Episode 6. Teaser Reactions
“Director, please take a look at the teaser I made!”
KBC’s drama division chief, Bae Gukhyeon, looked at PD Choi, who suddenly barged in with excessive enthusiasm, and felt a strange sense of unfamiliarity.
“When was it that you were acting like you’d slack off, complaining about being paired with that stubborn rookie writer everyone calls a chick? And now this?”
“Ah, Director, when did I ever do such a thing, huh?”
“So was it your conscience that slacked off then? Anyway… what, did that chick manage to pull something amazing out of nowhere?”
“Just—just watch it first, then decide!”
The sight of PD Choi practically steaming with excitement made the director both curious and uneasy.
‘When was the last time Jinwook looked this confident?’
“Fine, let’s see it.”
He took the DVD from PD Choi, slipped it in, and pressed play.
[…]
The screen was pitch-black.
Then, drops of stark white paint fell against the darkness like dripping blood.
Over it, a narration began.
“They say a king is bestowed by the heavens…”
The voice was coarse and scratchy, like that of a traveler worn down after crossing a barren desert.
Suyang Daegun’s voice overlapped with the snarling of a wolf.
[ Grrr… ]
“But I ask you—who decides the will of heaven?”
Boom!
With a short, powerful beat of the drum, the pitch-black screen erupted into flames. Burning fire consumed the frame before dissolving into a crimson sunset.
A pack of wolves—no, Suyang Daegun and his men—climbed slowly up a mountain bathed in twilight.
The camera followed their swaying shoulders and steady footsteps in slow motion. Each thundering drumbeat pounded like a heartbeat.
Boom. Boom. Boom-boom-boom!
[ Suyang Daegun, Yi Yu, played by Kim Jehoon ]
Letters appeared across the screen, scrawled as though slashed across the canvas with a paintbrush dripping in white ink.
At the end of those steps, standing against the burning sunset—
—a boy.
He lifted his eyes.
Within their shadowed depths, the sunset seemed to glow, blazing gold like the eyes of a starving tiger.
Boom! Boom-boom… boom!
[ King Danjong, Yi Hongwi, played by Lee Jiwoo ]
The powerful calligraphy appeared beneath Danjong’s figure. The drums stopped. Silence fell.
From within that soundless world, only his voice rang out.
“Dangerous, you say?”
The intensity of the delivery pierced the eardrum.
The faint twist of his tone carried raw anger and biting scorn, a depth of fury unimaginable from the mouth of a mere boy. It seared the mind like the burning sunset.
The savage charisma of Suyang’s growl, the furious storm in Danjong’s eyes and voice—they collided, a double strike to the senses.
The camera shifted to Suyang Daegun’s clenched jaw, the muscles twitching under shadow.
Step. Step.
Danjong walked down toward him. The silence shattered as music crept back in, swelling into a grand, tense orchestral score.
Then—
All sound stopped once more.
Danjong spoke.
“When looking up at the heavens, take care not to stumble on the stones at your feet.”
The unnervingly crisp enunciation sent shivers down the spine.
Beneath the warning and firm resolve, beneath the arrogance that said I do not fear you, there lingered a faint, unhidden tremor of a boy’s anxiety.
‘W-what… what is this…?’
Director Bae’s mouth fell open before he realized it.
From his ears, the sound of Suyang Daegun’s breath rumbled like a beast.
“…I am forever grateful for Your Majesty’s grace.”
The growl blended hatred toward his brother, yearning, fear of challenging legitimacy, arrogance, and a hungry certainty of victory. It clawed at the eardrums, raising goosebumps that raced down the director’s back.
And just as Bae’s arms trembled from the overwhelming chill—
Boom!
A resounding drumbeat. The screen went black again.
At once, both men’s voices filled the silence.
[I am the heavens of Joseon.]
[Now, I am the heavens.]
“Ooooooooh!!”
A long wolf’s howl followed, as the screen burst into flames once more and letters blazed across it.
“Two men, bound by destiny.”
Suyang — the thief who stole the throne.
Premiere: March 12.
The screen froze.
“….”
“….”
Chief Bae sat motionless, as if turned to stone.
As though he had forgotten how to breathe, he stayed silent. Then, after rewinding and rewatching the teaser once, twice, thrice, he finally exhaled as if released from a spell.
“Damn… what is this, Jinwook? When you grumbled about being stuck with a rookie writer, when did you go and bring me this kind of bombshell?”
“How is it, Director? Killer, right?”
“I can’t even tell if that kid is an actual child actor or some dwarf veteran. Just their eyes and voice—can a ten-year-old really deliver that kind of presence? What agency is he from? I’ve never seen him before.”
Of course, he was talking about the boy playing Danjong—Lee Jiwoo.
“Fine, I get Kim Jehun—that man’s always been the king of charisma. With the right script and directing, he can radiate even greater power. But this kid? Standing toe-to-toe, not even backing down, and even pressing Suyang Daegun ever so slightly?
If this were some regression webnovel, readers would roast the author alive for nonsense. A ten-year-old written like some middle or high schooler? Unrealistic, they’d say.”
“Middle or high schooler? Director, this isn’t that. This kid’s not a raw gem—he’s already a cut diamond.”
Choi PD, swept up in the praise, was practically shouting with glee.
But Chief Bae quickly cooled, proving his position wasn’t earned by seniority alone.
