The entertainment industry is one that moves faster than anyone in response to public opinion. At times, it even leads the trends and dictates the narrative.

For this reason, those in the industry often have access to the freshest information before anyone else.

“Huh? What’s this?”

A junior member of the marketing team at ST Entertainment furrowed his brow as he read a newly published article.

“Kim Donghu, is his contract ending soon...?”

This was before Gil Gildong’s article had even flooded the real-time search rankings. The junior, who had come across the article first, blinked in confusion before turning to his senior, who was busy with other tasks.

“Senior, do you know how long Kim Donghu’s contract is?”

“How would I know that? Nothing about it has been announced. But normally, I’d guess it would be a long-term deal, at least five years.”

“But what if it’s only a one-year contract?”

“What?”

“What if Kim Donghu isn’t following the norm and is thinking about other opportunities after just one year?”

“Where’s this nonsense coming from? Did you have poison for lunch or something?”

The senior snapped irritably, but the junior didn’t reply. Instead, he sent a link to the article.

“...‘Where Will Kim Donghu’s Next Home Be After Veritas?’”

The senior’s eyes scanned the headline, and in an instant, the years of experience in the entertainment industry led his mind to race through the possibilities.

‘Kim Donghu did announce he was taking a break this year.’

That much was well known.

He had already made it clear that he wasn’t taking on any projects, aside from commercials. But what if the reason wasn’t just to rest?

‘What if he’s laying low to quietly find his next agency?’

It wasn’t an entirely far-fetched thought. In fact, it made perfect sense.

‘The reason newcomers sign long-term contracts is because agencies need time to nurture their talents.’

For idols, actor trainees, and the like, long-term contracts were the norm because agencies needed to recoup the investment of time and money spent on developing them.

But Kim Donghu?

‘He didn’t need to be nurtured.’

From the start, Kim Donghu had blown everyone away by passing the High Dream audition solely on talent. Of course, being talented doesn’t always equate to box-office success, but Kim Donghu had proven himself in that regard as well.

His results? Every drama he touched had at least a 30% viewership rating. He won four awards at the Mise-en-scène Short Film Festival, and his debut commercial film surpassed 10 million viewers.

So the likelihood that Kim Donghu signed a long-term contract from the start?

‘Zero percent.’

The calculation was clear and quick.

“Hey, you did well. Contact the reporter who wrote this article and fact-check. Start gathering information.”

“Huh? What?”

“I’m going to report this upstairs, so be ready for things to get busy.”

Whoosh.

The sound of a bomb dropping in the entertainment world reverberated the moment that realization hit.

Five hours after the article about Kim Donghu’s contract surfaced.

The real-time search rankings were flooded, and follow-up articles were pouring in non-stop.

Riiing, riiing.

Riiing, riiing.

Ding, ding, ding.

Ding, ding, ding.

Gil Gildong stared at the phones in front of him, ringing off the hook.

“Are you... are you really prepared to deal with this?”

Even his senior had come over, looking worried. But Gil Gildong’s expression was surprisingly calm.

“What’s there to deal with? It’s not like I wrote about some political scandal, murdered someone, or had malicious intent. Why would there be anything to deal with?”

“You wrote about Kim Donghu! He’s a minor!”

“I know, he’s a minor. But I didn’t write anything bad about him.”

“...”

The senior had no response to that. It was true.

“And it’s just a light article. The tone is vague and noncommittal.”

“Well, that’s true, but... what if it turns out it’s not a one-year contract?”

“At first, I thought I’d just test the waters and quickly retract it if I was wrong, but...”

It turned out not to be.

Gil Gildong pulled up several more articles to show his senior.

“...‘Could the Reason for Kim Donghu’s Hiatus Be Contract-Related? Is He Scouting for a New Agency?’”

“If you only read up to that point, you might think it’s some trashy rumor. But the way entertainment agencies are moving now is suspicious.”

“What’s so suspicious?”

“Stop looking at me and look at the screen. Once you see it, it all adds up.”

“...”

The senior stared at the screen with a strange expression.

‘Gil Gildong’s article was vague at first, but the follow-up articles are more definitive.’

There was no longer any question marks in these stories. And what solidified the suspicions even more was Veritas’ reaction—or lack thereof.

Veritas was a one-person agency. For such a small company, having a rumor spread about their only star actor’s contract coming to an end should warrant an immediate, strong response. But—

‘They’ve said nothing.’

In this situation, the best move would be to stay silent. Any additional comments would only add fuel to the fire.

It was a smart move. But on the other hand, it also lent credibility to the speculation.

‘So it really was a one-year contract with Kim Donghu.’

Nothing was certain, of course.

“We won’t know 100% for sure unless we hear from Veritas, but do you think any agency in their right mind would announce that their star actor’s contract is ending?”

But all the evidence pointed to the contract expiring. With that in mind, there was no need for Gil Gildong to publish any retractions.

