Chapter 17: Subsidiary Label
by GideonHaving decided it was time for a serious conversation, he leaned forward and began to explain.
“Zion came to see me. He wants to know what’s more beneficial: signing with me directly or becoming a subsidiary of SUB Entertainment.”
Talk about a high-stakes offer.
Either way, it was a tempting proposition. CEO Moon Woo-jin had been tirelessly working to elevate his agency from a small-scale operation to a mid-sized powerhouse.
This was a godsend, walking right through his door at the perfect moment.
“I told him both options would be a win for me,” he continued, “so he laid out his terms.”
“What terms?”
“If he’s going to sign an exclusive contract with me, I need to prepare the signing bonus.”
This was a scenario they had already anticipated. Do Zion’s current market value was far beyond what MOON Entertainment’s finances could handle.
“If we choose Sanha Label, they’re going to attach conditions to the contract renewals for our agency’s actors.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re trying to block our independent operation rights, does it?”
“They’ll acknowledge our independence, but they’re going to rewrite the contracts in their own favor.”
It meant no actor under their agency would be exempt from the contract renewals.
“Right now, among the agencies that have signed with SUB, we’re the only ones without a romance-specialized label.”
Romance was MOON Entertainment’s main focus.
“After Do Zion won the Dunamis, CEO Park Ji-bun’s only goal is to have Do Zion star in a melodrama and win an award at the Thyme Film Festival.”
But Zion was so reluctant to film a melodrama that he was even contemplating renewing his contract with SUB Entertainment. How desperate must he be to have even asked me to be his opposite role?
“They’re guaranteeing full operational independence, so Sanha is the better option. Besides, Zion said he’d set up a meeting with CEO Park, so we should talk things through.”
It seemed CEO Moon Woo-jin had already mostly made up his mind.
“Are we okay on funding?”
“I’ve sought some advice, and it doesn’t look like it’ll be an issue. If we view this as an investment in our future, it’s hardly a loss.”
Jubin crossed his arms and tilted his head. Only then did Woo-jin get to the main point.
“As the CEO of the company, I think Sanha Label is the better choice. But if we go that route, you and the other actors might end up signing unfavorable contracts. That’s why I’m considering keeping Zion, even if I have to push for it…”
Jubin shook his head slightly, drawing a firm line.
“CEO, keep your professional and personal lives separate.”
This man is too soft, Jubin thought. The line between business and personal matters keeps blurring. Whenever that happened, it was Jubin’s job to keep CEO Moon Woo-jin grounded.
“Once the merger goes through, you just need to notify the other actors that they’ll have to sign new contracts. If the terms don’t suit them, they’ll find a new home on their own.”
CEO Moon Woo-jin’s expression darkened. In truth, he was a man who suited the role of a father far better than that of a company CEO.
“You can’t shoulder everything yourself, sir. After the merger, we’ll literally be under SUB’s umbrella.”
He let out a low sigh.
“…Haa. It seems I’ve finally faced reality through your words.”
He gulped down the rest of his coffee as if it were beer.
“Slow down. Your heart’s going to burst.”
Just then, CEO Moon Woo-jin’s phone rang. The moment he checked the screen, his face turned pale.
“It’s CEO Park.”
“Answer it.”
Though he’d committed no crime, CEO Moon Woo-jin took a deep, tense breath to steady his voice.
“Ah, CEO Park. It’s been a while. How have you been?”
The business-like pleasantries stretched on, a long rally of polite small talk. Soon, the conversation shifted toward arranging a meeting.
“Ah, today? Yes, today works. I’ll make time.”
Jubin decided it was time to head home.
“What? Actor Cha Jubin, too?”
CEO Moon Woo-jin’s eyes, which never widened no matter how surprised he was, finally went wide.
Why is my name suddenly coming up? Jubin wondered, crossing his index fingers in a subtle gesture of refusal.
He just wanted to rest today.
“Ah, you’re calling Actor Do Zion as well?”
Then I’m definitely not going. As much as he wanted to see the immediate effects of the chip replacement, his desire to rest was stronger. And he certainly didn’t have the courage to face Do Zion.
“The radio schedule was canceled? No, how did that happen?”
It had been ages since he’d heard of a radio show getting canceled last minute. Those things almost never happened.
“Ah, the producing director and the junior writer are having an affair…”
It was a workplace scandal—the kind of tawdry drama that was far more common in this industry than in any novel.
“I’ll check if Actor Cha Jubin is available,” CEO Moon Woo-jin said, stepping in to smooth things over. “He’s been so focused on planning his next project lately that I’ve been hesitant to disturb him.”
