Chapter 152: The devil in the details

Studio Hani.

While not the top in the industry, it had built a solid reputation for its tonal control and ability to portray emotional depth.

Game trailers, advertisements, educational videos… Among the diverse requests, some were unusual, some demanding. Yet, they always managed to produce results that satisfied their clients.

But this commission was different.

From the CEO to the working team, everyone sensed something odd from the beginning.

During meetings, while making coffee, even in the group chat.

This commission had been a hot topic within Hani for quite some time.

Was it demanding? It certainly was. Revision requests were frequent, and the demands for detail were relentless.

But unlike clients with vague or abstract ideas, this one was different. The image was clear, the direction distinct from the start.

Ultimately, the reason this commission was talked about so much wasn’t because of its demanding nature, but because it was so “unusual.”

The studio’s CEO, Woo Sang-gi (42, single), put it this way:

“Burning through 1500 per stream?”

Jung Seo-ha (34, recently devastated by the US stock market crash) from the directing department expressed envy.

“Did they call the bottom of the crash? The timing’s insane. How much did they rake in to have that kind of spare cash?”

Heo Eun-ju (28, contemplating resignation), a designer who had experience with a channel that had two average viewers and eventually shut down, regretted not sticking with it.

“Is it for tax purposes? Can streamers write this kind of thing off as a business expense? I should’ve kept streaming…”

A total of six episodes, 60 minutes of animation.

It was a considerable amount for outsourced animation.

Moreover, there were no plans for expansion, like a YouTube series or promotional videos.

It was just to be played once during a stream, explained, and used to convey emotions.

That was it.

It was truly “content.” Not meant for profit, not a video to be sold.

Simply created to tell a story, in their own way.

Today was the day this client would visit in person. Many were curious to see what they looked like. The atmosphere in the company was understandably restless.

As the appointed time approached, the hallway in front of the preview room started to get crowded.

Some brought their work tools or tablets and sat at nearby tables. With staff from other projects mingling, team boundaries blurred.

“Why is everyone here? Is the preview room a tourist attraction?”

At the sound of CEO Woo Sang-gi’s voice, two quick-witted employees were the first to rise from their chairs.

“Break it up and get back to work. This isn’t a company media event; it’s a final client review.”

The CEO’s tone was more serious than usual. Everyone tried to hide their disappointment, but it was the CEO’s order. In the end, everyone dispersed, leaving only a few relevant personnel.

The CEO, who wasn’t directly involved in the project, stood nonchalantly to the side.

When someone stared at him, he nodded.

“I’m just here to greet them. Client relations are my job.”

‘…He’s just curious, too.’

The thought one employee harbored didn’t reach the CEO.

The production team remained in the preview room with the CEO. The pressure of being in the same space as him wasn’t too great. They were more curious about the person who had commissioned this animation.

And finally, the door opened, and the client entered.

“Hello.”

In that instant, the preview room fell silent.

Jung Seo-ha rubbed his eyes. As the director, he had edited Leah’s face frame by frame.

“Am I seeing things? I spent over two days just on the cuts…”

His unintentional murmur lingered briefly in the room.

Designer Heo Eun-ju had meticulously refined Leah’s expressions, tone, and movements on screen countless times.

She looked utterly bewildered that the familiar silhouette was now walking before her, “alive.”

It wasn’t simply a matter of her being pretty or looking good in person.

They were face-to-face with the very subject they had scrutinized and manipulated for weeks.

A face as familiar as could be.

But that familiarity was now shattering their sense of reality.

Witnessing a pixelated being step into the real world.

That alone brought all senses in the room to a temporary halt.

“…Hello?”

The client’s greeting echoed again in the awkwardly silent room.

‘Hearing her voice, it’s definitely her. She didn’t use a voice actor for the main character and a few others; she sent us the recordings herself.’

‘Is this the finishing touch…? Did the dragon come alive after I painted its eyes? No, wait, she’s more natural and perfect than the animation I made.’

The CEO, the least involved in the production process, was the first to recover.

