The Breakthrough of Control

The summer sun had barely risen, yet Jihoon's world was already in motion. 

Golden light spilled through the towering glass windows of his apartment, stretching long shadows across the sleek, modern interior.

Standing by the counter, he cradled a warm ceramic mug in his hands, the rich aroma of freshly brewed black coffee curling through the air. This was his anchor, his ritual—just as essential as the air he breathed. 

With each sip, his senses sharpened, pulling him fully into the waking world. 

His day unfolded with methodical precision. First, a company meeting. 

Seated at the head of a polished mahogany table, Jihoon listened, assessed, and decided. His words set strategies in motion, his directives shaping the company's course like a sculptor carving stone.

Within mere hours, problems were solved, deals were made, and another layer of his growing empire was carefully refined. 

But Jihoon was more than a businessman—he was a man of discipline, a master of his own form. 

In the private gym of his apartment, the steady clang of iron echoed through the space, his breath syncing with the rhythm of his movements.

Every motion was deliberate, every repetition a step toward perfection. His abs sharpened into sculpted definition, his chest expanded with power, his biceps coiled like steel, and his calves, built for endurance, carried the strength of a warrior. 

If Captain America had an Asian counterpart, Jihoon would fit the role effortlessly—an unstoppable force encased in the elegance of a leading man.

His features, chiseled by both genetics and discipline, struck a flawless balance of strength and refinement. Whether in the boardroom or on the silver screen, his presence demanded attention. 

And the day had only just begun.

Yet today, his mind was elsewhere.

Between the measured movements of his routine, a thought surfaced—an unfulfilled promise to Lee Sooman.

He had agreed to compose OSTs for an upcoming drama, and now, the time had come to deliver.

After his workout, Jihoon settled into his study, script in hand. His sharp, discerning eyes scanned the pages, absorbing every detail. He had read countless scripts before, but something about this one felt different.

Then, it struck him.

A flicker of recognition, like deja vu unraveling in slow motion.

The script in his hands wasn't just another project—it was a turning point.

A cultural shift waiting to happen.

Jihoon's sharp eyes scanned the pages, and with each scene, a memory stirred from his past life. The structure, the themes, the characters—it all lined up.

This was the drama.

The one that had once redefined the K-drama landscape, launching unknown actors into stardom, igniting a global wave of interest in Korean entertainment, and laying the foundation for the K-pop explosion that would follow.

'Princess Hours.'

Back then, it had been more than just a hit—it had been a phenomenon. A catalyst that pushed Korean culture beyond its borders, shaping trends, influencing music, and proving that K-dramas had the power to rival Hollywood.

And now, history was on the verge of repeating itself.

Jihoon could already see it unfold—record-breaking ratings, fans creating a frenzy over the lead actors, OSTs that would become timeless.

The impact would ripple through the industry, setting new standards, opening doors that had once been closed.

But there was a problem.

Despite what he knew about its future success, the present reality was different. Investors weren't convinced.

The production team lacked confidence. The drama was greenlit, but it wasn't seen as a guaranteed hit.

And that's where Jihoon came in.

The director of this drama wasn't just seeking OSTs—he was leveraging Jihoon name.

Jihoon wasn't just a director or a composer anymore—he was a brand.

His previous film, 'Secret: Untold Melody', had already cemented his reputation as a visionary in both film and music.

All the previous project he touched has became a cultural event, with the soundtrack he composed dominated the Korea's music charts.

Attaching his name to 'Princess Hours' would change everything. It would turn a hesitant industry into a confident one. It would ensure the drama's success before it even aired.

It was a smart move. A calculated play.

The opportunity to invest in 'Princess Hours' had come and gone before Jihoon could make his move. The deal was sealed, the project fully funded, and the door to investment closed.

But that didn't matter.

Jihoon wasn't chasing one-off victories. His vision stretched far beyond a single drama.

This project, while significant, was just a stepping stone. His true ambition wasn't merely composing OSTs for hit series. It wasn't even about securing a stake in one successful show.

It was about building a chain of dominance—a long-term strategy that ensured he wasn't just a player in the entertainment industry, but the one that in control.

While others focused on the present—betting on short-term success—he was already mapping out the next wave of K-dramas, the next generation of cultural phenomena.

