Chapter 115
‘To call something “shit” so casually in a formal setting… wow, he’s really confident, isn’t he.’
Even though it was the first meeting, Madfilm’s CEO Lee Jaemin clearly had no intention of hearing our side.
People might think that puts us at a disadvantage—but it doesn’t.
‘There’s always another route.’
So fine—let’s go all in.
“Mr. Lee Jaemin, are you a poo sommelier or something?”
“…What did you just say?”
“As the CEO of a film company, isn’t it your job to manage and produce works that are either commercially strong or leave a lasting impression? Yet you’re packaging and selling Choi Geon-ha’s crap?”
The cartel is really solid.
In this day and age, there are so many people claiming to ‘protect others’ legitimate rights’ while trampling on them.
People now reject consuming works that ignore the rights of film workers, promote hate content, or feature problematic actors.
That kind of awareness of consumer values allows me to say this.
“So you don’t care at all about the moviegoers who actually love cinema?”
Clatter.
“I actually used to really like your film, Someday in the Future, Mr. Lee.”
I trailed off as I headed toward the door. “But I don’t think I can say the same anymore.”
“Wait.”
Lee Jaemin called after me.
“Leave Choi Geon-ha’s screenplay behind.”
…What a petty man.
Even though in a lawsuit we’d have to submit the screenplay anyway, he wouldn’t even let me take it.
Not that it mattered—I could easily get another copy.
If a movie’s about to be released, every actor’s agency involved has one.
“There’s one of the cast I know well.”
Namely, Oh Ye-ji, the second daughter of the owner of Yeji’s Flower Shop.
Oh Ye-ji from the idol group Twits.
After renewing her contract with Yuria Entertainment, she’d started some solo activities, acting while the foreign members were busy with unit promotions.
Tap tap.
I sent her a message: “How was filming Money War?”
She replied instantly.
“Ooh! Uncle Gwaeng! Did you see the article? My pictures came out great, right? Hehe!”
I didn’t tell her the pictures looked even better than the movie. Just said she looked like a real actor.
Then my phone exploded with messages, like she was catching up for all the attention she’d missed.
“Wow, but seriously.”
“Acting’s not easy.”
“Director Choi kept asking if I didn’t have any staff with me ‘cause I’m an idol.”
“Then when I did, he said, ‘You’re on Billboard but your support team’s small, huh?’ T_T”
“He kept picking on my acting, comparing me to others every shoot ㅠㅠㅠ”
“I barely had any lines too ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ sob sob”
“The director said all that?”
“Yeah. My acting coach was Actress Chun Seo-hee, and she said I was doing well.”
Chun Seo-hee—one of Korea’s top middle-aged actresses, with over ten million box office hits.
‘Sounds like the director gaslighted her just because she’s an idol.’
“Actress Chun Seo-hee even asked Director Choi to take good care of me, but I couldn’t tell my agency about itㅠ”
Poor kid. She suffered for nothing because of that lousy director.
“Who’s that director anyway, for Chun Seo-hee herself to have to ask him for a favor?”
“It’s Director Choi Geon-ha. Do you know him? I heard he’s done a bunch of small projects.”
…Choi Geon-ha?
“He’s the writer and director of Money War?”
“Yep! Apparently, most movies are written and directed by the same person. This one was a big deal—he’d been developing it for years, got lots of investors!”
“Though honestly, I think that was ‘cause of me and the other actor. >.ㅇ”
Wow, Choi Geon-ha, huh.
So that’s why Madfilm’s CEO said only credit adjustments were possible.
‘If the script the director wrote is plagiarized, the entire film collapses.’
Now what do I do?
I was planning to get the script from Ye-ji and sue Choi Geon-ha for copyright infringement—but filing for a screening ban would hurt Ye-ji too.
“By the way, Uncle Gwaeng, what’s this about? You didn’t just message me after reading my article, did you? (smirk)”
In times like this, honesty works best.
“I’m handling a copyright case. The writer who plagiarized is Choi Geon-ha. I wanted to see if you have the Money War script.”
“WHAT?!?!”
My phone rang immediately—it was Oh Ye-ji.
“Uncle Gwaeng, what do you mean?!”
“Exactly what it sounds like. Choi Geon-ha stole a rookie writer’s script and sold it to Madfilm. The writer only found out right before release.”
I didn’t even know Choi was the director at first.
No wonder there was no mention of a writer or director in the press releases.
“Whaaat?! OMG, seriously!!! So that means he plagiarized everything and still yelled at me about my acting?! Wow. Wow!!”
‘Da-hae-ping’? What’s that supposed to mean now…
“Uncle.”
“What.”
“What did you say you needed again?”
“The screenplay.”
“Want me to send it to you now?”
“…Do you even understand what that means?”
If it goes to OTT (streaming), that’s fine, but worst case, her film could be pulled entirely.
“Uncle, I’m an adult working in the industry! You think I don’t know that?”
