Above all, it was also because, with Lee Deok-chun dropping out, the number of scenes that had to be reshot increased.
“All right, all right! I know everyone’s excited after yesterday’s broadcast, but let’s not relax just yet! Since we’ve got all this attention, let’s try to make a perfect piece worthy of it!”
Just when they’d seemed wilted and drooping, they perked right back up.
At Director Heo’s words, worry drained from the staff’s eyes and liveliness began to fill them again.
“That’s right! While we’re at it, let’s make it so amazing we sweep all the year-end awards!”
“We’ve got Kwon Seonghyun and Min Yerin, plus a rising rookie Grim Reaper, so now it’s on us. No need to worry about the actors. Let’s do our part!”
“Writer Min, hang in there. Should I bring you an Americano with four extra shots, the way you like?”
The budget was robust. The cast was solid. What remained were stylish direction and a compelling story.
“I’m fine. I’ve finished the revisions, and now we just need to push steadily forward, so don’t worry.”
Writer Min turned to Yeonwoo and gave a bright smile.
“Now that you’ve come aboard, inspiration’s just gushing! Thanks to you, I can really sprinkle the MSG. Seonghyun and Yeonwoo, look forward to it. I’m going to make it unbelievably taut and chewy.”
She grinned again as she said it.
Was it just his imagination, or did that smile feel oddly ominous?
The lively energy that rebounded from the gloomy mood filled the set as filming went on. No one worked carelessly.
And two weeks later, amid the anticipation of many, the drama’s first broadcast began.
“Ah… still, we really need some ratings to come in.”
“It’ll be fine, right? I checked online and there are tons of SNS posts saying they’re waiting to watch.”
Shiver.
In a large conference room, people were gathered in clusters in front of the projector. With a few exceptions, everyone looked unwell, faces wrecked as if they hadn’t slept a wink. Some, looking like shut-ins, bounced their legs so hard the sound carried.
Of course, even among them there was someone who shone.
“Nervous, Yeonwoo-ssi?” asked that representative figure, looking at Yeonwoo.
“Not particularly.”
“Last time you refused when I asked to monitor together.”
“I went through it once then, so now… well.”
“Amazing. It’s hard to be that detached so soon. You’re really not worried?”
“I’m not.”
“It’s okay. If you’re worried, I’ll even hold your hand.”
“…”
A large hand with long, straight fingers reached out.
As expected, Kwon Seonghyun isn’t in his right mind, Yeonwoo thought.
How old was he, to be offering to hold hands because of nerves?
[Actor-nim! Hug me! I’m nervous!]
A hamster leapt out of Yeonwoo’s pocket.
“Dongja-ssi, you don’t look well. Are you very nervous?” Kwon Seonghyun asked, taking the soft, plush little body into his hands.
[This is the first time I’ve been this nervous. I feel like I’m going to die!]
“Would you like some water? It’ll help you calm down a bit.”
[Yes, I want some!]
“…”
Watching, Yeonwoo was dumbfounded.
He really hasn’t forgotten he’s a ghost, has he? More than that, why is he the one getting nervous, not me?
Up through the special video, he’d been busy teasing, but with the main broadcast starting, it seemed to feel different. The person concerned, however, was simply taking it as it came.
What’s the point of being nervous? The result is out of my hands anyway.
There’s no need to waste energy in useless places. In this world, there are far more worthwhile things than spending your strength on being nervous.
“Ten minutes to broadcast start!”
A staffer checked the time and shouted.
“Oh, Lord!”
“Hey. Our drama’s about shamanism, remember.”
“Then, O spirits of heaven and earth! Jade Emperor! King Yeomna! Please let it be a smash!”
It felt like something strange got tacked on at the end there.
In any case, with that announcement, a steadily more anxious air began to fill the conference room.
“Five minutes to broadcast!”
Conversations dropped noticeably. Everyone stared at the clock with hollow, zombie-like eyes.
“Opening intro in. Ads starting.”
“One minute to broadcast!”
“Ads are finished!”
After the final product ad from a sponsor company, the screen went dark.
It began with Min Yerin’s narration.
[Where is this…? I… who…?]
Brief lines, yet tinged with a certain despair. The OST matched to Min Yerin’s theme laid a gentle bed beneath it.
A woman with a wan face wakes in a hospital room and slowly rises.
The camera wobbles queasily, following her weak, stumbling steps. It traces the heroine’s gaze.
With movements laced with anxiety, she heads straight for a mirror. In the clean mirror, a woman in a hospital gown is reflected.
[No… no…]
Again the frame shakes unsteadily and reels back. But the focus remains locked on the person in the mirror.
After a sudden sucking zoom effect, the scene switches.
[How tiresome.]
A man in a high-rise looks out the window with a weary expression. It is Kim Taehoon, the drama’s protagonist played by Kwon Seonghyun.
His eyes, which had been raking the surroundings as if seeing something, turn back to the window.
“The CG team really worked. Even on rewatch, it looks like actual ghosts.”
As Kim Taehoon’s back exits the office and the shot zooms out, the empty office comes into view.
