Episode 5 Concept (1)

Around 11 P.M. – At the Writer's Studio

The studio was spacious, easily over 40 pyeong (approximately 1,400 square feet). At first glance, it looked like a residential apartment, but in reality, it served as a professional workspace for one of the country's top screenwriters.

In the center of the living room, several assistant writers sat at their desks, typing furiously on their laptops. This kind of live-in studio arrangement—where assistant writers were provided both housing and meals—was not uncommon.

Meanwhile, in the largest room, surrounded by towering bookshelves packed with novels, scripts, and reference materials—The frantic sound of typing filled the air.

At a desk cluttered with notes and coffee cups sat a middle-aged woman with a gray headband securing her long, permed hair.

"Tch!." She clicked her tongue, clearly frustrated. The words weren't coming together the way she wanted.

Her name was Park Eun-mi—a renowned screenwriter in her early 40s.

"Uuugh..."

She sighed, burying her face in both hands, as though the stress was weighing on her bones.

Just then—A cheerful ringtone broke the silence.

Her phone, sitting beside her laptop, vibrated insistently.

But Park Eun-mi merely glanced at the screen before ignoring the call.

Lately, her phone had been ringing nonstop. And the reason was obvious.

[**[Breaking News] Star Writer Park Eun-mi is Back... Broadcasters Already Buzzing with Excitement!]

She was one of the nation's few star writers.

Over her career, Park Eun-mi had written 14 dramas—and 8 of them were major hits.

But what about the other 6? Did she fail? Not at all. Even her "weaker" projects had performed above average.

Simply put—Park Eun-mi was an elite, untouchable writer.

She had never produced a true flop.

[Writer Park Eun-mi, Creator of Multiple Blockbusters, Joins Forces with SBC for a New Drama]

This time, she was partnering with SBC's Drama Department—and the director at the helm was none other than Song Man-woo, one of the most respected producers in the industry.

The two had already collaborated on five projects, all of which had been commercial and critical successes. And even before pre-production officially began, one top actor had already been confirmed.

That actor was Hong Hye-yeon.

With these three industry powerhouses—Park Eun-mi, Song Man-woo, and Hong Hye-yeon—attached to the project, anticipation had already reached a fever pitch.

Writer Park Eun-mi's phone buzzed relentlessly, ringing every minute.

Most of the calls came from talent agencies representing well-known actors. It was obvious—they were all desperate to secure a role in her new project.

And why wouldn't they be? Landing a part in this drama was a golden ticket—a guaranteed career boost.

Of course, Park Eun-mi understood this all too well.

"What a mess," she muttered under her breath.

Despite the flood of calls, she wasn't particularly stressed. At her level, she had full control over casting decisions. And while the final lineup wasn't set in stone, she had already mapped out the key roles in her mind.

Hong Hye-yeon was locked in. The rest? Negotiable.

This is why she found the constant calls from talent agencies annoying rather than helpful.

Perhaps that's why—"Ugh, so noisy." Just as she reached to silence her phone—She stopped.

"Huh?"

After checking the caller ID, she tilted her head before finally answering.

"PD Song? What are you calling me for this late? Isn't 'Super Actor' still filming the preliminaries?"

From the other end, producer Song Man-woo responded urgently.

["We just wrapped up. More importantly—I'm heading to your studio right now."]

"Right now?"

["We're almost there. We'll be there in 20 minutes."]

Although they were partners on this project, a late-night visit wasn't exactly common practice. Writer Park Eun-mi frowned slightly.

"I was just about to take a shower. If it's not urgent, can't we talk in the morning?"

["No, no. This is urgent. You need to see this right away. Oh, and Hongstar is coming too."]

"See–what? Wait—Hyeyeon is coming too?"

["Yeah. We'll explain when we get there."]

With both producer Song Man-woo and Hong Hye-yeon rushing to meet her this late at night—It had to be something big.

Writer Park Eun-mi tossed her phone onto the desk and pulled off her hair band before stepping out of her office.

Since guests were arriving, she decided to send her assistant writers home for the night.

"Guys, PD Song is coming over, so let's wrap it up here. Take a day or two off."

