It was a gloomy, wind-swept afternoon in mid-December.
Seoul sat beneath a shroud of thick, oppressive clouds that hung low in the sky like a dark curtain waiting to fall.
The air carried the faint smell of rain and bitterness, as if the storm was inevitable.
Pedestrians on streets moved with haste, collars turned up, eyes to the pavement. The city felt like it was holding its breath.
Inside Jihoon's office, the mood was just as heavy as the weather outside.
Because what was supposed to be a day of celebration had turned into a nightmare.
Only a week ago, Jihoon's film 'Your Name' had earned standing ovations in Europe, been shortlisted for the Golden Globe's Best International Feature, and was praised as a visual masterpiece that blended raw emotion with subtle mysticism.
The staff at JH had planned a festive dinner to honor their long nights and sacrifices.
But those plans were now in ashes.
Because since dawn, the local internet had been on fire.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of articles, blog posts, and social media rants had emerged like a tidal wave.
Headlines screamed accusations:
"Is Jihoon Promoting Pedophilia Through His Films?"
"The Dark Truth Behind Korea's Rising Film Star"
"Secret and Your Name: Beautiful Stories or Dangerous Fantasies?"
The praise that once surrounded Jihoon had quickly turned into suspicion.
Critics were now attacking the very theme that had defined Jihoon's work—those quiet, emotional stories about youth, often focused on teenagers grappling with love, pain, and identity.
What was once seen as raw and human was now being painted as inappropriate, even harmful.
It was clear this wasn't random.
The timing and intensity of the online coverage all felt coordinated—too precise to be a coincidence.
It carried the stench of sabotage—sharp, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.
But it wasn't the harsh words that hurt the most. Jihoon had already faced plenty of rejection and criticism in his previous life—this was simply walking the same path again in his new one.
What cut deeper was the accusation behind the words—the idea that his films weren't expressions of truth, but tools of exploitation, used to gain both profit and fame, as claimed by the media.
That he had built his success by romanticizing underage emotions for personal gain.
That his art wasn't storytelling—it was manipulation.
He sat quietly at his desk, staring at the screen.
Around him, the JH staff whispered, anxiously pacing, making calls to PR teams, legal counsel, and media contacts.
Some wept in frustration.
Others wanted to fight back immediately.
But Jihoon? He was calm.
Not because it didn't hurt.
But because he knew the truth. And more importantly, he knew they had nothing on him. If they did, they would have blasted it by now.
Behind the curtain of these accusations, God only knew how hard his rival directors and bitter producers had scrambled to uncover any dirt they could on Jihoon.
They were desperate for a scandal—anything they could use to bury him. Underage sex, drugs, abuse of power—anything that could be weaponized.
But instead, they were met with disappointment.
They found nothing.
Because, in their eyes, Jihoon's life was dull and uneventful.
His routine was almost monastic—home, office, set, and sometimes classes. Evenings were spent training at a modest taekwondo studio with Jessica.
His days were filled with gym sessions, answering emails, and occasionally sharing dinner with Yoo Jaesuk and Taeyeon.
No clubbing, no scandals, no reckless display of wealth. Just a life built on work, discipline, and an almost maddening level of self-control.
In a world where many chaebol heirs and rising stars chased indulgence and chaos, Jihoon stood out as an anomaly—a man of influence who didn't abuse it.
And that, in itself, made him a threat.
Because they—those who were desperate to tear him down—had plenty of their own scandals waiting to be uncovered.
For his rivals, especially the older directors and producers, the threat wasn't just that Jihoon was gaining recognition—it was the way he was doing it.
They were the ones accustomed to manipulating the system, using their power to control the narrative, to crush anyone who didn't bend to their will.
They thrived on the indulgence, the drama, the stories that filled tabloids and fueled the public's obsession with celebrity. It was how they kept their control, how they kept their relevance.
Jihoon was different.
He didn't play by their rules. His fame wasn't built on controversy or scandal—it was built on skill, authenticity, and hard work.
The very foundation of his success was a reminder that it was possible to rise without resorting to the underhanded tactics they had perfected.
To them, Jihoon wasn't just another rising star—he was a threat to the system they had so carefully constructed.
To some, Jihoon's transparency was a wall they couldn't climb over—so instead, they chose to throw mud at it.
If they couldn't take him down with a scandal, they would ruin his intentions, corrupt the meaning of his work, turn admiration into suspicion.
What had once been accolades were now ammunition. The very award he receive, every article praising his unique lens on youth, now became twisted evidence in a fabricated narrative.
And it was working—his studio received notice that a major sponsor was "reconsidering" their deal. An actress who had auditioned for JH next film suddenly dropped out, citing "personal concerns."
Now, Jihoon sat alone in his office, the lights dimmed and the weight of the silence pressing in around him.
The blinds were half-drawn, filtering in the dying light of the late afternoon.
He had just been briefed on the situation unfolding online—the rumors, the accusations, the swarm of media buzzing outside his building like vultures circling over prey.
They were all waiting, cameras in their hand, microphones are armed, eager for Jihoon to step outside and deny the scandal.
But Jihoon didn't move.
He knew it wasn't the right time.
Not because he couldn't speak, but because he knew this wasn't just some petty smear campaign.
The way the narrative was being spun—the manipulation of his age, the insinuations—was too deliberate. If he were a seasoned, middle-aged director, the claims might have carried a heavier blow.
