The drive home felt like it stretched forever.
Jihoon gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary, his brows furrowed as the city lights passed by in a blur.
His mind was still tangled up in the strange encounter with Yoonjung.
Something about her visit didn't sit right. Too polished. Too purposeful. Like a move on a chessboard that had already been planned three turns ahead.
Beside him in the passenger seat, Jieun was chirping non-stop—about the building, the rehearsal room, the snacks the staff gave her, even the mirror in the practice room that made her look "extra idol-like."
But Jihoon? He wasn't listening. Not really.
He gave the occasional nod or hum, but his eyes were distant, lost in his own storm. Jieun eventually picked up on it. She crossed her arms and puffed her cheeks, sinking deeper into her seat.
"Oppa!! You're not listening," she mumbled with a pout, staring out the window.
But Jihoon wasn't ignoring her on purpose. He just couldn't shake off the unease.
Yoonjung hadn't shown up today on a whim. People like her—people from that world—they didn't just drop by.
Especially not when Samseong was in the middle of a messy corporate transition.
No, this wasn't coincidence. It was calculated.
And that made him nervous.
Jieun, on the other hand, was too young to understand any of this.
To her, this was all just the thrilling start of her idol journey.
She didn't see the shadows behind the stage lights. She didn't need to—not if Jihoon could help it.
When they got home, Jieun stormed off to her room without a word, still sulking. Jihoon let out a sigh and knocked gently on her door.
"I'll make it up to you," he said. "How about dinner out tonight? Anywhere you want."
He heard a muffled "Hmmph" from inside, but at least she didn't say no.
Once she calmed down, Jihoon headed to his own room, shutting the door behind him.
He sat on the edge of the bed, ran a hand through his hair, then grabbed his phone.
Scrolling through the contacts, he hovered over one name.
Imo.
His aunt. Lee Boojin. The only one in the family he trusted enough to ask straight questions—but even that trust came with fine print.
He hesitated for a beat.
Then he pressed call.
The line rang once. Twice. Then picked up.
"Jihoon-ah? If it's not urgent, I'll call you back later—I'm in the middle of something."
"It's kinda important," Jihoon said, voice low but steady. "I think you'll want to hear it."
A pause. Then the sound of her moving away from a conversation, her heels clicking faintly through the speaker.
"Alright," Boojin said finally. "Go on. What's this about?"
Jihoon exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts before laying everything out—from Jieun's sudden contract with Loen, to Choi Yoonjung's unexpected appearance, and the strange, careful way she danced around her words. He told it all.
The line went quiet for a beat.
Jihoon had expected some kind of reaction—maybe concern, maybe confusion, maybe even a hint that she was already aware of how twisted the situation had become. But what he got instead was calm. Too calm.
Then came a soft chuckle.
"Oh, I didn't think she'd reach out to you this fast," Boojin said, half amused.
Jihoon blinked. "What do you mean by that?"
"She's the daughter of an old friend," Boojin said casually, as if that alone justified everything. "The eldest of the SK Choi family. Her mother is the daughter of the former president."
Jihoon's brow furrowed. "And what does that have to do with all of this?"
Boojin sighed, her voice tinged with mild impatience. "Jihoon-ah, our families go way back."
"Your grandmother's father was the chief of judge when Yoonjung's grandfather held the high office."
"Since then we've always moved in the same circles—politics, law, business. There are expectations... and connections."
"And right now, SK Telecom and Samseong Electronics are gearing up for a joint project—big public announcement coming soon."
"So when your grandfather heard that Jieun had joined Loen's trainee program, he thought it'd be a nice touch if Yoonjung, who's apparently taken an interest in the arts lately, got involved with you."
"A little creative partnership between Loen and JH Entertainment could help strengthen the alliance even further."
Jihoon's heart sank a little. He already didn't like where this was going.
"You're telling me..." he said slowly, the words like sand in his mouth, "this whole thing—her reaching out, Jieun ending up at Loen—it was all arranged?"
