It Has to Be Seong Jin-ung!

Writer Yang was doing what Writer Yang did best.

"Aaah! I'm telling you, it has to be this man or no one at all! Seong Jin-ung! It has to be Seong Jin-uuung!"

Director Park thought to himself, If I'd picked So Yul-hee over Jung Ga-yoon at that audition, would she have thrown this kind of tantrum back then, too?

Disgust rose on its own, and his head began to shake all by itself.

"You know how the public feels about drunk driving, Writer Yang. Stick with Seong Jin-ung and this drama is dead."

With tens of billions of won about to go up in smoke, nobody had the appetite to indulge her stubbornness.

"We'll look for the closest match we can find. All right?"

"Honestly, it's a mercy this broke before filming even started. If it had come out after we wrapped — or worse, after airing... Good grief!"

The production PD patted his chest in relief, remarking that with the table read not even over yet, you could almost call this a lucky break.

But Writer Yang showed no sign of backing down.

"I wrote this entire show around Seong Jin-ung!"

"Ha... I know. You've said it yourself — he even gave you the idea for the story."

"I'd normally let things slide, but this is no small matter, Writer-nim. It's a crime. A crime!"

Director Park and the production PD from Butterfly both shook their heads, but Writer Yang only shouted louder.

"Nooo! It has to be Seong Jin-uung!"

Her words and gestures looked a touch too theatrical, and Ga-yoon, quietly sitting in on the meeting, tilted her head.

The production PD turned a weary gaze toward Director Park.

"What about Min Seok-jae?"

A veteran around Seong Jin-ung's age — his name value fell somewhat short, but the man could act.

"Ah... Min Seok-jae doesn't quite match the image, though."

Unlike the tall, striking Seong Jin-ung, Min Seok-jae was on the short, wiry side.

"He's a fine actor. Wouldn't he simply build his own version of Ha Ji-hyeok?"

"Hmm, well. Even so, the first time the camera locks onto him, he has to make an impact. What about Woo Byeong-geon?"

Director Park put forward Woo Byeong-geon, in his late thirties. Lean, admittedly, but so tall that the lens gave him real presence.

"Ha... my worry with Woo Byeong-geon is that he's so handsome his acting gets buried."

For Ha Ji-hyeok of Whistle, the character's psychological shifts had to leap off the screen above all else.

In his youth, Ha Ji-hyeok had thrown himself ahead of anyone to catch criminals, ablaze with conviction. Even consumed by his work, he had strained to stay devoted to his family — only to end up turning his back on them in the end, and to make matters worse, betrayed by a superior he trusted and demoted to a dead-end post. A man whose passion still lived, yet so battered by every wound along the way that he no longer had the heart left to burn.

If Woo Byeong-geon took that role, audiences would be dazzled by the handsome face and miss the fine-grained expression work entirely. Worse, the scenes risked drifting into something romantic — and that was the problem.

It would be fine if his acting were strong enough to erase the beauty. Unfortunately, Woo Byeong-geon's skill isn't quite at that level.

"The moment the psychological battles with Choi Mi-so start reading as romance, half this drama's appeal is gone."

"Hmm..."

Director Park hummed low, apparently in agreement with the production PD.

That was when Writer Yang slammed her palm against the table — bang!

"That's why I'm saying — Seong Jin-ung!"

Director Park and the production PD whipped around, startled, and their faces promptly crumpled.

"Writer-nim."

The production PD opened his mouth with grave care — and Writer Yang clapped her hands with a sunny smile.

"There. I've put up a fight to this extent, so I can tell Seong Jin-ung I did everything I could. Fair enough, right?"

"Hah..."

Unbearable, simply unbearable. Too absurd to even be angry over — the two men could only swallow hollow laughs.

But compared to what came out of her mouth next, this was a scrape on the shin.

"Actually, when I heard about Seong Jin-ung's drunk driving, someone came to mind."

"Really? Who?"

"Hyun I-tae."

...? Who on earth is that? Director Park and the production PD studied each other, baffled — neither had a clue, so all either could do was shrug.

"Is he a rookie?"

Even a rookie would do, so long as the image fit and he could act. That'd be a solid pick. He asked with genuine hope in his voice —

"Nope. He's an idol!"

Writer Yang grinned, thoroughly pleased with herself.

Well... fine. All right. There are idols they call acting-dols — real talent in that crowd. Let's hear her out. At least she isn't still screaming for Seong Jin-ung.

Director Park scratched his brow, distinctly unimpressed, and asked again. Of course, he had zero intention of taking her side.

"An idol...? From which group?"

"DCT."

Writer Yang answered. Then, as if it had only just occurred to her, she shot her index finger skyward and drew in a breath.

"Oh! And — he has zero acting experience!"

"...?"

Why on earth is she announcing that so proudly?

DCT. Dreams Come True. He'd heard the name somewhere, he thought. A second-string idol group, if he remembered right.

