Chapter 9
Why was he being kind?
Having grown up unloved, Eun Jihoon had withered like a plant deprived of sunlight, struggling to survive in the shadows.
This made him especially sensitive to even the smallest acts of kindness. He clung to them, hoped for more, and was inevitably hurt.
But the attention Kim Doyun showed him was unlike anything he had experienced before.
It was intense sunlight. Radiant and blinding.
[Second, you’ll begin acting lessons because you’re going to be an actor. Third, you’ll start with small roles to build a solid foundation. What they teach at acting academies is fake—you need to learn on-site through real experience. Fourth…]
The reason Eun Jihoon saw Kim Doyun as this intense sunlight was the words that followed.
[Transfer schools or drop out. Don’t let those punks hit or use you again. If they ever try to contact you, cut them off. If you don’t, I’ll personally make sure they all end up in jail. Got it?]
His grandmother had told him to endure. His homeroom teacher had turned a blind eye. But Kim Doyun…
‘It was like he understood exactly how much I was suffering.’
Eun Jihoon quickly wiped away the tears forming in his eyes and grabbed his bag before stepping out of his room.
“Leaving already?”
His grandmother, sitting at the edge of the wooden floor, noticed the movement and asked.
“Yes.”
“I still don’t know if this is a good idea. If your mom finds out, she’ll raise hell with me.”
“…I’m going now.”
As Eun Jihoon descended the Mia-ri hill, the thought of finally leaving this place made him break into a run.
***
MBS Vicinity, Ssangma Building Café.
Located diagonally across from the MBS headquarters, this café was a hub for meetings with broadcasting professionals.
It was where broadcasters met with actors, singers, and entertainment agency staff when it felt too formal to bring them into the broadcasting station.
A mix of public and private conversations happened here, along with the exchange of small gifts.
Jeong Woon-Young crossed two crosswalks after leaving MBS headquarters and entered the café. His face immediately twisted into a frown.
“What’s this? He’s not here yet?”
Having just been reprimanded by the drama director, Jeong Woon-Young was already in a foul mood, and Kim Doyun’s absence only added to his frustration.
“Hah… This is ridiculous.”
As he stood there with a scowl, some managers bowed at ninety degrees to greet him.
“Oh my, Director Jeong! It’s been a while.”
“Director, hello! How have you been?”
The managers beamed, hoping to catch his eye. They had been waiting on actors filming in the studio and were thrilled to encounter the “Weekend Drama God,” Jeong Woon-Young.
Yes, Jeong Woon-Young was still a big name.
Despite being scolded by a drama director five ranks his junior, he was still a former in-house director of MBS and the president of a small drama production company.
“Sure, sure. Go on. Do your thing,” he said, gesturing dismissively like he was shooing flies.
He walked toward the prime window seat, a coveted spot in the café. A manager quickly cleared the chair of an actor’s costume to offer him the space.
Meanwhile, another manager ordered a hazelnut coffee, knowing it was Jeong Woon-Young’s favorite.
Others watching this unfold sighed in regret, realizing they had missed their chance.
A few moments later, the aroma of hazelnut coffee wafted through the air, and a manager placed the drink in front of Jeong Woon-Young.
“Director, I’m Manager Jung Soo-jin. I’m also part of the Onyang Jeong clan. Please take good care of me.”
“Jung Soo-jin is from the Onyang Jeong clan?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m from the Hadong Jeong clan.”
The cheerful look on Manager Jung Soo-jin’s face turned pale.
“Go on, get back to work,” Jeong Woon-Young said, waving her off dismissively.
In truth, he was also from the Onyang Jeong clan. He had lied just to get rid of her. But he still happily drank the hazelnut coffee she had brought him.
Halfway through his drink, a call came from Han Jiseon.
“What’s her problem now?” he grumbled, suppressing his irritation as he answered.
Han Jiseon launched into her complaints, talking a mile a minute. The gist of it was that she needed Kim Doyun back on the team.
What was it about Kim Doyun that had everyone so riled up?
Even as he was sitting there waiting for the man himself, Jeong Woon-Young couldn’t understand the commotion.
Just then, the café door opened with a cheerful chime.
In walked Kim Doyun, tall and strikingly handsome. At least he hadn’t been stood up.
After weeks of sending countless calls and texts, Jeong Woon-Young finally had the elusive junior producer in front of him.
Suppressing his bitterness, Jeong Woon-Young quickly ended his call with Han Jiseon.
“I’ll sort things out with Kim PD. I’m with him right now. Alright, alright. Got it.”
As soon as he hung up, Kim Doyun sat down.
A manager who had missed the chance to serve earlier jumped in to take his order.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Just a coffee…”
“Yes! Coffee it is,” the manager replied enthusiastically.
The manager, guessing Kim Doyun’s importance based on Jeong Woon-Young’s attention, took the order with utmost politeness and hurried off.
Kim Doyun looked reluctant, prompting Jeong Woon-Young to wave his hand dismissively.
