try calling him again?’
The last time he called Doyun at home, Doyun had told him to treat his resignation as final.
Maybe that made Jeong want to bring him back even more.
If Doyun had simply skipped work because he was struggling, Jeong would’ve scolded him for not living his life properly and ended the call.
But Doyun had sounded confident, as if he had something to rely on, and that made Jeong feel uneasy.
Jeong dialed Doyun’s cell phone.
When the call went unanswered until the signal ended, Jeong realized that Doyun had made up his mind to leave the company for good.
“Ugh!”
Returning to the production office with a heavy heart, Jeong opened an envelope on his desk.
“Huh?”
Inside the plain yellow envelope with no sender’s name was a photo of a seaside.
At first, it seemed like an ordinary photo of any beach along South Korea’s east coast, but as Jeong flipped through it, his hand suddenly trembled.
A railway line right next to the sandy beach, with an old train station sign that read “Jeongdongjin Station.”
Looking at that photo, he was suddenly overcome with the urge to escape his stifling routine, visit that quaint station, and stroll along the open beach by the sea.
‘Now that I think about it, this is the quiet seaside village Han Jiseon was looking for!’
There couldn’t be a better location for A Summer Cantabile.
Jeong immediately called Lee Beom-un.
“Where are you? Are you at the office?”
[No, I stepped out for a bit.]
Considering how tangled things had gotten, it was no surprise that Lee sounded downcast.
“Then let’s go somewhere.”
[Where?]
“Jeongdongjin.”
***
Early the next morning, Doyun began preparing lunch for his sister.
Doyun had two siblings—his younger brother was serving in the military, and his youngest sister, Dohee, was attending Gangneung Girls’ High School.
Dohee was a good student and eventually got accepted into a prestigious women’s university, making their mother proud. However, she later insisted on becoming an actress, leading to conflict with their mother.
Neither persuasion nor scolding worked on Dohee, so their mother eventually cut off financial support.
In response, Dohee defiantly threw herself into the theater scene in Daehangno.
[Oppa, can you help me just once? I’m not asking you to get me into a drama. I just need advice on how to start…]
She had come to Doyun for help.
At the time, Doyun had likely weighed his choices based on efficiency and focus.
Dohee was already in her mid-twenties when she dreamed of becoming an actress. After spending her late twenties doing odd jobs in the theater scene, she hadn’t even mastered the basics of acting.
In the end, Doyun concluded it was “impossible.”
[Can you endure being a nobody for the next ten years? Do you think your looks will still be enough to become an actress by then? Stop wasting your life, Dohee.]
He thought speaking bluntly was the best way to help her.
Around that time, Doyun was so busy excelling as a producer that he completely lost touch with Dohee.
Years later, after their mother passed away, Doyun finally saw Dohee again at the funeral.
Dohee looked like she had faced life’s storms all alone.
Her body was emaciated, her lips had turned a bluish hue, and dark shadows of despair loomed under her hollow eyes.
[Where are you living these days? Are you eating properly?]
At that moment, Doyun wanted to mend their broken relationship.
But instead of approaching her as a brother, he evaluated her like a producer. He thought it was the right thing to do for her.
‘I didn’t realize that family isn’t meant to be judged.’
—
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