"Haah..."

The sighs of the two men, foreheads in their hands, deepened.

"How about we sit on this a while and think it over?"

It was an OTT production, mercifully free of the terrestrial networks' scheduling straitjacket.

Besides, the whole industry would have heard by now that Seong Jin-ung's drunk driving had left the lead role of Whistle vacant — soon enough, audition reels from actors begging for the part would start trickling in.

To the production PD's suggestion—

"Let's do that. Plenty of names will get recommended from around the industry, too."

Director Park nodded and rose from his seat.

"Why not! Hyun I-tae sent in a reel ages ago! No experience, sure, but he acts well and the image is a perfect fit. It's Hyun I-tae or nothing for me!"

Writer Yang hammered at her laptop, all set to play the video on the spot.

But Director Park and the production PD recoiled in horror and thrust out their palms.

"That's quite all right."

"Let's watch all the reels together later, Writer-nim."

Sandwiched between footage from genuinely heavyweight actors, the kid was bound to look like nothing special — and then maybe Writer Yang's lovesick fog would finally lift.

So unearthing a powerhouse like Jung Ga-yoon went to her head, and now she's digging in her heels again? Just a minute ago she was howling that the role was built around Seong Jin-ung. What on earth has gotten into her?

The species known as "writer" would never make sense to him.

Groaning as though they'd taken ill, the two men shuffled out of the meeting room.

"Hyun I-tae, is it."

Ga-yoon opened her eyes and bit her lip.

"Looks like you weren't the only one who caught Writer Yang's eye, after all. Hmm?"

The evil spirit, having darted straight back to her side, wagged its tail and needled her. She shot it a sidelong glance.

"Yeah."

The idea that she had to be Writer Yang's one and only — she'd never once entertained it.

Among rookies and unknowns, plenty of actors were more skilled than she was. Every last one of them had worked as if their lives depended on it.

It was the drama that worried her.

She exhaled slowly — then clicked her tongue.

"Eh. No way."

It was the woman's own work; she wouldn't have settled on just anybody.

Writer Yang treasured her characters far too much — didn't she meddle in every casting with something close to obsession?

And this was the lead role. The very spine of the drama.

There has to be something. A reason she'd stake the lead of her own show on DCT's Hyun I-tae.

Ga-yoon turned it over in her mind, then picked up her phone.

Hyun I-tae. Leader of DCT — Dreams Come True — a boy group that had debuted four years ago. Last year's comeback single had clawed its way into the eighties on the charts.

That was their career best. And—

"Ah. So this is Hyun I-tae."

He'd drawn attention on variety shows around the comeback, and these days he held regular spots on a handful of cable programs.

An image bleached out by variety television didn't seem likely to do a drama any favors.

And he was an idol, wasn't he?

Certain idols had proven they could act, true — but a far greater number had been flayed alive for wooden, cringe-inducing performances. Public sentiment wasn't kind; there was even a saying about "sprinkling an idol into a finished work" as the final act of ruin.

"Hmm."

Perhaps that same prejudice had settled into Ga-yoon without her noticing — her first reaction, she had to admit, had been plain distaste.

It's prejudice. Time to be rid of it.

Even so, Writer Yang must have had her reasons to put him forward as her alternative.

She decided to hunt down every broadcast Hyun I-tae had appeared on.

She was tempted to examine him through the evil spirit's eyes as well — but Writer Yang had no such eyes. She must have watched his broadcasts herself and seen Ha Ji-hyeok in him.

Even if he did resemble Ha Ji-hyeok, never having acted was a whole other problem.

A formless anxiety pulled tight at the back of her neck.

"Honestly, would it even matter to you if Whistle flopped?"

The evil spirit asked, rolling around at her side.

"All you have to do is play your villain to perfection and stretch out your lifespan. That's it."

In exchange for dragging Seong Jin-ung's sins before the eyes of the world, her lifespan had grown considerably more generous.

Finite time all the same.

And the spirit was right — acting the villain and banking years was the whole point.

But she was an actress.

She hungered for her craft. She hungered for good work.

"It's a drama I'm in. No reason to just stand by and watch it sink, is there?"

"Really? Hmm. And what if, by your standards too, Hyun I-tae is all wrong for Ha Ji-hyeok?"

"Then... I'll have to stop the casting."

Even if it meant giving someone the Seong Jin-ung treatment.

As if it had caught every word of her meaning, the evil spirit burst into a low, satisfied snicker.

"What the hell! Why is this coming out NOW?!"

Baek Ga-yoon shrieked and hurled the steak knife she'd been holding.

For once in her life, Baek Ga-yoon had been in a genuinely good mood.

She'd just wrapped The Terms of Inheritance — a lull between projects, nothing on the calendar. With no shoots looming, she hadn't even needed to watch her weight, and she'd been savoring a steak for the first time in ages, letting the mood carry her.

Then the breaking news that lit up the phone on the table curdled it completely.