He had seen it before. He knew which projects would define an era, which trends would rise and fall, which names would become legends. But knowing wasn't enough.

Control was everything.

And control in the entertainment industry didn't belong to directors, composers, or even actors.

It belonged to the decision-makers—the silent forces behind the scenes.

The investors, the producers, the studio executives. The ones who determined what got made, how it got made, and who got to profit.

Jihoon understood this truth better than anyone. Talent alone wasn't power. Timing wasn't power.

Ownership was power.

Because ownership didn't just mean creative freedom—it meant financial dominance.

If Princess Hours had been under his control, he wouldn't just profit from its initial success.

He would own the intellectual property rights, turning the drama into an asset that continued to generate revenue for years.

He saw the future unfolding. Streaming giants like Netflix, Disney+, and Prime Video were on the hunt for premium Korean content to attract global subscribers.

The demand for K-dramas wasn't a trend—it was the future.

Owning the rights meant Jihoon wouldn't just make money once—he could license, resell, and renew streaming deals, transforming a single drama into a long-term revenue stream.

That was the real game.

The next time a drama like 'Princess Hours' emerged, Jihoon wouldn't just be the composer behind its OSTs. He wouldn't wait for a seat at the table.

He would own the table.

His music wouldn't just be melodies—it would be leverage.

Alongside his investments and reputation, his OSTs would serve as a golden key, granting him access to the highest level of decision-making long before the rest of the industry even recognized the opportunity.

Every track he composed, every note he arranged, wouldn't just be art—it would be power.

A bargaining chip. A tool to secure ownership of a project before anyone else even realized its worth.

Because Jihoon wasn't here to simply play the game.

He was here to own it.

If Jihoon was going to dominate the entertainment industry and break free from the control of chaebols and financial elites, he needed more than just talent—he needed a plan.

This wasn't a fight that could be won in a day. It was a long-term strategy, one that demanded patience, persistence, and an unstoppable wave of hit after hit.

And it all started with the music.

The more songs he released under his name, the stronger his influence would become. If the public demanded his music, no one in the industry could ignore him.

With his strategy in place and his determination set, Jihoon picked up his pen and began jotting down music notes, melodies, and lyrics—each one a step toward his ultimate goal.

Then, without hesitation, he reached for his phone and made the call.

After a long beep, the call finally connected.

"Uncle Lee," Jihoon greeted, his voice carrying a confident ease. "I went through the script your friend sent over, and I already have some ideas for the OSTs. So I'd like to use the SM studio for production again."

On the other end, Lee Sooman let out an amused chuckle. "Already? That was fast!" he said, clearly impressed and teased him by saying.

"Yeah, of course, use it whenever you want. I've already asked HR to issue you a temporary ID for the building, so you can come and go as you please. Hahaha!"

Jihoon smirked. "HAHA! Uncle Lee, are you trying to make me an SM employee?" he teased. "Careful, at this rate, I might as well take over SM!"

Lee Sooman burst into laughter. "Aish, you brat! Who told you to work so hard in my studio? You practically live there!"

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Well, if I'm living there, then it's only fair that you start paying me rent!"

"Pay you?" Lee Soo-man scoffed. "You should be paying me! Do you think world-class studios run on goodwill?"

Jihoon feigned innocence. "Of course not! But Uncle, you're getting exclusive first access to my golden music—do you know how many people would kill for that now?"

Lee Sooman snorted. "Tsk, tsk. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were plotting a hostile-takeover."

Jihoon laughed. "Not yet, Uncle. Give me a few more years, and we'll talk."

Lee Sooman sighed, still laughing. "Alright, alright. Just don't forget this old man when you take over the company."

Jihoon grinned. "Of course! I'll even reserve you a VIP seat—just don't complain when I start calling the shots."

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips. These playful exchanges with Lee Sooman had become a habit, but beneath the jokes, he knew how valuable this partnership was.

With unrestricted access to SM Entertainment's world-class studio, he could produce top-quality music without limitations.

This wasn't just about creating OSTs—it was about building momentum, ensuring that his name became synonymous with each successful produce project in the entertainment industry.

And with every hit song he released, he was one step closer to breaking free from the control of the chaebols and financial elites.

[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, Kesna_Bailey_5589 and Daoist098135 for bestowing the power stone!]