From A Producer To A Global Superstar-Chapter 321: Figure behind V-Rex

The PR department didn’t waste time and did a quick edit and the video was out.

And because of the Global Spotlight Card still running, it didn’t drop like normal news. It detonated.

It didn’t matter what other headlines were trending. It didn’t matter what scandals people were trying to push. The moment that footage hit the internet, everything else got swallowed. The timeline turned into one conversation, one name, one question repeated in different fonts, different languages, different anger.

Virex.

Kwon.

And the proof people had been waiting for.

The video was raw. Not the polished kind that could be argued as PR. It was the kind of messy truth that made people pause mid-scroll. The assistant’s voice. Kang’s space. The struggle. The panic. And then the part that stabbed the deepest: the name being said out loud. Not "my boss." Not "the company." The actual name tied to the chain. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

People didn’t need anyone to interpret it for them.

They heard it. They saw it. And the comments came like a storm.

Some were shocked, some were furious, some were laughing like the industry had finally been exposed for what it was. People who had doubted before started writing like they were embarrassed they ever doubted at all. And the ones who had been dragging Dayo for months started apologizing again, but this time it wasn’t soft. It was loud, aggressive apologies, the kind where people blamed themselves for being used.

The articles followed immediately, because the media didn’t even need time to "investigate" anymore. The video did the investigating for them.

Headlines refreshed every minute, and each one sounded more confident than the last, because now they weren’t relying on "allegations" or "speculation." They were pointing to footage.

Virex trended again, but it wasn’t that clean, corporate trending that brands like. This one was accusation-trending. Disgust-trending. "How dare you?" trending.

Even the international fanbases that usually watched Korean industry drama like entertainment stopped treating it like gossip. The American side especially moved like they’d been waiting for permission to go feral again. They didn’t just quote-tweet. They dug. They archived. They reported accounts. They found old posts that pushed the smear. They stitched timelines together like prosecutors.

It became one of those days where the internet didn’t feel like random people anymore.

It felt like a crowd.

And crowds didn’t care about PR.

They cared about blood.

Inside Virex, Kwon didn’t feel that yet.

Not fully.

Because for the past few days, he had been surviving off a lie he told himself.

That the worst part had already passed.

So he kept moving like a man trying to look normal.

But the building was already changing around him.

Staff who used to greet him confidently now greeted him like they were afraid of being attached to him. People avoided eye contact. Phones kept buzzing, and nobody smiled while checking them. Even the air inside the hallway felt different, like everyone was waiting for something to finally land.

Kwon was in his office when the first real crack hit.

A call came in.

Not from an underling.

Not from PR.

Not from a board secretary.

It was one of the major shareholders.

And for a split second, Kwon actually felt relief, because in his head, this call meant guidance. Strategy. Damage control.

He picked up.

The voice on the other end was cold.

"Kwon."

Kwon straightened. "Yes."

The voice didn’t soften. "You’re done."

Kwon blinked once, like he didn’t hear properly. "What?"

"You heard me," the man continued. "Your shares and your position. You are finished."

Kwon’s throat tightened. "Sir, with respect, I—"

"Don’t speak," the man cut in immediately. "Don’t defend. Don’t explain. I don’t care what excuse you’ve built in your head. The company is bleeding because of you."

Kwon’s heart began to thud harder, the kind of beat you feel in your ears.

"What happened?" he asked, voice sharper now. "What exactly are you referring to?"

There was a pause, and that pause felt like disgust.

"You still don’t know," the man said finally. "That’s the worst part. You are blind while you’re dragging everyone down with you."

And then the line that froze Kwon’s blood completely came next.

"Go online."

The call ended.

Kwon stared at his phone for a moment like it had become something unfamiliar.

Then he moved fast.

He grabbed his tablet. His hands didn’t shake yet, but the anger in his chest started twisting into something else. Something uneasy. Something like instinct warning him that his body was about to be humiliated.

He opened the feed.

And the answer was there, waiting, everywhere.

The clip.

His clip.

Not some fake. Not some edited accusation. Not some rurumor.

The video of him in Dayo’s office.

The camera angle was clean, like it was always meant to catch him. The audio was clear enough to recognize the tone in his voice, the entitlement, the anger, the way he spoke like a man who thought he could order reality around.

Kwon’s mind went blank for a second.

Then the panic came like heat under his skin.

His fingers swiped again and again, like refreshing could change the truth.

But the truth only multiplied.

Reposts.

Screenshots.

Zoomed clips.

Translated captions.

Threads breaking down his words line by line.

People writing, "So he really came to threaten him."

People writing, "This is not a CEO, this is a bully with a title."