“Don’t worry about it. The company gave us corporate cards for things like this. It’s good to see you back in Seoul. You’re really settled in now, aren’t you?”
“…Yes.”
“Good. Stop being stubborn and get back to work. In this industry, it’s all about how many years you’ve worked and how many dramas you’ve made. One year of experience isn’t enough for anyone to consider you a professional.”
Without responding, Kim Doyun sipped the coffee brought over by the manager.
Jeong Woon-Young scooted his chair forward, speaking as though trying to convince him.
“I’ll double your salary. Until the pre-production phase, you’ll report to the Life Office Studio. Your only task will be to assist Han Jiseon. When filming starts in Jeongdongjin, just oversee the on-site operations. That way, you won’t have to deal with Bae Shin-ho.”
“I don’t mind working with PD Bae.”
“Really? I assumed you quit because of him and scolded him a lot. So, starting tomorrow—”
“I have conditions.”
What more could he possibly want? Jeong Woon-Young was stunned.
Money? No, it couldn’t be that. It better not be.
Where else in Korea would a one-year producer earn a salary of two million won, double the standard?
‘Does he think he’s in charge now? He is, but… it’s starting to get on my nerves.’
On top of that, he wasn’t asking to report to the company. Instead, he’d work from Han Jiseon’s studio until filming began.
After the crank-in, all he had to do was manage the outdoor shoots.
‘And he still wants more? Is he crazy?’
Deciding to hear out the crazy man, Jeong gestured with his chin.
“What’s your condition?”
“Switch me to a project-based contract. Instead of a monthly salary, give me a lump sum of thirty million won. After the project ends, I’ll give you the right to renegotiate. If negotiations fail, you must let me go.”
Project-based contracts were typically reserved for skilled professionals tied to a specific production.
Even then, half the payment was given at the start, and the rest was only paid after the project ended.
Jeong Woon-Young rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on.
What are you, a director? A writer? A cinematographer? A production designer?
“Kim PD, just because I reached out to you, don’t start thinking you’re someone special—”
“A project contract isn’t possible? Understood.”
With a quick bow, Kim Doyun left the café.
That bastard!
The audacity! Who does he think he is?
Fuming, Jeong downed his coffee in large gulps, trying to calm himself under the watchful eyes of others.
Eventually, his mind returned to the proposal Doyun had made.
If he offered a two-million-won monthly salary for a year, that’d total twenty-four million won.
“A Summer’s Cantabile” was slated to air in the fall after its summer filming schedule.
Assuming the project stayed on track, Doyun would only work for six months.
If Doyun worked exclusively at Han Jiseon’s studio and on set, there’d be no need to hire a new assistant PD for the office.
Hiring a new PD would cost eighty thousand won during the three-month probation and one hundred thousand won monthly afterward. That would add unplanned personnel costs.
‘It’s a loss for me.’
But that was only if the project stayed on schedule.
If delays pushed the timeline to a year or more, things would change. Of course, they were working hard to prevent that, but the unexpected was always possible.
If such delays occurred, Doyun would essentially work unpaid after receiving the thirty million won up front.
Unless the project was canceled, he’d be bound by the contract until the drama aired.
And since he agreed to work at the company if necessary, there’d be no need to hire a new assistant PD.
‘That’s a win for me.’
Still, Doyun wouldn’t have proposed this deal out of goodwill.
His confidence—his certainty—indicated he was determined to wrap up the project within six months. He believed in his ability to finish on time.
Just then, Manager Jung Soo-jin approached with a sheepish smile.
“Director, I double-checked with Soo-jin… She’s from the Onyang Jeong clan after all. I must have been mistaken earlier, haha.”
“Really? Well, I’m from Onyang too. Guess I was confused.”
Standing abruptly, Jeong Woon-Young left the café.
The sun was setting over Yeouido.
As he watched Doyun stride away, bathed in the crimson glow of the sunset, he wondered why the young PD seemed so confident and fearless.
He looked ready to conquer Yeouido—an audacious ambition for someone with only a year of experience.
***
“What the…”
Returning to the one-room apartment in Sillim-dong after meeting Jeong, Doyun rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
He had hastily tidied up the apartment to prepare for Jihoon’s move, throwing out old garbage and worn-out items.
But now, the place was spotless—so clean he wondered if he had walked into the wrong apartment.
The once grime-streaked windows were gleaming, the sink sparkled like new, and the old mattress had been propped by the window, emitting a faint floral scent as if sprayed with air freshener.
A soft spring breeze drifted in through the open window, filling the room with a refreshing air.
The sound of running water stopped, and Eun Jihoon emerged from the bathroom, dressed in shorts and holding a cleaning rag.
“Oh, you’re back? I didn’t hear the door open.”
“You cleaned.”
Even with quick hands, it would’ve taken hours to achieve this level of cleanliness.
Unless he had rushed here immediately after parting ways with Doyun and worked nonstop, this seemed impossible.
‘Yeah, that’s the spirit.’
A deep smile spread across Doyun’s face.
—
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