Return of the Genius PD

PD Kim Jong-su frowned deeply.

“What do you mean? Why did that woman go to TVM?”

Director Ko Dong-guk continued, “Why else? To sink us.”

He added in a self-deprecating tone, “…Though we sank them first.”

“How is that sinking them? They clearly lost due to skill and entertainment value.”

His crossed arms swelled tensely. “Seriously, is Kim Seung-yeon being this petty?”

Director Ko Dong-guk let out a small sigh. “Looks like she’s really out for blood, being this blatant.”

PD Kim Jong-su stroked his chin and said, “To be honest…”

He then clicked his tongue. “When Kim Seung-yeon comes knocking with her portfolio… TVM would be thankful, right?”

“In any case,” Director Ko Dong-guk gave a rueful smile. “Ridiculously, it’s become a three-way battle.”

Ji-won narrowed his eyes. An unexpected February lineup had formed:

– SBC 60th Anniversary Special Historical Drama Swordsman Lee Ja-ha

– TVM Star Writer Kim Seung-yeon’s Paris Croissant

– JTVN Han Se-gyu’s Comeback Eccentric Doctor Ham In-ju

The most anticipated dramas from each network had suddenly converged at the start of the year.

PD Kim Jong-su muttered, “This is troublesome…”

Director Ko Dong-guk, clearly provoking, responded, “What, not confident?”

“W-who said that? Not confident? I-I’m Kim Jong-su!”

“Right, right. You can’t end at 14 years, can you?” Director Ko Dong-guk’s words carried a heavy reminder of a previous warning:

– Even with moderate ratings, responsibility will be assigned.

That prediction had returned with alarming clarity. No—this was the worst-case scenario among those possibilities.

The company-level risk of losing a star writer like Kim Seung-yeon from the channel was already a nightmare. But now, to be pitted against her on a rival channel? 

It was obvious what would be said from above. If they didn’t win this competition convincingly, the reprimands were inevitable.

– “Why did you back an unproven rookie, not only losing a star writer but also earning her enmity?”

For a moment, PD Kim Jong-su’s vision blurred. 

He blinked hard and looked at Director Ko Dong-guk, then, with a mix of frustration and desperation, shouted at the man who shared the weight of this impending disaster:

“…Am I the only one going down here? You made the decision too, Director.”

“Hey, this punk’s got no filter when talking to his director, huh?”

The titanium cup flew through the air. PD Kim Jong-su, anticipating it, ducked swiftly.

-Clang!

The cup hit the ground with a sharp sound, undamaged, proving its worth. Director Ko Dong-guk then turned to Ji-won.

“Do Ji-won?”

“Yes?”

“What do you think will happen?”

It wasn’t an easy question. The competing dramas already checked all the boxes for high anticipation before they’d even aired. 

But that didn’t mean Eccentric Doctor Ham In-ju was destined to lose.

Ji-won answered calmly, “In my opinion, Writer Kim Seung-yeon…”

He smiled confidently.

“She’s going to regret taking on Ham In-ju—and even more, turning against you, Director.”

His words were firm, exuding certainty.

At Ji-won’s confident reply, a grin slowly spread across Director Ko Dong-guk’s face. 

The situation had grown complicated enough to make him second-guess his choices, but now…

‘Why am I taking risks I normally wouldn’t?’

And then he remembered.

Kim Jong-su and Do Ji-won—along with their trusty writer Kyukyu.

‘I forgot for a moment. It’s because I trust these two in front of me…’

Director Ko Dong-guk’s sly smile returned.

“I’m counting on you two. Let’s stir things up this time!”

“Yes, sir!”

“What’s our dream?”

PD Kim Jong-su responded immediately, as if by reflex:

“To hear the director’s dog barking in the lobby!”

At that, Director Ko Dong-guk growled, and both PD Kim Jong-su and Ji-won bolted from the office in a hurry.

* * *

“Cut.”
“Cut.”

