Chapter 31
“This guy’s a complete lunatic.”
Choi Geunseong snapped his head around and shouted at Noh Gutae.
“Hey! Director Noh, what are you doing? Call the police. He’s not someone you can reason with.”
“Yes, sir, CEO.”
Noh Gutae exaggeratedly pulled out his phone and pressed 112.
“Hello, is this the police? This is in front of the Twin Horse Building opposite MBS…”
“Hey, Director Noh. Hold on.”
Choi Geunseong waved his hand to stop Noh Gutae from making the report.
“Why?”
“Over there, at the crosswalk. It’s Moon Sungil.”
“Oh! You’re right.”
Looking out the window, Noh Gutae was so startled that he quickly ended the call.
Moon Sungil.
The executive director of MBS’s flagship music program Live Music Campfire.
As a veteran manager of music programs, he shook up the music industry by introducing live broadcast performances for the first time.
In an era when concert culture wasn’t well-developed, the idea of fans seeing their favorite artists perform live was exhilarating.
Fans camped outside the broadcast station the night before just to get a ticket, and the scene even made it onto the news, attracting crowds from all over the country.
There was no other way. Watching the live broadcast in person was the only option.
‘The situation was so intense that even lawmakers and ministers, under pressure from their kids, had to beg Moon Sungil for tickets.’
Moon Sungil was so strict that even the president of the broadcasting company couldn’t get tickets unless they were among the first 200 to arrive. He would firmly refuse otherwise.
With such a personality, singers and their managers were often left in agony.
They couldn’t bribe or entertain him to secure a spot on the live stage.
Appearing on the Live Music Campfire stage meant instant recognition for new artists and skyrocketing album sales for established ones.
If they could figure out how to impress Moon Sungil, they would do anything.
So, stumbling upon Moon Sungil by chance felt like a stroke of luck for Choi Geunseong and Noh Gutae.
“Man, if I had known, I’d have dressed better.”
Choi Geunseong slicked back his hair and quickly buttoned his jacket.
“Should I grab some cash just in case?”
“Don’t even think about it. There have been cases where people got banned from performing after handing an envelope to Director Moon.”
Choi Geunseong gargled with water from his glass and swallowed it, glancing at Kim Doyun.
It seemed as if he was wondering, Surely, Moon Sungil isn’t here because of Doyun…
‘Actually, he’s here because I called him.’
As they were lost in their thoughts, the door jingled open, and Moon Sungil walked into the café.
At the same time, Choi Geunseong and Noh Gutae bent at a perfect right angle, bowing deeply in greeting.
“Director Moon, it’s an honor to meet you.”
“Oh, yes… well.”
Moon Sungil responded lightly to their greetings and walked over to Kim Doyun.
“Are you Producer Kim Doyun?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
At that, Kim Doyun stood and extended his hand to Moon Sungil.
“I’m Kim Doyun.”
“You finally show your face. Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”
With a scolding look in his eyes, Moon Sungil firmly grasped Doyun’s hand.
“Nice to meet you, Producer Kim.”
He added his other hand for an even firmer handshake, leaving Choi Geunseong and Noh Gutae pale with shock.
“I’m pleased to meet you too.”
Doyun smiled warmly at Moon Sungil.
***
Even without seeing the future news, there were many incidents vividly etched in Doyun’s memory.
Especially the ones that shook the entertainment world—no matter how much time passed, they couldn’t be forgotten.
Among those incidents was something that came to mind recently—a disaster that should never have happened during a live music broadcast.
‘It was called the Angel’s Fall.’
On a stage covered with white fog made from dry ice, a singer dressed as an angel descended from the ceiling while singing.
Wearing a white dress and sporting wings, the singer genuinely looked like an angel.
The audience held their breath as they watched from their seats, while three cameras, along with two ENG cameras perched on shoulders, captured the moment.
Following the cue signal from the master control room, the cameras recorded the singer from various angles.
Three seconds later, the wire holding the singer snapped.
The singer plummeted from the fourth-floor height of the stage set and struck a bench below, headfirst.
Blood spilled from the singer’s head, and screams erupted from the audience. All of it was captured on camera and broadcast nationwide.
‘I couldn’t look at a woman in a white dress for a while without thinking of that moment.’
Every time Doyun came to Yeouido to meet Han Jiseon, he thought about preventing the Angel’s Fall.
He couldn’t ignore the fact that the singer would be severely injured and many people would suffer from trauma because of it.
But Moon Sungil rarely met strangers, so Doyun sent photos and a letter to him through Park Yunho, an assistant director working at the station.
However, after receiving the photo and letter, Moon Sungil didn’t respond.
Then, a couple of weekends ago, Moon Sungil contacted him.
-Producer Kim Doyun? This is Moon Sungil.
With a trembling voice, Moon Sungil had said,
-About the photo you sent me. Why did you send that?
It was a picture of a woman in an angel costume, suspended by wires and bleeding—downloaded for free from an overseas site.
“There was a case overseas where wires snapped during a performance, injuring singers and dancers. I thought it would be better to avoid risky performances. It was out of concern as a fan.”
-I see. When I first saw the photo, I just thought it was bizarre. But today, in a meeting, the assistant director and performance planner proposed an identical performance, insisting it was perfectly safe.
“Are you planning to include wire actions in your performance?”
At Doyun’s question, Moon Sungil spoke firmly.
-No. Absolutely not.
He added that if he hadn’t received the photo, he might have gone along with the assistant director and performance planner’s suggestion.
-When I searched online, I found that wire accidents during performances are quite common overseas.
“You must have been shocked. It might even make you suspect your colleagues of trying to ruin your broadcast.”
“Honestly, yes! That’s correct.”