But—
As if the space had never been empty, pale-toned humans slowly fade into place, filling it. Their actions and appearances are all different, but they share a single common trait.
Unlike ordinary people, none of them had any vitality.
“Washing the color to a single tone was definitely better. It separates them cleanly.”
As if they’d never been nervous, the staff were locked in intense focus on the screen.
Up until now, it had been a roller coaster. Massive casting had built hype, then scandal turned the mood into a funeral. After that, miraculously, Kwon Seonghyun’s SNS reversed the atmosphere and revived them.
All or nothing!
That was the thought hammered into everyone’s heads in this moment. They had to grab this rare favorable public mood and convert it into ratings.
“What are the ratings now?”
Trying to be calm but failing, Director Heo asked into the walkie-talkie.
—“Current ratings are 13.2 percent!”
A very good start.
“Oooh!”
“We’ve broken ten percent?!”
“O spirits of heaven and earth! Jade Emperor! King Yeomna! Thank you! Thank you!”
At the reply from the situation room, the mood in the conference room surged.
In the past, there had been times when anticipated dramas easily started not just in the tens, but in the twenties or thirties. But these days were different. In addition to broadcast networks, there were dozens, hundreds of cable channels. With more mouths splitting the pie, ratings were naturally carved thinner.
“Wow. Ten percent is a really solid start. These days most anticipated shows don’t even begin in double digits.”
“Makes me think of that drama from a couple quarters ago. They pushed PR like crazy and the final ratings were nine percent…”
That drama’s numbers weren’t terrible. The problem was that, considering the cast and the production budget, it hadn’t even hit middling success.
“Still, I’m glad the start’s successful.”
As if they’d never been anxiously acting like the doomed, people all over were suddenly in a festive mood.
But it didn’t last.
“It’s too soon to relax. The start is good, but we can’t rest easy yet.”
At Director Heo’s pinpoint remark, the room quieted.
“What did we start at?”
—“It was 11.2 percent.”
“If it’s 13.2 now, then thankfully we haven’t lost viewers yet.”
The broadcast time was just under fifty minutes. They couldn’t let their guard down. At any moment, viewers might feel bored and change the channel. All the more since this was the debut episode, nerves were inevitable.
—“Ratings holding around 12 percent.”
At set intervals, or whenever there was a change, the situation room reported in immediately.
—“We’ve broken 13 percent!”
That message arrived just as Yeonwoo, before King Yeomna, prostrated himself with a chill, expressionless face.
[I am sorry, King Yeomna.]
Before the thundering monarch, the Grim Reaper bowed his head deeply. His face was ice, without a trace of expression, and his downcast eyes were as cold as the freezing point.
[I will, without fail, take responsibility for correcting the registry.]
[You will be held to your word! A Reaper’s promise is by no means light! You must stake your name. Do you understand?!]
After King Yeomna roared and turned away in displeasure, vanishing.
Soundless, like a ghost, the Grim Reaper rose. On the registry he held, a single name was clearly written.
Crumple.
In contrast to a face without the slightest change, the registry in his hand was crushed without hesitation. In a tableau otherwise entirely still, only the crumpled registry revealed the Reaper’s emotion.
But then, as his long, white hand moved slightly, the wrinkled registry returned to pristine condition as if nothing had happened.
Pitch-black eyes lowered again to the name. Just as he had vowed to King Yeomna, a fixation to find it at any cost flickered at his eyes.
“Ugh. This part gives me chills every time.”
As Yeonwoo’s scene passed, several staffers’ shoulders trembled.
“I told you, I had sleep paralysis after editing this.”
“Was it that the Grim Reaper appeared and just stared at you?”
“I thought I’d gotten used to it, but seeing it again, it feels new.”
After that, the ratings traced a gentle upward curve.
“Final rating for episode one: fifteen point four percent!”
Director Heo boomed out the report from the situation room. He had earlier thrown water on the flaming mood by insisting they wait and see, but with the first episode closing over fifteen percent, nothing stood in their way.
“Wow, how long has it been since I’ve smelled a hit like this?!”
“Oh! We’re number one in our time slot!”
It wasn’t only the shooting team watching the start of the drama DiMaGo. With two actors commanding enormous fees and production support poured in, it was only natural for the higher-ups to pay attention.
“Director! The programming chief’s office just called! They say we’re to have a team dinner tonight!”
“Oh!”
“Woo!”
There was no guarantee that a strong start would carry through to the finale.
“As long as we keep going just like this… Just like this!”
Still, barring any foolish missteps, with such a smooth launch, there was unlikely to be a major problem.
“This is the beauty of pre-production. Ahh!”
Though the latter half of filming wasn’t complete yet, unlike other dramas that devolved into last-minute script pages, the chance of the quality collapsing was far lower.
Final rating: 15.4 percent.
A smooth launch for the first broadcast, with peak ratings whenever Kwon Seonghyun and Min Yerin appeared… and when Yeonwoo appeared.
After the first broadcast, the viewer boards were on fire. Reactions across various communities and SNS were likewise favorable.
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