Moon Woo-jin’s timely intervention was a relief. Getting deeply involved in business negotiations wasn’t his job, and as someone who wasn’t an employee or a manager, he had no reason to be in that meeting.
“Yes, please send me the location separately. Yes, yes. See you soon.”
Only after CEO Park Ji-bun hung up did he take a deep breath and set his phone down, looking utterly drained.
“Whew… That man’s personality is just too much…”
“Don’t let her intimidate you,” Jubin said. “You’re a CEO too. You should be negotiating with her on equal footing.”
CEO Moon Woo-jin let out a hearty, good-natured laugh. “I know, I know. I know it in my head, but CEO Park is still the most successful one in this industry. I can’t help but walk on eggshells around her.”
Since he was already on his feet, Jubin took the opportunity to say his goodbyes. “Well, I’ll be going now.”
“Alright, alright. Thanks for the coffee.”
As he stepped out of the office, Jubin’s phone buzzed—it was Do Zion. The memory of their kiss and the scent of Zion’s pheromones flashed through his mind, sending his heart racing.
The radio’s broken, so he calls me right away…
If I can’t avoid it, I might as well face it.
Jubin took a deep breath and answered the call. “Hey, Do Zion.”
—Are you busy, sunbae?
Jubin wanted to say yes, but the timing was too perfect, as if Zion had deliberately chosen this moment. He gave up on trying to get out of it.
“Um, I’m free now.”
Want to grab a meal?
Jubin had just gotten his chip replaced, and he was curious to see if it actually worked. He figured this was the perfect chance to finally settle things between them, so he readily agreed.
A luxury foreign car pulled into the MOON Entertainment parking lot and came to a stop right in front of Jubin. The passenger window rolled down, revealing Zion in the driver’s seat.
“Get in.”
Click. The locks disengaged.
Jubin instinctively moved toward the back seat, but Zion relocked the door.
Startled, Jubin leaned back down, peeking through the passenger window.
“The back door…”
“Sit up front.”
Jubin had been trying to maintain some emotional distance, but it was completely useless against Zion.
“Excuse me,” Jubin murmured, opening the passenger door.
“Oh…”
Jubin froze, his breath hitching.
This is bad.
The procedure hadn’t worked at all.
His pheromones filled the car, thick and cloying.
For a split second, Jubin considered making an excuse to get out. Instead, he shut the door with a forced nonchalance, pretending everything was fine.
“Did you replace the chip?” Zion asked before starting the engine, his gaze fixed on the regenerative bandage wrapped around Jubin’s left wrist.
“Yeah. I did.”
As Zion turned the key, his eyes lingered on Jubin, a little too intensely.
“How is it? Is it working?”
Jubin chose silence. Lying would be pointless—Zion would see through it in a heartbeat. But admitting the procedure had failed was out of the question.
Sensing the silence, Zion slowly ran his tongue over his lower lip. He rolled down the window, a silent gesture of understanding.
“Smoke if you need to.”
Jubin’s hand had already been drifting toward his cigarettes. Not because he intended to smoke inside the car, but because he just needed to feel them in his grip.
“No, it’s not that bad.”
He wanted to believe the switch had been worth it, if only a little.
I’m glad I told him the truth about my pheromones, he thought. At least with him, I didn’t have to hide it.
His heart felt lighter, and more than anything, he was relieved that Jubin seemed to understand his strange behavior. It was better than keeping it a secret and letting things spiral in the wrong direction.
“What do you want to eat?” Jubin asked, turning the steering wheel.
“I’m not picky. Are you on a diet?”
“No, I don’t need to diet for this project.”
Cha Jubin usually kept his preferences to himself during group meals.
“How about noodles?”
He was such a noodle lover that he could eat them for all three meals a day, as long as the variety changed.
“But you hate noodles, sunbae.”
Jubin was caught off guard by the sudden, blunt truth, but he deliberately denied it. “I don’t hate them. Who told you that?”
“I saw you forcing yourself to eat noodles before,” Zion said. “You looked miserable.”
The CEO of BAY Entertainment loved noodles so much he had to eat them every three days. The memory of always being dragged along, unable to say no, was still vivid. Zion must have happened to see that.
“Everything else is fine,” she replied.
“Let’s go eat. You like Korean food, don’t you, sunbae?”
How did he know I like Korean food?
A strange feeling washed over her whenever he noticed her preferences—a sense of being understood. It felt grateful, and also like she was being accepted as one of his people.
“Alright, let’s save the noodles for next time.”
“There’s a great place near the pool. There’s a wait, of course, but it’s worth it.”
She knew exactly where he meant.
“Oh, that place? The one with the bowls as big as washbasins…”
Crap, she thought. I shouldn’t have said that.
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