The One Who Pulled the Strings
On July 2, after the Twice Official release, news about PD Jo Ji-han came pouring out in waves.
Once AB Channel exposed the atrocities of the programs he had directed at his former network, the old station scrambled to spit out videos documenting his abuses in return.
...Homewrecker?
In the breaking-news video, the victim who had once competed in the survival show was blurred out with a mosaic censor.
And yet.
If you typed Jo Ji-han homewrecker into a search bar, every detail of his private life came spilling out anyway, so what was the point of the censor? I couldn’t help thinking it should’ve just shown Jo Ji-han himself.
The broadcaster who’d put out that article video seemed to have a personality defect of his own.
Just like the headline, the comments were already pouring in without pause. It was classic broadcast-network behavior, milking controversy to inflate the buzz.
But the malignant snowball that had created this whole mess lay elsewhere.
“The singer survival show itself was the problem. They turned Jo Ji-han, who could only ever do malicious editing, into a star PD.”
The one who’d told him to ignore the production guidelines and let him run wild—easy on the powerful, vicious to anyone beneath him—that bastard had finally been exposed ten years later, today.
It happened in the video about him assaulting and verbally abusing staff.
Back when he’d been the head of entertainment programming at SBC, he appeared on camera and tried to cut Jo Ji-han loose, saying, “Even then, PD Jo Ji-han acted like a sociopath, so I gave him a proper scolding.”
The man who had once been the head of SBC’s content business division had made a living selling ratings.
“He covered it up and stood by while it happened, and now he’s acting like he was never at fault.”
He went after Jo Ji-han as though he himself had never so much as brushed against wrongdoing, even though he understood perfectly well how the public came to believe whatever image the media kept repeating in front of them.
“Who demanded strict ethics from variety shows in the first place?”
The real issue was whether anyone had the right to ruin contestants’ lives with extreme, sadistic production choices.
“What’s so great about ratings, anyway?”
Every time the man’s pale gray hair and heavy nasolabial folds twitched, my stomach twisted tighter.
I clicked the dislike button instead of posting an insult, and with my smartphone heated from watching all those related reports since dawn, I sent a message to Jo Ji-han’s victim, apologizing for dredging up their painful wound all over again.
The homewrecker breaking-news story had been reported.
And since Lawyer Seon-ryeo had said she’d help with the victim’s retrial on a pro bono basis, that part was being taken care of too.
Thud.
“I’m going in late today—just today.”
I looked at my mother’s photo.
Only ten minutes late.
* * *
For the week before the result of the judge recusal motion came down, the NewTube vultures sensed blood in the water and reworked the Jo Ji-han scandal into something even bigger, a snowball rolling downhill and growing with every turn.
“The coup de grâce was Kim Yo-gi, though.”
The video she uploaded after being busy with private work for a while—Twice concert work—had the black thumbnail that had become standard law for incident-and-scandal videos on NewTube.
And the thumbnail text, in thick white lettering, was in Indonesian, so I couldn’t even tell exactly what it said.
Judging by the NewTube ecosystem, though, it was probably something like “I apologize,” “I’m sorry,” or “Statement of Position.”
Any subscriber who knew Kim Yo-gi well would click it, wondering, What did our Indonesian online little sister do?
“Let’s see.”
I hit play and watched the video.
Compared to the broadcast-network’s malicious editing, Kim Yo-gi’s attempt at stirring attention was barely more than a tickle.
After watching to the end, I dragged the red timeline bar back and forth.
From the moment I compared the unedited and edited versions of Welcome to Work, that scene had been marked as the most rewatched moment by far.
It looked like the day Twice would be holding a concert in Indonesia wasn’t far off.
There were already three thousand comments.
I clicked Translate to Korean on the comments with the most likes, one by one.
Some comments said, “Broadcast-network bastards, leave Twice alone,” while others reacted passionately, saying, “It was all Boxphone distorting public opinion.”
Before watching the video, I’d been fretting my head off, but now a weight finally lifted from my chest.
