Joon-ho leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly against the polished wood of the conference table. The room had gone quiet after Park Yeon-jin ended the call, but the words of Seo Ji-an’s manager still lingered in the air.

  Joon-ho exhaled sharply and turned to his laptop. If there was one thing he had learned over the years, it was that people’s opinions were often shaped by incomplete stories. And Seo Ji-an’s story—her fall from grace—was one he needed to understand fully.

  His fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard as he pulled up old articles, interview transcripts, and entertainment reports from the past few years. The headlines told a tragic tale.

  "Scandal Brings Down Rising Star Seo Ji-an—A Career Cut Short"

  "Betrayed by Her Own Team? Former Idol Disappears from Public Eye"

  "Seo Ji-an’s Silence Continues—Industry Insiders Say She’s Done"

  Clicking through, he skimmed the details. Ji-an had been a lead vocalist of Seraphine, a girl group on the verge of international fame. She was the face of luxury campaigns, the darling of high fashion, and an artist with a voice that captivated audiences. Until it was gone.

  A sudden, unexplained loss of her voice had sparked rumors—some claiming she had faked it, others whispering about sabotage. But the real scandal had come from within her own group. Accusations of jealousy, backstabbing, and an alleged betrayal by her closest friend had turned public sympathy against her.

  Then, just as quickly as she had risen, she vanished.

  Joon-ho frowned as he clicked on a video link—an old interview from her peak. The Seo Ji-an on-screen was different from the woman described in these reports. She was poised, confident, and undeniably talented.

  "I just want to create music that people can feel," she had said, smiling at the camera.

  But in his future memories, Seo Ji-an wasn’t just an idol who had once been famous—she was a star who shined even brighter after her return. She became a household name, not only for her music but as a model and actress who dominated the luxury brand scene.

  It would happen. The only question was… how?

  He closed his laptop, deep in thought.

  Seo Ji-an had lost everything. The question wasn’t just whether she had the talent to return.

  It was whether she still had the will to fight.

  And if she didn’t—could he be the one to reignite it?

  Yoo Seul-bi stood in front of Joon-ho’s desk, her expression calm yet alert. The weight of her new position had settled in quickly—there was no grace period, no slow introduction. The moment she accepted the job, she was already expected to perform.

  Joon-ho leaned back in his chair, watching her. “Your first task,” he said, sliding a folder across the desk toward her. “Seo Ji-an.”

  Seul-bi flipped it open, scanning the minimal contents. A handful of outdated reports, a few public statements from years ago, and a vague industry blacklist. Hardly enough to be useful.

  “I need everything on her—where she is now, how she’s living, whether she has any outstanding contracts or restrictions.” His fingers tapped against the desk rhythmically. “And do it quietly.”

  Seul-bi nodded. “Understood.”

  She didn’t ask why he wanted this information. She didn’t need to. A good secretary anticipated their boss’s needs without unnecessary questions.

  Two days later, she returned with results.

  Joon-ho barely looked up from his laptop when she entered his office, but when she placed a new, much thicker folder in front of him, his attention shifted.

  “I’ve compiled everything available on Seo Ji-an,” she said smoothly. “Her last known location, financial records, past collaborations, and any remaining industry ties.”

  He flipped open the file, scanning through pages of neatly organized information.

  “Where is she now?” he asked.

  “She’s been living in a private residence outside Seoul, avoiding public appearances.” Seul-bi’s tone was clinical, but there was a slight edge to it—as if she found the situation oddly intriguing. “No public records of employment, no recent bank transactions outside of basic living expenses. No social connections, either, except for her old manager, who still checks in on her.”

  Joon-ho exhaled, his fingers tightening slightly around the folder. “And offers?”

  “Plenty. Brands, variety shows, even overseas agencies. All rejected.”

  That confirmed what he already suspected—Ji-an wasn’t just waiting for the right opportunity. She had actively shut herself away from the industry.

  “She’s not under any contract?”

  “No legal ties. Her former agency cut her loose entirely.” Seul-bi hesitated. “But… there’s something else.”

  Joon-ho’s gaze sharpened. “Go on.”

  “There was an attempt to get her blacklisted,” she said, placing another sheet in front of him. “Not officially, but certain companies were given ‘recommendations’ to avoid working with her.”

  Joon-ho’s jaw clenched. He had seen this before. Someone had wanted to ensure Seo Ji-an stayed buried.

  He closed the folder, nodding in approval. “Good work.”

  Seul-bi raised an eyebrow slightly. “That’s it?”

