Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The living room was quiet that afternoon.

Park Songhu sprawled on the sofa, tapping away at his laptop.

The next chapter of <​Chaebol Family>.

It was a scene where the protagonist took control of one of the group’s subsidiaries, and he was trying to decide when to drop the satisfying payoff.

‘Hold it back once in the board meeting scene, then explode it in the final sentence...’

At that moment, a white front paw landed squarely on the keyboard.

“Meow.”

Louis.

At some point, he had climbed onto the table and planted himself there with complete confidence.

“Move. I’m working.”

“Meooow.”

“...Fine, fine.”

Park Songhu pulled a Churu treat out of the drawer.

Spending more time at home had brought several changes, one of which was his skill at squeezing Churu.

He could squeeze it all the way to the end, efficiently extracting every last drop for Louis to lick.

Changing the water bowl every morning and even brushing him had somehow become Park Songhu’s job too.

After Churu time, there was one more thing he did.

Refresh.

Checking how many new comments had appeared on the latest chapter in the past few minutes.

‘I finally understand Park Songmin now.’

Every new comment gave him a dopamine hit.

And when it was a hate comment, his blood pressure shot up.

Click—

The front door lock sounded.

Park Songmin spoke in a barely audible voice as he crawled inside.

“I’m back...”

“Did you pick your comeback project?”

“...<​The Weight of Ash>.”

Park Songhu’s fingers froze over the keyboard.

“What? Director Jung Jaeseung’s?”

He shot upright from the sofa.

Louis jumped and protested with an angry “Mraaak.”

“Turns out you’ve got ambition, huh?”

“...What ambition?”

“Ambition for projects. Acting ambition. Ambition to become a celebrity.”

“...! I-I just picked it because it had the shortest filming period!”

“Why do you think the filming period is short? Because he squeezes people dry. Jung Jaeseung is famous for shooting the same scene until sunrise if he doesn’t get the take he wants.”

Park Songmin covered his face with both hands.

He wanted to cry.

“Seriously, you’re incredible. Picking a legendary director’s three-year-delayed project just because the script was the thinnest.”

“Wouldn’t you have to audition for that director too?”

“They said they’ll contact me once the schedule is set. Haa...”

“What, already worried you’ll fail?”

“I’m worried I’ll pass.”

“You lunatic.”

Park Songhu let out an involuntary chuckle.

“Our little brother’s confidence is impressive. Worried he’ll pass, even.”

“...The manager said the same thing today. What on earth are you people seeing that makes you think I’m confident? Haaaa...”

Park Songmin cautiously asked.

“By the way, since I agreed to act like this, as promised...”

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“!”

Life returned to his face.

That evening, one new house rule was established.

It began with Park Songhu’s declaration.

“I’m going out for a run.”

“You’re going outside?!”

“I’m saying I’ll only go out when you’re home. On days you go out, I stay home.”

“Ah...”

“Think of it as passing the baton.”

There was essentially no problem with that.

Park Songmin never left the house on days when he had no schedule anyway.

“I mean... I’ve always liked staying home.”

“Right. The first moment in your life when that hikikomori tendency has actually been useful.”

“...That was a compliment, right?”

“Yep, I’m praising you~”

Park Songhu returned from a run along the Han River at ten that night looking refreshed.

Once home, he cornered Park Songmin and bragged that even with a hat and mask on, two passersby had turned around to look at him, so apparently his looks weren’t dead yet.

You couldn’t exactly hide his proportions.

And the next day.

A box as tall as a grown man appeared in front of the door.

“W-What is this?”

“Cat wheel.”

Park Songhu calmly took out a box cutter.

A premium wooden cat wheel.

After searching the price, Park Songmin counted the digits on the screen three times.

“O-One point two million won...? For a cat wheel?”

“Louis gained weight lately.”

“Even so! Do you know how many bags of cat food that money buys?!”

It took two hours to assemble the 1.2-million-won cat wheel.

