Return of the Genius PD

A sharp “pop” echoed as Kim Jong-su’s hat hit the floor, bursting unnaturally, revealing the abnormal bulk that had made the sound possible. 

His bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair—mussed from wearing the hat for too long—added to the menacing aura now radiating from him. 

It was as though PD Kim Jong-su had transcended human limits, his presence overwhelming.

In contrast, the sound director standing before him looked utterly pathetic. And understandably so—who could remain composed with a crazed bear standing right in front of them?

The maddened bear, Kim Jong-su, opened his mouth.

“Listen here, Sound Director Park Gae-hyun. Why is PD Do Ji-won leaving? Is there a valid reason? Let’s hear it.”

The sound director, overwhelmed by the intensity, stammered out a response.

“…We need to lay down the sound team’s lines, but that rookie is dawdling around.”

“That’s not a rookie; that’s PD Do Ji-won.” Kim Jong-su’s voice was low but sharp. “He’s a kid who works harder than anyone else, and I can vouch for that. Watch your language and use the proper title.”

The sound director, realizing he couldn’t back down further, steeled himself, putting more force into his words.

“But this bastard—”

“Wasn’t it your mistake for laying down the wrong lines in the first place?” Kim Jong-su interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you tearing down the setup and laying it again?”

“Hey, Kim Jong-su!” The sound director, unable to contain his anger any longer, snapped, snorting in frustration.

“This is getting on my nerves. I can’t continue with this production like this.”

Kim Jong-su’s eyes, once fiery, turned ice-cold.

“Are you throwing a tantrum now?” He spoke slowly, deliberately. “You’re a senior, been around long enough, but instead of setting an example, you’re acting like this? What are you trying to prove?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, continuing rapidly, his tone growing harsher.

“You should know when to stop. I’ve been saving face for you until now. Are you trying to make a mockery of this set? How long were you planning to keep up this outdated power struggle?”

The sound director, cornered, sneered.

“You want to go at it? Can you handle the aftermath if our team pulls out?”

Kim Jong-su’s gaze turned even colder, his words a chilling order.

“Pull out.”

“What?”

“I said, pull out.”

The sound director faltered, his face pale as Kim Jong-su’s words cut through the tension. 

His bravado had completely crumbled, leaving him stranded in the middle of the set with no way out. 

In truth, Park Gae-hyun had no intention of pulling his team out of the production. 

It was still early in filming, and if his team left now, the ripple effect of canceled schedules would be disastrous.

It had been a bluff—a well-worn tactic he’d used many times to ease the pressure on his workload. Filming couldn’t proceed without sound, and such extreme threats usually made others back down.

But this time, his opponent wasn’t playing along.

PD Kim Jong-su’s voice cut through his thoughts again.

“What’s the problem?” Kim’s tone was ice-cold, his eyes burning with intensity. “I’m Kim Jong-su. You’re not needed for this production. You’re not my staff anymore from today.”

Park Gae-hyun could only stammer, his throat tightening as he made strange, choking sounds, unable to form a proper response. His last move—his final bluff—was blocked.

Without mercy, Kim Jong-su turned to walk away, but then, as if struck by an afterthought, he turned back, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“And.”

A fierce light gleamed from his gaze, searing into the sound director.

“Don’t expect to be treated as a senior by me anymore. You, Sound Director Park. Gae. Hyun. The one who doesn’t know the value of his juniors.”

The words landed like blows, and Kim Jong-su’s voice rose in a shout that echoed across the set.

“Get out of my set right now!”

The volcanic fury in his tone left no room for further argument. Sound Director Park stood frozen, mouth agape, his previously hardened features now etched with shock. His face, already showing signs of age, seemed to wither further under the weight of Kim Jong-su’s rage, as if the years had suddenly piled onto him.

Silence gripped the set, broken only by Kim Jong-su’s authoritative voice.

“We’re wrapping up today’s shoot here! I’ll let you know tomorrow’s schedule later. Everyone, thank you for your hard work today!”

The staff exchanged wide-eyed glances, some looking stunned, others relieved, as Kim Jong-su’s commanding presence brought the chaotic day to an abrupt end.

* * *

After the stormy day on set, Ji-won returned to the lodgings and approached PD Kim Jong-su to report.

“I’ve spread the word that tomorrow’s standby is at 2 PM.”

Kim Jong-su, still rummaging through his bag, responded without much thought.

“Okay. Good job.”

Ji-won hesitated for a moment before cautiously asking,

“…Why did you do that?”

Kim Jong-su snorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Huh! You think I did it for you? Wake up. I’ve been waiting to deal with that guy for a while now. He’s been ruining the atmosphere on set.”