PD Kim Jong-su’s voice echoed across the set, the word “cut” becoming all too familiar. This single scene was already on its tenth take due to a string of NGs.

“I’m sorry!”

Lee Ji-yu, startled by yet another “cut,” quickly bowed her head. Her eyes trembled, betraying the strain from the repeated mistakes.

“It’s alright.”

PD Kim Jong-su removed his headphones and walked over to Lee Ji-yu.

“Ji-yu, we need to see a different ‘Kim Da-yeon’ here.”
“Yes…”
“Let’s set aside the Kim Da-yeon who tries to keep her usual composure. What we need right now is a more willful, childlike Kim Da-yeon.”

After a moment of thought, PD Kim Jong-su added, “The emotional line needs to be pushed further, to an extreme. Do you understand what I’m asking for?”

Lee Ji-yu nodded, her eyes filled with renewed determination.

“Alright, let’s try one more time.”

Filming resumed.

“Ready— Action!”

Lee Ji-yu took a deep breath and launched into her performance, trying her best to tap into the emotion.

But.

“Cut!”

PD Kim Jong-su groaned in frustration, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. He called out to the set, “Let’s take a 30-minute break!”

Turning to Lee Ji-yu, he added, “Ji-yu, the flow isn’t right. Take a break in the waiting room and clear your head.”

“…I’m really sorry.”

With her head hung low, Lee Ji-yu walked toward the waiting room, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“…”

Ji-won, who had been watching the scene quietly, suddenly grabbed his script and began scribbling down notes.

Fundamentally, Lee Ji-yu’s acting skills were impressive.

– Clear delivery, thanks to her well-trained enunciation.

– A natural presence that commanded attention.

She already possessed the most essential qualities of an actor.
However, her limited range of experience was showing when it came to certain emotional scenes.

But hadn’t he already seen her potential in his previous life?
More importantly, Lee Ji-yu was an actor he had chosen.

Externally, the pressure of his alter ego, ‘Writer Kyukyu,’ had been a factor in her casting. But in reality, it was him who had pushed for her.
He felt a responsibility to help her grow as an actor.

And he knew the best way to do that.

‘Now, I need to think like Writer Kyukyu, not PD Do Ji-won.’

The psychology of the characters in Eccentric Doctor Ham In-ju, their motivations, their emotional arcs…
No one understood Kim Da-yeon better than he did.

Why?

Because he had created Kim Da-yeon.

Thuk— Ji-won snapped the pen cap shut, tore out the page with his notes, and headed to Lee Ji-yu’s waiting room.

– Knock, knock.

From behind the door, Ji-won asked cautiously, “May I come in for a moment?”

“No! Please don’t come in!”

“…Pardon?”

There was a brief silence. The bustling sounds from inside came to a halt, and the door opened just a crack. Lee Ji-yu’s face peeked out through the small gap, confirming it was Ji-won, before quickly vanishing again.

“…PD Do Ji-won?”

Her voice was hesitant, her eyes red from crying.

“…”

Ji-won didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he extended a piece of paper through the narrow gap in the door.

“It’s nothing much, just this…”

Lee Ji-yu hesitated for a moment but then carefully took the paper. It was a torn page from the script—the very scene she had struggled with earlier, where she had received countless NGs.

Ji-won’s voice came softly from the other side of the door.

“This is the script I analyzed with Director Kim before. I’m not sure if it’ll help, but you can refer to it.”

“Ah…”

Her eyes fell on the paper. The printed lines of Kim Da-yeon’s dialogue were surrounded by dense handwriting—notes that had clearly been thoughtfully written.

“Actor Lee Ji-yu.”

She looked up at the door again, where Ji-won’s voice continued.

“It was during your audition, the first time I saw you act.”

His voice was calm but carried conviction.

“Back then, I was certain. Only you—Actor Lee Ji-yu—could bring Kim Da-yeon to life.”

His tone was gentle, reassuring.

“I believe Director Kim and Writer Kyukyu would agree with me on that.”