The exhausted assistants, who had been working non-stop, perked up instantly.

"Seriously?! Thank you, writer!"

Writer Park Eun-mi chuckled at their enthusiasm.

"Go ahead. Take my card and buy something nice on your way home. Get whatever you want—don't worry about the price."

"Oh! Thank you so much!!"

The assistants cheered as they accepted the card. Before leaving, a young woman in glasses handed Park Eun-mi a stack of papers.

"Writer, here are the research materials on sociopathy you requested."

Park Eun-mi sighed as she took the documents.

"Thanks. Though, honestly, I might not even use these."

"Huh? Why not? Is it because of the casting?"

"Exactly. Even if the role is compelling, it won't work if the actor can't handle it. I prefer to avoid roles that require only 'emotion' acting."

She clicked her tongue and tossed the documents onto the coffee table.

"I might have to rethink the entire casting."

.

About 30 minutes later—The once-busy studio was now quiet, the assistants having left for the night.

In their place, two new guests were seated in the living room—

Top actress Hong Hye-yeon and producer Song Man-woo.

"Oh wow, writer! Your studio smells amazing! You changed the diffuser, didn't you?"

Writer Park Eun-mi shot her an exasperated look.

"Hongstar, just sit down already. You're being annoying."

Despite the mild scolding, Hong Hye-yeon didn't seem fazed. She grinned.

"You always say that, but I know you secretly wanted me to notice."

"I absolutely did not."

"Mmhmm. Anyway, where's my tea?"

Across the table, a fresh pot of tea sat waiting.

As they settled in, writer Park Eun-mi's gaze shifted to Song Man-woo, who had been focused on his phone the entire time.

"So, PD—are you officially confirmed as the director? I heard there was still some uncertainty."

Song Man-woo scoffed. "I already said I'm doing it. What are they gonna do—stop me?"

Hong Hye-yeon smirked. "True, but you know how networks are. With your experience and reputation, you should've been at the executive level by now."

"Uugh, don't remind me. The desk job life isn't for me. If I can't direct, I might as well retire."

Finally, Song Man-woo set his phone down and looked directly at Park Eun-mi.

"That's why—this might be my last project. I'm getting older, and at some point, I need to step aside and make room for the next generation."

Despite his rugged, bearded appearance making him look 50, he was actually in his mid-40s. He could have been an executive by now, but he refused to leave the director's chair.

Rubbing his chin, he sighed. "For now, at least, no one in this industry can tank viewership ratings as much as I can. So I guess I'll keep going."

At this, both Hong Hye-yeon and Park Eun-mi exchanged knowing looks.

And then, almost at the same time—They both spoke up.

"I wish the PD would continue directing!"

"I feel the same way. Well, I think it would be okay if the PD joined only as a CP."

However, PD Song Man-woo smiled bitterly and shook his head.

"It's okay. Anyway, they keep paying attention to me, and I have to leave the company once this project is finished. I'm also considering starting a production company and continuing to direct."

"Oh, since you're the producer, the investment will come right away."

At that moment—"Therefore." Producer Song Man-woo's eyes gleamed with determination.

"One way or another, let's do our best to get this right."

Hong Hye-yeon, with her long, straight hair, smiled.

"Agreed. Completely agreed."

Author Park Eun-mi let out a small sigh, then shrugged her shoulders and chimed in.

"Well, when did we ever stop having that mindset? So? What brings you two here to ambush us in the middle of the night?"

At the question, Producer Song Man-woo suddenly got up from the sofa. He then connected the cell phone he had been fiddling with to the large TV in front of them. Writer Park Eun-mi frowned.

"What are you doing? Do you want to watch a movie?"

Still operating the large TV, Producer Song Man-woo calmly held up the remote control and answered,

"Just watch this first. Then we'll talk."

"What are we watching?"

"A hidden gem I found today. No—an actor."

"······What on earth are you talking about?"

Writer Park Eun-mi openly whined, but Producer Song Man-woo ignored her complaints and played a video from his phone. On the large TV screen, a man appeared.