But Ji-won knew that wasn’t true. His words contradicted what he had told him just yesterday.

“Well… couldn’t we have just endured it this once? Wouldn’t that have been more beneficial?”

Kim Jong-su paused for a moment, then muttered quietly,

“Does the set always run on rationality?”

His tone softened slightly as he added,

“You act like you know it all, but you still have a long way to go. Learn something from this.”

Ji-won fell silent, staring at Kim Jong-su’s back as he busied himself with mundane tasks.

He’s always been clumsy when it comes to expressing himself, rough around the edges, hiding his warmth beneath a tough exterior. Grumbling, prickly, and difficult to approach, yet unable to mask the humanity that seeps through in moments like these.

And that, Ji-won realized, must be why people still gravitate toward him.

Despite his rough handling of people, it was clear why so many were still willing to answer Kim Jong-su’s calls for help, even if they grumbled along the way. His reputation, though marred by past failures, wasn’t enough to erase the loyalty he had cultivated over time. And perhaps more than anything, it was his ability to handle chaos and read the undercurrents of production life that kept people coming back.

Kim Jong-su suddenly spoke in a low, determined tone.

“When is the sound team leaving?”

Ji-won, slightly startled by the change in atmosphere, replied,

“They should be packing up their lodgings now, I think? They seemed pretty frantic about the sudden pullout…”

“The sound team’s lodging is room 202 on the floor below us, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Ji-won confirmed.

Kim Jong-su, still rummaging through his bag, didn’t seem to be just making small talk. His movements were purposeful, calculated.

Ji-won asked hesitantly,

“What are you looking for so intently?”

Without looking up, Kim Jong-su grinned, clearly having found what he was after. He turned, raising one finger toward Ji-won.

“Lesson one.”

Ji-won blinked, surprised by the sudden change in tone.

“All of a sudden?”

“Even if the sky falls, there’s always a hole to patch things up.” Kim Jong-su declared, waving a small, compact bag he had pulled out of his larger one.

“…What’s that?” Ji-won asked, still confused.

“Let’s just say it’s when force is needed.”

“Why is force coming up here?”

Kim Jong-su raised a second finger, clearly enjoying the impromptu lesson.

“Lesson two. If it doesn’t work with force, consider if you might not have enough force.”

Ji-won could only stare, dumbfounded. Was this really happening?

Kim Jong-su then added, in a quieter, more serious voice,

“We need to secure the sound recordings from yesterday and today’s shoots, don’t we?”

“The sound recordings?” Ji-won echoed.

“Yeah,” Kim Jong-su replied, now flexing his hand like a boxer preparing for a match. “With the contract terminated, who knows what they might do to the originals? It’s obvious Park will try to mess with the sound files when he gets back to Seoul.”

Ji-won’s face went pale at the thought.

“Surely they wouldn’t go that far. They’re professionals, after all.”

Kim Jong-su let out a bitter laugh.

“That’s how this industry works. It’s a kind of warning, you know? If you fire me, your production won’t be left intact either.”

He smiled meaningfully.

“If we’re going to raid, now’s the only time.”

“I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’m coming with you.”

Kim Jong-su stretched out his hand, stopping Ji-won.

“No way. Things are about to get ugly. If you get taken hostage, it’ll make things messy.”

“…Hostage? Me?”

Was he seriously expecting something that could lead to him being taken hostage?

What kind of scenario was PD Kim Jong-su even imagining?

Kim Jong-su pulled out a pair of leather gym gloves from the mini bag and put them on.

‘Why is he putting those on?’

“Before overwhelming force, petty rebellion is like a candle in the wind.”

Then, without hesitation, Kim Jong-su swung his leg over the balcony railing.

“Uh, um? PD-nim, that’s dangerous!”

As if amused by Ji-won’s concern, Kim Jong-su turned his head and grinned.

“I’ll be back soon, kid.”

The broken brim of Kim Jong-su’s hat fluttered in the night breeze sweeping across the balcony.

* * *

The next day’s shooting started after lunch, delayed because a replacement sound director was rushing down from Seoul.

Rumors spread like wildfire.

“I heard Sound Director Park Gae-hyun bullied Do Ji-won yesterday and got ambushed by PD Kim Jong-su in the middle of the night.”

What else is there for staff to gossip about on a grueling film set? When something unexpected like yesterday happens, it becomes the crew’s entertainment.

– “They say he climbed through the pipes and broke in through the balcony.”

– “Apparently, he took down six guys single-handedly and snatched the hard drive with the sound files.”

– “Using force? Is this really the 21st century?”

