‘Good’ Entertainment.
‘Bad’ Entertainment.
There had always been mysterious rumors about another company operating in the shadows of Good Entertainment.
Now, its true identity had been revealed.
“Don’t misunderstand because of the company name. My standards for ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are based solely on whether something benefits me.”
Yoomyeong immediately understood the implication behind those words.
For a manager, a good company was one that generated profit.
Then what would a bad company be, from a manager’s perspective?
“I know it sounds suspicious, but this company is more of a hobby ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) for supporting actors I find ‘interesting.’ There’s nothing particularly special about it. The contract terms are simply a bit better than those of ordinary entertainment agencies.”
He placed a prepared contract on the table.
Yoomyeong carefully picked up the document and skimmed through it.
‘This is insane...’
The first thing that caught his attention was the reversed relationship between Party A and Party B.
In a standard actor contract, Party A was usually the management company and Party B the actor. But in this contract, Party A referred to the actor.
And it wasn’t merely symbolic. The facilities and support staff provided were on the same level as Good Entertainment. As for the profit split... it resembled the terms offered to top-tier actors rather than rookies.
But what stood out the most was a particular clause.
[Party B shall not force Party A into any entertainment activities against their will and must negotiate to the fullest extent possible for projects desired by Party A.]
[Party B guarantees Party A full authority in selecting projects.]
Yoomyeong’s eyes widened.
“How are terms like this even possible...?”
“Entertainment activities include commercials, events, and things like that. Of course, if you want profitable work, I’ll secure it for you. But I won’t force anything on you if you don’t want it.”
He flipped the page.
The contract period was... seven years?
That was the maximum duration legally permitted for exclusive contracts in the entertainment industry. Noticing Yoomyeong’s reaction, Yu-seok explained calmly.
“Look at the clause beneath the contract period. There’s no termination penalty, and either party can end the contract whenever they want. If you ever decide you no longer want to continue, you can walk away at any time. Naturally, if you stop being interesting to me as an actor, I can step away as well. But until then, it’s a definite win-win arrangement for both of us.”
‘Until I stop being interesting as an actor... Hearing them openly mention terminating the contract over something like that is a little unsettling.’
Still, aside from that minor discomfort, the terms were overwhelmingly favorable to Yoomyeong.
With conditions like these, he would be free to participate in less profitable projects such as independent films or theater productions. That part appealed to him especially.
— There were actors whom Moon Yu-seok treated exceptionally well.
If Yoomyeong hadn’t heard those rumors in his previous life, he might have mistaken the offer for a scam.
Even so, he needed to ask directly.
“What do you gain from offering me a contract like this? The conditions are too generous. I don’t want to end up being exploited.”
“That’s a reasonable concern. I like that attitude.”
Yu-seok straightened slightly in his seat.
“At Good Entertainment, I raise actors worth investing in inside my ‘pond.’ I find projects suited to them and provide proper support, and in return they generate profit for me. Earlier I said ‘good entertainment’ means entertainment that’s good for me, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad for the actors.”
In reality, Good Entertainment already provided unusually favorable conditions compared to most agencies.
“However, when I see someone with the potential to fly beyond my ‘pond,’ I become more of a ‘sponsor.’ Rather than catching a large fish and eating it, think of it as diving into the ocean together and exploring deeper waters side by side. That’s my hobby.”
And for the sake of that extravagant hobby, he had established an entirely separate company.
“It’s difficult to explain in detail, but you can think of it as my own way of rebelling against the system. In any case, this would be a good contract for you, Mr. Shin Yoomyeong. Consider it a support program for young artists, if you like.”
Even after inspecting it carefully, Yoomyeong found no hidden traps in the contract.
“But if you had already prepared such a favorable offer, why wait for me to contact you first?”
“That’s just human psychology. I had this incredible offer prepared, but if I handed it over first, I would’ve felt foolish. If I were an actor, I’d be jealous of the deal Mr. Yoomyeong managed to secure for himself, so I played a little trick.”
He grinned mischievously.
Looking at that smile, Yoomyeong quietly signed the contract.
That was Miho’s reaction after hearing about the meeting with Yu-seok.