  He smirked. “Disappointed?”

  “Just making sure this job is as demanding as advertised,” she said coolly.

  Joon-ho chuckled. She was sharp, efficient, and discreet—exactly what he needed.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  The café was one of Joon-ho’s many ventures—Moonbucks, a high-end coffee chain catering to Seoul’s elite. The private lounge, hidden behind tinted glass and velvet curtains, provided the perfect setting for discreet negotiations.

  Park Yeon-jin and Yoo Seul-bi sat across from Kang Ha-neul, Seo Ji-an’s former manager. Ha-neul, in her early thirties, was sharp-eyed and well-dressed, but there was a guarded wariness in her posture.

  “This is unexpected,” Ha-neul said, stirring her espresso. “I haven’t heard from you in years, Yeon-jin. And now, suddenly, you want to talk about Ji-an?”

  Yeon-jin smiled, a touch of nostalgia flickering in her expression. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I figured someone needed to finally bring Ji-an’s name back into the conversation.”

  Ha-neul sighed. “You should know better than anyone that she doesn’t want to be in any conversation.”

  Seul-bi, who had been observing silently, finally spoke. “That’s exactly why we’re here. We’re not here to push her into the spotlight. We want to understand what it would take for her to even consider returning—on her own terms.”

  Ha-neul gave her a skeptical glance. “And you are?”

  “Yoo Seul-bi, Special Secretary to Kang Joon-ho,” she replied smoothly.

  At the mention of his name, Ha-neul’s expression stiffened. “Kang Joon-ho?”

  Before she could ask more, the man himself walked in, deliberately making a late entrance.

  Dressed sharply in a tailored suit, Joon-ho carried himself with the effortless confidence of a chaebol heir. He greeted Ha-neul with a polite nod before sliding into the seat across from her.

  “Sorry for being late,” he said smoothly. “I wanted to hear from you directly.”

  Ha-neul’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I know your reputation, Mr. Kang. Ji-an does too. I don’t think she’ll be interested in working for a playboy chaebol.”

  Joon-ho chuckled, unfazed. “That’s fair. But I’m not offering her some cheap variety show or a desperate comeback gimmick. I want her talent. And I want to give her an opportunity to control her return—not be used by the industry that abandoned her.”

  Ha-neul exhaled slowly. “You don’t understand. It’s not just about a job. Ji-an doesn’t trust anyone in this industry anymore. She’s emotionally fragile, and she doesn’t even see a future in entertainment.”

  Joon-ho leaned forward slightly. “Then let’s give her one.”

  She frowned. “You make it sound simple.”

  “It’s not,” he admitted. “Which is why I’m not asking for an answer today. I just want one thing—an opportunity to meet her. Privately, discreetly. No pressure, no commitments. Just a conversation.”

  Ha-neul hesitated, stirring her coffee absentmindedly. She wasn’t completely against the idea, but she also wasn’t convinced.

  “What’s in it for her?” she finally asked.

  “A choice,” Joon-ho said. “One that isn’t dictated by scandal, betrayal, or fear.”

  The words hung in the air.

  Ha-neul sighed. “I’ll ask her. But don’t expect a miracle.”

  Joon-ho smirked. “I never do.”

  Kang Ha-neul sat across from Seo Ji-an in the dimly lit apartment, her expression unreadable. Ji-an, wrapped in an oversized sweater, sat curled up on the couch, clutching a steaming cup of tea. The curtains were drawn, shielding her from the outside world—a world she had once owned but now feared.

  “So, they want to meet me?” Ji-an’s voice was quiet, laced with skepticism.

  Ha-neul nodded. “Joon-ho proposed a private meeting. No cameras, no pressure. Just a conversation.”

  Ji-an let out a bitter laugh. “Kang Joon-ho? The chaebol playboy? What could he possibly want from me?”

  “I don’t know much about him,” Ha-neul admitted. “But Yeon-jin trusts him. And she believes this opportunity isn’t just about using you as some comeback project.”

  Ji-an’s grip tightened around her cup. Trust. That word had lost all meaning to her. The last time she trusted someone, it had cost her everything—her career, her voice, her dreams.

  “You know how this industry works,” Ji-an muttered. “Even after I lost my voice, agencies still reached out, but not for my talent. They just wanted my face, my body.”

  Her stomach twisted at the memories—those insincere offers, the way they expected her to ‘entertain’ investors, as if she were nothing more than a product to be sold.

  Ha-neul’s jaw clenched. “I know. That’s why I never pushed you.”