Then I saw Kim Yo-gi’s profile photo, the one with the bandana headband, and the near-collapse I’d felt while watching the video came flooding back all over again.
“Who could’ve known Kim Yo-gi would use the unedited version? At least it wasn’t evidence covered by a confidentiality order.”
AB Channel hadn’t said anything about it either.
They must have watched the video, which meant they’d probably kept quiet because Kim Yo-gi worked at Yuria Entertainment and was the person shown in Welcome to Work.
Oh Ye-ji, too.
Kim Yo-gi was the kind of person who always acted first and reported later.
“I should’ve sent her to Real Men. Too bad it got canceled.”
That was exactly the kind of person they’d wanted.
Buzz-buzz.
It was a long text message from Team Leader Yoo Yi-hwan at Yuria Entertainment.
“Oh, the motion to recuse the judge was accepted faster than I expected.”
Public opinion really must have been fierce.
I scrolled up and clicked the link at the bottom of the message.
It was the same video they’d said had once been tied to corruption among lawyers and judges at the Seoul Western District Court and even aired on the evening news.
“They said that after AB Channel hit it as an exclusive, KBS, MBS, and SBC all rushed to cover it too.”
The allegations about judicial corruption, PD Jo Ji-han’s purchase of shares in a certain entertainment company, and even the theory of organized public-opinion manipulation by that same company had all been tied together like a bunch of kindling.
In the program AB Channel’s Investigative Focus, they were already suspecting manipulation because the number of album purchases and the view counts made no sense for an idol concert of that scale.
“Anyone could tell they were just waiting for someone else to blow the whistle first, in case pressure came down on them.”
It must have burned Team Leader Yoo up inside that the evidence of PD Jo Ji-han’s stock purchases had gone public through the news rather than through the courtroom, but that had been the whole point of keeping it from the legal team.
“Chairman Han really came through with the materials.”
I couldn’t submit the materials I had, because they’d been illegally obtained through a private investigator.
And since Oh Yoon-sik’s case had been different, the request for financial transaction records had been denied too.
“I wonder how Jo Ji-han will answer this time.”
July 15. The second hearing was waiting.
* * *
At the second hearing, I stared blankly at the panel of judges as they came through the courtroom entrance.
The presiding judge and the left-seat judge had been changed, while the right-seat judge, Yang Seung-nam, remained in place.
Since a motion to recuse a judge is directed at the judge himself, a recusal motion against the panel as a whole isn’t allowed. But a motion against every individual judge on the panel is permitted, so I had filed against all of them.
Only the presiding judge and the left-seat judge had been accepted.
From beside me, I heard a mutter. “Is this really okay?”
It was Byeon Byeon.
I gave him the slightest nod.
Yang Seung-nam was the judge who’d caused a scene in court, but it was fine.
At the end of the ruling he’d written, there had been a line that felt almost unfit for a judge, yet it contained, without any pretense, his hope that the victim’s life would be restored.
The newly arrived presiding judge declared the session open.
“From this moment, we will begin proceedings in Civil Division 2 of the Seoul Western District Court, Case No. 2024Gahap91234, concerning defamation and damages for property loss.”
“First, we will confirm appearances. Has the plaintiff’s counsel appeared?”
“Plaintiff’s counsel, Attorney Yoo Yi-hwan, present.”
The defendant’s attendance was checked as well, and I was given a short but welcome chance to challenge the defendant’s evidence.
They closed the matter by saying it would be handled on the documents alone, but even that was something.
In the previous panel, they hadn’t budged at all.
I switched seats with Team Leader Yoo Yi-hwan.
This was the long-awaited examination of the defendant, Jo Ji-han.
“Defendant Jo Ji-han, as the plaintiff’s additional witness, please recite the oath and sign and seal below.”
Jo Ji-han frowned.
All he could do was recite the oath and sign and seal.
For a moment, his eyes flicked toward the gallery.
I followed his gaze.
The one who looked down the moment we made eye contact, and the one who stared straight back.
