Ji-an pressed her forehead against the cool glass of her apartment window, staring blankly at the city lights. The distant hum of traffic filled the silence, but all she could hear was the echo of the past.

  Sera’s smirk. The flashing cameras. The whispers that weren’t meant to be heard but cut deeper than any direct insult.

  "Ji-an? It’s been so long. I hope you’ve been doing well."

  The fake concern. The veiled condescension. It was like a perfectly rehearsed script, designed to put her in her place—a relic of Eclipse’s past, overshadowed by their present success.

  Her fingers curled into fists as the memory looped in her mind. She had promised herself she was done with them. Done with the industry. So why was she still shaken?

  And then there was Joon-ho.

  She had confronted him, expecting an apology, or at least an excuse. Instead, he had met her anger with an infuriating calm. "It was necessary," he had said. "You can either let them define your downfall or take back the stage they stole from you."

  Was he manipulating her? Using her for his own agenda? Or was he really offering her something she never had before—control over her own career?

  Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her thoughts. Ha-neul.

  "Did you get home safe?" her manager asked, voice softer than usual.

  "Yeah."

  A pause. Then, "I saw what happened. The press is already talking about it."

  Ji-an exhaled sharply. "Let me guess. 'Fallen Idol Ji-an Crashes Eclipse’s Event’ or something equally ridiculous?"

  Ha-neul sighed. "Something like that. But it’s not just bad press. Some people are sympathizing with you. Saying you were mistreated."

  Ji-an scoffed. "Oh, now they care? Where were they when I actually needed them?"

  Another silence, before Ha-neul spoke carefully. "Joon-ho’s offer... Are you thinking about it?"

  Ji-an hesitated. "I don’t know."

  "It’s risky. You know that, right? Getting back into the industry, even on your own terms, means stepping back into that world. And Joon-ho… he doesn’t do things without a reason."

  "I know."

  "But," Ha-neul continued, "it’s also an opportunity. One that you might not get again. Just… don’t rush. Whatever choice you make, make sure it’s yours."

  Ji-an closed her eyes, exhaustion creeping in.

  Was she ready to fight again? To put herself back in the spotlight, knowing the industry could chew her up all over again?

  Or had Joon-ho been right? Had she spent too long letting others dictate her story?

  She didn’t have an answer yet. But for the first time in years, she felt the faintest ember of something she thought she had lost.

  Determination.

  Joon-ho leaned back in his office chair, fingers tapping idly against the polished wooden surface. The city lights sprawled beneath him, but his thoughts were fixed on Seo Ji-an.

  “She’s shaken,” he murmured, recalling the fire in her eyes when she confronted him. “But not broken.”

  Yoo Seul-bi, standing across from his desk, nodded. “She hasn’t contacted anyone since she left the hotel. No media leaks, no social media activity.”

  “She’s thinking,” Joon-ho said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”

  Seul-bi adjusted her glasses. “You should see this.” She turned her tablet around, showing him a stream of trending posts.

  #SeoJiAn #EclipseReunion #JusticeForJiAn

  Clips from the press conference had spread across social media, but the reaction wasn’t what one might expect. Instead of ridicule, there was a surprising wave of support.

  “Ji-an doesn’t deserve this cold treatment. Eclipse really thinks they can act like she never existed?”

  “She carried that group on her back, and they tossed her like trash. Glad she’s standing tall.”

  “If she ever makes a comeback, I’ll support her. No matter what.”

  Joon-ho chuckled, tapping the screen. “Predictable. It’s human nature to sympathize.”

  Seul-bi raised an eyebrow. “You planned for this?”

  “Not exactly.” He leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “But I knew the moment Eclipse acknowledged her, the public would remember. And nothing fuels sympathy like an underdog story.”

  Seul-bi sighed. “This could work in our favor. If Ji-an plays her cards right, she could return with the public already on her side.”

  “She will.” His voice was calm, unwavering. “Ji-an doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s already stepped onto the stage again.”