  Silence stretched between them. Ji-an stared into her tea, her reflection rippling in the amber liquid.

  “Do I even have a place in the industry anymore?” she murmured. “Without my voice, what am I?”

  Ha-neul sighed. “That’s something only you can decide.”

  Ji-an exhaled shakily. She had convinced herself that she was fine living in seclusion, that she had accepted her fate. But now, that long-buried spark—the one that once drove her to stand under the brightest lights—flickered again, refusing to die out completely.

  Could she really step back into that world? And if she did… would she survive it this time?

  For the first time in years, she wasn’t sure.

  Joon-ho, Park Yeon-jin, and Yoo Seul-bi return to the office after their meeting with Kang Ha-neul. The atmosphere is tense—Ji-an hasn’t refused outright, but she also hasn’t agreed.

  Park Yeon-jin crosses her arms and leans against the desk.

  “Alright, CEO Kang. How exactly do you plan to convince Seo Ji-an?”

  Joon-ho exhales, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

  “I don’t know.”

  Silence.

  Yeon-jin blinks. Yoo Seul-bi, who had just opened her laptop, slowly turns her head toward him.

  “…Excuse me?” Yeon-jin asks.

  Seul-bi closes her laptop with a dramatic snap.

  “If that’s your level of planning, I’d like to formally request to withdraw my employment.”

  Joon-ho rolls his eyes. “You haven’t even signed the contract.”

  “Exactly! I’d like to withdraw my consideration.”

  Yeon-jin pinches the bridge of her nose. “Are you serious, Joon-ho? We’ve done all this work to approach her, and now you don’t even have a strategy?”

  Joon-ho finally leans back in his chair, tilting his head as if weighing his words.

  “It’s not about forcing her. If we push too hard, she’ll run. If we act like everyone else in this industry, she’ll reject us on instinct.”

  Seul-bi raises an eyebrow. “So what, we just sit back and hope she suddenly feels inspired?”

  Joon-ho smirks. “No. We remind her of three things—who she was, what she lost, and what she could still have.”

  Joon-ho turns to Yeon-jin.

  “You’re the key here. She doesn’t trust agencies, but she trusted you back when you were both in the industry. If we keep the conversation open—not about contracts, but about her—she might start listening.”

  Yeon-jin nods slowly. “So you want me to just… be her friend?”

  Joon-ho shrugs. “More like the only person who reminds her that she’s more than just a fallen idol.”

  Joon-ho’s expression darkens slightly.

  “Do you know what her former group is doing now?”

  Seul-bi pulls up a quick search on her tablet. “One of them is still in the industry, another started a beauty brand, and her ex-best friend—” Seul-bi pauses, eyes widening. “Oh. She’s a judge on a new idol survival show.”

  Yeon-jin scoffs. “You’re kidding. The same woman who betrayed Ji-an?”

  Joon-ho leans forward, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Exactly. While Ji-an was forced into hiding, the people who destroyed her career kept climbing higher.”

  A beat of silence.

  Yeon-jin exhales. “…If she knew that, she’d have every reason to come back.”

  Joon-ho nods. “Not out of hatred. But because the best revenge isn’t tearing someone down—it’s proving they never had the power to destroy you in the first place.”

  Seul-bi hums. “Alright, so let’s say she gets fired up and wants to return. She still won’t trust an agency. She was already treated like a product once, what makes you think she’ll believe we’re different?”

  Joon-ho’s gaze sharpens. “Because I won’t be her agency. I’ll be her partner.”

  Yeon-jin raises a brow. “And what does that mean?”

  Joon-ho smiles faintly. “It means she gets control. She decides the terms, the projects, the pace. IMFG won’t be managing her—we’ll be protecting her. She won’t have to deal with sleazy investors or industry politics. If she wants to perform, she performs. If she wants to model, she models. If she wants to disappear for months, she can.”

  Seul-bi tilts her head. “…That’s a dangerous amount of freedom for a celebrity.”

  “Which is why no agency ever offered it to her.” Joon-ho shrugs. “But I don’t need to ‘own’ Seo Ji-an. I just need to remind her that she still owns herself.”

  Yeon-jin exhales. “So… the plan is to make her feel safe, make her feel powerful, and let her decide on her own.”

  Joon-ho leans back, satisfied. “Exactly.”

  Seul-bi folds her arms, shaking her head with a scoff. “You know, for a second there, I really thought you were an idiot.”

  Joon-ho smirks. “You still do.”

  “Obviously.”

  Yeon-jin sighs, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Alright then. Let’s give Seo Ji-an a reason to rise again.”

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