There was an unmistakable sense of trust woven into his words.

“I hope that certainty reaches you too. You can trust yourself a bit more. You’re doing well.”

A wave of emotion surged within Lee Ji-yu. The repeated NGs had chipped away at her confidence, leaving her questioning everything.
‘Is the emotion I’m expressing wrong?’
‘Am I not good enough to convey this feeling?’

These doubts had been swirling relentlessly in her mind.

But as Ji-won’s words echoed in the now-quiet room, something shifted inside her. After he finished speaking and left, Lee Ji-yu remained standing by the door, her back pressed against it, staring down at the paper in her hands.

The acting analysis densely scrawled around the printed lines was impressive.

But there was something else.

“…His handwriting is really bad.”

The sentences wavered awkwardly, the characters crooked and uneven.

“How can someone with such long, graceful hands write like this?”

She recalled the brief glimpse of his fingers as he passed the paper through the gap in the door. Despite the messy handwriting, there was something endearing about it. She could almost picture Ji-won crouched on set, amidst the chaos, carefully jotting down each note for her.

“…”

Lee Ji-yu didn’t dislike his poor penmanship. In fact, it made her smile.

It was as though each uneven stroke reflected his sincerity, the quiet effort he’d put into helping her.

“…Pull yourself together, Lee Ji-yu.”

She shook off the distraction and focused her eyes on the paper, determined to absorb every bit of guidance Ji-won had painstakingly written for her.

.

.

.

PD Kim Jong-su’s face lit up.

“Cut, okay! That’s it! That’s what I’m talking about, Actor Lee Ji-yu!”

At his words, Lee Ji-yu beamed with pride, while PD Kim gave her a thumbs-up before turning to the crew.

“Let’s get ready for the next scene!”

As the crew scrambled to prepare, Lee Ji-yu approached Ji-won cautiously.

“Um… PD Do Ji-won?”

“Yes?”

“Could you give me your phone number?”

Suddenly, every nearby head turned toward Ji-won like a row of curious meerkats. Flustered, Ji-won stammered:

“S-sure, of course.”

He quickly entered his number into Lee Ji-yu’s phone and handed it back to her. She bowed, smiling shyly.

“Thank you.”

Her jet-black hair cascaded down gracefully as she bowed, and Ji-won blinked, still slightly taken aback.

“Um… maybe…”

Lee Ji-yu hesitated before speaking again.

“Can I… contact you occasionally?”

“Pardon?”

“Oh! I mean, only when I get stuck with acting! Your notes were really helpful, and it’s not often that I…”

Ji-won chuckled at her flustered explanation and replied, smiling warmly.

“I’m glad it helped. Feel free to reach out anytime.”

Another shy smile spread across her face as she hugged her phone to her chest and quickly walked away. Ji-won watched her go, feeling pleased, but soon became aware of the intense stares from the staff around him. They looked at him as though he had committed some unspeakable crime.

One of the crew, looking utterly devastated, muttered, “What… what did I just witness?”

“Do PD, how could you?”

“Damn, if you’re handsome, at least have the decency not to do it on set.”

“This world is so unfair.”

“I suddenly feel thirsty… Where’s the bleach?”

The staff erupted into mock outrage, their expressions a mix of jealousy and disbelief. Ji-won raised his hands defensively.

“Wait, no, no. It’s just acting guidance, I swear.”

The complaints only grew louder.

“Why would she go to PD Do for acting advice and not the director? Is PD Do the director now?”

“Have you ever stood in front of Director Kim? His expression alone makes any questions disappear.”

“Do PD, if you’re going to give acting advice, just become an actor already! At least that way, we wouldn’t feel so betrayed!”

“A director who looks like an actor… it’s too much.”

“Rookie! Where’s that bleach?”

“Fresh supply’s on the way!”

Ji-won sighed, realizing there was no way to explain his way out of this one. Shutting his eyes briefly, he resigned himself to the chaos.