We're Family Now
A week had passed.
Inside the Gangnam offices of Muse Co., Ltd., Park Do-hun stared at the cascade of graphs and numbers filling his monitors and swallowed hard.
Insane.
That was the only word left in his head.
Since the webtoon launch, the world had changed.
The web novel, pulled back into the spotlight by webtoon readers, had begun an explosive reverse climb. Cumulative views: eighteen million. Where existing readers had once migrated from text to images, now a massive virtuous cycle was taking shape — new readers drawn in by the webtoon, hungry for what came next, crossing over into the original text.
And today was the day the Episode 6 preview went up.
The results were exactly as expected — or perhaps even better. Readers who had finished the three free episodes opened their wallets without hesitation. They bought Episodes 4 and 5, of course, and then went ahead and paid for the freshly uploaded Episode 6 as well. A conversion rate of over ninety percent.
Only after seeing that number did Park Do-hun finally understand.
So this is why people keep pouring money into webtoon adaptations even though the risk is enormous.
A successful webtoon generated value beyond imagination. For one thing, the market itself was on a different scale. The web novel market had grown, sure — but the webtoon market was vastly larger. Accessibility alone set them apart. Looking at a weekly cycle, a web novel serializing seven days a week might seem to out-earn a webtoon that dropped once a week. But at three hundred won per episode, and with a far larger readership behind it, the webtoon was generating significantly higher revenue.
One thing is certain. We don't have to scrape for money anymore.
Unless they planned to buy a building in Gangnam or acquire a professional baseball team, the corporate account already held more than enough to live on for the rest of their lives.
And as time went on, that success became a butterfly effect, spreading outward in every direction.
Park Do-hun glanced at another monitor — Ad Like's new inquiry dashboard.
"What the hell is this now?"
Ad Like's phones were melting down. New client inquiries had jumped five hundred percent from the previous month. Everyone was desperate to hand them their business. Sales outreach? They hadn't done any. They'd practically unplugged the phone lines, and still the requests kept pouring in through email and personal connections.
Word had gotten out.
Clients who had tasted the results of Ad Like's new approach were recommending them to everyone they knew. Once a data set climbed that high, it didn't lie. Advertisers who confirmed those overwhelming viral numbers were willing to tear up contracts with other agencies just to work with Ad Like.
A virtuous cycle feeding another virtuous cycle. Success breeding more success.
And it wasn't just revenue. The web novel and webtoon triumphs — Park Do-hun felt a shiver run through him.
So this is why everyone wants into the IP business.
It wasn't just about view counts or preview sales. Games, films, dramas — the major secondary rights alone were enormous. Then came figures, merchandise, print editions, emoticons. The ancillary revenue a single character could generate was endless.
If we'd handed this over to Toonmix at an eighty-twenty split…
Just imagining it made him nauseous. He probably would have keeled over from sheer rage.
Once the dam broke, money-making opportunities flooded in from every direction. Companies were lining up right now, begging for contracts — but Minjun had told them to wait. His valuation hadn't hit its peak yet.
Park Do-hun nodded. His little brother's judgment was always right.
He checked his watch.
"Time to go."
Today had an important appointment. He grabbed his jacket and stood.
"Kim, I'm stepping out for a bit. If anything urgent comes in, have them leave it in an email."
"Yes, sir! Have a good meeting!"
He headed for the parking garage with a light step.
Outside Minjun's studio, Park Do-hun's S-Class glided to a stop. A moment later the front door opened and Minjun stepped out — casual clothes, a face that looked slightly worn from an all-nighter, but eyes still burning sharp and clear.
Minjun walked toward the passenger side and reached for the handle.
In that instant —
"St-stop!"
Park Do-hun rolled down the driver's window and practically screamed.
"Huh? Why? What's wrong?"
Minjun froze, startled. Park Do-hun unbuckled, shot out of the car at light speed, and scrambled over to block Minjun's path.
"Whew… almost too late."
He let out a breath of relief, then straightened into a formal posture and flung the passenger door wide open.
"After you, Author. Or should I say, Chairman."
"…Hyung, what are you doing?"
Minjun stared at him, baffled. With a dead-serious expression, Park Do-hun pointed at Minjun's right hand.
"This hand."
"What about my hand?"
"You think this is just a hand? This is the goose that lays the golden eggs — no, the hand that lays the golden eggs."
He cradled Minjun's wrist with exquisite care, as if handling a national-treasure Goryeo celadon.
"Not even a microscopic scratch. Carpal tunnel? Trigger finger? Any of that shows up and our company revenue gets cut in half. No — we collapse."
"Oh, come on. Stop overreacting."