That was taken in the morning, Kang Woo-jin. Was the first participant in the 'Super Actor' preliminaries.

As soon as she saw him, Writer Park Eun-mi tilted her head.

"What is this? Oh, is this a recording from 'Super Actor'?"

However, Producer Song Man-woo, still standing with the remote in hand, responded with a question of his own while pointing at the screen.

"What do you think of this guy?"

On screen, Kang Woo-jin sat on a chair, his head slightly tilted, holding a cell phone to his ear. His pupils were slightly dilated. Writer Park Eun-mi, initially uninterested, gave her evaluation without much thought.

"He's a little tall. His visuals are good, and he has a slightly rough charm. But did he drink? His pupils are dilated. His eyes seem a little off."

Hong Hye-yeon, who had her legs crossed, quickly responded.

"Does he seem out of it? Kind of stupidly?"

"I think he looks a bit dazed. A newbie? An aspiring actor? Either way, for someone unknown, he has a unique aura."

"No. It's hard to classify him as either a rookie or an aspiring actor."

"What? Ha—PD, why are you making me watch a kid like this? I'm really tired. I already feel dizzy because my post didn't come out today."

Then suddenly—On screen, Kang Woo-jin slowly moved and stood in front of the judges. And then—something started to change.

Somewhere between a seizure and mania.

Ragged breathing, desperate eyes, gruesome hand and foot movements, body tremors infused with sorrow and despair, and intricate expressions playing across his facial muscles.

Thirty seconds. One minute. Three minutes.

On TV, Kang Woo-jin had completely transformed from the person they saw before.

Writer Park Eun-mi, who had been sitting comfortably on the sofa—Before she realized it, she was leaning forward, glued to the large TV screen. Her earlier complaints had vanished entirely. Now, her expression was rigid and serious.

'Is this really acting?'

Was such a drastic transformation even possible? Doubt crept into her mind as she continued watching.

'Has he actually been stabbed before? Otherwise, how could he make such an expression?'

At that moment—Producer Song Man-woo suddenly paused the video.

Then, he turned to Writer Park Eun-mi, whose eyes were still wide with shock, and asked

"The moment when he looked like he had taken a pill and the moment now, when the world seems miserable—which one do you think is his true personality?"

"I don't know. More than that, why is he acting like this? This is the first time I've seen something like this. It's not fake, but it's also not real."

"Okay. Now, what if I told you he performed that after looking at the script for just one minute?"

"What kind of crazy nonsense is that? Does that even make sense??"

"I don't know, but it must have taken a tremendous amount of effort."

"What did you just say??"

"No, just watch this interview."

Soon, a short interview with Kang Woo-jin, who had just finished acting, appeared on the TV screen. This time, he seemed arrogant as he answered with phrases like, "I taught myself," or displayed an unusually high level of self-confidence.

At this, Producer Song Man-woo asked again,

"Does this seem real to you?"

"······I'm confused."

"Right?" Bearded Producer Song Man-woo stepped closer to Writer Park Eun-mi, who was staring intently at the screen.

"While his acting is crazy, his sense of timing is impeccable. It was cool, then hot, then cold. Like a psycho. Looking at him, can't you think of a role?"

Only then did Writer Park Eun-mi snap out of it. She turned her body back and shifted her gaze to the table.

And there, on the table—"Ahh..."

It was a document about sociopaths, given to her by an assistant writer.

.

The Next Morning, the 13th. At Kang Woo-jin's Studio Apartment.

The time was around 8 AM.

Kang Woo-jin, who had been sleeping, suddenly opened his eyes. His hair was a mess, and the bedside was littered with book scripts and scenarios. He had likely fallen asleep while reading them.

"Ugh—"

Woo-jin sat up, stretched, and grabbed a bottle of water, taking a few gulps before checking his phone. Then, he stopped.

"Oh, it's here."

A message had arrived from an unknown number. It was from the 'Super Actor' PD, who had sent Woo-jin a cut of his performance. Kang Woo-jin downloaded the video onto his phone.

Sitting cross-legged, he prepared to watch it. But for some reason, he hesitated.

"This is a little nerve-wracking."

