"A video?"
"This is a first for me too, so I've got nothing to say. Sorry it turned out this way. Think of it as good experience, and when we plan the next project..."
That was when it rang again—an unknown number that had gone to voicemail before. Probably Enbin's agency.
Moo-young cut him off. "Team leader, sorry, but I've got a call coming in."
"Oh! Yeah, yeah. I'll call again."
"Sure thing. Go on ahead."
His friends were waiting in the hallway, frozen in place. Moo-young waved awkwardly.
"Guys, sorry. Something urgent came up. I gotta go first!"
"Yeah, got it. See you next time!"
As they walked off, Moo-young hit accept. A frantic voice tumbled out, introducing itself at machine-gun speed.
"Hello? Is this Ha Moo-young? I'm the executive manager at SN Enter. Enbin told me to call. Can you meet right now?"
...?
Moo-young blinked in stunned silence.
"No reason I can't, but I'm at Seoyeondae University right now."
"We'll cover the taxi fare. Come to the address I just texted. Please, we really need you."
Moo-young said okay, hung up, and headed for the school gate. He tried Enbin, but...
Phone's off?
A video, huh. He had his suspicions, but it was too soon to jump to conclusions.
Moo-young showed the driver the text. "Sir, Hannam-dong, this address. As fast as you can."
"Got it."
Skyscrapers whipped by outside the window. What a nice day. Must be hell for someone, though.
Moo-young frowned, picturing Enbin's bright smile on set. Poor guy.
* * *
A luxury apartment in Hannam-dong. The stunning Han River view clashed with the disaster inside—like burglars had trashed the place. Everything intact was smashed or broken.
Crash!Boom!
"Aaaargh!"
"Bin! Stop, you'll hurt yourself!"
"Let go! I said let go!"
Enbin was raging like a madman. His swollen, tear-streaked eyes blazed with venom. Wronged, furious, helpless rage.
"...Hyung. What the hell did I do wrong?"
"You didn't do anything wrong."
"Then why the fuck are they doing this to me—?!"
It started with a text at dawn. A dark room, a nude couple having sex. To a stranger, just porn. But Enbin knew instantly.
His house. His bedroom. His girlfriend.
"Hic... I can't take it anymore, hyung."
"Enbin, let's call the cops first. Okay?"
"No way! Not just me—they'll ruin Jiyeon too!"
The text with the photo demanded 100 million in cash, or the video goes online—along with his girlfriend's personal info. Same if they went to the police.
The problem was—
"She's a civilian."
His girlfriend from next door since they were kids. Their parents even knew each other. Exposing her like that? He could barely handle it as a celebrity himself.
"It's over."
His career, his life, their relationship. All doomed.
Enbin clawed at his hair and collapsed onto the sofa.
"How much this time?"
"...One billion."
He'd sent the first 100 million on impulse. It came too easy, so the blackmailer sent another photo—similar but different. Proof a video existed, now demanding one billion.
That's when he finally told the agency.
"What a psycho fucker."
The manager yanked the curtains shut with a curse. The angle screamed shot from outside the window. Fifth floor—who knows how—but drone seemed likely.
"Terminate my contract. Settle up. No choice. Don't wanna drag the team down..."
One billion now? Only way. Enbin muttered through gritted teeth, tears streaming.
Twenty-one years, half spent singing and dancing. To end like this?
"Bin, calm down first."
Cops were the answer. But Enbin freaked at the thought of telling them—or even his parents—threatening suicide. The agency was stumped.
The manager wrapped a towel around Enbin's bleeding hand.
"We'll help however we can."
"Don't you get it?"
"Get what?"
"It's gotta be her."
'Her' clicked instantly for the manager. The crazy stalker who'd tied Enbin down, even self-harming.
But hadn't she gone quiet lately?
"Haven't seen her in ages."
"I feel it. She'd haunt me to death..."
He knew it in his gut. No proof, but it nagged him.
Manager saw nervous breakdown. How to comfort him? Right then—
Click.
The front door opened. In walked the SN executive manager, followed by Moo-young, hovering awkwardly.
"Whoa."
Moo-young gaped once at the floor-to-ceiling windows, again at the wreckage.
Enbin bolted up and charged.
"Ha Moo-young!"
"Bin, you okay? Manager gave me the rundown—"
Crying, puffy, torn-up face. No trace of the dazzling idol—just a wrecked kid his age.
Enbin grabbed his shoulders, cutting straight to it.
"How'd you get rid of her back then?"
Moo-young would know. He'd chased her off after one short talk. Praying that held a clue, Enbin clung.
"Please, tell me. Yeah? Moo-young."
"Hey, what's wrong?"
They'd agreed to notify when episode 1 dropped. He meant to. But ghosts? Smog? Too outlandish—no one'd buy it. He'd planned to lighten it, joke it off.
"I'm dying. For real."
How do you joke to someone shaking like that?
Moo-young rubbed Enbin's back, staying quiet a beat.
"Convince Bin to report to the police."
The manager had asked on the elevator up. The kid was jumping off walls at cops or parents—but kept asking for Moo-young.
"You think the blackmailer's that stalker?"
"Dead sure. Only bad blood like that in my life."
"...Then report it. She's got a record—they'll nab her easy."
"She said she'd upload the video!"
Enbin was losing it. Classic dilemma—damned if you do, damned if you don't.
But Moo-young just tilted his head, puzzled.
"Weird. You said the USB burned up back then."
"...What?"
Executives and manager's eyes went wide. USB? What USB?
Moo-young caught the looks and explained.
"Her place caught fire back then."
"Fire?"
"Sangdong or something? Don't remember details, but everything burned—poof."
He didn't say 'guessed' out loud. Not sure if the black smog meant property loss or what.
Manager muttered, "That why she needs cash?"
It fit. Hoarding cash screamed bad credit; house gone sealed it.
Moo-young held out his hand.
"Phone?"
Enbin flinched, rummaging the floor. Screen shattered, tucked in a corner. No wonder it was off.
"This you in the pic?"
"Yeah. House too."
"Face clear?"
"...Too dark."
Moo-young zoomed on the cracked screen. Night shot, no lights—shitty quality. Could be anyone.
"No one'd know without you saying. Ask her to send the video. Blackmailers send clips, not pics, right?"
Enbin felt hammered. Duh—that's standard. Send proof, delete original after cash.
"No video, my bet."
Moo-young handed back the phone. Black smog and stray ghost hints. No escape from misfortune's pit otherwise.
"R-Really?"
"Nope."
Enbin's hands shook taking it. Moo-young's words shone like beacons.
"Cloud storage these days. Check first. Real or bluff."
Enbin bit his lip, eyes welling. If real? Game over. Ironclad.
"What do I do... Hic..."
Tears burst like chick peas. Moo-young's face lit up watching. Enbin sobbed too hard; others behind him missed it.
"Don't cry. Hurry."
Flower pollen sprinkling from his eyes—like glitter in the tears, streaking his face.
No video.
Moo-young patted his shoulder, wiping tears. Glittery palmful.
Enbin's shaky fingers typed the text.
"Sending for real?"
"Yeah. It'll be fine."
It'll be fine.
Those words enchanted calm into Enbin's chest. He breathed deep.
Hit send.
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Read 163 more chapters ahead on NovelDex!
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