A top star wrestling with the instruction manual and a web novelist beside him holding the screws.

And when the cat wheel was finally finished, Louis.

Climbed into the cardboard box and sat down.

“Meow.”

“...”

“...”

Apparently he liked the box better.

From that day on, the cat wheel became a 1.2-million-won sculpture.

Meanwhile, Park Songhu decided he would personally handle all communication with Aces Media.

“It’s my work, so I’ll handle the contract myself.”

“B-But the MiniSong name belongs to me...”

“If I leave it to you, what are you going to write back?”

“...It’s an honor. I’ll gratefully sign?”

“That’s why I’m doing it.”

Park Songhu also chose the meeting method.

Aces suggested meeting in person, but after he replied that outside appointments were difficult due to the author’s personal circumstances, they agreed to handle the contract electronically.

That was common in the web novel world.

There were countless authors who never revealed their faces.

And their situation was especially unusual.

The most famous face in Korea couldn’t exactly show up and say, “Hello, I’m MiniSong.”

Then that night.

[Hello, Author MiniSong. Attached are the contract terms we discussed.]

They opened the attached term sheet.

Park Songhu’s gaze slid from top to bottom.

Revenue split, Author 7: Management 3.

Advance, 1 million won.

Contract term, five years with automatic renewal.

“...”

Having once had his bank account devastated by contractual penalties, Park Songhu had a sharp eye for clauses.

He had also combed through author communities to learn roughly what standard contract ratios looked like.

‘Exactly industry average.’

Of course, he understood.

This was MiniSong’s first hit, so the other side was probably being cautious.

There was no guarantee the work would keep performing this well as more chapters came out.

One bad chapter could make sales plummet in the web novel industry.

However, Park Songhu, who only cared about <​Chaebol Family>’s current results, had no intention of obediently accepting this bland contract.

“...Looks like I need to negotiate.”

***

Aces Media headquarters.

The Content Business Division was a place where every monitor displayed some kind of performance dashboard.

At the center of it, a junior assistant rolled his wheeled chair over to the desk of Gu Taeseong, team leader of Content Business Team 3.

“Team Leader, <​Chaebol Family> is still number one today. Have you read the latest chapter?”

“I read it the moment it went up.”

“...?”

“Ahem. Part of the job.”

Gu Taeseong pulled up MiniSong’s author page on his monitor.

Views by chapter, favorite-count growth, comment activity.

Looking only at the numbers, there was nothing to debate.

“It’s been two days since we sent the terms. Still no response?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t people usually reply within a day? And start with something like ‘thank you’?”

“They’re probably busy. They’re serializing.”

He answered casually, but the finger clicking refresh had a subtle amount of force behind it.

“...But Team Leader, were our terms really okay? Seven-three with a one-million-won advance. With metrics like these, other companies must have contacted them too.”

“They did.”

Gu Taeseong switched screens.

MiniSong’s previous works appeared.

“<​The Dungeon That Never Sleeps>, subscribers in the three hundreds. The two works before that never even made it to paid serialization.”

“That’s true, but...”

“All that’s proven is the early momentum of this one work. They’ve never carried a series all the way to completion. You remember what happened with <​Return of the Sword God> last year.”

The junior assistant’s shoulders twitched.

“...We paid a huge advance based on the early numbers, then retention collapsed at chapter fifty.”

“That’s why we need to be cautious.”

Gu Taeseong counted on his fingers.

“Standard split for a new author is seven-three. Advances are calculated from previous sales. Both are company policy. Without paid-conversion data, approval for anything above that won’t even go through.”

“...True, it’s still in free serialization.”

“I’d like to offer more too, but there’s nothing we can do. Nothing’s been proven yet.”

The junior assistant nodded, then suddenly reached for the mouse.

“Come to think of it, didn’t this author submit to us before?”

Searching MiniSong in the submissions mailbox produced three results.

“...They submitted three times.”

“Looks like it.”

Gu Taeseong opened the most recent email.