"I'm not overreacting. I'm dead serious. Don't even think about lifting anything heavy. Wait for me to open doors for you. Got it?"
The look in his eyes bordered on mania. Minjun let out a helpless laugh.
"Fine, fine. I'll get in."
Treated like royalty, Minjun climbed into the car. Park Do-hun closed the door with tender satisfaction and returned to the driver's seat. The car pulled away smoothly.
"You know where we're going, right?"
"Yeah. Studio Nangan."
"Right. To meet Representative Kang Suk-woo."
Park Do-hun studied his brother's face in the rearview mirror.
"Minjun. About the proposal today."
"Yeah."
"It's pretty radical. Think Representative Kang will go for it?"
"He will. And if he doesn't, we can't force him."
Minjun gazed out the window, his voice calm.
"What he needs isn't just money. It's certainty."
Park Do-hun nodded. His little brother had an exceptional eye for reading the board. It wasn't just that he wrote well — he had a gift for moving people and driving business.
A super-powered subordinate.
That was the phrase that came to mind. On paper they were author and management, but the real power sat overwhelmingly with Minjun. And today, they would draw a new picture — one that clarified that power dynamic while creating a path where everyone thrived.
At the same hour, inside Studio Nangan's office, Representative Kang Suk-woo was living through days so busy he could barely keep his head above water.
"We'll decide on the overseas export deal after reviewing the translation samples first. Yes, yes. Thank you."
The moment he hung up, another call rang. Happy screams — that was what these were. The hit was real. A massive hit.
The Regressed Hunter is Merciless.
The revenue this single work was generating exceeded everything he had managed across dozens of titles back when he was a division head at a major management company.
Most management firms contracted with authors at an eighty-twenty or seventy-thirty split. Kang Suk-woo had signed Kang Minjun at ninety-ten. A mere ten percent. Anyone looking from the outside would have laughed — You're living off that? — but the reality was different. The size of the pie was different. Ten percent of a ten-billion-won pie was a billion. That was a different dimension from thirty percent of a hundred-million-won pie — a mere thirty million.
"Haa…"
Kang Suk-woo checked his account balance and exhaled. The fifty-million-won advance he'd paid the author? Platform settlements hadn't even come in yet, so it only existed on the books — but looking at the daily sales data alone, it had already been paid back and then some. Office rent, staff salaries, a full year of operating costs for the management company — this one work had solved everything.
And yet.
Things were going so well that he was starting to feel uneasy. One thought kept circling through his mind.
Do I even deserve to keep managing him?
At the beginning, yes — he had discovered the work with his own eye, and he had clung to the next-work contract with unprecedented terms and genuine care. But the situation had changed. Author Kang Minjun was a giant now. Beyond number one in Korea — the original creator of a super IP aiming at the global stage.
And Studio Nangan? A hole-in-the-wall shop with all of three employees. They'd made it this far because the author's talent was so overwhelming that luck had carried them. Whether they could handle the board as it grew even larger — that, he couldn't be sure of.
Overseas exports, secondary rights, tax management, legal response… Large management firms and companies backed by professional law firms did all of that far better.
I'm already receiving more compensation than I deserve. Pushing for a next-work contract on top of that — isn't that just greed?
His conscience pricked him. For the author's sake, wouldn't the right thing be to send him to a larger, more systematic management company?
"Representative, your guests are here."
At his employee's words, Kang Suk-woo's head snapped up. Two men were walking in — Representative Park Do-hun of Muse Co., Ltd., and RottenWater himself, Author Kang Minjun.
"Welcome!"
Kang Suk-woo shot to his feet and bowed.
"Ah, Representative, no need for all the formality. Please, relax."
Park Do-hun approached with an easy, good-natured smile. But Kang Suk-woo couldn't unclench. The two of them had come in person. Authors rarely visited their management offices.
They have something to say.
Kang Suk-woo felt it in his gut. Here it comes.
Rumors were everywhere that every major management firm in the industry was sending love calls to Author Kang Minjun — signing bonuses in the tens of billions, the best treatment in the business. Conditions a hole-in-the-wall shop owner like him could never match.
"Please, sit."
A strange silence settled over the three of them. Minjun spoke first.
"Representative. You've been busy lately, haven't you?"
"Ah, yes… Thanks to you, Author, I barely have time to breathe. Happy screams all day long."
"I'm glad to hear it."
Minjun lifted his teacup, his tone even.
"We came today because there's something we need to discuss."
Thud. Kang Suk-woo's heart dropped.
Is he… asking me to let him go?
Never mind a next-work contract — what if he wanted out right now, even if it meant paying a penalty?
Kang Suk-woo made a decision inside himself.
Fine. Let him go.
