The Contract Bombshell Ignites the Frenzy
I realized it then—the entertainment industry moves faster than anyone on public opinion, reacting swiftly and sometimes even leading trends to shape it. That's why it offered the chance to access the latest info before anyone else.
"Huh? What's this?"
The youngest member of ST Enter's marketing team tilted his head at the freshly published article.
Before Gilgildong's article flooded the real-time search rankings, this rookie spotted it first and blinked in surprise. He immediately turned to his senior, who was handling work nearby.
"Senior, do you know how many years Kim Donghu's contract is for?"
"How would I know? Nothing's out there. But generally speaking, isn't it over five years?"
"What if it's a one-year deal?"
"What?"
"What if, since Kim Donghu isn't your typical case, they only did one year and he's planning to shop around later?"
"What kinda nonsense is that? Did you eat rat poison for lunch?"
The senior snapped irritably, but the rookie just copied the article link and sent it over instead of arguing.
The moment he read the headline, years of industry experience sparked a chain of thoughts.
'Kim Donghu said he's taking a break this year.' Famous story. He'd already announced no projects except ads.
But what if it wasn't just a simple break?
'To make finding a new nest easier?'
Not a crazy idea. In fact, it made perfect sense.
'Agencies sign rookies to multi-year deals to invest in grooming them.' Idols in training, aspiring actors—they train 'em up, work 'em hard, recoup costs. Hence the long contracts.
But Kim Donghu?
'No grooming needed.'
He smashed through the HideRim audition on pure talent alone. Sure, skill doesn't guarantee box office, but he'd proven that too.
Grades? Dramas hit at least 30% ratings every time. Movies? Four mise-en-scène awards for his debut art film, ten million tickets for the commercial one.
Odds of a long initial contract? 0%.
The math checked out. Lightning-fast.
"Hey, good catch. Contact the writer, fact-check, gather data."
"Y-Yes? Sir?"
"I'm reporting up the chain. Get ready—we're about to get slammed."
Vrooooom.
The sound of a bomb dropping on the industry.
+++++
Five hours after the Kim Donghu contract article broke. Real-time searches were already swamped, follow-ups pouring in nonstop.
Ring ring ring ring.
Ring ring ring ring.
Ding ding ding.
Ding ding ding.
Gilgildong stared calmly at the phones and cell screaming on his desk.
"You... you sure you can handle this?"
Even his senior came over, worried sick.
But Gilgildong looked utterly serene.
"I didn't touch politics, bury anyone, or write maliciously. What's to handle?"
"You poked Kim Donghu and that's your reaction?! He's a minor!"
"I know, a minor. But I didn't write anything bad."
"..."
Senior had no comeback. It was true.
"Plus, it's just a light speculation piece."
"Not wrong, but... it might not even be a one-year deal."
"That's why I probed—if off-base, I'd pull it quick."
But it wasn't.
Gilgildong pulled up follow-ups.
"...Kim Donghu's break might be for contract reasons? Scouting a new nest?"
"Sounds like trash tabloid at first glance. But agency moves are weird after."
"Weird how?"
"Don't look at me—watch the screen. The math adds up."
"..."
Senior eyed it dubiously.
'Gilgildong's piece was "contract ending?" But follow-ups are definitive.'
No question marks. And Veritas's silence screamed loudest. One-man agency, their sole actor—false rumors? Sue hard.
But nothing.
Smart—no fuel, fire dies. But it also confirmed.
'One-year deal for real.'
Nothing 100% without Veritas statement, but who'd admit a star's contract lapse?
Everything pointed to endgame. No retraction needed.
"Others just chase trends. I'm different."
"How?"
"I roughly know when he signed."
"What?"
"You weren't on set then."
Gilgildong still remembered: cold winter, Kim Donghu arriving solo—till the van days.
'Signed then? Already over. Or...'
He hammered out a confident line right there.
Mildly chuunibyou vibe. Didn't matter—views exploded.
Primal, emotional words hooked instincts. Curiosity inevitable.
And as these piled up...
"Ugh... hngh..."
Choi Seokho yanked his hair, anxiety spiking.
Ring ring ring ring.
Ring ring ring ring.
Ding ding ding.
Ding ding ding.
Like Gilgildong, every device blared. He knew silence was best, but his heart pounded.
'Gotta bring up renewal.'
Shake shake shake.
How? Would they even renew? How many emails flooding Donghu now?
Meanwhile, the man at the center, Kim Donghu...
"Ah, I get it now."
Beheld a massive truth.
+++++
Why'd Sims - The Real Life recommend a one-man agency?
Big corp infrastructure right there—why a startup?
The nagging question dissolved amid the article barrage.
'No autonomy.'
Big infra? Killer, no doubt. Resources, legacy—rock solid.
But.
'Can't do my thing.'
Best revenue split ever? Still, they'd chase max profit.
'Can't just call models whenever.'
Bigger the agency, more scrutiny.
Veritas? Zero constraints.
Shin Yerim as model investment? Seokho hyung just said 'Let's meet.'
Now, Kim Donghu saw Veritas differently.
Not just paperwork handlers.
'Feels like my company with pro management.'
Split screamed it: 9:1. Even if Seokho was figurehead, believable.
'Perfect for grooming Yerim as model, funding Kang Sangi's game.'
Small staff, no leaks. Mold to my taste.
Conclusion clear—time to visit.
Unknown numbers calling, mystery emails? Ignored.
My agency. Veritas.
'Renewal time.'
He recalled the first article's comments.
'Wanna sign me? Catch me if you can?'
Cracking a grin at the cringey vibe, he replied in spirit:
'Catch me and what? I choose.'
Ugh.
Shaking off the cringe, he headed in.
Door open, straight to it:
"Seokho hyung, renewal now?"
"Uh, wha? Y-Yeah?"
Deep in worry? Hair shedding on desk like crazy. Scalp okay?
Whatever—Seokho gawked.
"What'd you say?"
"Renewal. Not one year—long term."
Seokho...
"Hngh hngh hngh!"
Burst into tears.
'Director Lee Sungdeok too.'
Why do grown men hngh-hngh cry? Baffling.
+++++
As the net burned over Kim Donghu's contract...
His fans hadn't caught wind.
"...Insane."
Ji Eunbi, 18, diehard from HideRim days, gaped at TV Donghu.
Hanbok look was killer, but those soulful eyes? Unreal.
And acting proved it: Episode 6 ratings hit 32.6%.
One PD watched closely:
"Just a bit more growth... then cast him."
"Huh?"
"Child actor special... Donghu's athletic too, right?"
"What're you on?"
"That face not on variety? Straight-up crime."
Rush Man! PD Joo Hojin eyed him hungrily—run-till-you-drop concept.
Not alone.
"Break this year? Got it."
Next year, year after, whenever. Persistent calls till he bites.
Every variety PD started coveting Kim Donghu.