DK Entertainment's Pursuit
"Yes. DK Entertainment. I heard about it from Writer Kwak yesterday. They say it's a mid-to-large agency hot on the heels of the two dinosaur entertainment companies that dominate the industry."
"But how did you get my number?"
The other person seemed caught off guard.
"Ah, well... PD Ji Cheol-geun gave it to me."
"I see."
A brief silence followed—
"By the way, this is Jang Yong-hu, section chief at DK Entertainment. I remember seeing you, Actor Lee Tae-gyu, outside the audition room last time."
"Mm."
The guy who was standing next to Actor Kim Hwan.
"Ah—"
Tae-gyu was about to say, If my memory's right, the one in the navy blazer? but the words didn't make it out.
Click.
The phone, down to a measly 2% battery, finally died mid-call.
"Ah."
This was no way to handle business etiquette. Tae-gyu dashed to his room and jammed his phone into the charger plugged into the wall.
It was pure coincidence—more precisely, the painful hangover from the night before—but...
I'll charge it up and call back.
·····The other side, that is, DK Entertainment, would never see it that way.
"The moment I said I was the section chief... he hung up, President."
"Got it. Get out."
"Yes, sir."
In the fourth-floor small conference room at DK Entertainment's headquarters. Once Section Chief Jang finished his report, bowed, and stepped out, Kim Kwang-woo finally let out a chuckle, looking amused.
"······See?"
His stern expression cracked the instant they were alone, revealing his true thoughts.
"A guy who acts at that level knows his own worth 100%. From what I saw, the senior actors are already crowding around him, giving pointers."
"Hm."
President Do Yoon-seop neither confirmed nor denied it, just pinching his index and middle fingers like a pizza slice. Kim Kwang-woo nodded.
The two took the office elevator up to the rooftop. Do Yoon-seop pondered deeply until they reached the rooftop smoking area. Only after Kim Kwang-woo lit his cigarette did he speak.
"That's how people think. If one company's director or president calls, but another sends just a section chief? It feels like a joke."
"Exactly."
"Means another agency already made contact."
Kim Kwang-woo exhaled cigarette smoke with a sigh. The president's hypothesis made perfect sense. Even for a last-minute fill-in slot, it was an SBC private audition. There would've been production company reps on the panel, and plenty of industry mouths to spread the word about the acting monster.
"Judging by the size, at least a department head from one of the big two. One of them already bombed this half-season anyway. They've got real venom in this bite."
"Daeil made a move?"
"If not... why would a rookie get offended by a call from a DK section chief?"
Not long after locking eyes with the president's self-assured gaze, Kim Kwang-woo's twisting expression settled into a conclusion.
"That wild river tiger kid's playing hidden master because he schmoozed some big shot."
Kim Kwang-woo stubbed out his cigarette in the rooftop ashtray, quoting from the wuxia novels he'd been reading lately.
"But you'll snag him in the end, right?"
As a founding member of DK, he knew President Do Yoon-seop's personality well. When he wanted something, no means or methods were off-limits. Lobbying PDs, stabbing at weaknesses through reporters, rolling in the mud—it was all fair game in his reckless drive.
"Because he makes money."
Do Yoon-seop closed his eyes, exhaling smoke at Kim Kwang-woo's casual remark, lost in thought.
Money—that is, when a supporting actor steals the scene, the real payday for the agency depends heavily on whether that scene has a killer line.
A line that sticks in the public's brain. Do Yoon-seop knew a few that had transcended even non-viewers and eras, despite being from supporting roles.
- "This is bulletproof glass, you bastard!"
- "Fuck, Brother Ki-hoon!"
- "Dinner's settled?"
- "Look at Yerim's hand—think it's a gut shot?"
These were from substantial supporting roles, not leads. But he also knew lines from extras that lingered on people's lips for over a decade.
- "Take 300,000 won! 300,000!"
- "What does your daddy do?!"
Even from bit players, those lines exploded in popularity. Packed with unique vibe and gritty everyday realism, they had an addictive quality that kept viewers muttering them long after the show ended.
Conservatively, at least 20 CF deals. If he'd been active back then, he'd have locked in contracts like that with just one or two lines, no sweat. Do Yoon-seop finished his thought as he tapped off the ash.
Tap tap.
He had a hunch. From Lee Tae-gyu, who crushed Kim Hwan with that oddly lifelike acting laced with street smarts, he sensed the birth of this season's viral catchphrase.
And hunches like this needed confirming in person, not through footage.
"The others already smelled blood. We settle this before script reading."
"But if he rejects and you call from another number... he might not pick up."
"He will."
Do Yoon-seop stubbed out his cigarette and dialed Tae-gyu's number.
"That hang-up wasn't 'no'—it was 'send someone higher up.'"
The call connected before the first ring ended.
- "Hello?"
Do Yoon-seop shot a look at Kim Kwang-woo on speakerphone. See? Picks up right away—
"This is Do Yoon-seop, president of DK Entertainment."
His polished voice naturally exuded heavyweight presence.
"Let's meet."
In the back seat of a speeding taxi.
Vrooom—
Tae-gyu stared at the Yeouido skyscrapers whipping by outside the window, still not quite believing it.
Who was it that said once life starts clicking, the scenery changes faster than from a cockpit?
This was exactly that feeling.
In their first call, President Do Yoon-seop of DK Entertainment had thrown an offer too good to refuse: 30 minutes in the headquarters conference room.
- One million won for taxi fare.
The money hit his account like clockwork when he gave the details. Mesmerized, Tae-gyu found himself stepping out of the taxi in front of DK's building.
Well... I've got time to kill.
His acting textbook hadn't arrived yet anyway. Might as well see what one of the hottest agencies in the biz looked like up close.
An entertainment agency.