  Seul-bi hesitated before shifting the conversation. “Then there’s the Saint Regis project. The investors want confirmation before the end of the month. If Ji-an is on board, it could be a strong leverage point.”

  Joon-ho exhaled, considering. The Saint Regis collaboration was crucial, but his motivations ran deeper than business. Rebranding IMFG was only part of the equation. Ji-an was a symbol—a piece of something bigger.

  He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the weight of a past that didn’t belong to him.

  Kang Joon-ho. That name, this identity—both a curse and an opportunity.

  When he opened his eyes again, his grip on the present was firm.

  “Prepare for the meeting,” he instructed Seul-bi. “And make sure Ji-an understands exactly what’s at stake.”

  His gaze drifted to the city once more.

  She would come to him.

  She had to.

  Ji-an stared at her phone, scrolling through the flood of notifications. Her name was everywhere.

  “Former Eclipse member Seo Ji-an spotted at press conference—awkward reunion?”

  “Seo Ji-an’s silent confrontation: Cold shoulder or missed opportunity?”

  “Eclipse rises, but has Ji-an truly fallen?”

  The headlines weren’t surprising, but what caught her off guard was the sheer volume of social media chatter.

  On one side, netizens mocked her.

  “She really thought she could walk past them unnoticed? Please.”

  “Ji-an left the group and expected a warm welcome? Delusional.”

  But on the other, nostalgia painted a different picture.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Eclipse wasn’t the same after she left. Say what you want, but Ji-an had stage presence.”

  “I used to love their performances together. Seeing her again made me emotional.”

  Videos and shorts dissecting the encounter flooded her feed—reaction clips, breakdowns, exaggerated theories. Influencers capitalized on the trending topic, each vying to spin the most engaging narrative.

  Then, buried under the noise, a single post stood out.

  “Y’all acting like Ji-an was the problem when Eclipse had their fair share of scandals. Let’s not rewrite history.”

  The tweet had gained traction overnight, reshared by fans who hadn’t forgotten the controversies that plagued the group after Ji-an’s departure.

  Further down, another post caught her eye—one by a small-time journalist speculating about a possible collaboration between her and IMFG.

  “Could Ji-an’s reappearance be linked to IMFG’s rumored rebranding? Is a comeback in the works?”

  Ji-an tapped the link, but the article barely had any engagement. Overshadowed. Drowned in the trending wave.

  She exhaled sharply, tossing her phone onto the table.

  The question gnawed at her.

  Does she engage with the publicity or let it pass?

  Her manager, Kang Ha-neul, entered the room with a knowing look. “You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

  Ji-an nodded, rubbing her temples. “It’s a mess.”

  “It’s an opportunity,” Ha-neul corrected. “Like it or not, people are paying attention to you again.”

  Ji-an clenched her jaw. “But for all the wrong reasons.”

  Her manager tilted her head. “Maybe. Or maybe this is the start of something new.”

  Ji-an’s fingers hovered over her phone.

  Engage or ignore?

  Or was there a third option—one that meant taking control instead of just reacting?

  Either choice would shape what came next, but the real question was whether she was ready to step back into the spotlight on her own terms.

  Eclipse members subtly reacted to Ji-an’s resurgence in the media—some indifferent, others concerned. In their private lounge, the remaining three members of Eclipse exchanged glances as they scrolled through their phones, reading the latest online reactions.

  "I don’t get why people care about her again," one of them muttered, frowning at the trending posts.

  "Nostalgia," another replied. "Some people like a comeback story. Doesn’t mean she’ll actually make one."

  The third member hesitated. "Still, this could be bad for us. If she somehow gets back into the industry..."

  Sera smirked, crossing her arms. "She won’t. Ji-an had her moment, and it’s over. She won’t survive on her own."

  The others nodded, though unease lingered in their expressions as they watched the public discourse unfold. Just then, Sera’s phone buzzed. She glanced down at the screen, her smirk returning as she read the message. Her manager was calling her to the office. "Looks like we’re taking the next step," she murmured, standing up and heading toward the door.

