Chapter 98
Chapter 98
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 98
Chapter Title: Press Conference
-----------------------------------------------------------------
‘We’ve arrived.’
Finally, the battlefield. Cha Dowon. How does it feel?
‘Thrilling.’
Well, this kind of attention isn’t so bad.
I muttered to myself inwardly.
‘Today, I’m a politician.’
Back when I was drifting through the theater world as an unknown actor, I’d once played a politician. No matter what I did, the essence of the role was always the same.
‘Dirty shamelessness.’
But I’m shameless by nature, aren’t I?
‘Right. No need to act, then?’
Soon, the door of the foreign luxury car swung open. Amid the barrage of flashing cameras, I stepped out quietly.
A few microphones thrust toward my face, but the security guards kept them at bay. I followed their lead straight ahead.
‘Quite the crowd.’
A massive throng of reporters waited, all clutching expensive-looking cameras. I sat down quietly. A microphone was soon handed to me.
I gazed forward. The reporters’ faces were unmistakably trashy.
‘Well, to you, this is just gossip.’
That’s how celebrities get consumed, and it’s not all bad.
But you’ll have to hear me out a bit. You so-called professional reporters, every last one of you.
“First, greetings to everyone gathered here. Hello. Zenith’s Cha Dowon, bringing the peak to you.”
I smiled as usual. The camera flashes sparkled like the sun.
“Before we begin the conference, allow me to make a few humble requests.”
It was a bit of awkwardly phrased service talk. But I could see a glint in the reporters’ eyes.
“First, no duplicate questions.”
My throat would thank me.
“Second, I’ll only take questions from those I point to. If anyone else asks, I won’t respond. Oh, and of course, I haven’t decided who I’ll call on in advance.”
I stood from my seat and bowed my head.
“Please.”
A third-year middle schooler bowing and asking nicely—if you make this weird, you’re trash? You already are, but?
Flashes popped. I quietly looked at the reporter in the front row.
“Yes. The man in the navy cap.”
“Did you really not give your grandmother any money? I heard she’s a livelihood protection recipient.”
Wow. Straight to informal speech.
I smiled faintly.
“Yes. She’s not related. My mother divorced and took custody. I’m on her family registry.”
Flashes erupted wildly again.
“There’s no reason to give money to someone unrelated.”
Someone shouted from outside.
“Blood is thicker than water, though!”
Local broadcast trash needs to log off. Mr. Reporter.
Pretending not to hear, I pointed to another reporter.
“You there, in the white shirt, with the beautiful red hair.”
The female reporter asked, her face slightly flushed.
“Then, when was the last time you saw your paternal grandmother?”
Wow. Good question.
“At my mother’s funeral, after about ten years. She hadn’t come looking for us before that.”
The female reporter who asked shot her hand up urgently.
“Yes, go ahead with a follow-up, reporter.”
“Did your divorced mother deliberately block contact?”
Really good question.
I shook my head right away.
“No. My mother tried to reach out. That’s how I remember it. But they wouldn’t take her calls. Yet somehow, they showed up at her funeral.”
The reporters’ expressions shifted a little. I recognized those faces.
‘They’re curious.’
Well, tossing out proper bait builds tension in the drama.
“The reporter in the black jacket, second row?”
“What did your grandmother say to you at the funeral?”
You’re in for good karma, reporter.
I smiled brightly as I replied.
“She said she’d manage my mother’s inheritance herself. Since I’m the eldest grandson.”
The reporters buzzed. Yeah, now you get the angle?
‘Honestly, isn’t it cliché?’
The classic bloodsucking relatives leaching off celebrities. You’d know better than anyone—you deal with this crap daily.
The reporter who asked raised her hand again.
“Yes, reporter. Another question?”
“What happened to your mother’s assets, then?”
Good question. More good karma.
“I left it to a legal specialist.”
Clean resolution.
‘Better not mention any noonas or aunts here.’
They’d spin it into a novel otherwise, like they always do.
“Yes. The man in the blue shirt?”
“You’re really not giving your grandmother any money? She’s still family.”
I answered immediately.
“Yes.”
Flashes burst again.
I quietly let a smile play on my lips.
“What grandmother in the world goes on TV demanding money from her third-year middle school grandson?”
Damn. Even I crack up saying it.
A reporter raised his hand. I didn’t want more questions, but I allowed it.
“She’s still family.”
Yeah, I knew that line was coming.
It was ridiculous, but the moment I’d been waiting for.
I flipped over the card I’d been hiding and thrust it out. You filthy bastards.
“Oh, yes. Family, exactly. That’s why I absolutely won’t. Reporter, do you know? I’m here right now to protect my family. Yes, the woman in the brown hat. Your question.”
“What do you mean by protecting your family?”
“Exactly what I said. I have a sister.”
Flashes exploded again.
“After my mother passed, it was just us siblings under the sky. Even at a young age, my sister tried to take responsibility for me. That’s when I made a vow. To become someone my late mother and my sister—who’s protecting me with her own small hands—wouldn’t be ashamed of.”
I blurred my gaze slightly. Like someone in pain, I held my breath.
“I’m still young and don’t fully grasp the complicated ties of society and family. But one thing’s clear. My late mother would oppose me giving my money to her own mother.”
The reporters’ stares prickled.