A familiar name was written in the sender field of the rejection reply.

Content Business Team 3, Gu Taeseong.

“You rejected them yourself?”

“...”

That was news to him.

He had rejected them back then, and now he was the one who had sent the offer.

‘...They’re not holding a grudge over that, are they? Nah. This is Aces, the number-one management company in the industry.’

With a bitter expression, he closed the window.

“...We’ll take good care of them this time.”

Just then, the desk phone rang.

It was the reception desk.

-Team Leader, someone claiming to be Author MiniSong wants to speak with you directly.

“Why?”

-I’m not sure of the details, but it sounds like they want to discuss the contract terms.

It was rare for an author, especially a new one, to call directly about contract conditions.

Most asked carefully by email, if they asked at all.

“Put them through.”

Gu Taeseong cleared his throat.

He picked up the receiver and spoke in the brightest tone he could manage.

“Yes, Author MiniSong! Nice to speak with you. This is Gu Taeseong, team leader of Content Business Team 3.”

-Hello. This is MiniSong.

“...”

For a moment, Gu Taeseong adjusted his grip on the receiver.

The voice had a completely different texture even through the speaker.

Low-pitched, with crisp pronunciation.

It sounded almost... like an actor’s trained voice.

‘How does an author sound like this?’

-I read the terms you sent carefully.

“Oh, yes, yes. We’ve been very impressed with your work.”

-Yes. I have a few questions.

“Ask anything you’d like.”

-The three percent allocated to management in the revenue split. I’d like to know specifically what services that guarantees.

“Ah, well, we provide comprehensive support ranging from editorial assistance to promotions and IP commercialization...”

-Is the assigned editor dedicated exclusively to me or handling multiple authors?

“...They do handle multiple authors, but our editorial team is one of the best in the industry...”

-Are the number and scale of promotional placements stated in the contract?

“That varies depending on internal circumstances.”

‘What is this?’

Team Leader Gu was suddenly flustered.

The way MiniSong was dissecting each point made him feel like he was being dragged along, and perhaps because of that, he found himself saying.

“...Uh, but we’ll support you as much as possible. We can make sure you get at least one promotional placement every three months...”

-Understood. Then could you put the support you just described into the contract as guaranteed provisions?

“...”

Something about the way this person spoke suggested tremendous self-confidence.

There was no hesitation whatsoever in his words.

-The contract also has a five-year term with automatic renewal. Please change renewal to mutual agreement.

“Ah, yes... that can certainly be adjusted.”

-All right. Next.

There was more?

“A-Author, I hope there’s no misunderstanding. If our terms seemed a little harsh, it’s because we have internal calculation standards based on your previous work’s performance...”

-I understand. If I were looking at that data, I would have calculated it the same way.

“R-Right? Thank you for understanding...”

-But are you trying to sign my previous works, or <​Chaebol Family>?

“Well... <​Chaebol Family>, of course.”

-Then reevaluate the terms based on <​Chaebol Family>.

The junior assistant, who had been eavesdropping beside him, was sweating too.

-And there’s one more thing I need to tell you.

“...Yes?”

-I currently have offers from eleven management companies. One of them has already entered negotiations.

“...”

His grip tightened around the receiver.

-The advance they offered starts with a different digit than yours.

The words Wait a minute rose to Gu Taeseong’s throat.

But having already lost momentum, his tongue tangled.

-I prefer Aces. Your track record in IP commercialization is the strongest. And... this is the management company I like most as well. So if you send me revised terms by Friday, I’ll review yours first.

“Ah, yes! Thank you!”

‘...Did I just say thank you? To an author who’s still technically a rookie?’

-I know you’re busy, so thank you for your time.

Click.

The call ended.

Gu Taeseong remained frozen with the receiver in hand for a long moment.

“...Team Leader?”

“Huh? Yeah.”

“How did it go?”

“...”

He replayed the call in his head.

