Chapter 160

Chapter 160

And that wasn’t all.

Empire of Blood became the first Korean drama in Network Flex’s OTT history to rank number one in more than one hundred countries around the world.

It was praised as a work that proved the power of Korean content.

And more importantly, it became the decisive catalyst that pushed Network Flex to invest astronomical sums into the Korean market.

I read through the entire script in one sitting.

It was still rough and unpolished in places, but that raw energy was already embedded throughout the story.

Before my regression, I had heard that this project wandered from production company to production company for five years, rejected over and over.

And honestly, that made sense.

An unproven rookie writer.

The huge production costs of a historical drama.

And on top of that, zombies, a niche subject that producers would naturally consider risky.

There were more than enough reasons for production companies to reject it.

But in the end, the drama made it into the world.

And it became a legend.

Now...

The beginning of that legend was sitting in my hands.

Without exaggeration, this single project alone would more than recover the entire 300 million won prize pool.

Why had I used such a huge amount of money as bait to create this massive competition in the first place?

Because I was a regressor.

Because I wanted to personally hook the future legends who had yet to see the light.

I calmed my racing heart and looked back at the list.

Writer Oh Seoyoung might not be the only one.

There were more than twelve hundred submissions.

Other hidden gems destined to become future hits might be buried among them.

So I continued organizing the submitted works.

[Submission No. 430 / Film / Night of the Chasers / Thriller / Kim Dojin]

“Found another one!”

Five years from now, rookie genius director Kim Dojin would be praised as one of Chungmuro’s most stylish thriller filmmakers.

This had to be an early version of his debut screenplay.

And next...

[Submission No. 731 / Drama / Romance Like a Bonus Book / Romantic Comedy / Kim Hyunjung]

I wasn’t someone who normally watched many romantic comedies, but I had paid attention to this drama because one of my favorite actors, Seo Jiwon, starred in it.

I couldn’t stop the grin spreading across my face as I enjoyed the gems that had practically rolled into my lap on their own.

The next morning, Kang Jooyoung was the first person to arrive at the office.

The moment she saw me, dark circles hanging nearly to my chin after staying up all night, she jumped in shock.

“T-Team Leader, don’t tell me you stayed here all night?”

“Ah, yes.”

“I was organizing the submissions from yesterday.”

“What? You mean you stayed up all night doing all of that alone?”

“It somehow turned out that way.”

I slowly stood up.

“I’ll be away for a little while this morning.”

“I’m going to hit the sauna and at least take a shower.”

“And I uploaded the organized list, along with the number of works each person needs to judge and their assigned titles, to the shared file.”

“Please check it.”

After giving her those instructions, I shuffled out of the office.

Kang Jooyoung simply stared after me with a blank expression.


Before we knew it, the scorching summer had passed.

Autumn arrived, painting the leaves in color.

In the meantime, Director Choi Kyungmin and Writer Do Kijeong’s MBS drama, I’m Not an Alien, began airing.

Its unusual use of aliens, a rare subject in Korean dramas, was praised as refreshing, and its ratings continued climbing.

At the same time, the heat that Kingdom of Crime had brought to the summer box office slowly began cooling.

“Except for a few major theaters in Seoul, it’s been pulled almost everywhere.”

Baek Seonghan spoke with an expression that mixed bitterness with relief.

“As of today, the theatrical run is officially over.”

I nodded.

“You worked hard.”

“Still, thirteen million admissions.”

“We’re leaving while people are still applauding.”

“Right.”

Baek Seonghan gave a faint laugh.

“Thirteen million...”

“I wonder if I’ll ever see a number like that again in my life.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You already have a line of films waiting for you to make.”

“This is only the beginning.”

Baek Seonghan seemed to take my words as consolation and laughed.

“Yeah. Thanks, even if you’re just saying it.”

Then he added,

“Oh, and you know IPTV and VOD services start tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, I heard.”

“There should be plenty of demand from people who missed it in theaters or want to watch it again.”

“Secondary-rights revenue should be pretty good too.”

At one point, Kingdom of Crime had been playing at practically every theater in the country, showing in slot after slot all day long.

Now it was only playing in a handful of Seoul theaters, usually early in the morning or late at night.

But I didn’t feel sad.

When one sun sets, another rises.

“PD Baek, what are you doing?”

“Are you joining the judging meeting?”

“Ah, right.”

Baek Seonghan lightly slapped his own head.

“Today’s the day you finalize the second-round selections, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“The judges should be arriving soon.”

“Ah... I am curious which projects will survive.”

He shook his head.

“But I’m not going.”

“After reading and judging a hundred scripts during the first round, I don’t want to look at another screenplay for a while. Hahaha.”

“Come on, don’t exaggerate.”

“When I first joined the planning team, Executive Director Kim made me read three hundred scripts in a month, analyze them, and pick only five good ones.”

The old memory made me smile.

Baek Seonghan remembered as well and laughed.

“Right, right. That happened. Hahaha.”

“So you’re really not coming?”

“Then I’ll head to the conference room.”

“Yeah.”

“Good luck.”

“Separate the gems from the rocks properly.”

