Quiet gasp echoed through our tour group. The junior practitioners and interns instantly straightened their postures, their eyes wide with awe as they stared at the central stage.
There, beneath the blinding array of overhead studio lights, stood Lee Eun-sook. Her attire pristine, hair put into an immaculate chignon, she commanded the soundstage with the natural, terrifying authority of a broadcast legend.
As Producer Park guided our group along the marked studio perimeter, Mrs. Lee raised her eyes from her blue broadcast sheets. Her sharp gaze swept over the fresh hires, pausing for a fraction of a second when it landed on me, towering at the back.
Without missing a beat in her posture, she shot me a subtle, lightning-fast wink.
"Is that... Anchor Lee Eun-sook?" a junior practitioner beside me whispered, clutching his clip-board like a sacred relic. "She looks even more regal in person. The ratings for the 8 o'clock news have been unbeatable for three years straight because of her."
"I heard she never makes a single mistake on live television," another intern hushed.
Listening to the surrounding praise, a lopsided smile caught my lips. I knew she was famous and highly respected across the country, but seeing my host mother—the woman who scolded me about my laundry socks and made us eat salted cabbages—in this blinding, both literaly and metaphorically, light was still surreal.
Mrs. Lee set her papers on the curved desk and walked toward our group, her heels clicking rhythmically against the studio floor. Producer Park bowed respectfully as Mrs. Lee offered the interns a calm, professional smile.
"Welcome to the main news pavilion," Mrs. Lee said, her anchor-clear voice filling the vast soundstage. "Since you are here to observe the operational reality of JBC, let us skip the theoretical lecture. Who among you wants to sit at the desk and attempt a live teleprompter reading?"
An anxious, electric silence fell over the practitioners. No one dared to step forward first into the dragon's den.
"San-gun," Mrs. Lee called out smoothly, her eyes sparkling with quiet mischief. "Why don't you demonstrate for our guests?"
"M-Me?" I stammered, pointing a finger at my chest.
"Step up, Representative," Min-ah whispered, aggressively shoving my shoulder toward the stage.
I awkwardly maneuvered my giant frame into the leather anchor chair behind the curved desk. The studio lights were blindingly hot, and the massive teleprompter screen mounted beside Camera 1 illuminated my face in glowing green text.
I took a deep breath, adjusted my blazer, and launched into the script:
"Good evening. This is the JBC National News. Tonight's top story covers the sudden economic fluctuations in the national maritime trade routes..."
Everything was going surprisingly smooth until I hit a complex Korean vocabulary word. My tongue tangled completely over the multi-syllable administrative jargon, and instead of pronouncing "Gyeongje jeongchack" (economic policy), I delivered a booming, superconfident "Gyeongje ganjang"—accidentally informing the entire JBC production crew that the government was launching a national economic soy sauce initiative.
Laughter rippled softly through the control room behind the glass.
I wrapped up the reading as quickly as my dignity allowed and shuffled straight into the main glass broadcasting booth where Mrs. Lee was reviewing the camera monitors.
"Eomeonim..." I groaned, scratching the back of my head in pure, burning embarrassment. "How was I?"
Mrs. Lee turned her head, wiping a tiny tear of amusement from the corner of her eye.
"San-gun... I had to exert every single ounce of my twenty years of professional broadcasting discipline to hold back a loud bark of laughter. The 'economic soy sauce' policy will surely save the national market. And this girl must be..."
"Aish," I muttered, my face heating up. I quickly cleared my throat, stepping aside as the next participant prepared for her turn. "Eomeonim... the girl sitting at the desk right now? That's Kang Min-ah. The friend I mentioned from school."
Mrs. Lee looked through the glass monitor at Min-ah, who was currently adjusting her microphone with laser-focused precision.
"She's in Kirin's Voice and Broadcasting Club," I added quietly. "And... to be honest you are her absolute lifetime role model."
Mrs. Lee let out a small, self-deprecating scoff, crossing her arms.
"A role model? The poor girl must be completely out of her mind to choose an overworked anchor for inspiration." She paused, her sharp eyes carefully tracking Min-ah as she began reading the teleprompter with incredible, flawless cadence, her diction crisp and her posture immaculate. Mrs. Lee's expression softened into genuine respect. "Though... she definitely possesses remarkable natural talent. She is by far the best in this entire group."
Mrs. Lee leaned in slightly toward my shoulder, her voice dropping into a playful whisper.
"Except for my handsome son, of course. Your soy sauce delivery had incredible charisma."
"Eomeonim, please," I whined softly.
A few minutes later, Min-ah finished her reading and came bursting through the heavy door of the broadcasting booth, her face flushed with adrenaline ecstasy.
The moment her eyes locked onto Mrs. Lee, her brain completely lagged. She executed a rapid, aggressive 90-degree bow so low her forehead almost hit her knees.
"Anchor-nim! It is the absolute highest honor of my life to stand in your presence!" Min-ah exploded, her words tumbling out at a hundred miles an hour in a frantic, deafening cacophony of reverence. "I have analyzed every single one of your 8 o'clock news broadcasts since 2012! Your delivery during the winter special reports was a masterpiece of broadcasting! I cannot believe I am breathing the same oxygen—"
Nudge.
I sharply elbowed her in the ribs, cutting off her hyperventilating monologue before she could cause a broadcast hazard. "Control your baseline, Database Queen," I muttered under my breath.
Mrs. Lee let out a light, elegant chuckle, entirely unbothered.
"Thank you for looking after my son at Kirin, Min-ah-ssi. I hear you keep him from causing too much trouble."
"It is not difficult at all, Anchor-nim!" Min-ah squeaked out, her hands trembling against her coat. "Thank you so much for granting us this incredible observation opportunity!"
Mrs. Lee smiled warmly, adjusting her tablet.
"You are very welcome. Honestly... if my own daughter, Ha-neul, possessed even ten percent of your polite public manners, I would probably live five years longer."
I snorted softly, hiding my face behind my hand, while Min-ah looked like she had just been crowned queen of the nation.
"We should let the next pair step in, Eomeonim," I said, offering a respectful bow to Mrs. Lee. "Thank you for the tour!"
"Work hard, children," Mrs. Lee nodded warmly as the next two nervous practitioners walked into the booth.
I grabbed Min-ah's coat sleeve and dragged her out into the quieter soundstage corridor before her fan-girl energy detonated the JBC server rooms.
As we walked toward the glass elevators, Min-ah was practically floating on air, grabbing my arm and shaking it violently.
"I didn't know you were that completely crazy," I muttered, shaking my throbbing head. "You sounded like an official cult member."
"Was I beautiful?!" Min-ah shot back frantically, ignoring my roast completely. "How was my vocal nuance?! Did I read the teleprompter too fast?! Did Anchor Lee notice my diction during the second paragraph?!"
A sharp, throbbing ache instantly bloomed behind my eyes. I looked up at the ceiling lights of the JBC corridor, letting out a long, suffering sigh.
'My head hurts already.'