“Ah, yes. Welcome. You’re Leah, right?”

The CEO coughed briefly and stood up. He then busied himself with seemingly important tasks, as if trying to hide his delayed reaction.

“Please, have a seat. We have the video all prepared.”

Finally, the tension in the room began to dissipate.

Some of the staff stared at their monitors, feigning composure. Others were still glancing at Leah, trying to process reality.

“Thank you.”

The client nodded quietly and sat in the indicated seat.

Her tone was relaxed, but her movements were remarkably graceful.

‘Is this the ultimate Esumi Leah? Ah, I’ve been missing out on so much.’

‘Look at his eyes, he’s got his artist’s disease again. Someone quarantine him before the revisions pile up.’

While subtle glances were exchanged among the team members, Leah spoke.

“This is the final review, right? Let’s watch it from the beginning and I’ll confirm everything.”

Her voice remained calm, but the firmness in her tone shifted the atmosphere once again.

The vague admiration and spectator-like mood instantly reverted to a “professional” one.

Jung Seo-ha gripped his mouse.

He mentally reviewed the subtitle timing, cuts, and afterimage processing, running through an emergency checklist in his head.

“Then let’s begin.”

With the CEO’s signal, the video started playing.

Moments later, the only sounds in the room were the music and voices from the monitor.

But that didn’t last long. Because the client kept pausing the video.

“The flag used here is the Cardain Kingdom flag, but it seems like you’ve mistaken it for the Eldir battlefield flag, which has a similar design.”

“The bowing angle in this scene is off. The appropriate gesture here isn’t the Knights’ salute but a high noble’s greeting. They don’t bow their shoulders; they just slightly incline their heads.”

“The composition itself is too organized. This is right before the battle lines collapse, so the troops in the back should be disarrayed and crumbling.”

“That’s not the right place for the Alliance’s main banner. To transmit command signals, it should be on the marblestone or higher up the hill. It wouldn’t even be visible from its current position.”

A barrage of last-minute revision requests!

They say the devil is in the details.

True words. The devil had just appeared before their very eyes.

Jung Seo-ha hesitated for a moment, then removed his hand from the mouse.

He took a shallow breath and spoke.

“Um, Leah…”

Leah looked up.

“These weren’t on the previous revision list. I remember you watching the entire video then… Did you notice these for the first time today?”

His tone was gentle, but a hint of bewilderment was evident.

Considering the countless feedback exchanges they’d had, Jung Seo-ha had assumed this review was just a formality.

But Leah blinked, then quietly nodded.

“Yes. Back then, I was watching individual scenes separately, so I think I missed a few things.”

Keeping her eyes on the screen, she continued quietly.

“Now that… I’m thinking of it as the final version that will be aired, I’m finding myself much more sensitive to details than before.”

“I understand.”

After they had reviewed the entire video with the continuous stream of requests, Jung Seo-ha, glancing at the CEO who was still there for some reason despite saying he’d only be greeting her, said,

“Um… Leah, the points you’ve raised… they’re practically on the level of redoing some of the cuts. We’ll have to readjust the directing, and the sound and subtitles will be pushed back as well.”

His voice trailed off slightly. He seemed to hesitate, unsure of how much to say.

Finally, CEO Woo Sang-gi stepped in.

“The production time will increase, and the cost will also go up a bit. The original contract didn’t account for this.”

Leah simply nodded, showing no surprise.

“Yes, please do that. Let me know as soon as you have the necessary quote. I’ll cover it.”

Her tone was calm, her decision made without hesitation. As if she’d intended to do so from the beginning.

A brief silence.

Jung Seo-ha casually raised a hand to tidy up the monitor, but his movements were slower than before. Heo Eun-ju stopped twirling her pen. The other staff members remained silent.

Instead, similar question marks popped up in their minds.

‘Just how serious is this person?’

There would be additional work, certainly. But it was understandable, as it wasn’t a case of unreasonable demands.

Something else bothered them.

Watching the client, her face bright, discussing something serious with the CEO —

The image of the eccentric client solidified in their minds.