As Jiyoo exited the 100 Baek Terrace, his steps were hurried and uneven, like he was trying to outrun a feeling that had already caught up to him. His head was slightly lowered and his hands clenched below his waist, along with his jaw tightening in silent frustration. Just then, Taeyeon pulled up in his car and immediately noticed the tension in his friend's body. Without hesitation, he swung the car door open, slammed it shut behind him, and jogged up to Jiyoo on the sidewalk.
"Jiyoo!" Taeyun called out, catching up beside him. "What happened? Are you okay?"
Jiyoo didn't stop walking, but his voice came out low and guarded. "Yeah... I'm fine."
But Taeyun wasn't convinced. One glance at Jiyoo's face and the heaviness was already in his eyes. The way his mouth was set like he was holding back something and he knew. "No, you're not." He said, stepping in front of him to make him stop. "What's going on?"
Jiyoo finally came to a halt. He took a slow breath, looking off into the distance, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly as if the weight had finally settled. "I saw them," he said quietly.
"Who?" Taeyun asked, though part of him already knew.
"Valerie and Eugene," Jiyoo replied flatly with his hollowed eyes. "They were on a date..."
For a moment, the air between them was still. Taeyun didn't know what to say — only that he hated seeing his friend like this. "I'm sorry, man," he finally said. "You didn't deserve to find out like that."
Jiyoo just shook his head, as if trying to shake the image out of his memory. "It's whatever," he said, though the crack in his voice said otherwise. "I just... I shouldn't have gone there."
And as they stood in silence on the sidewalk, Taeyun knew this wasn't just about a broken heart — it was about a dream that his best friend didn't want to admit was over.
"Let's go..."
Jiyoo nodded calmly and followed him all the way to his car. Taeyun pulled the handle forward and opened the door before the two of them head inside. He turned on the engine and slowly looked at his best friend with a worried sigh and pulled the lever before he began to drive away from their parking space.
Bryan, Sally, Ava arrived at the scene and saw Valerie and Jiyoo in the middle of their argument
In a heartfelt yet determined exchange, Joon-woo and Ryung stood before their fathers and Si-woo to make a solemn promise—they would not let K-East's legacy fade into obscurity. Despite the pressures and burdens of the past, both young men expressed a shared resolve to honor the sacrifices made before them. Their fathers, once icons of K-East, had harbored doubts about whether the next generation could carry the torch. But seeing the conviction in their sons' eyes, those doubts began to waver. Si-woo, now stepping back from the spotlight, acted as a bridge between the generations, vouching for their sincerity. In this quiet but powerful moment, the past and the future found common ground, bound by duty, respect, and the dream of something greater.
Inside an old, dimly-lit gym where K-East first began. Dust hangs in the air. The four men stand in a loose circle—Joon-woo and Ryung facing their fathers, Si-woo leaning on a post nearby.
Joon-woo stated. "We know K-East isn't just a name. It's blood, sweat, and legacy. We're not here to mimic what you built—we're here to grow it, evolve it."
"Our generation fights differently, but the heart behind it? That hasn't changed. We won't let K-East disappear. We'll carry it forward—on our terms, but with the same fire you all had," Ryung added in.
"You say that now. But do you understand what it cost us?" Mr. Kim asked quietly.
"It nearly broke us. You're asking to carry something heavy," Mr. Shin gruffed.
Si-woo interjected. "They know. Maybe more than we think. I've seen them train. I've seen how they move... and how they lead. They're ready."
Joon-woo noted firmly. "We won't put K-East in vain. We promise you that."
Ryung nodded. "Whatever comes—wins, losses, mistakes—we'll keep its spirit alive."
A beat of silence. The older men exchange looks. Then, slowly, a nod. Approval—not given, but earned.
In the cold, crumbling remnants of the old K-East hall—its walls stained with time and betrayal—Joon-woo and Ryung stood across from their fathers and Si-woo, shadows stretching long in the dim light. The air was thick, not just with dust but with bitterness and buried resentment.
Joon-woo's voice cut through the silence, low and sharp. "We're not here to ask for your blessing. We're here to tell you—we're taking it back. K-East won't rot under your shame."
His father's eyes narrowed, rage flickering beneath the surface. "You think you understand what it cost us? We bled for that name. And you think you can just claim it?"
Ryung, cold and controlled, stepped forward. "You didn't just bleed. You broke it. We're not continuing your legacy—we're erasing your failure."
Si-woo, arms folded, spoke with quiet venom: "Let them. They're not the ones who ran when everything collapsed. You were."
The fathers bristled, years of pride cracking into fury, but it was too late. The next generation had already drawn the line.
"K-East isn't yours anymore," Joon-woo finished, eyes locked on his father. "We'll carry it—but we'll make it ours. Even if it means burning what you left behind."
Silence fell again, this time darker, heavier. A promise was made—not of honor, but of reckoning.
The afternoon sun filtered weakly through a dusty window in Narrow Squad's base—an abandoned studio in a quiet corner of Seoul. Around a table littered with old demo CDs, discarded energy drinks, and scribbled notes sat Beom, Luke, Sunghoon, Max, Byung-seok, Woonjae, Julong, Moonki, Henry, and Yuki. The air was thick with tension. Phones were connected to a secure, encrypted group call. On the other end: Victor, Jace, Jaeyong, Hiro, Dongyul, and Dongsun—members of the elusive group Thirteen.
The call connected with a short buzz and Victor's voice crackled through the speaker, firm and low. "Alright. Everyone here?"
Beom looked around at his squad and nodded. "We're in."
There was silence for a beat, then the meeting began.
Victor didn't waste time and said. "The plan stays the same. We expose everything. Every dirty deal, every cover-up, every trainee story they buried."