— What if that Joker isn’t actually your card?
— I thought about that too. But even then, I still have the ace of spades.
The scandal surrounding Yu-seok — something destined to become public ten years later — remained Yoomyeong’s ultimate trump card.
Of course, he had no intention of using it unless they ever became enemies.
A week later, Moon Yu-seok demonstrated exactly why Miho had compared him to a joker when Yoomyeong visited the Good Entertainment building.
“Here’s your first gift.”
He handed over the contract for the drama.
The first digit of the amount differed from what Director Lee Min-jung had previously mentioned. Even after deducting the management fee, the sum was still far larger than expected.
“But I’m a complete rookie...”
“You proved your value through your acting. Writer Yook personally negotiated for a higher appearance fee in order to cast you. You should be paid according to your worth.”
Using his influence over PD Joo, the casting director’s favorable opinion of Yoomyeong, and Baek Seunghyo’s contract as leverage, Yu-seok had secured an unusually high appearance fee despite Yoomyeong’s rookie status.
“As long as your performance justifies the money, there’s no problem.”
“Of course.”
Yu-seok chuckled at Yoomyeong’s confident answer. There was something strangely provocative about him whenever the topic turned to acting, though it wasn’t unpleasant.
“There’s already quite a stir in the company because I personally picked up a rookie actor directly from an audition, so you’ll probably feel the attention for a while. Naturally, the details of our contract are confidential. Officially, everyone just knows you as a new actor who joined Good Entertainment.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Then let’s go meet the staff.”
After picking up the phone and saying a few words, a man and woman entered the room.
“Hello! I’m your road manager, Kim Ho Chul.”
“I’m your coordinator, Seo Eun-soo.”
A large-framed man with an innocent-looking face and a lively woman with pink-tinted hair greeted him energetically.
“You’ll both be personally handling Mr. Shin Yoomyeong’s schedule. Yoomyeong, for now you’ll mainly be filming dramas, so you probably won’t see Eun-soo very often. Since you’re still a rookie, Ho Chul will make sure you’re never late.”
“Yes, Director!”
“Your role requires luxury clothing and accessories. Sponsors may hesitate since you’re a rookie, but if you need anything, tell me. I’ll either secure sponsorships or purchase them directly.”
“Understood. Thank you.”
“The three of you should go have a meal together. Ho Chul, make sure he only eats the best. Don’t worry about the cost — it’ll pay itself back soon enough.”
“Y-Yes! Understood.”
And with that, Yoomyeong’s first meeting at Good Entertainment came to an end.
Excited by Yu-seok’s “don’t worry about the cost” comment, Seo Eun-soo shook Ho Chul’s arm while happily chanting about beef.
Sizzle—
Premium cuts of meat cooked beautifully on the grill, crackling loudly.
Eun-soo, who had spent the past several minutes staring hungrily at the meat, finally started talking once she had filled her stomach. She addressed him with oddly formal speech.
“Um... how old are you, Mr. Actor?”
“Ah... I’m twenty-four this year.”
“You’re older! I just turned twenty-two. Ho Chul oppa is twenty-three! Can I call you oppa too?”
“Of course.”
“Oppa, then stop speaking so formally!”
The sense of camaraderie among people in their early twenties was remarkable.
“But oppa, are you really related to the director?”
“...What? I only met him about ten days ago.”
“Wow... so that means you impressed Director Moon that much with your talent? He snatched Ho Chul oppa away from another team and assigned him here, so I seriously thought you were some kind of nepotism hire.”
“Eun-soo!”
What exactly was she talking about?
Yoomyeong looked at her as she continued without hesitation.
“Now that we’re on the same team, oppa should know! Ho Chul oppa used to work with another actor. But a few days ago, he suddenly got transferred. That actor threw a huge fit, saying it made no sense. But after getting called into Director Moon’s office, he came out without saying a word and just looked completely defeated.”
Hmm...
“And Director Moon normally doesn’t personally manage actors’ schedules. There are chief managers for that. Director Moon’s basically one of the top executives in the company — practically on the same level as the CEO. But he’s personally overseeing your schedule?”