“Other reporters are just guessing based on the circumstances, but I’m different.”

“And how are you different?”

“I know roughly when Kim Donghu signed his contract.”

“What?”

“You weren’t at the site when it happened, were you?”

Gil Gildong still remembered. That cold winter day, when Kim Donghu, who usually came to the set alone, had arrived in a van for the first time.

‘If he signed the contract around that time, it’s safe to assume it’s over now.’

With certainty in his mind, Gil Gildong quickly typed up another headline.

“Kim Donghu, Free Agent: Where Will the Released Beast Find a New Home?”

The title was a little over the top, but that didn’t matter. The clicks came flooding in.

Bold, primal, emotional language always struck a chord, igniting curiosity.

The more articles like this that circulated—

“Ugh... ugh...”

The more Choi Seokho, Kim Donghu’s manager, found himself tearing at his hair in frustration.

Riiing, riiing.

Riiing, riiing.

Ding, ding, ding.

Ding, ding, ding.

Just like Gil Gildong, every device Seokho owned was ringing non-stop.

Even though he knew that staying silent was the best course of action, his heart was pounding.

‘I have no choice but to bring up the contract renewal.’

Tremble.

How should he approach it? Would Kim Donghu even want to renew? How many people were already emailing him, trying to lure him away?

With these worries swirling in his head—

Meanwhile, the person at the center of all this, Kim Donghu, was having a revelation.

“I get it now.”

He had finally grasped a profound truth.

Why had Sims: The Real Life recommended a one-person agency?

Why had it led him to a startup company when he had corporate giants at his doorstep?

The question that had lingered for some time was finally answered, thanks to the flood of articles.

‘It’s about autonomy.’

Sure, a large company’s infrastructure would have been incredible. They had access to endless resources and decades of experience, all of which could be leveraged.

But—

‘I wouldn’t be able to do things my way.’

Even if profit-sharing was generous, the larger the company, the more control they would exert to maximize profits.

‘And I wouldn’t be able to bring on models as I pleased.’

In a big agency, there would always be strange politics at play. But Veritas had none of those restrictions.

When Seokho hyung responded positively to the idea of investing in Shin Yerim as a model, the difference was clear.

‘He just said, “Let’s set up a meeting.”’

In the past, Veritas had seemed like a simple agency that handled the complicated tasks for him.

But now—

‘It feels more like my own company, with a professional manager.’

Even the profit split reflected that. Sure, the terms would change in the event of a renewal, but right now the split was 9:1. Even if Seokho hyung was just a figurehead, it was a deal that made sense.

‘It’s the perfect place to nurture Yerim as a model and invest in Kangshik’s game development.’

Veritas was small enough that leaks weren’t a concern, and he could build it up exactly the way he wanted.

With the decision clear, it was time to go make things official.

Ignoring the flood of calls, messages, and unsolicited emails, Donghu made his way to his agency.

Veritas. My agency.

‘Let’s go renew the contract.’

Donghu recalled the comments from the first article.

‘Want to sign me? Try to catch me.’

If he had to respond to that cringey sentiment?

‘Catch me for what? I’m the one doing the choosing.’

Shudder.

Cringing slightly at the thought, Donghu shook it off and made his way to the agency.

As soon as he stepped through the office doors, he cut to the chase.

“Hyung, let’s renew the contract. Right now.”

“Huh? What? Really?”

Seokho hyung looked as though the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. The hair that had fallen onto his desk spoke volumes about the stress he’d been under.

Worried he might end up balding, Donghu reiterated calmly.

“Yeah, let’s renew it. But not just for a year—let’s make it long-term.”

Upon hearing that, Seokho hyung—

“Waaaah!”

Burst into tears.

‘First Director Lee Seongdeok, and now him.’

Why did all the grown men around him cry like this? It was something Donghu still couldn’t figure out.

While the internet was ablaze with rumors about Kim Donghu’s contract, his fans had no idea.

“This is insane.”

In particular, Ji Eunbi, an 18-year-old fan who had supported Kim Donghu since High Dream, gaped at the TV screen.

Seeing him in traditional Korean clothing, delivering such raw emotion with those heart-wrenching eyes—it was too much.

And his acting ability?

Episode 6 of Ilshik had reached a staggering 32.6% viewership rating.

Watching this unfold was a particular variety show producer who had big plans.

“If Kim Donghu grows just a little more... we’ll have to invite him.”

“Huh?”

“For a child actor special... they say he’s good at sports, too, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Not having that face on variety shows? That’s practically a crime.”

Producer Joo Hojin, of the fast-paced variety show Rush Man!, eyed Kim Donghu with laser-like focus. And Joo wasn’t the only one.

“Did he say he’s taking a break this year? Got it.”

Whether next year or the year after, the entertainment industry would be sending out feelers to get Kim Donghu onto their shows.