– “Wow… I’ve heard stories about Director Kim Jong-su, but the reality is even more savage.”

– “I feel so satisfied, though.”

– “Right? Everyone wanted to take down Director Park but couldn’t because of his seniority.”

– “Fuck yeah.” (Lighting Second)

– “Director Jong-su’s known for being a nice guy, but he goes berserk every now and then.”

– “So, everyone be careful. Don’t mess with Do Ji-won just to stir up trouble.”

– “PD Do Ji-won was just doing his job well. What’s the problem?”

– “We probably saved a lot of shooting time because of him.”

– “Now I see why Director Kim Jong-su values him so much.”

Although PD Kim Jong-su couldn’t help but overhear the gossip, he kept an expressionless face. Soon, he grabbed a megaphone and shouted.

“Alright—if everyone’s had enough rest, let’s get into standby positions.”

On the hand gripping the megaphone was a gym glove, streaked with blood that hadn’t been there the day before.

“Yes, sir!”

As soon as PD Kim Jong-su’s command fell, the crew snapped into action, moving in perfect unison.

It was the beginning of Director Kim Jong-su’s dictatorship.

* * *

For the first time in a while, Ji-won was heading to the office instead of the set. Director Ko Dong-guk had summoned him, which meant it wasn’t something he could ignore.

As he sat on the subway, Ji-won checked the shooting schedule for the day when his phone chimed twice.

-Ding!
-Ding!

Two notifications popped up.

『One Management – Grand Prize Award Money
Electronic Financial Deposit
47,800,000 KRW
Balance: 48,934,573 KRW』

『One Management – Ham In-ju Manuscript Fee
Electronic Financial Deposit
34,812,000 KRW
Balance: 83,746,573 KRW』

First, the grand prize money from the contest, after deducting taxes and dues, had been deposited.

Then, there was the manuscript fee for Eccentric Doctor Ham In-ju—his latest work.

The per-episode fee came out to 2.5 million won.

Ji-won stared at the balance for a moment, letting the reality of the deposit sink in. It wasn’t just about the money—it felt like a tangible validation of the time and effort he had poured into his work. For the first time in a while, he allowed himself a quiet moment of satisfaction.

With a total of 16 episodes, the manuscript fee came to 40 million won. However, 10% was deducted as Won-jae’s share, and another 3.3% for withholding tax.

After reading the notifications over several times, Ji-won couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “…Sweet.”

The sudden news of the deposits made his heart race, flooding his brain with dopamine. Nearly twice his annual salary had appeared in his account in just a single month. Even compared to the billion-won annual salary he earned in his past life, it wasn’t a small sum.

Yet opinions on Won-jae’s share were mixed.

-“Won-jae, isn’t 10% too little?”

Most management companies typically deducted 20% to 30% in fees, sometimes up to 40% in special cases, making his share seem unusually small. But Won-jae had been firm.

-“It’s fine. I’ll make ten times more on the next project anyway. Plus, we’ve added that special clause, right?”

The clause would activate if certain viewership ratings were exceeded. Realistically, Ji-won thought it was unlikely, but Won-jae had seemed unusually confident.

-“You’re going to be a famous director in the future, Do Ji-won. You can handle at least that much.”

Perhaps Won-jae believed in him more than he believed in himself.

Lost in thought, Ji-won soon found himself standing in front of Director Ko Dong-guk’s office.

“You’re here? Let’s go in,” he heard a familiar voice. It was PD Kim Jong-su, striding toward him from the opposite direction. Without hesitation, he flung open the director’s office door and shouted, “Director, why do you keep calling me when I’m busy as hell?!”

Director Ko Dong-guk furrowed his brow and began to speak. “This guy—every time I see you, my temper flares up, even after not seeing you for a while.”

PD Kim Jong-su turned to Ji-won, his chest puffed out with pride. “Is everything alright on set?”

From his place in the doorway, Ji-won replied, “As far as this four-year rookie can see, it seems that way.”

“You haven’t debuted yet, so you’re a zero-year rookie, kid,” Kim Jong-su shot back, shaking his head at Ji-won.

Director Ko Dong-guk sighed. “You’ve been influenced, influenced.”

“So what’s this about?” Kim Jong-su asked, returning to the matter at hand.

Director Ko Dong-guk stared at him for a moment in silence, then massaged his temples before getting to the point. “Kim Seung-yeon’s next work has been scheduled. It’s set for TVM.”

“What?” Kim Jong-su narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean by ‘scheduled’?”

Director Ko Dong-guk continued, “It’s in the same Monday-Tuesday lineup as us.”

He added, “On the same day, at the same time.”