SRP 02

Chapter 02

—These days, an actor has been swept up in controversy over his private life. He’s someone people call “the youngest son of a real-life chaebol family.” There are suspicions that the conglomerate intervened in their grandson actor’s dating scandal and manipulated the media.
—Fans are really something. How did they even dig this up?
—But it’s suspicious enough. The timing is just too perfect. Around the time the actor stopped wearing that necklace with the couple ring on it, the idol group that the woman at the center of the scandal belonged to got caught up in assault allegations and various rumors. Back then, they were an idol group with no name recognition.
—Given the circumstances, it’s reasonable to suspect that when they broke up, the woman was crushed within the group so she couldn’t say anything else.
—Ugh, that place is scary.
—That place?
—Why are you grilling us like that? You know, the place you get in big trouble for even mentioning by name.

It was an entertainment show that billed itself as current-affairs infotainment, summarizing trending topics from the internet.
Because it was all hearsay, it didn’t qualify as real news, but it focused on stories that stirred public outrage and grabbed attention.
Naturally, it racked up views.
As a result, even people who hadn’t known about the issue began to take interest.

—It’s only a suspicion, but you can’t say it’s impossible, given what chaebol families have done in the past.
—It’s not much of a secret that these groups have dedicated teams to deal with issues involving the owner’s family.
—What do you think will happen next?
—Well, since that actor is part of the group’s family, don’t you think there’ll be some kind of response—for the sake of both the group’s and the actor’s image?

“I have a kid, apparently?”
The internet was amazing.
It could make a child appear out of nowhere.

Even though it was past quitting time, Bom stayed in the office, watching the wildfire spreading in real time.
It wasn’t just burning—it was blazing hot.
Without taking her eyes off her phone, she relayed the contents of the posts to Ilju, who was sitting beside her.

“They’re saying Pink Pop disbanded because I got pregnant with Geon’s child, and the Daehyeon Group stepped in. Supposedly, they sent me overseas to give birth and took the baby away. I’ve never even been abroad.”

There was no train wreck more extreme than this.
Even though it was about herself, Bom read the gossip with interest.
That was honestly how she felt—it didn’t feel like her own story.

“So how old is our kid now? Old enough for daycare? If it’s Geon’s kid, the genes are guaranteed.”
“This isn’t the time to joke. This doesn’t look good.”

Ilju clutched her head and collapsed onto her desk.
Up until photos were dug up as “evidence” that Bom and Geon had dated during their trainee days, Ilju had laughed along too.
They had briefly dated when they were young—Ilju knew that.
It was a small, mid-sized agency. There was only one practice room, no separation between male and female trainees, and since they’d shared hardships together, everyone was close.
They might have thought they were dating in secret, but the exchanged glances and the way they brought each other water made it obvious.

But the fire was spreading in a dangerous direction.

“This is bad.”
At Ilju’s serious tone, Bom finally looked up from her phone.

From Bom’s perspective, it didn’t seem that serious.
She thought it hadn’t really surfaced because Geon’s agency hadn’t stepped in.

“Won’t it just get buried like this?”
“This is different.”

Ilju showed her a post title that worried her.

[Didn’t expect it, but Geon really is a chaebol kid after all.]

Even if you dismissed the claim that there was a child between them, the post asserted with certainty that Pink Pop’s disbandment had been orchestrated by Geon’s family, the Daehyeon Group.
The comments were similarly full of insults directed at Geon.

Only then did the smile fade from Bom’s face.

“Ah…”

She wasn’t new to the entertainment industry. She’d dealt with malicious comments, rumors, even a team disbandment—and now she was working as a manager.
She understood exactly what Ilju was worried about.

“This isn’t something we can just ignore. It’s spread to the group, and Geon’s image is at risk. His agency will respond. The timing makes it even worse, Bom.”
“Why is the timing bad?”
“The romance drama Geon’s starring in is about to be released on a global OTT platform.”
“Oh!”

Bom remembered too.
It had turned out well enough that word was going around the industry that it was a highly anticipated project.

“He’s playing a devoted, single-minded romantic lead. It’s a drama Able picked specifically to change Geon’s image. And now this scandal breaks. Bom, you know how big of a problem this is.”

At Ilju’s ominous muttering, a sense of crisis washed over Bom as well.

“The drama itself is now at risk.”

Bom swallowed dryly.
A drama wasn’t just entertainment—it was a business tied to countless companies.

“There’ll be tons of PPL, and they were probably preparing ads with Geon as the main face…”

If the drama didn’t get released, Geon’s acting career would be in serious danger.
Without even noticing her hair was a mess, Ilju, with dark circles under her eyes, started calculating the losses Geon’s side would suffer.