A penalty fee? He wouldn't take one. The money this author had already earned him made Minjun a lifelong benefactor. Blocking a path where the author could do even better, just for his own greed — that wasn't right. The big management firms finally understood the author's true worth now, and they would put their absolute best offers on the table. His own management simply couldn't compete.
Business never ran on sentiment. There was nothing more he could offer. Just having been there at the beginning would be glory enough.
"Please, go ahead. Whatever you decide… I'll follow it."
Kang Suk-woo's voice trembled — the voice of a man prepared to accept goodbye.
Minjun and Park Do-hun exchanged a glance. Park Do-hun pulled a thick file from his briefcase and set it on the table.
A termination agreement?
Kang Suk-woo swallowed hard. But the words that came out of Park Do-hun's mouth were nothing like what he'd expected.
"Representative."
"Yes."
"Have you ever thought about building a real management company?"
"…Excuse me?"
Kang Suk-woo's eyes went wide.
"A real one?"
"Not a small elite team like now. Hire dozens of staff. Build out the systems. A genuine major management firm."
"Ah…"
Kang Suk-woo smiled bitterly.
"I'd love to, of course. But capital is short, and finding people isn't easy…"
"We'll provide the capital."
"What?"
Minjun cut in cleanly.
"Studio Nangan. Become a subsidiary of Muse."
"…A s-subsidiary?"
"Yes. This is a merger and acquisition proposal."
Kang Suk-woo's mind went blank. Not a termination — an acquisition?
Park Do-hun opened the file.
"The terms are as follows. Muse acquires one hundred percent of Studio Nangan's equity. In exchange, Representative Kang retains full management authority as a professional executive."
And then the personal terms.
"As for your individual compensation — a ten percent equity grant in the merged Studio Nangan."
Kang Suk-woo sat stunned for a moment before asking,
"Equity… ten percent?"
"Yes. Not Muse headquarters — equity in the management corporation, Nangan."
Equity in Muse headquarters had never been on the table, and Kang Suk-woo knew full well this proposal wasn't a loss for him in any way.
This is huge.
No — beyond huge. Author Kang Minjun would continue writing as a Muse-affiliated author. That meant the next work, and the one after that, would all be managed by Studio Nangan.
"My next-work contract is locked in. Capital will be far more substantial. When you sign other authors, the connection to Muse's webtoon division becomes a selling point. And so do I."
Minjun drove the point home. The calculator in Kang Suk-woo's head spun into overdrive. With The Regressed Hunter alone, the company's value was already in the tens of billions. Add the next work? The accumulating IP? The company's scale would grow exponentially. Ten percent of that enormous future company — that alone was worth tens, even hundreds of billions.
And more.
"Starting annual salary of one hundred million won. Incentives calculated separately. Company car and full expense support."
Park Do-hun added,
"There's also a stock option clause. If we go public later…"
Kang Suk-woo's hands were shaking. The terms were too good. Honestly, more than he deserved. He wanted to stamp the seal right then and there.
But one question remained.
"Author… why me?"
He genuinely wanted to know.
"There are plenty of management presidents more capable than I am. Companies with major law firms behind them. So why… why make this kind of offer to a hole-in-the-wall shop owner like me?"
Minjun gave a small smile.
"Because it's you, Representative."
"Pardon?"
"When I had nothing. You looked at one piece of writing and offered a fifty-million-won advance at a ninety-ten split. You said you'd give me everything short of your own title and went all in."
Minjun's gaze deepened.
"The certainty you showed me then. And the dedication you've shown ever since. That's enough."
"…"
"For a company to grow, you need someone you can trust watching your back. I want you watching mine, Representative. I want the person who cherishes and loves my work the most to be the one managing it."
"…"
"And more than anything — even those supposedly superior management firms never made me an offer that bold. In the end, the one who signed with me was you. Doesn't that say everything?"
Kang Suk-woo's eyes reddened.
I wasn't wrong.
His eye for talent, and his sincerity — they had gotten through.
There was no reason to hesitate. For his company to have value — for his life to have value — he needed to walk with this man. He wasn't foolish enough to kick an opportunity like this away.
At the same time, his chest swelled. With this man beside him, even becoming number one in the industry didn't feel like a dream.
Kang Suk-woo shot to his feet. Then he bowed at a full ninety degrees.
"P-please let me do it!"
His voice shook.
"I… I'll do this right. I'll build it with my life on the line!"
He felt ready to drop to his knees.
Minjun and Park Do-hun looked at each other and smiled.
"Welcome, Representative Kang. We're family now."
Minjun took Kang Suk-woo's hand. Warm. Solid. That hand — it felt like the golden hand that would transform his entire life, and the saving hand that would lift him higher than he had ever been.