Chapter 1: The Advertising Genius, Myung Do-hyuk

He had just been forced to retire.

Myung Do-hyuk, the chief copywriter of the production department at Taekang Ad, had dedicated over a decade to advertising. He had become so obsessed with advertising that he even got divorced and had no family, living like a fool.

The journey from a new employee to a chief was arduous, but the departure was clear.

He had a meal with Kim In-sik, a manager from the HR department.

Kim In-sik, the harbinger of death, only dined with employees who were about to be forced to retire.

He had never had a meal with the HR manager before.

Awkwardly, he sat across from him and ordered two bowls of soup.

The taste of the rice grains in his mouth was bitter.

He picked a few pickles from the pot, stirred the broth, and stared at Kim In-sik.

"That must be a tough job. No one wants to do it, right?"

"Yeah, it's tough. But, isn't life hard in general?"

Kim In-sik's early days came to mind.

He remembered a friend with a bright and determined look in his eyes.

When he was receiving new employee training, Do-hyuk had taken him to a few meetings.

He seemed to fit the role of a copywriter, but he was assigned to the media team and later became a staff member.

Do-hyuk regretted not treating him to a meal when he moved to the HR department.

It was too late, though.

"You were amazing during your PT (Presentation, competitive presentation) when you were a new employee. You were really great in your prime."

"Amazing? What's the point of being a washed-up old man reminiscing about the past?"

Do-hyuk was once known as the 'Myung Copy Machine.' He had his moments of success.

He was recognized for his talent from the start and consistently produced hit ads.

But that was all in the past.

Unlike his prime, he had lost three consecutive competitive PTs recently. The last one was against a small, new company that had entered the advertising market a year ago.

He couldn't say he wasn't frustrated. When his junior, Choi Cheol-woo, who was two years his junior, was promoted to department head, the subtle checks and balances became more overt.

It seemed uncomfortable for Choi to have a senior working under him, so he treated Do-hyuk unfairly.

He assigned a new designer to Choi's team and cut the budget.

Do-hyuk used to work only with the ace team.

After Choi's arrival, he was pushed to the second and third teams, and the quality of his proposals naturally declined. He did his best, but the results were disheartening.

Still, he couldn't make excuses as a veteran. He had to win competitive PTs no matter what.

Three consecutive losses. A three-strike rule was inevitable.

Especially in an advertising company where the retirement age is low.

There was no reason to keep an old, worn-out copywriter. As a senior, his salary was higher.

A self-deprecating sigh escaped him. What good would it do to long for his glory days?

The bottom of the soup bowl was visible, and the harbinger of death pronounced his sentence.

"Once you finish your meal, you can just go home."

"Right away, like this?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, but you can't enter the building. We'll send your belongings by courier in a few days."

"What? Even though I've worked here for twenty years, you're not letting me pack my things?"

"I'm sorry. You know the company policy. There was a recent information leak."

He knew. He knew better than anyone how his seniors had left the industry.

The advertising world is a fiercely competitive market. Advertising is all about ideas, and it's natural to be cautious about information leaks.

Do-hyuk knew he wouldn't get a job at another PR firm or have time to gather proposals.

There had been a recent information leak, so this measure was understandable from the owner's perspective.

Still, it felt wrong to be treated this way after dedicating over twenty years to the company. He glared at Kim In-sik with a mix of resentment.

Kim In-sik didn't respond to his gaze.

The harbinger of death was just doing his job. It wasn't his fault.

Still, anger welled up inside him.

"Back in the day, I even installed a boiler for the boss's house, you know? And I made a bed scientifically. Damn it, you bastards."

He wanted to curse, but he turned away silently. He finished the soup, stood up, and tried to quicken his pace, but his feet felt heavy.

An old poet was wrong.

He said that the back of someone who knows when to leave is beautiful, but this was as pitiful as it gets.

He bowed deeply to Kim In-sik and pulled out his phone.

He slowly scrolled through his call history.

On the day he was leaving the company where he had worked for over a decade, he wanted to have a drink.

But there was no one to call.

There was no one to have a drink with at a time like this. His recent calls were all with colleagues and clients. He didn't even have a wife to worry about him.

A bitter laugh escaped him.