  Sera sat in a private office with her manager, her expression cold. “She’s getting too much attention. We need to shift the focus back on us.”

  Her manager nodded. “We’ll make sure the next performance is the talk of the industry. More exclusive interviews, controlled narratives. Ji-an is old news.”

  Sera leaned back, arms crossed. “And if that’s not enough?”

  The manager sighed, glancing at her phone. “Then we push harder. Remind people why Eclipse is where it is today—without her.”

  She paused before adding, “The director will want to discuss this. He was interested in Ji-an before. He might have his own ideas on how to handle this situation.”

  Later that evening, the manager met with the director in his office. The dim lighting and expensive whiskey on his desk set a casual but predatory tone.

  “She’s getting popular again,” the manager started, setting down his phone. “This is an opportunity.”

  The director leaned back in his chair, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Ji-an... She used to be promising. I wanted her back then, but she slipped through my fingers.”

  The manager smirked. “She’s vulnerable now. No agency, no connections. If you still want her, this time, there won’t be anyone to protect her.”

  The director exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against the glass. “And if she resists?”

  The manager chuckled, leaning in slightly. "Then we make it impossible for her to refuse. Pressure her, cut off her options. Make sure every door she tries to open leads back to us."

  The director's smirk widened as he took a slow sip of his drink. "And if she still resists?"

  The manager shrugged, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "Then we give her an invitation she can’t decline. A private meeting. A business proposal with an important investor at a high-end hotel. Let the circumstances handle the rest."

  The director exhaled, considering the suggestion. "And if she fights back?"

  The manager grinned. "She won’t have the luxury. No agency, no allies. If you still want her, this time, she’s yours for the taking."

  The director tapped his fingers against the glass before nodding slowly. "Then let’s make sure she knows there’s no way out."

  Ji-an sat in the sleek, modern office of IMFG, her fingers gripping the armrest of her chair as she listened to Joon-ho. The walls of the office, lined with accolades and high-end art, felt suffocating. She had spent the past few days wrestling with the decision, knowing that stepping into this world again meant embracing the chaos she had once fled from.

  Joon-ho, seated across from her, watched her intently. He had given her time, knowing she needed to process everything. Now, it was time to make the final move.

  To her right, her manager sat silently, offering no comments but present nonetheless.

  “You’re hesitating,” he observed, his tone even. “But let’s be honest, Ji-an. You haven’t given up on your dream. If you had, you wouldn’t be here.”

  She exhaled, staring at the polished table surface. “I just… I don’t want to walk into another trap. I know what this industry can do to people.”

  Joon-ho leaned forward, his eyes sharp. “That’s exactly why you need to do this on your terms. Not theirs.” He let the weight of his words settle before continuing. “You can spend the rest of your life running from your past, or you can take control of your narrative. Make them see you for who you really are.”

  Ji-an swallowed, her mind flashing back to the recent media frenzy, the faces of Eclipse, the humiliation. And then, the unexpected support. People still remembered her. Some still believed in her.

  “I won’t let myself be used again,” she murmured, lifting her gaze to meet his.

  Joon-ho’s lips curled slightly. “Good. Then don’t. Use them instead.” He tapped a folder on the table, sliding it toward her. “Your first project. Saint Regis. A collaboration that will not only put you back in the industry but position you as someone they have to respect.”

  She hesitated before reaching for the folder, flipping it open to skim through the details. The magnitude of the project hit her immediately. This wasn’t some small comeback attempt—this was a statement.

  Joon-ho watched her reaction carefully before adding, “This isn’t charity. I chose you because I know you can deliver. But I also know that you need this.”

  Ji-an took a deep breath, fingers tightening around the papers. Every instinct told her this was dangerous territory. But deep down, a part of her burned with the need to prove herself again. To rise from the ashes on her own terms.