Unexpectedly, Moon Sungil maintained a humble attitude and continued to use formal language even though Kim Doyun was just a junior producer at an outsourcing production company.
Was it perhaps a sense of camaraderie between creators who make something out of nothing?
Kim Doyun and Moon Sungil conversed for quite a while.
As a result, the performance involving suspending a singer from the studio ceiling was not carried out.
On the day of the live broadcast when the accident had occurred in the previous timeline, the show ended safely, and Moon Sungil contacted Doyun again.
-“I’d like to meet with you sometime. Please reach out anytime. I’d love to treat you to a meal.”
Knowing that it was nearly unheard of for someone as influential as Moon Sungil to suggest meeting first, Doyun found it somewhat surprising.
‘And then I forgot about it.’
As the drama filming drew closer, Doyun became incredibly busy. Although Moon Sungil reached out a couple more times to arrange a meeting, they couldn’t settle on a date.
‘And then he called today and welcomed me like this.’
***
“Looks like you were with some people?”
At Moon Sungil’s remark, Doyun shrugged.
“They’re not companions. They’re people I met for the first time today. They came demanding I immediately hand over a child actor who’s been cast in a drama I’m planning…”
“That’s not true.”
Choi Geunseong quickly interrupted Doyun.
“I’ve committed a grave offense. I’m terribly sorry for not recognizing you sooner.”
Choi Geunseong, practically pleading with his eyes, signaled to Doyun for help.
Doyun, however, coldly responded with an icy gaze.
“What didn’t you recognize? Are you saying you didn’t know it was wrong to tie up young students in contracts for seven years?”
“…You need that kind of time to raise them properly.”
“There are significant issues with the contract itself. Hand it over. The contract.”
Doyun extended his hand and pressed for the document.
“I want to show Director Moon the contract and seek his advice.”
Moon Sungil, grasping the situation, narrowed his eyes.
“Let’s see if this is a typical contract used in the music industry.”
“D-Director… It’s not that…”
Choi Geunseong stammered, licking his dry lips nervously.
But there was no way the meticulous Moon Sungil would let it slide.
“So, it’s a contract you can’t show me? Hmm, your face looks familiar. Which entertainment company are you from?”
Feeling the situation spiraling out of control, Choi Geunseong and Noh Gutae began sweating profusely.
As Doyun and Moon Sungil both frowned, Choi Geunseong reluctantly pulled the contract out from the inner pocket of his jacket.
“W-Wait, let’s pretend this didn’t happen.”
Choi Geunseong tore up the contract on the spot.
“I promise never to cause such concern again. I deeply apologize.”
He bowed his head, clasping his hands together as if begging for mercy—not toward Moon Sungil, but toward Kim Doyun.
No matter how intimidating Moon Sungil was, he was ultimately a third party in the Eun Jihoon contract issue.
But Doyun had been the direct victim of Choi Geunseong’s threats moments earlier.
Unless he appeased Doyun, he judged there would be no escaping this crisis.
However, Doyun had no intention of letting it slide.
Would it all end just by getting rid of Choi Geunseong and Noh Gutae?
Eun Hyeran must have realized that Eun Jihoon was a lucrative asset. She would likely resort to bolder actions in the future.
Fixing his cold gaze on Choi Geunseong, Doyun spoke.
“Why are you trying to brush this off? Didn’t I make it clear earlier that I wouldn’t let this go easily today?”
“Th-Then what should I do?”
“Since CEO Choi tried to commit fraud through a double contract, you should face the consequences.”
Doyun pulled out a copy of the contract he had with Eun Jihoon.
After rescuing Eun Jihoon from some thugs at Mia-ri Mountain, he had immediately drafted the contract.
“The contract states that all of Eun Jihoon’s agreements and entertainment activities must be approved by me.”
Doyun showed the contract copy to Moon Sungil.
After quickly reviewing it, Moon Sungil nodded.
“This contract is fine. Eun Jihoon’s legal guardian, Jeong Soonrye, affixed her seal.”
Eun Jihoon and Eun Hyeran.
Legally, they were siblings.
Right after giving birth to Eun Jihoon, Eun Hyeran had abandoned him and run away, leaving him with her mother, Jeong Soonrye.
There was a time when Eun Hyeran tried to take Eun Jihoon to raise him, but it turned out he was just meant to be a playmate for her stepchild.
When that marriage fell apart, Eun Jihoon begged to stay with his mother. Instead, Eun Hyeran dropped him off at Mia-ri Mountain and disappeared like a fugitive.
‘I heard that story directly from Eun Jihoon’s grandmother, who raised him.’
Choi Geunseong and Noh Gutae must have known the situation as well.
They wouldn’t have handed 20 million won to Eun Hyeran without understanding who would quickly snatch up the money.
“Now, are you still going to claim this isn’t fraud?”
Choi Geunseong coughed awkwardly and frowned.
“W-Well, but since she’s the one who gave birth to Eun Jihoon…”
“So, you knew Eun Hyeran wasn’t the legal mother?”
“…She bragged that she could take him back, so I believed her.”
How Choi Geunseong and Eun Hyeran would resolve the messy contract was of no concern to Doyun.
What mattered was ensuring Eun Hyeran never dared to exploit Eun Jihoon for profit again.
“There’s no room for leniency. CEO Choi, I will file a criminal complaint for attempting to abduct Eun Jihoon, who is already under contract with me, using a fake mother. That includes your threats against me as well.”
—
Read More at – GENZNOVEL.COM!!
PLEASE JOIN OUR DISCORD AND SUBSCRIBE THE ROLE TO RECEIVE LATEST NOTIFICATIONS!!
Click here -> https://discord.gg/S8c2kGVr2g
Comment