Jaeyong chimed in, his tone sharp. "We've been collecting evidence for years. It's all archived—blacklisted idols, manipulated votes, forced diets, ghostwritten scandals. It's time people know the truth."
Sunghoon, arms crossed, narrowed his eyes. "What about retaliation? We release this, they'll come after us."
Hiro responded coolly. "That's why we don't release it all at once. We control the narrative. One leak, one name at a time. Watch them implode."
Yuki, younger and a bit more hesitant, glanced around. "Are we really ready for this? Once it starts, we're not just rebels—we're traitors to the industry."
Luke's voice was calm and unshaken. "We're not traitors. We're the ones cleaning up the mess they made."
Max leaned forward. "Who's the first target?"
Dongsun exhaled slowly. "The label that buried the death of a trainee two years ago. We have her story. Her brother gave us the audio."
Woonjae's fists clenched. "They silenced her, now we make them listen."
The room fell quiet again. Then Victor spoke, commanding and final: "We strike when they least expect it. Right before the major awards season. Everyone will be watching—and that's when we expose the rot behind the glitter."
Luke advised briefly. "Then we move in silence. No leaks, no hesitation."
Victor nodded. "Agreed. Next time we speak, it's war."
The call ended with a click, and for a moment, no one said a word.
Then Julong broke the silence: "We're really doing this."
Beom smirked in excitement. "Yeah. We're going to tear the industry down."
At 2:03 a.m., a file named "Silenced_0327.mp4" was uploaded to a private link. Within minutes, it was anonymously shared across underground forums, activist sites, and K-pop fan Discord servers. The video opened with a shaky voice recording—an emotional plea from a late female trainee describing abusive conditions, starvation protocols, and the day she was locked in a bathroom for collapsing mid-rehearsal. It ended with a timestamp. Two weeks before her official "accidental" death.
The hashtag #JusticeFor0327 trended in three languages. Former trainees started speaking out. News stations scrambled to verify sources. One powerful label executive went silent—his press team issued a vague "no comment." The storm had begun.
Social media exploded by sunrise and the K-pop industry awoke to chaos.
A breaking news alert flashed across every major outlet in Seoul: "EXCLUSIVE: Internal Audio & Documents Reveal Systemic Exploitation in Major Entertainment Company." The leaked files, anonymously uploaded to various forums and whistleblower sites, exposed cruel contract conditions, psychological manipulation, and behind-the-scenes footage of staff berating trainees—some as young as thirteen. The source? An encrypted signal traced back to the Narrow Squad, in collaboration with Thirteen. Inside their warehouse hideout, the mood was electric—half triumphant, half tense.
Beom slammed his laptop shut after confirming the leak went viral. "It's done. The industry's on fire."
Victor smirked as he paced, phone in hand. "Netizens are already digging. Hashtags trending in ten minutes."
Kain, their elusive boss, leaned forward from the shadows of the room, voice calm but cold. "This is just the beginning. We hit the arteries next."
But not everyone shared the rush. Toward the back of the room, Yuki sat on a metal stool, knees pulled up to her chest. Her normally sharp expression had dulled, and her fingers trembled slightly as she stared at the news alerts piling up on her screen.
Max noticed and nudged him. "Hey, you okay?"
Yuki didn't respond right away. Her voice became hollow as she spoke quietly. "That girl in the footage. I knew her. She was in my first trainee class. She quit after two months."
Moonki looked over, frowning. "You knew this was going to get ugly."
Yuki sighed, saying. "I know. I just... didn't think it would feel this heavy."
The others fell into a short silence, the weight of what they'd done suddenly settling among them. Outside, the media frenzy intensified. Inside, the cracks were beginning to show—starting with Yuki and it was only the first phase of their plan.
Inside a major label office, the executives huddled around a conference table, pale and shaken.
The PR Director said. "We need to get ahead of this. Now. Deny everything. Call the families, issue condolences—something!"
The Legal Advisor insisted. "We buried this case with settlement money. If it resurfaces—"
"Then bury it again. I want that video traced and deleted from every platform," the CEO snapped furiously in a demanding tone. Although, it was too late.
At the same time, everyone's phones were buzzing nonstop.
Beom scrolled through the chaos with a grim smirk. "It's working."
Julong laughed under his breath. "They're panicking like we set fire to their offices."
Woonjae muttered, "We basically did."
Across the room, Yuki sat on the couch, knees pulled up, eyes glued to his phone. His fingers trembled slightly. The fan reaction was louder than he expected—some praised the whistleblower video, others were violently defensive of the industry, screaming fake news and slander.
She looked up. "Guys... What if they come after us? What if they find out it was us?"
Moonki glanced at her in surprise. "We knew the risk."
Yuki nodded slowly. "Yeah, but... it's real now. People are threatening to sue. One fan account already claimed they found our hideout in an old group photo."
Byung-seok pointed out, saying. "Then we scrub everything. Change IPs, switch locations. We won't stop now."
Beom crossed the room and crouched in front of Yuki. His tone softened. "You scared?"
Yuki didn't answer right away. Then quietly: "Yeah. A little."
Beom gave him a short nod. "Good. Stay scared—but stay focused. We're in too deep to pull back now."
Yuki looked down at his phone again, watching the retweets climb into the hundreds of thousands. The world was watching. There was no undo button. Just forward.
Then, there was a private message that was sent to Victor from an unknown number, in which he read. "I know who you are. You think you're untouchable. You're not. Watch your back."
He quickly deleted it without blinking, so he picked up his burner phone and continuously texted his friend, Beom. "Phase Two..."
"Begin."10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1KtTTEKWGv