Honestly, because MiniSong had submitted to them before, Gu Taeseong had started the call feeling a little superior, but one phone call had made it perfectly clear who had the leverage.

‘...That person has nerves of steel. MiniSong.’

“...Their submission emails sounded really timid though. They said thank you so many times.”

“S-So?”

“They sound like a completely different person.”

Gu Taeseong rubbed the back of his neck.

“...Redo the terms. Eight-two. Fifty-million-won advance.”

“What?!”

The junior assistant’s voice rose, and several heads popped up from behind the partitions.

“Wh-What about approval? You just said anything above that wouldn’t pass under policy...”

“I’ll take it directly to the division head. It’s the number-one free-ranking title and competitors are already negotiating.”

There was one thing he had felt during the call.

“There’s no guarantee MiniSong signs with us. If we stick rigidly to policy and lose this... that would be the real disaster.”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

The junior assistant started typing, then suddenly asked.

“But Team Leader, do you think Author MiniSong was always like this? Someone who sounded that desperate when submitting manuscripts, yet can be this calm at the negotiating table?”

Gu Taeseong glared at the term sheet on his monitor and answered.

“...No idea. Maybe they changed as a person in the meantime. The writing changed, and apparently the personality did too.”

“Could they be twins?”

“...Stop saying crazy shit and get back to work.”

“Yes, sir!”

***

The revised term sheet arrived.

Revenue split, Author 8: Management 2.

Advance, 50 million won.

Secondary rights negotiated case by case.

Only after reading every clause to the end did Park Songhu close the laptop.

‘Good.’

The bedroom door opened and a head with messy hair emerged at one in the afternoon.

“Wow, you’re up early.”

“Right? I kind of am today.”

Crazy bastard.

“Aces sent the contract terms.”

“...!”

His half-asleep face lit up instantly.

“H-How are they? What are the terms? No, who cares about the terms, it’s Aces... no, actually I do want to know the terms...”

Contract terms were also an indicator of how the company valued an author.

“Sit down first.”

Park Songhu turned the laptop around and showed him the screen.

As Park Songmin read down the terms, his eyes widened.

“Eight-two...?”

“Yeah.”

“The advance is... f-fifty...?”

“Aces seems to think pretty highly of MiniSong.”

Park Songhu said it calmly.

Even his terrible acting was good enough for this much.

“Th-They thought highly of me...”

“You’re that happy?”

Park Songmin’s eyes grew damp.

“Hey, why are you crying.”

“I’m not crying.”

Then he broke into a bright smile, picked Louis up, and spun around with him.

“Louis! MiniSong got recognized! By Aces!”

“Mraaak!”

Park Songhu watched with his chin resting on his hand.

He had no intention of mentioning the first offer.

Well.

No harm done.

‘Feels kind of good.’

Humming, Park Songmin went into the bathroom.

The laptop remained open on the dining table.

“Meow.”

At that moment, Louis lightly hopped up and walked across the laptop.

His front paw pressed firmly on the touchpad.

The screen changed.

The NovelJoA serialization page.

It was the comment section for <​Chaebol Family>.

The logged-in username was visible in the upper-right corner.

[Cold-Blooded Novel Critic]

The comment list was filled with entries labeled [My Comment].

-I’ll admit the pacing is fast. But fast isn’t everything. This author’s previous work <​The Dungeon That Never Sleeps> was slow, but even a single line of dialogue could leave an aftertaste. Shame readers these days don’t appreciate that. Check the author page if curious

└Got baited by this comment and dropped the previous work after 2 chapters

-Everyone’s losing their minds over Chairman Choi’s charisma, but if you know Serin from the previous work, this is average at best. For reference, check the author’s page and read the previous series. Recommend binging

└Fell for this shit fuck

-I give this chapter 4 out of 5. The twist was entertaining. A little. Personally, I still prefer this author’s previous work

└Do NOT read it. Just endless frustration

This bastard...

“...Hey, get out here.”

The Genius Actor Is Hiding Twins