“He’s only managing me?”
“Well, there’s one other person, but he’s basically hopeless...”
Ho Chul immediately stuffed a piece of meat into Eun-soo’s mouth to silence her.
She looked ready to protest, but the taste of the beef was too good, so she simply chewed quietly instead.
“She talks a little too much, but she knows how to keep her mouth shut outside. Her coordination skills are solid too, so don’t worry too much. I’ll do my best as well.”
Gulp—
After swallowing the meat, Eun-soo jumped back into the conversation.
“Ho Chul oppa’s the best road manager. He’s a complete legal maniac behind the wheel. You seriously hit the jackpot.”
Vroooom—
A legal maniac behind the wheel.
Ho Chul smoothly weaved between cars and hit the brakes with perfect timing just before passing CCTV cameras. The navigation wasn’t even on, yet it felt as though he had a built-in sensor for traffic enforcement cameras.
As long as the cameras couldn’t see it, staying within the law was what mattered.
Someone once said a road manager’s worth could be measured by lap time.
It certainly wasn’t an admirable driving habit, but for a celebrity road manager, where every minute mattered, it was practically an essential skill.
“Hey, Ho Chul, we’re not late. Slow down a little...”
“The director said rookie actors should arrive thirty minutes early to every schedule.”
As he drove, his normally round face and gentle eyes sharpened with concentration. After making the trip from Suwon to Yeouido in record time, Ho Chul flashed a bright grin.
“We arrived exactly thirty minutes early.”
Fighting back nausea, Yoomyeong entered the broadcasting station.
Today’s destination was the script reading room of KBK’s drama department.
With Ho Chul leading the way, they passed security without difficulty and took the elevator to the fifth floor.
The reading room was still empty when they entered. Name tags had been placed neatly at every seat.
The sight of his name displayed so prominently filled Yoomyeong with emotion.
After discreetly checking that no one else was around, he quickly took a photo of the name tag.
Click—
“Ah... seeing that for the first time really feels good, doesn’t it?”
At that moment, a figure he had mistaken for a pile of clothes in the corner suddenly moved.
It was Cha Harin, the lead actress with twelve years of experience dating back to her child actress days.
“Hello, senior. I’m rookie actor Shin Yoomyeong. I look forward to working with you!”
Yoomyeong greeted her politely and bowed, hiding his embarrassment. Even though she was younger than him, she was unquestionably his senior in the industry.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
“You can speak comfortably with me. Let’s get along during filming.”
She answered with unfocused, sleepy eyes before collapsing face-down onto the desk again.
‘Is she exhausted, or is that just her personality? She feels completely different from her on-screen image.’
Not long afterward, middle-aged supporting actors playing roles such as the entertainment company CEO, director, and acting instructor began arriving one after another. Whether Yoomyeong recognized them or not, he stood up to greet every single one enthusiastically.
“I’m rookie actor Shin Yoomyeong. I’ll work hard!”
And it quickly became obvious that Harin’s condition wasn’t unique to today.
“Hello, senior.”
“Sleepy again today, Harin?”
Bae Ok-jin, the forty-year-old actor playing the acting instructor, joked with her familiarly. Cha Harin nodded weakly with a blank smile.
“Your schedule must be brutal these days.”
“Yes... I only sleep around two hours a day lately...”
“Tsk tsk. They’re really working you to death.”
Then supporting actress Jung Junhee arrived, followed almost simultaneously by Baek Seunghyo and Lee Kyu-seong.
Soon afterward, the PD and the writer entered together.
“Looks like everyone’s here, right? Let’s introduce ourselves. Haha. You all know me already, don’t you? I’m Joo Ilho.”
The PD introduced himself first.
“Hello, I’m Yook Mi-young. This is my first project with KBK, and I’m looking forward to working with all of you talented actors.”
The writer added warmly, boosting the atmosphere among the cast.
“I’d love to visit the filming set often, but because of the schedule I’ll probably be tied up writing scripts instead. So during today’s reading, please give it your all and help solidify the ‘characters’ in my mind through your acting. Thank you.”
And with those words, the fuse was lit.
The ‘battle for lines’ had begun.