  With one last exhale, she nodded. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

  A slow, satisfied smile spread across Joon-ho’s face. “Welcome aboard, partner.”

  Kang Ha-neul sat across from Yoo Seul-bi in the IMFG conference room, meticulously going over the details of Ji-an’s partnership contract. Her expression remained composed, professional, though her sharp eyes took in every clause and amendment with scrutiny.

  "Everything seems in order," Ha-neul finally said, closing the folder. "I'll make sure Ji-an reviews it herself before signing. However, there are a few clauses I’d like to discuss further."

  Yoo Seul-bi folded her hands neatly on the table. "Of course. What concerns do you have?"

  "Primarily, the exclusivity terms and promotional obligations. While IMFG's support is crucial, we want to ensure Ji-an has enough creative freedom. The performance requirements also seem quite demanding—I'd like to discuss a more balanced workload."

  Seul-bi nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Understandable. We want this partnership to be beneficial for both parties. I’m open to making some adjustments."

  Ha-neul studied her for a moment before giving a small nod. "Good. Then let's go over the specifics."

  Meanwhile, Ji-an leaned back on the plush office chair in Joon-ho’s office, a sense of excitement bubbling beneath her carefully neutral expression. The thought of stepping back into the entertainment industry filled her with a long-lost vigor, a spark reigniting within her. However, her excitement was dampened by one very specific irritation.

  She crossed her arms and glared at Joon-ho. "You set up that encounter with Eclipse on purpose, didn’t you?"

  Joon-ho chuckled, utterly unapologetic. "It helped you make a decision, didn’t it? And admit it, you enjoyed seeing their reaction."

  Ji-an huffed, stomping her foot in frustration. "That was low, Kang Joon-ho. You’re enjoying this way too much."

  He leaned back in his chair, feigning innocence. "I simply gave you a little push in the right direction."

  Ji-an narrowed her eyes but couldn't keep the corner of her lips from twitching. "You’re impossible."

  "And yet, here you are." His smirk deepened as she pouted before finally relenting with a dramatic sigh.

  "Fine, whatever," she mumbled, still sulking but unwilling to deny that he had a point. "But don’t think I’ll forget this."

  "I wouldn’t dream of it," Joon-ho replied smoothly, his smirk never fading.

  At that moment, the door opened, and Park Yeon-jin strolled in, exuding confidence and elegance. She glanced at Ji-an and smiled. "Seo Ji-an, right? I'm Park Yeon-jin. It's nice to finally meet you."

  Ji-an's eyes widened slightly. "Wait, Park Yeon-jin? The actress? I’ve watched your movies—I’m a fan! Can I call you unnie?"

  Yeon-jin’s smile turned playful. "Of course! I’d be honored." She then turned her gaze to Joon-ho and smirked. "I see you’ve successfully ensnared her with your looks."

  Ji-an scoffed, still slightly annoyed but unable to deny it. "Well… she’s not wrong."

  Joon-ho raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Yeon-jin, are you saying you're interested in my looks as well?"

  Yeon-jin leaned back against the desk, pretending to contemplate. "Your looks? No. But your toned body and vigor? Now that’s something worth appreciating."

  Joon-ho leaned forward slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes. "You flatter me, Yeon-jin. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to make Ji-an jealous."

  Yeon-jin let out a low chuckle. "Oh please, Joon-ho. You think too highly of yourself. But if Ji-an were to get a little territorial, I wouldn’t mind."

  Ji-an let out an indignant noise. "As if! I—" She cut herself off when she realized both of them were watching her expectantly, their amusement clear.

  Joon-ho smirked. "Careful, Ji-an. If you protest too much, we might think you're hiding something."

  Ji-an turned her back on them with an exaggerated huff, crossing her arms. "Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous."

  Joon-ho chuckled while Yeon-jin winked at him playfully. Seul-bi, standing quietly in the background, merely adjusted her glasses, pretending not to hear a thing.

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