People writing, "He’s finished."

Kwon inhaled deeply, and his breathing came out heavier than he expected.

He remembered the moment inside that office, the way he’d been trying to force Dayo into giving him something. The way he’d assumed the room was his. The way he’d assumed power was enough.

And now he understood the real insult.

He hadn’t even managed to record Dayo.

He had walked in hoping to trap someone, and he had been the only one caught.

His eyes snapped to the comment section without even meaning to.

He didn’t want to read it.

But he did.

Because humans were foolish like that.

And the comments were brutal.

Not poetic. Not clever. Just blunt cruelty from strangers who felt like they were watching a villain get exposed.

"How dumb do you have to be to walk into his office and talk like that?"

"So the assistant was telling the truth. This was the one behind everything."

"Take his shares. Strip him. He’s a liability."

"Apologize? He didn’t come to apologize. He came to intimidate."

"You deserve what’s coming."

Kwon’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.

He threw the tablet onto the desk like it offended him.

Then he stood up, pacing once, twice, like movement could reduce the humiliation boiling inside him.

His phone buzzed again.

Another call.

Another shareholder.

Then another.

He didn’t pick any of them.

Because he already knew what those calls were going to sound like now.

Not strategy.

Not support.

Verdicts.

As If they had not given him out already.

And in the middle of his anger, the worst truth settled on him quietly.

This wasn’t a scandal anymore.

This was removal.

****

Dayo sat at his desk checking how everything was moving and was satisfied.

Then his phone rang while he was still at his desk.

A private line came through, and the caller ID wasn’t saved, but the number itself carried a weight that made the room feel smaller a special number.

Dayo stared at it for a second, then picked.

"Hello."

The voice on the other end was calm, older, and firm. The kind of calm that didn’t come from peace, but from power.

"Director Dayo."

Dayo’s eyes narrowed slightly. He didn’t speak immediately.

The man continued, like he already knew silence couldn’t intimidate him.

"My name is Han."

Dayo kept his tone even like he already knew he would call this is the major shareholder of the V-Rex agency. "Chairman Han."

A small pause. Like the man on the other end noted that Dayo knew exactly who he was.

"Yes," Han replied. "I didn’t expect you to take this call so quickly."

Dayo leaned back in his chair, voice controlled. "If someone like you calls, it means it’s important."

Han didn’t waste time.

"I’m calling because what happened should not have happened."

Dayo didn’t respond with emotion Just a quiet breath.

Han continued, measured.

"Kwon acted outside what any sensible leadership should allow. I won’t insult you with excuses. I won’t say ’we didn’t know’ when the evidence is already public. I won’t pretend this is a misunderstanding."

Dayo’s face stayed calm, but his eyes sharpened.

Han spoke again.

"I am apologizing to you directly. For the damage. For the smear. For the foolishness that was allowed to grow."

Dayo’s voice stayed steady. "Your apology is noted."

Han paused again, then said carefully, "And I’m also calling to ask what you want."

Dayo’s reply was immediate.

"I want accountability."

Han’s tone didn’t change. "Meaning?"

Dayo answered like he had said it a hundred times already.

"The lawsuit stands. The damages will stand. The public apology will stand. No private settlement that erases what was done."

Another pause.

Then Han spoke, slower.

"You’re firm."

Dayo replied, "I’ve been patient. That doesn’t mean I’m soft."

Han exhaled once, like a man who respected principle even when it cost him.

"I expected your demand would be heavy," Han said. "And I understand why."

Dayo’s voice stayed flat. "Good."

Han continued, "The company will cooperate. Kwon will not be protected if he cannot be defended."

Dayo didn’t react. He didn’t celebrate. He just listened.

Then Han said, "I would like to meet you."

Dayo’s eyes shifted slightly. "To discuss settlement?"

"No," Han replied. "To speak properly. Face to face. I want to understand the man I’m dealing with... and I want to end this in a way that doesn’t stain the company longer than it already has."

Dayo’s tone remained respectful, but unmoved.

"A meeting is fine."

Han asked, "When?"

Dayo answered, "Send the time and place. My people will confirm."

Han sounded almost amused, but still controlled.

"You don’t sound flattered."

Dayo replied simply, "I’m not here to collect compliments."

Silence again.

Then Han said, "Good. I like this "

Dayo’s voice hummed.

"Hmm."

Han’s last words came with finality.

"We will speak soon, Director Dayo."

Dayo ended it clean.

"Chairman Han."

The call dropped.

Dayo stared at the screen for a moment, then placed the phone down gently, like nothing happened.

But the air in the room had changed.

Not because Dayo was scared.

Because now the real power behind Virex had stepped into the light.