“I want to ask them this: Why ignore your grandson so coldly until money appeared, and only now demand something from me...?”
I gasped for breath.
‘Honestly, it’s cheap melodrama.’
Some of it’s real, though.
“Why should I give money? Because we’re family? Even if it hurts my real family? Why?”
Feel the shame, you bastards. My money is mine—why the hell should outsiders complain?
The reporters fell silent. Whether friendly articles would come out was doubtful. But the whole conference was live-streaming as video.
‘Someone will sympathize.’
Public opinion battles are sympathy wars, right? More people on my side, and it’s over.
‘Silly to pick sides, but whatever.’
Childish, sure, but actors are better at stirring empathy.
“Next question. The woman with the yellow headband?”
“Was your mother really a shaman?”
New segment. Sensing Act 2’s start, I smiled brightly.
“Yes.”
The yellow headband reporter raised her hand.
“Aren’t you ashamed of your mother’s job?”
“My mother wasn’t a criminal. Wouldn’t a child ashamed of their parent’s job be the shameful one?”
I scanned the reporters. The predatory vibe from when I arrived had mellowed.
‘Time for another bomb.’
I flipped my prepared card again.
“In this day and age, someone still thinks that way? Honestly, it’s backward.”
The reporters’ mood shifted. I smirked inwardly.
‘Framing you trash.’
You don’t own that tactic, do you?
The reporters murmured among themselves. Pretty effective bomb—I felt smug.
“The man in the suit, third row!”
“You’re really not giving her money?”
“No duplicates.”
Why can’t you understand plain speech?
A security guard tapped my shoulder from behind. Wondering what it was, turns out nothing major.
“Time’s up.”
Already?
But this was the time slot agreed with the hotel. I took one last question.
“Last question. The woman in the red hat!”
“This is Ishijin from Entertainment Scope.”
She even named her outlet.
“What are your plans for future schedules, Cha Dowon-ssi?”
“I’ll discuss with the company and proceed with what’s already set.”
The reporter raised her hand again, signaling another question.
“What kind of person is your sister, Cha Dowon-ssi?”
“Just my sister. She’s a civilian, so no comment.”
Ishijin raised her hand once more. I took the question.
“What kind of celebrity do you want to be, Cha Dowon-ssi?”
Unexpected. I stared straight at Ishijin. Plenty of incident-related stuff to ask.
‘But not bad.’
Felt like a question I wanted to answer. I smiled faintly.
“I want to be a celebrity who can spend money leisurely.”
I felt the reporters’ gazes.
“Whenever I see charity programs helping the underprivileged, I think I want to help. But I’ve been too lacking for that kind of leisure. So I want to become a celebrity who can spend without a second thought.”
Half-truth. Half not.
I stood and bowed.
“Thank you for coming despite your busy schedules. That’s all.”
The seated reporters all rose. Escorted by security, I left the conference room.
“Make way!”
“Cha Dowon-ssi!”
“You’re really not giving the money!”
I said no. Is your brain tofu? Forget it the second I turn? Was it ever that big a deal, you reporter scum?
I finally got into the car the manager brought. Even then, the flashes didn’t stop.
“Whew.”
I greeted the security guard who rode with me right away.
“Good work.”
“No problem.”
But the car wouldn’t budge.
“Manager?”
Oh no.
The manager was in the front seat, bawling like a baby with huge tears. I smiled awkwardly and shook my head.
“Why are you crying?”
“You did so well.”
“If you’re moved, smile. Don’t cry.”
“You crazy ambitious punk. You don’t get my feelings. Why are you so admirable?”
Something was off-kilter.
“I see. You stood in that brutal spot for your sister. That kid!”
No, not really. It’s for the schedule.
“Sniff! Hack! Sob!”
The manager looked like he might pass out.
I sighed. Whatever, just drive already.
‘I’m going nuts.’
Even in the car, flashes kept popping. I handed the manager tissues from my pocket. He blew his nose and kept sniffling.
The car finally moved five minutes later. And after that, the world shifted a bit.
***
Executive Director Joo quietly watched the video uploading live on the streaming site. It was real; admiration escaped him.
“Cha Dowon...”
He knew from using the press to promote his kids himself. Zenith’s crazy maknae Cha Dowon had wielded the media perfectly.
“Wow, this madman...”
Brains and acting chops? No. That’s not all.
‘Guts spilling out. Our Dowon.’
Trash reporters or not, they’re the type that can kill with words. Turning that against them—bold as hell.
‘But brilliant.’
The real-time comments on the video site were favorable. Some weird ones slipped in, but most agreed with Cha Dowon.
‘Even factoring in fans mixed in, this is...’
Public opinion flipped.
Executive Director Joo searched portal news photos. Today’s unusually pretty shots of Cha Dowon and the teary-eyed manager in the car were trending live.
“Why’s Manager Heo crying?”
Articles even had the tissue handoff photo. Comments mostly called it touching.
Executive Director Joo rubbed his dry face and chuckled.
“Feels like I’m raising a weirdo.”
No one answered his mutter.
“Didn’t expect this much...”
The ad clients who’d been so pissed hadn’t called. PR team was probably dead silent.
‘Quiet as a grave.’
How does he pull this off?
“Dowon-ah. Your stock just soared.”