Chapter 102: NEXUM’s Falling Star

The executive boardroom of the NEXUM headquarters in Seoul was a sterile, oppressive space of glass and polished obsidian. It was the kind of room designed to make anyone entering it feel small, a monument to corporate dominance. But today, the dominance belonged to only one person, and she was in a foul mood.

CEO Kang stood at the head of the table, her silhouette sharp against the skyline of the city. She didn’t sit; she paced. The click of her stiletto heels against the marble floor sounded like a countdown. Her face, usually a mask of calculated poise, was tight, her eyes flashing with a cold, predatory anger.

Across from her, Director Park and Manager Sarah sat in rigid silence. They didn’t dare look her in the eye. They had just delivered the news, and the air in the room felt heavy, as if the oxygen had been sucked out.

“Explain it to me again,” Kang said, her voice a dangerous, low simmer. “Slowly. Because I want to make sure I fully grasp the magnitude of your incompetence.”

Director Park cleared his throat, his voice trembling slightly. “The legal team… they reviewed the contract. Because we didn’t lock in the extension early enough, and because Jun’s legal representatives found a loophole in the ‘strategic necessity’ clause, Hana has… she’s effectively walked. And now, the NetFuk announcement…”

“The NetFuk announcement,” Kang interrupted, her voice suddenly snapping like a whip. “A global platform. DiveVR. The most explicit, high-fidelity sensory experience on the planet. And our ‘Nation’s Sweetheart’ isn’t just leaving us—she’s jumping straight into the deep end with the one man we wanted to keep at arm’s length.”

Kang slammed her hand onto the obsidian table. The sound echoed through the room, making Sarah jump.

“Do you have any idea what this does to our brand?” Kang hissed. “We spent years crafting Hana’s image. We built her into a goddess of purity and desire, a perfect balance of innocence and allure. And now, she’s going to be broadcast to the entire world, feeling every single inch of that man, while we’re left holding the bag.”

She turned her gaze toward Manager Sarah, who shrunk into her chair. “And don’t even get me started on the ‘Rising Stars’ you’ve been pushing. I’ve seen the analytics. The engagement is abysmal. The public isn’t buying the replacement. They don’t want ‘new talent’; they want Hana. They want the spark that we let slip through our fingers.”

Kang began to pace again, her movements jagged. “The influencers, the idols… they’re all the same. Polished, plastic, and boring. They’re like dolls. No one cares about them because they have no soul, no hunger. They’re just puppets dancing for a paycheck, and the audience can tell. They’re bored, Sarah. The Korean public is bored, and when they’re bored, they’re cruel.”

She stopped abruptly, leaning over the table, her face inches from Director Park’s. “And the most irritating part? The Chaebol family is unhappy. The Lee family doesn’t like being ignored. They expected a seamless transition, a curated path for Hana, and instead, they’ve been left staring at a NetFuk banner. When the people who fund our lifestyle get ‘unhappy,’ it’s not a corporate problem. It’s a survival problem.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Director Park tried to speak, but Kang raised a hand, cutting him off.

“I don’t want to hear excuses,” she snapped. “I don’t want to hear about ‘unforeseen legal variables’ or ‘market shifts.’ I want results. I want a way to reclaim the narrative. If we can’t control Hana, then we need to find a way to make her move look like a mistake. Or better yet, find a way to make her feel that she needs us again.”

She straightened up, her expression turning cold and distant. “Get out. All of you. Get out of my sight and don’t come back until you have a plan that doesn’t involve ‘hoping for the best.’ Think about what’s at stake. Think about who actually holds the leash in this city.”

Sarah and Park scrambled to their feet, practically tripping over each other in their haste to exit the room. They vanished through the heavy glass doors, leaving Kang alone in the oppressive silence of the boardroom.

She sighed, the anger leaving her in a long, exhausted breath. She walked to the window, looking out over the sprawling metropolis of Seoul. To the world, she was the queen of entertainment, the woman who decided who became a star and who faded into obscurity. But she knew the truth. She was just a middleman.

Suddenly, the sharp, piercing ring of her phone broke the silence.

Kang looked at the screen. Her heart skipped a beat. It was a private line. A line that only a handful of people in the country possessed.

She didn’t answer immediately. She took a moment to compose herself, smoothing her dress and hardening her expression. She knew exactly who was on the other end, and she knew that this call was not a social visit. This was a summons.

She pressed the button and brought the phone to her ear.

“This is Kang,” she said, her voice now perfectly modulated, a mixture of professional respect and cautious submission.