How much were the ads Geon had signed recently worth again?
Penalties for image damage were usually set at two or three times the contract amount, so the sum would be enormous.

“We didn’t post any of this. They won’t blame us, right? Huh? They won’t sue us or demand damages. We’re victims too.”

Ilju was dead serious, but at that moment, Bom laughed.
It was Bom’s problem, yet Ilju thought of it as their problem.

“Strictly speaking, it’s not like you actually had anything going on with Geon.”

Clinging to that sliver of hope, Ilju’s face brightened.

“The question is how Able Entertainment will respond. They’ll probably verify things before releasing a statement. They haven’t even called our company to confirm anything yet.”

Rrrrr—

At that moment, the office phone rang.

“……”
“……”

Like a horror movie, the timing was perfect. Everyone still in the office, including the PR team staff, stared at the ringing phone, unable to speak.

Rrrrr—

“I’ll take it. Hello, this is Management 123.”

Ilju answered the call, then glanced briefly at Bom.
A bad feeling crept in.

“I’ll call you back shortly. Please wait a moment.”

She said that and went into the CEO’s office. The door closed, but since it was glass, they could see Ilju standing with her back turned.

Sensing something was wrong, Bom cautiously approached and opened the door.

“Isn’t this too much? Filming starts next week, and you’re canceling Myeongjo’s casting now?”

The romance historical drama Myeongjo was appearing in was scheduled to start filming next week.
Myeongjo played the remarried husband of the rich male lead’s mother—a role that opposed the heroine becoming the daughter-in-law and provided plenty of laughs.
Whenever he had time, Myeongjo would even ask Bom to read lines with him; he’d been eagerly preparing for the shoot.

“Why are you bringing up that an Able idol is the lead in that drama? …Don’t tell me Able pressured you not to contract with us?”

Bom remembered what Myeongjo had said in the car yesterday.

‘Don’t abandon me just because you get famous. Bom, you’re my manager.’

He was a considerate person—someone who, despite the manager being caught up in a scandal, thought of Bom first and didn’t pry.

“If that’s not it, then there’s no reason to cancel so suddenly. I know this kind of thing happens in the drama world, but—ah, PD, PD!”

It seemed the other party had hung up; Ilju called out urgently.
A deep sigh followed. Bom stepped into the CEO’s office and closed the door.

“Bom…”

Ilju looked utterly defeated.
Even though it was Bom’s scandal, Ilju seemed apologetic instead.
Why was everyone so kind?

“Did Able put pressure on them?”
“The PD says that’s not the case… but it seems like they’re being cautious. Even though nothing’s confirmed.”
“Will the Daehyeon Group move too? Were any of Myeongjo’s other schedules canceled?”

Ilju’s sigh grew deeper.

“So far, just this one drama.”

So far meant there could be more.
At least Myeongjo had a regular spot on a comedy variety show and was doing well there, so there was no reason to drop him suddenly.
Still, the future was uncertain.

“The problem isn’t Myeongjo,” Ilju said.

At her gaze, Bom swallowed dryly.
What could be worse than this?

“Actually, earlier I heard some hearsay from a reporter friend. There’s talk that Able might make you the scapegoat. It’s just talk—nothing’s confirmed yet.”

Bom wasn’t surprised.

“In scandals like this, it’s easiest to clean things up by making the less famous side the villain.”

Ilju brushed her hair back and avoided Bom’s eyes.

“I started this company so we wouldn’t have to go through something like this again.”

Life really wasn’t easy.
Just when it felt like things were settling down, a typhoon blew in and shook the foundations she’d barely built.

“…I was thinking of taking a break anyway.”

“Bom! This isn’t your fault. You were just dragged into it. It’s just a passing shower.”

“Unni.”

If it were her first time facing a storm, she might have believed that and held on. But Bom had been through it before.

“Whether it’s a shower or a downpour, if you don’t want to get wet, you have to take shelter.”

Biting her lip, tears welling up in her eyes, Bom forced a smile.
This wasn’t a big deal.

“I’m not planning to quit this cushy job where my acquaintance is the CEO. Let’s think about taking a few months off, okay? You won’t fire me just for taking a break, right?”
“First, we need to assess the situation. For now, just think about it. I’m the CEO. Whether it’s a resignation or a leave of absence, it’s meaningless if I don’t approve it.”
“Can I take today off?”
“Take it. Just today.”

Ilju drew a clear line, worried Bom might say she’d be taking an extended leave starting today.

Bom picked up her bag and left the office. She got straight into a taxi.

“Driver, please take me to Able Entertainment in Gangnam.”