One of them had to be a subordinate of the chairman, or of that other person, or whoever the hell he was.
I’ll have to keep checking during the examination too.
I started by verifying Jo Ji-han’s background.
“Jo Ji-han is currently the hottest topic in Korean media. Are you aware of the contents being reported?”
“……”
“Your Honor, I object!”
Attorney Lee Ju-heon raised his hand.
“Defense, speak.”
“The plaintiff’s counsel is dragging the witness into matters unrelated to this trial.”
“Your Honor,” I said, “this is simply a question intended to examine expressions that Jo Ji-han frequently used as a director.”
“……!”
The opposing attorney glared at me as if he were trying to crush a mosquito.
Why? Did you think I’d argue that the present issue overlaps with what the media reported, so it should be admissible?
That kind of excuse was for amateurs.
When it comes to establishing defamation and property damage through testimony, the first question is whether that testimony is even trustworthy to begin with.
That was why I’d opened with this line of questioning—so I could build the foundation that PD Jo Ji-han’s manipulation had been a conscious pattern from the very beginning.
It would prevent Jo Ji-han’s side from mounting either an attack or a defense.
As expected, the judge sided with me.
“Witness, answer the question.”
“I am aware of it. Most of it is absurd nonsense that isn’t true.”
Just as I thought he would.
“Did Jo Ji-han know contestant Lee Mun-ha from the singer survival show?”
“Yes. Since she was a contestant, I knew her to some extent.”
“To some extent? Isn’t she the woman who lived in the officetel you owned and gave birth to your child?”
“It’s true that she stayed in a house I owned because she had nowhere else to go, but the child was not mine. Hmm, it seems the lawyer doesn’t know much, but that was already confirmed in court.”
No, I knew far too much.
“Your Honor, I’m submitting the manipulated DNA test that was presented in court at the time, along with the results of the recent DNA test.”
“……!”
“This, too, was tested using materials AB Channel retained after asking PD Ji-han for cooperation.”
“……!!”
Right. You should’ve thrown away your personal items too.
I’d taken Jo Ji-han’s toothbrush from the editing room and had it tested through Assistant Director Park Woo-chul.
The result, of course, was a 99.99 percent match.
The courtroom buzzed.
The judge accepted the test result sheet with a sour expression.
“Plaintiff’s side, why are you submitting this?”
“I ask that you keep firmly in mind that Jo Ji-han is the kind of person who showed no hesitation even when manipulating evidence in a previous court case.”
“……Ha!”
Attorney Lee Ju-heon stared at me as though I were unbelievable.
Why? You know perfectly well that the evidence the defense submitted has no real basis at all.
He must have realized there was no profit in objecting, so he let it go.
After all, if the DNA test submitted back then had been manipulated, it would affect this case too.
“Plaintiff’s side, acknowledged. Continue.”
Getting back to the main point.
“In episode 1 of the singer survival show, you kept editing Lee Mun-ha’s line—‘Again? Fff—damn it’—as though she were saying it whenever she looked at another contestant in episodes 3 and 7.”
So that it would seem like a curse she habitually blurted out.
“And in the Twice broadcast cut, you directed the line ‘Are you crazy?’ as though it had been copied and pasted at 3:38, 29:49, and 48:15. Was that intentional as well?”
For someone who had sliced up Kim Yo-gi’s lines and edited them maliciously, this should have been nothing.
“No.”
He kept answering every question with the same flat denial: “No.”
A half-hearted denial was no different from a damaging silence.
Then how would he answer this one?
“Is it true that the 1 billion won in contract money you received when you moved over to the AB Channel network was immediately invested in full into Dive Entertainment?”
He couldn’t hide his bewildered expression, as if asking how I’d found that out.
The news had never disclosed the exact source of the funds or the investment amount.
Before he could work his mouth open again to say, “No,” I threw one more thing at him.
“The influencer who stirred up rumors about Twice in Indonesia, and the person who signed a contract with AD Advertising Agency for a reverse viral campaign on that incident.”
“Am I right?”