“Kang,” a voice responded. It was a woman’s voice—refined, cold, and carrying the weight of generations of power. “I’ve seen the news. Tell me, why am I reading about my family’s interests on a Western porn site instead of in a corporate briefing?”

Kang felt a cold sweat break out across her neck. The game had officially changed.

The conversation on the phone had been brief, but it had left Kang feeling as though she had been slapped. The voice of the Matriarch—the head of the Lee Chaebol family—had been devoid of warmth, a cold current of disappointment that threatened to pull Kang under.

“I will be watching the next quarter’s performance, Kang,” the woman had said, her tone as sharp as a razor. “Do not mistake my patience for leniency. If the numbers don’t recover, and if you cannot secure the interests we discussed, I will replace the entire executive board. Or, more simply, I will pull the plug on NEXUM’s funding. I have no interest in investing in a sinking ship.”

The line had gone dead. Kang stood in the silence of her office, her hand still trembling slightly. For the first time in years, she felt the precariousness of her position. In the world of the Chaebols, loyalty was a currency, and her value had just plummeted.

Meanwhile, across the city in a private estate that felt more like a fortress than a home, the atmosphere was far less tense, though no less arrogant.

The room was a cavern of gold leaf and velvet, smelling of expensive incense and old money. In the center of the room, reclining on a massive, custom-made leather chaise, was the Chaebol’s son. He was a man who had never known the word “no,” a predator who viewed the world as a collection of assets waiting to be acquired.

He wasn’t alone. Two of NEXUM’s top influencers—girls who were breathtakingly beautiful and utterly desperate for his favor—were currently occupied with his pleasure. They were on their knees, their movements synchronized and urgent. One was focused on his chest and thighs, while the other was buried deep between his legs, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked his cock with a rhythmic, desperate intensity.

The son let out a low, guttural groan, his head falling back against the leather. He didn’t look at the girls; to him, they were merely biological tools, high-end accessories provided by the agency to keep him satisfied.

“Tsk,” he muttered, his voice thick with irritation. “I can’t believe we missed out on Hana. I had my eye on her for months. The way she looks in those dresses… the way she tries to act all innocent while her eyes are practically screaming for someone to break her.”

He shifted his hips, pushing himself deeper into the mouth of the girl currently serving him. He closed his eyes, imagining Hana in her place—not the polished idol the public saw, but a broken, sobbing mess under his control.

“She belongs in a house like this,” he continued, his voice growing darker. “Not some global platform where every degenerate in the world can gawk at her. She should be mine. A private prize. I can already imagine the look on her face when I tell her that her ‘freedom’ with Jun is just a temporary lease.”

Standing by the window, watching her son with a mixture of amusement and cold calculation, was the Matriarch. She had just finished her call with Kang, and she looked entirely unbothered by the chaos.

“Stop sulking, Min-ho,” she said, her voice smooth and commanding. “You act as if she’s the only flower in the garden. The entertainment industry is a factory; it produces a thousand ‘Hanas’ every year. Some are just better marketed than others.”

The son opened one eye, glancing at his mother. “She’s not like the others, Mother. You know that.”

The Matriarch let out a soft, dismissive laugh. She walked toward him, the silk of her kimono whispering against the floor. She stopped beside the chaise, looking down at the two girls who were still frantically working on his cock, their faces flushed and their breathing heavy.

“Of course she’s different,” the Matriarch replied. “But difference is just a variable. And variables can be managed. Do not forget who we are. We don’t beg for what we want; we buy it, or we break the person holding it.”

She reached out, her long, manicured finger tracing the line of her son’s jaw. “I will work it out. Jun is a variable, and Hana is an asset. With enough money and the right amount of pressure, anyone can be brought to heel. Whether it’s through a contract, a debt, or a strategic ‘accident,’ she will eventually find her way back to us. Because in this city, there is no such thing as true independence.”

The son smirked, his eyes glazing over as the girl’s tongue swirled around his glans. He didn’t care about the strategy; he only cared about the prize.

“Just make sure it happens soon,” he groaned, his body tensing as he neared a climax. “I’m tired of watching her through a screen. I want to feel her shaking under me.”

The Matriarch smiled, a cold, predatory expression. She didn’t need the girls to be happy, and she didn’t need Jun to be cooperative. She only needed the result. As she watched her son finally spill himself into the mouth of the influencer, she already began mapping out the next move.

NEXUM might be stumbling, and Hana might be flying high on a global stage, but the Lee family played a much longer game. And in their game, the only thing that mattered was who held the leash at the end.