"Encouraged," Boojin corrected, with a chuckle that wasn't comforting in the slightest.
"Not everything's a grand conspiracy, Jihoon-ah. Sometimes we just... nudge things along."
"Besides, don't get all dramatic now. Even if you've let go of your Samseong shares, family priorities still matter."
"You don't have to treat this like it's a chore that's gonna break your soul."
It was meant to calm him down. It did the exact opposite.
He wasn't surprised that his family had learned about Jieun's actions so quickly—given their power and reach, uncovering that kind of information was child's play.
What frightened him was how fast they responded. It had only been a day since he and Jieun quietly put their plan into motion, and yet here they were, already making moves.
That could only mean one thing: he was being watched. Every step, every whisper, every decision—monitored.
And that explained the uncanny timing. The way their actions always aligned just a little too perfectly. Even the uneasy feeling he got when Yoonjung showed up at the building earlier—it all made sense now.
Jihoon leaned back against the wall, the call now ended, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer some divine answer.
The fresh start he'd envisioned for the new year? A clean slate. No family bureaucracy. His own damn choices.
All of it—smoke and mirrors. Just an illusion.
He could already see the chessboard laid out in front of him—and once again, he wasn't the one moving the pieces.
Maybe it was the box office buzz of his film that caught their attention.
Maybe it was his rising profile, the potential they suddenly saw in him.
But this time, it wasn't just Jihoon they had plans for.
It was Jieun, too.
The same girl they once asked him to keep out of the public eye—hidden, protected—was now being placed front and center.
Not out of concern. Not out of love. But as a pawn in their carefully staged game.
Now he understood. Jieun coming to live with him wasn't just about sheltering her. It was the perfect anchor—his anchor.
A calculated move to tether him more tightly to the family's agenda, to keep him spinning in their orbit.
And that hit him harder than he expected.
Another move. Another play. Another perfectly timed "coincidence" orchestrated by the powers pulling the strings.
Jihoon could feel the walls inching closer again. And this time, the urge to break free—to flip the whole damn board and walk away for good—was screaming louder than ever.
That night, over dinner, he sat across from Jieun at a quiet little restaurant tucked into a side street of Mapo district.
It was her favorite place, she said. Somewhere familiar. Unfancy, unassuming.
A tiny place where the owners of the restaurant knew her name and brought her extra side dishes without asking.
She was all smiles, cheerfully chatting as she dug into her stew, humming between bites.
For a second, Jihoon forgot the storm cloud swirling around his head.
He just watched her.
Really looked at her.
And it struck him—how absurdly innocent she was in all this. Not naive, not stupid, but untouched.
Untouched by the scheming adults who whispered behind closed doors.
Untouched by the political chess games played in skyscraper boardrooms.
She wasn't a player in this game.
She was being played.
And how could he be angry at her for that?
She was just a girl who wanted to sing. To perform. To be seen for her own light, not used as a tool to keep someone else in line.
Maybe she was the anchor they tied to him.
Maybe she was the chain they used to reel him back in.
But she didn't choose that. She didn't ask to be involved.
And she sure as hell didn't deserve the weight of it.
With that, Jihoon started picking at his food, dismissing the worry, pushing aside the anxiety—to hell with their plan. Something had shifted in him that night. Not just a flicker of rebellion, but a solid, clear resolve.
He couldn't let this keep happening. Couldn't sit by and play the obedient grandson, the quiet puppet on their string.
If they thought they could control him with guilt or legacy, they were wrong.
Because now? Now he had a plan.
Hollywood wasn't just a career move anymore. It was his way out—the first real step toward building a life that was truly his. Not inherited, not dictated, not drafted on a boardroom whiteboard by men in tailored suits.
It was his real shot at his independence. At freedom.
And no matter what strings they tried to pull, Jihoon was done dancing.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe and JiangXiu for bestowing the power stone!]