It was the same feeling as cringing at the sound of your own recorded voice—except worse. Watching his own performance, full of raw emotions, felt unbearably embarrassing.

It wasn't easy.

Still—"Calm down. It's just a video."

He had to watch it. After all, this video was evidence of what happened immediately after he entered subspace for the first time.

Soon—He pressed play. His face appeared on the phone screen.

At first, he felt immediate disgust, but he endured it.

For about five seconds.

"Huh?" Woo-jin tilted his head. The overwhelming embarrassment he had expected started to fade. The reason was simple.

"This... isn't bad?"

His acting on screen wasn't terrible. Of course, there were still some awkward moments. But—"I'm actually pretty good, aren't I? Why did I think I wasn't?"

His performance wasn't something to be ashamed of.

And then, when the scene reached the part where he was "stabbed" and let out a scream.

"...Wow, how did I even do that?"

Without realizing it, Kang Woo-jin was impressed.

Was this really him? Of course, he didn't know much about acting, so he had no real standards, but from a viewer's perspective, the person in the video was undeniably captivating.

Suddenly, he became fully immersed in the clip.

Then, out of nowhere, a realization struck him.

"...Wait. Was I not ugly?"

A level where there was no need to feel embarrassed or cringe under the blankets.

'Okay, now that I think about it, I was in a bit of a trance back then, wasn't I?'

He had been numb, and his brain had felt sluggish. Besides, Woo-jin didn't have a clear benchmark for what constituted "good acting." Even if everyone praised his performance as extraordinary, if he himself concluded that it was trash, then that was the end of it. Yesterday's Kang Woo-jin was exactly like that.

That's why acting is evaluated by others.

However, Kang Woo-jin had been so mortified that he ran away the moment his performance ended. No—he fled. Now that he had calmed down a bit, he recalled the events of yesterday.

'What if I've been judging my acting too harshly?'

All the moments he had tried to erase from his memory resurfaced. The three judges hadn't asked him questions out of politeness; they were genuinely shocked. The same went for the Super Actor PD.

"Wait a second. So, I didn't just pass the first round as a joke—they actually passed me because of my acting?"

Everyone he had met yesterday had been mesmerized by his performance. That was the conclusion.

"Ah, crap."

Kang Woo-jin covered his face with one hand as he recalled the awful persona he had put on all day yesterday. Acting solemn, acting tough, bragging—it was all too much.

"I want to die of embarrassment."

At the time, it had been a smokescreen to hide his awkwardness, but looking back now, it just seemed like he had been feeding into an overinflated ego.

"I really thought I was some crazy genius, like Ozzy."

A top-tier predator, a monstrous acting prodigy. A guy like that would naturally have sky-high confidence, which could easily lead to misunderstandings.

And the worst part? That misunderstanding was already snowballing—and fast.

Of course, Kang Woo-jin himself had no idea. But then—"What do I care?"

Muttering to himself, he quickly shrugged off the thought.

"I won't be seeing these people again, so there's no need to dwell on it."

There was something more important to focus on.

"Anyway, I can enter subspace—no, void space—and take on a role."

He could become the "frightened man" from yesterday again, right now if needed. It was as if the feeling was stored in his brain, ready to be accessed at any time.

Woo-jin folded his arms and silently looked at the script next to him.

Or rather, at the black square beside the script.

Softly, he muttered, "This is ridiculous. Should I really become an actor instead of going to work in Australia?"

Just then—His phone vibrated loudly in his hand.

It was an incoming call from an unknown number.

With little thought, Kang Woo-jin answered and put the phone to his ear.

"Yes, hello?"

A male voice came through the receiver.

["Mr. Kang Woo-jin. This is Producer Song Man-woo. Do you remember me? I was the one sitting in the middle of the judges' table."]

"Ah, the bearded guy."

It was Producer Song Man-woo.

["Haha, that's right. Listen, if you're available, can we meet? As soon as possible."]

'Me? Why?' Woo-jin frowned slightly and cleared his throat. Then, in a deliberately low voice, he replied,

"I think it'd be proper to tell me the reason first."

After all, he had to maintain his persona.