Leaving Baek Seonghan’s encouragement behind, I headed to the sixth-floor conference room.

For more than a month, PD Baek, Manager Cha Seungjoon, Executive Director Kim Eunkyung, and the rest of our planning team had stayed up countless nights reviewing more than twelve hundred submissions.

From those, 120 projects had survived the first round.

We had then handed those 120 to three outside judges for the second round.

And today, we had to reduce those 120 projects to twelve.

Of course...

Among those twelve, I needed to make sure the projects I had already marked in advance survived.

When I reached the conference room, Kim Eunkyung and Ju Hanyoung were already there.

Not long afterward, the three outside judges arrived.

Director Go Jinseong.

Writer Seo Kyunghee.

And, unusually for a judging panel, actor Min Sungjae.

“All right.”

Kim Eunkyung opened the meeting.

“Shall we begin the discussion?”

“Let’s start with the drama category.”

After a few safe romance projects and family dramas received both praise and criticism, one of the projects I had already marked came up.

“Next is Submission No. 124, Writer Oh Seoyoung’s Kingdom of Blood.”

The moment the title was announced, Go Jinseong let out a shallow sigh.

He pushed his glasses up irritably.

“Honestly, I don’t understand how this project even passed the first round.”

I had expected resistance.

Still, the strength of his attack right from the beginning caught me slightly off guard.

“What exactly didn’t you like?”

Go Jinseong looked at me as though he couldn’t believe I was seriously asking.

“Don’t tell me you genuinely don’t know.”

“Zombies in the Joseon Dynasty?”

“Not jiangshi. Zombies.”

He shook his head.

“This goes beyond ignoring historical accuracy.”

“It treats history like a toy.”

“And the whole setup is way too B-grade.”

“Violent, grotesque...”

“This is the kind of thing subculture enthusiasts might enjoy.”

“As a mainstream drama, it’s impossible.”

Actor Min Sungjae carefully joined in.

“I actually found it extremely entertaining.”

Go Jinseong looked at him.

“I understand some of Director Go’s concerns.”

“But as an actor, the roles were so attractive that I genuinely wanted to play them.”

“Not just the protagonist either.”

“Even the smaller characters were appealing.”

“I’ll admit the characters are strong.”

Go Jinseong nodded reluctantly.

“And the story itself isn’t bad.”

“But zombies in Joseon?”

He shook his head again.

“No. That just doesn’t work.”

This time, Writer Seo Kyunghee spoke.

“Well, from the perspective of expanding the range of subject matter, it would be nice if our society eventually reached a point where films and dramas like this could be created and consumed.”

“But that’s an ideal.”

“We also have to consider the practical reality of production.”

She looked down at the script.

“You said Big Picture and New Wave would directly produce the selected project, correct?”

“Imagine building historical sets, then putting zombie makeup on hundreds of extras and shooting all of that.”

“The production costs would be overwhelming.”

“And terrestrial broadcasting is out of the question.”

“Even cable networks would likely face restrictions at this level of violence.”

She sighed.

“To me, it simply lacks practical feasibility.”

The eyes of so-called experts were merciless.

Historical distortion.

B-grade sensibility.

Excessive production costs.

Impossible to schedule.

They weren’t wrong.

At least...

Not by 2013 standards.

But they didn’t know how the video industry was about to change.

And they didn’t understand the scale of the public’s hunger for something new.

I smiled faintly.

“I think both of your points are reasonable.”

“It’s definitely an unfamiliar subject, and there are real production-cost risks.”

When I appeared to accept their criticism so easily, Go Jinseong smiled.

“Right?”

“I figured CEO Min would understand.”

But I ignored his satisfied look.

Resting my chin on my interlocked fingers, I continued.

“Familiar things are safe.”

“But they’re also boring.”

Everyone’s attention returned to me.

“And audiences are getting tired of predictable historical dramas and predictable romances.”

I continued.

“When I first received the screenplay for Kingdom of Crime, there were more concerns around me than most people probably realize.”

“The structure was unlike anything we had seen in Korea before.”

That was true.

Even Han Taesung, who had initially responded positively and called the script interesting, had eventually become nervous.

At one point, he had suggested changing the structure into something more familiar to general audiences.

But I had refused.

Because I already knew that its unusual structure would feel fresh to audiences.

“And what happened?”

I looked around the room.

“You all know the result.”

“It worked worldwide.”

Maybe it was because those words were coming from the producer of both a Palme d’Or winner and a ten-million-admission film.

The atmosphere in the room immediately shifted toward me.

“And you called it ‘B-grade sensibility.’”

I smiled.

“I call it genre pleasure.”

“And we aren’t looking for documentaries.”

“In America, a drama called The Walking Dead has already become a massive hit and recently entered its third season.”

“But that’s America.”

Go Jinseong immediately objected.

“Hollywood can do things like that.”

At his protest, I narrowed my eyes slightly.

And suddenly, I found myself wondering.

Three years from now...

When this project would drive audiences around the world wild under the label K-zombie...

When people would praise it for raising the power and prestige of Korean content...

What kind of expressions would these people make then?

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