"Really, Myung Do-hyuk, you've wasted your life. You chased after advertising like a madman, but now that you're out of the company, do you have any friends to call or a family to welcome you? Sigh."

He entered a nearby bar, a cozy and quiet place on the first floor.

"What would you like?"

"Give me a strong drink, anything."

The bartender brought him tequila, knowing he wanted to get drunk.

'This will be perfect. I'll drink it, pass out, and wake up with a headache tomorrow morning.'

The brand of tequila was familiar. It was Cuervo Especial, which he had worked on for a print ad.

Behind the bartender, a large poster was displayed. It featured a copy he had written in red letters.

A bitter smile played on his lips as he drank the tequila.

How many more ads would he see in the future?

His own ads and those of his colleagues. In the flood of media, he would reminisce about his bitter past and look for his glory days.

He would slowly fade away.

The bartender, noticing his expression, asked curiously.

"Sir, are you staring at the poster? Is something wrong?"

"That's an ad I made."

"Ah! The tequila ad?"

The bartender looked at him with wide eyes. Do-hyuk felt a bit proud of the impressed reaction.

He was a bit tipsy, so he felt it was okay to be a little boastful.

"Wow, you're in advertising. I've loved ads since I was a kid. I even sing along to CM songs."

"Many people love ads. Some even dream of becoming ad professionals."

"My youngest sibling is preparing for a job at an ad agency."

"There are young people who come to intern interviews every year, willing to work without pay just to learn."

"Do you hire them?"

Do-hyuk frowned deeply. He shook his head and downed the tequila in one shot.

"I don't hire them for that reason. I hate passion pay."

"Ah, passion pay! It's terrible. I hope you can change the workplace culture."

He could only laugh bitterly.

The bartender took a new order and ended their short conversation. After a few more shots of tequila, he stepped outside.

The street was quiet and deserted.

It was early winter, but the wind was cold, and he pulled up his coat collar. The cold wind seeped through and chilled his chest.

He bought a pack of cigarettes, a familiar brand.

The package was designed by his junior.

The intuitive ad featuring refreshing mint and peppermint won an award at last year's ad festival.

Of course, Do-hyuk had confirmed the copy himself.

'Is this all it takes to lose your mind? Myung Do-hyuk, you're done for.' He mumbled to himself, feeling dizzy.

The stars in the sky blurred, then brightened, and faded again.

If he could go back to the beginning, could he do better than this?

Countless copies he had written, countless proposals he had confirmed, did he have no regrets?

He had given everything—his youth, his life, and time with his family—to advertising, and now he felt brutally discarded.

The crazy copywriter Myung Do-hyuk, who had always prided himself on not being a fool, now felt like the biggest fool of all.

Myung Do-hyuk! What is this? Is this the best you can do?

He couldn't find an answer to his own question and stumbled to a stairway of a shop, where he crouched down.

He leaned his head against the cold railing. After a long sigh, his eyes slowly closed. The alcohol was taking effect.

Soon, a deep silence enveloped him.

His senses began to fade.

He closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep, not knowing where he was.

* * *

Light shone through. Even with his eyes closed, the light was blinding, and he slowly opened his eyelids.

His senses were hazy. Light flashed through a narrow gap. Familiar music played in his ears.

-My hands, my hands, they reach for the squid crackers.

Was this a dream?

He must have fallen asleep somewhere in a commercial area after drinking.

The music was amusing and, at the same time, melancholic.

Crazy. Myung Do-hyuk. Aren't you tired of ads? Even in your dreams, you hear CM songs.

He couldn't help but chuckle inwardly.

As if to avoid not being an ad man, he was dreaming about squid crackers.

He had had countless dreams about advertising. Brainstorming sessions, copy rejections, CF failures, and winning the top prize at an ad festival.

He didn't want to dream about them anymore.

The dreams of copywriter Myung Do-hyuk were shattered.

Do-hyuk slowly sat up.

His limbs were numb, but he could bear it.

He had a clear head, as if the alcohol had worn off.

He clenched and unclenched his fists several times to confirm that his hands were fine, then looked around.

A bulky TV with a cathode-ray tube caught his eye.

'What? When was this TV made? I only saw these in college.'

He was intrigued, but the TV sound continued.

The music didn't stop.

-My hands, my hands, they reach for the squid crackers. Children's hands, adults' hands, they keep reaching.