“…Hey, Jinwook. You know Suyang Daegun’s supposed to be the protagonist here, right?”
“Of course.”
“And according to the plan, the main plot is his political schemes—and the romance in the palace.”
“Exactly.”
“And you cast Choi Subin as the female lead, right? That idol who’s trending lately.”
“…I wasn’t thrilled, but her agency pushed hard. Couldn’t say no.”
It was common. Weak PDs or writers often had parachuted idols forced into their projects by agencies hungry for exposure.
Not inherently bad—it’s how the industry worked. Idols popped into variety shows for publicity too. With a short shelf-life, agencies made them grab whatever they could while the spotlight lasted.
But still—
“…Subin, can she even handle this? Forget that—she’s not even in the teaser. Is she really the female lead?”
“Ah.”
Only then did Choi PD realize his blunder, his face turning pale.
That evening, Min Sia, a fan of idol girl group Rosemary, was scrolling feverishly through online communities.
Her bias, Choi Subin, had just landed her first drama role, and the fan forums were ablaze.
Naturally—today was the teaser release day.
LOL, when has Choi Jinwook ever delivered? Rookie writer’s debut? What a joke.
Honestly, if Subin doesn’t give wooden acting, that’s already a win. But putting her against Kim Jehun? Like asking a college kid to cook for Gordon Ramsay.
At least Ramsay’s nice to kids.
Yeah, but kids don’t usually wreck Ramsay’s kitchen while cooking, do they?
It was rare for idol-actors to earn praise. With all the training idols endured just to debut, few wasted energy on acting practice. Most only dipped in with the safety net of fandom clout.
Though exceptions existed, the stigma was strong. And online reactions were cold.
Grinding her teeth, Min Sia charged into the fray.
Excuse you? Subin just sitting there is art! Without her face’s weight, Jehun would devour the screen alone. This is PD and writer brilliance, that’s what!
LOL, Idol stans, stop defending flop acting. Just stick to music.
Wow, the idol-worship stench in these comments is strong.
“You sons of—!”
Just as she was about to go full crusader like some righteous warrior of old—
THE TEASER’S UP!!!!!
A bomb dropped into the thread.
WHERE? WHERE?
Both Subin’s haters and fans alike clicked the link instantly.
And then they saw it.
[I ask you—who decides the will of heaven?]
The dangerous charisma of a wolf-like man, Suyang Daegun.
[Dangerous, you say?]
And the boy who did not falter—who instead overwhelmed him.
[Be careful.]
Two men’s wills clashed, sparking like fire.
[I am forever grateful… for Your Majesty’s grace.]
Thirty seconds scorched their eyes like wildfire, burned their eardrums to ash.
Overwhelmed by the raw clash of Kim Jehun and Lee Jiwoo’s acting, Min Sia sat frozen long after the teaser ended.
[ March 12 – Premiere ]
“….”
She stared blankly, dazed, before trembling back to herself.
“Wow… their presence, this isn’t some light fusion sageuk. Those eyes, that charisma—what even…?”
The goosebumps on her arms refused to fade.
Suyang’s voice. Danjong’s gaze.
Especially Danjong’s eyes, blazing gold with the sunset—they were like the golden eyes of a Siberian tiger, holding the soul captive.
Danjong may have been threatened, but he felt like the predator, not the prey.
“Wow… unbelievable.”
How was this a drama teaser?
The sheer quality and intensity rivaled that of a film trailer.
Satisfied, Min Sia nodded and shared the link with her friends. But just as she returned to check the forum’s reactions, it hit her.
“Wait—what about Subin?!”
Exactly.
Wasn’t the main story supposed to be about Suyang’s palace romance and political intrigue with the Six Martyred Ministers?
So… where was Queen Jeonghui?
The teaser’s overwhelming quality had distracted everyone—even Subin’s fans.
Within 30 to 60 minutes, online communities reignited.
Initial praise of Danjong’s identity and acting skill quickly devolved into chaos—fandom wars, flame wars, confusion.
“Another teaser can always be shot.”
Choi PD smiled awkwardly as he appeased Subin’s furious agency manager.
“Footage was limited, so it turned out this way. But don’t worry—the second teaser will feature Subin properly.”
“…I’ll trust you on this, PD.”
Once the manager left, Choi PD flipped him off behind his back.
“Fix your idol’s acting first, why don’t you?”
“Did he leave? Didn’t cause too much of a scene?” asked the AD.
Choi PD snorted.
“Of course he ranted. But it was worth it. Hey, what’s the view count now?”
“Over 300,000 already.”
Less than 24 hours since release, and it was skyrocketing. With Jehun’s name value, this kind of momentum meant a million views in a few days, and ten million within weeks.
No wonder his chest swelled with pride.
Let the idol agencies rage—outrage passed. But records? Records stayed forever.
“Anyway, where’s our golden child actor? With this buzz, you’d think he’d at least show up on set.”
Rubbing his hands together, PD Choi looked around for Lee Jiwoo. The washed-up PD who once scoffed at child actors was gone—now replaced with fawning admiration.
The AD gave a wry smile.
“Ah, he said he went to register at an acting academy.”
PD Choi’s head tilted.
“…An acting academy? Him?”
Something about it felt… wrong.
Like something ridiculous was about to happen.