“You little—”
“Sure, it might hurt my career, but what’s worse is if this blows up after release. Fixing credits later hurts way more than doing it right from the start.”
‘Is this really something an idol would say?’
“Uncle’s probably thinking that, right? That this isn’t something idols say.”
“……”
“It’s because I’m an idol that I think about my image so much.”
“I realized something while filming—actors can get by just acting well, even without good scripts. But idols can’t.”
“We have to act well and choose our projects wisely. And we can’t be seen working with shady people.”
Even though it’s a system you can’t really escape.
“Ye-ji…”
“You don’t get it, huh? But that’s the truth. For someone like me, who’s both idol and actor.”
I could hear her sniffle.
“Even if I’m not an idol anymore and become a full-time actress, people still see me as one. So if a director casts me for ticket sales, I have to obey… sniff.”
She must’ve been really hurt by Choi Geon-ha.
Her credit got messed up, her reputation rode a rollercoaster, and she got gaslighted by the director.
My head was pounding—but one thing was clear.
Oh Ye-ji wanted to help writer Im Seung-chan.
“You mean even if it’s a project you’re in, you don’t want to ignore the plagiarism, right?”
“Kuing~ You’re the best, Uncle—the Hermès of words! ❤️”
“Yeah, I get it. Still, I don’t want you to get caught up in any of this, okay?”
“Okay!”
“Does the script you have have any of your notes or markings on it?”
“Ah… yeah.”
Damn. I’d hoped for a clean copy.
“Uncle, you just don’t want them to know who gave it to you, right?”
“Exactly. The production company might try to track that down.”
“Then I’ll send it by courier!”
Click.
“…?”
Buzz.
Another message.
“Oops, forgot! Uncle Gwaeng, I’ll send it to Mom’s flower shop since I don’t know your office address!”
“But Ye-ji… is that the only copy you’ve got with your notes?”
If she went around asking for a Money War script, rumors could spread fast—and in this industry, keeping lawsuits quiet is crucial.
“Nope! I made a few copies for acting practice. My acting coach said I should keep studying the roles I’ve played.”
“She said I should record my lines tooㅠ”
“When you see yourself improving, that’s how you know you’re on the right path.”
“You think so?! :0”
Guess that’s why she likes games with visible level-ups.
Anyway.
“Forget the script for a sec.”
I compared writer Im Seung-chan’s original treatment and copyrighted script with Choi Geon-ha’s version.
‘The basic framework—characters and plot structure—haven’t changed.’
Just some surface-level edits. It still counted as the original text.
That night, I received the Money War script from Ye-ji’s flower shop, made copies, and compared it line by line.
‘The part Madfilm showed me wasn’t from the beginning.’
“The main characters’ names are identical, and the only change is the supporting judge from Seoul Central District Court.”
In Im Seung-chan’s version, Judge Lee Min-hee was a “judge who gave up on promotion.”
Choi Geon-ha changed her to Choi Min-hee, “a judge obsessed with promotion.”
Next, Scene #1: Opening.
“In Im’s version, the protagonist Lee Sago waves his hand wearing an expensive watch as he hails a deluxe taxi.”
In Choi’s…
“He replaced ‘deluxe suit’ with Hermès, ‘expensive watch’ with Lunex, and the taxi was now a regular cab that happened to stop in front.”
Even the lines were the same:
‘Where are you going?’ — a mysterious voice.
“Office.”
“Office.”
Calling a gambling den an ‘office’.
‘It’s an emergency—don’t go to the office. Find Lee Min-hee.’
“Right now? Yokai.”
“Right now? Okay.”
Even the inserts were identical:
Lee Sago hiding his panic as he gets in the cab.
The beautiful female driver adjusting the rearview mirror.
The lines they exchange while lighting cigarettes—
“You got caught?”
“You got caught.”
Choi Geon-ha had zero shame.
“He plagiarized because he wanted the money without putting in the work.”
Swish.
I marked all identical lines and scenes with a highlighter.
Any minor changes—red pen. Done.
Scanned the copy and sent it to the Korean Screenwriters Guild, requesting a credit correction.
Then I drafted the lawsuit: injunction to ban release, damages, and copyright violation complaint.
Now the only thing Madfilm could do was confirm the facts with Choi Geon-ha.
“Time to go see that bastard myself and blow his mind.”
When I finally met Choi Geon-ha on December 10, it was chaos.
At Ruine Films, he went ballistic.
“Jack in the Money Box and Money War are different works!”
“Changing the title doesn’t change the content. Remember how Misty got accused of plagiarism when it became Haze?”
“Haze? I tried to understand—rookie writers always overreact—but you sent a certified notice to Madfilm and the Writers Guild for credit revision?!”
“Mr. Choi Geon-ha, that’s a rightful exercise of the copyright holder’s legal authority.”
“Im Seung-chan, that bastard! He’s spreading lies and defaming me?! That parasite—chewing him up wouldn’t be enough! I’ll sue him!!!”
…Yeah. The guy was completely insane.