But Jihoon was only seventeen. Legally he is still a minor.
So the very idea that he, a teenager himself, could be wrapped into a scandal framed as pedophilia was not just absurd—it was also maliciously contrived.
To suggest that a seventeen-year-old was guilty of pedophilia for exploring themes of teenage emotion in his films?
That was absurd. And that absurdity was exactly what made Jihoon realize—this wasn't solely about his film. This was about something else, something that he can't put a sense to it right now.
Just as that thought settled in his mind, his phone rang.
The caller ID made his thoughts pause.
Lee Mikyeong.
A name that hadn't appeared in his life for months.
He immediately knew this call wasn't random.
Something was unfolding—and she was about to confirm it.
Without hesitation, he answered.
"Hello, Imo. How can I help you?"
Her voice came through, calm but purposeful. "Jihoon-ah… I saw the news. It's been spreading like wildfire since this morning."
She paused, giving him a chance to speak. But Jihoon remained silent.
She sighed lightly, then got straight to the point.
"Alright then, let's skip the small talk."
"Here's the deal—sell me your shares in JH, and CJ will protect you. You'll never have to worry about scandals like this again."
Jihoon smirked.
That confirmed it.
The mastermind behind the smear campaign had just revealed herself.
This wasn't the first time he'd felt her presence behind the scenes.
Back when his previous film 'Secret' exploded in popularity, Jihoon had been ambushed by the media and forced into hiding.
Even now, Jihoon believed that these scandalous accusations would only die down if Lee Mikyeong or CJ chose to intervene—but he knew it wouldn't be out of kindness.
Deep down, he suspected this is a form of 'punishment'—for daring to succeed without staying on her leash, or maybe even theirs leashes too.
Because company like CJ Entertainment, a giant in the entertainment industry, would had likely seen the accusations long before they went public.
As a major distributor and investor in JH Films, they had the power to shut it all down—and their stake in Jihoon's success should have compelled them to offer protection.
But if they chose to let things unfold, it could only mean one thing: They were playing a much bigger game.
Whether it was CJ Entertainment or its parent conglomerate, CJ Group, Jihoon couldn't yet say.
But what was clear was their motive.
Jihoon's company, though still young and small in output, had already delivered shocking results. In just three productions, JH films had achieved an average ROI of 250%, with a 71.43% profit margin—numbers that made the rest of the industry green with envy.
To investors, Jihoon's company was a goldmine.
They see JH as a rare feat, like those usually seen in Hollywood—such as Paranormal Activity, which turned a $15,000 budget into $193 million in revenue, a production with a staggering 600,000% return on investment.
Although JH is still early in its journey, its potential is higher compared to any other film company in Korea.
So, with that, CJ wanted to ensure they owned the mine before anyone else did.
But than another question started to grow in Jihoon's mind—one he needed answered.
His mind churned with suspicion, and he needed clarity.
"Is this for CJ Entertainment... or CJ Group?"
He had to know. And he was sure Mikyeong understood what he really meant.
Because if this wasn't just about business—if it tied into the long-standing feud between the CJ's Lee and Samseong's Lee—then the battle ahead was far more complicated than it appeared.
As expected, there was a pause on the other end. Jihoon could sense her hesitation through the line—a soft intake of breath, like she was carefully choosing the words she was about to say.
Then, Mikyeong replied, her tone low and deliberate:
"…Does it matter? We're all just pieces on the board."
Jihoon fell silent, deep in his thought.
He didn't answer right away—and Mikyeong didn't press on. Both of them understood the weight behind whatever he was about to say.
She knew her words had landed—and from the silence on his end, it was clear he too understood just how deep this battle really went.
After a long pause, Jihoon said, "Let me think about it."
Mikyeong exhaled faintly, then added, "Alright. But don't take too long. If you do… things may slip out of my hands."
The call ended. Jihoon stared at the dark screen for a moment, letting out a slow breath.
Now he understood.
Mikyeong wasn't offering a deal out of hostile—she was offering him a way out—a way she believed was best for him.
Maybe too, she didn't want to see him fall in a fight that wasn't really his.
But she was stuck too—caught in a web of business power, family inheritance fights, and silent feuds that still ran through the Lee bloodline.
Jihoon also realized why others had stayed silent—like Lee Sooman, a friend Jihoon thought he had, and the investor in 'Your Name.'
They could have stepped in. They had stronger PR teams and more power than JH Films.
But they stayed silent.
Because siding with CJ made more sense. It was safer. Smarter. Better for their business.
CJ practically owned the entertainment industry in Korea.
And not knowing that Jihoon was part of the Samseong Lee family also affected their decision.
But even if they had known, Jihoon doubted they would've taken his side—because Samseong's dominance lies in electronics industry, not in the entertainment industry.
Jihoon leaned back in his chair, eyes gazing at the ceiling, trying to clear the fog of thought in his mind.
For what he had seen, he only had two options. But neither of them looked like a victory to him. Although the allegations in the media weren't a big deal now, who knows what they would do next if Jihoon were to say no to the deal.
As the silence stretched on, his thoughts followed, the ticking of the clock filling the room. Then, Jihoon's phone suddenly buzzed softly on the table.
He glanced at it.
A small smile touched his lips for the first time that day.
Because it was a message from Taeyeon.
"Taeyeon: Jihoon-ah.. Are you okay?"
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe for bestowing the power stone!]