He was curious, honestly. Last night, Writer Kwak In-ho had said flat-out: in this entertainment jungle, surviving to the top meant you needed management. Especially a grinder like you (still not sure what that meant). From script bookings to casting opportunities, shielding you from all the backstabbing power plays.
There were all sorts of reasons to sign, but one image stuck in Tae-gyu's head now.
A company that let him focus solely on what he loved—handling schedules, driving, all the daily hassles—while building a team around the thrill of acting (and wielding the dokkaebi fire).
Truth be told, denying the appeal would be a lie.
According to Kwak, if you played your cards right with a contract here, DK was a solid agency.
"Thank you."
Tae-gyu stepped out of the taxi and turned. He had to crane his neck to take in the full eight-story building.
[ DK Entertainment ]
Pushing through the central revolving door, a spacious marble lobby with a pleasant scent welcomed him. Employees with ID badges bustled past kiosks toward the info desk, where Tae-gyu approached.
"Hello, I have an appointment with the president."
"May I have your name?"
"Lee Tae-gyu."
"Ah, Actor Lee Tae-gyu. The president's expecting you. Get your visitor pass and head to the small conference room on the right, fourth floor."
"Thanks."
With the pass, he cleared the kiosk, took the elevator in the lobby center up to the fourth floor.
Bigger than I thought.
The vibe was good. The male and female staff at the desk had bright smiles, and the wide hallways, stairs—everywhere—people moved with genuine cheer.
But that vibe shattered the moment Tae-gyu reached the conference room.
Through the glass wall.
He saw a strategist boss in rimless glasses pulling out his tools for battle, deep in talk with a brawler enforcer who trusted only his fists—
··········?
No.
······Ah.
On second look, the brawler enforcer was the famous actor Kim Kwang-woo, whom he knew. So the strategist boss had to be President Do Yoon-seop, the one he'd scheduled this meeting with.
Some intense faces.
Tae-gyu reached for the door handle but paused.
A flash of fierce eyes through the glass. Curiosity hit—what emotion was that unsettling side-profile man feeling right now?
Squish.
Tae-gyu pulled a ridiculous face to summon the dokkaebi fire.
And he saw it.
A thick dokkaebi fire blazing on Do Yoon-seop's profile.
Whoosh!
It burned like the sun, mouthwateringly intense at a glance. Wondering what emotions fueled it—
Oh.
Tae-gyu instinctively slapped the freshly copied flames onto his own face.
Swoosh.
Social life builds on experience. Even adults respected in their fields turn into chicks the moment they hang an ID badge around their neck. Pretend to be a big shot without knowing email formats or copier locations, and you're in for humiliation.
This industry was no different. Even talented actors fumble when agencies get involved, signing disadvantageous contracts.
"Do I have to stand here like a screen?"
"Your schedule's open."
"Hah, was gonna superset bi-tri for one more when I had time."
"I'm not letting anyone steal my shots."
"I know your ambitions, bro."
Kim Kwang-woo, eyeing his already bulging arms, spoke up.
"So, what'd you dig up on the kid? You scoped him out already."
President Do had pulled Tae-gyu's info through multiple channels in short order. No theater troupe, academy, film school, or drama club. He summed it up in one phrase.
"High-school dropout, unemployed."
"What?"
Kim Kwang-woo's bulging eyes widened.
"Acting at that level with no training? Family loaded enough for secret tutors?"
"Lives in a goshiwon now."
"Ah."
A complicated expression crossed his face.
"······He's 'that type.'"
"Probably."
Kim Kwang-woo was riding high as an actor, but as DK's founding star, he'd seen and heard plenty. To pull off that acting from a broke, no-connections background without lessons meant innate talent and a monk-like devotion to the craft.
No booze, no dating—just laser-focused on honing skills. An ascetic mindset.
And from experience, actors with that vibe never walked away with contracts matching their talent. Over the phone, maybe—but face-to-face, they crumbled under the president's aura, barely speaking.
"Don't go too hard on him, bro."
"Forgot? You wanna let Daeil take him?"
"Fair point."
"Let's grab the win before bragging—at least second place."
Kim Kwang-woo met the president's eyes blazing behind his glasses.
Ambition. That savage resolve from the day they vowed never to stop until they took down industry leader Daeil Entertainment's head.
"Fine, fine. I get it—you're the boss, just don't pull that shady hidden clause crap like the punks downstairs."
As Kim Kwang-woo muttered and patted the president's shoulder, turning away—
Click.
The conference room door swung open boldly, revealing the guy's upper body!
In that instant, Kim Kwang-woo caught the president's lightning-quick glance, reconfirming the plan.
Ping-pong the rookie between a ripped star actor and a sly CEO to wear him down, then land a favorable contract—same as always. He'd execute for his near-brother president—
"Hello, I'm Lee Tae-gyu."
"Ah, Actor Tae-gyu! We've been waiting. You know him, right?"
"Kim Kwang-woo."
"Yes. Lee Tae-gyu."
Huh?
Lukewarm reaction. Not the awed newbie vibe toward a top-tier Korean heavyweight—wait, what—
Kim Kwang-woo's eyes widened.
"Have a seat first."
The rookie's eyes stared straight back at the president offering the chair, unflinching.
That gaze flashed with an intensity rare even in veterans, let alone rookies.
··········What the hell.
Kim Kwang-woo rubbed his eyes.
It wasn't just the intensity.
Hallucination? Those eyes on Lee Tae-gyu as he spoke felt oddly... familiar. Blazing warmly toward him.
"Before I sit, mind if I ask one thing?"
"Go ahead."
"Just to check... this meeting isn't..."
The ambition in those eyes—so familiar after 20 years watching the president—
"··········right before script reading, trying to snag me at my lowest price, is it?"
Eerily similar to the president's—