A Problem That Isn't Mine

Yoo Youngjin pressed the elevator's close button and then turned to look at Jihoon, who stood beside him, having obediently followed after hearing it was about the girl group.

With a sly grin, Youngjin couldn't resist teasing, "You sure are eager when it comes to them."

"I mean, come on—you're a college student now. Maybe it's time to raise your standards and refine your taste a little. Stop being so hung up on high school girls."

Jihoon rolled his eyes and replied, "Taeyeon and Jessica are my friends. Since when is it wrong to care about your friends?"

He folded his arms and added, "Besides, who said I have to date someone from college just because I'm in college?"

"If anything, those old men you hang around with are always chasing after younger girls. Where's the fairness in that?"

Youngjin chuckled, shaking his head. "Touche."

Before the conversation could go further, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.

They stepped into the executive floor, heading straight for the president's office.

Inside, Kim Youngmin and Lee Sooman were already deep in conversation but paused as Jihoon entered.

"Jihoon-ah! How's college treating you?" Lee Sooman greeted warmly, eyes crinkling with amusement.

"I heard from Minsoo-hyung that you haven't really been attending classes this year. Hah!"

There was a teasing lilt to his voice, but behind it, an unmistakable weight.

Jihoon smiled politely but didn't respond right away.

To most, it might sound like harmless banter, but Jihoon knew better.

Ever since the meteoric success of his debut film Secret and the international recognition that followed—especially after he stepped through the doors of Hollywood—his relationship with the university had become… let's just say, complicated.

Ironically, Seoul National University—what Jihoon perceived to be a breeding ground for so-called "traditional elites," governed by the shadowy hands that shape the nation—had always been reluctant to see him stray from the carefully paved path they had envisioned for him.

Yet, despite their reservations, SNU still had the audacity to proudly claim him as one of their own, flaunting his awards and global acclaim as if they were the architects of his success.

But Jihoon knew the truth: the only real support the university ever gave him was the logistical help submitting his Cannes entry—and even that had gone through his mentor, Professor Kim's name, not the school's.

Beyond that? Nothing.

No mentors, no funding, no encouragement—just silence, bureaucracy, and a university too eager to claim credit after the fact.

Worse, the school board had grown increasingly bitter. Jihoon's success brought them no donations, no publicity they could control, no policy leverage—only headlines they couldn't claim credit for.

Professor Kim was the only shield between Jihoon and their power plays.

The board leaned on Kim constantly, urging him to "reel Jihoon back in," demanding he attend classes—not out of any academic principle, but as a way to reassert dominance.

To remind Jihoon who they believed held the leash.

But Jihoon wasn't naive.

He understood their game—and more importantly, he knew his worth.

If they pushed too hard, he'd walk. And when he did, their bragging rights would disappear overnight. His name would no longer be theirs to wave like a banner.

So, for now, he played the game. Just enough to stay above water.

Between projects, no matter how hectic his schedule, he showed up to maintain the minimum attendance required.

Not because he owed them anything, but to keep the balance.

Kim's quiet support was one of the few reasons he hadn't already walked away from SNU completely.

But Jihoon's patience had limits.

And lately, he was edging dangerously close to them.

He had no intention of explaining any of this to Lee Sooman or Kim Youngmin.

Frankly, it wasn't their problem—and he didn't expect any help from them, either.

Lee Sooman, despite his position on SNU's board, was aligned with his own interests.

His loyalty was to SM Entertainment, not to Jihoon.

Jihoon doubted anyone at SM would ever go out of their way to back something that wasn't relevant to them.

So there was no point in elaborating on his school troubles.

Instead, he changed the subject with a faint smile.

"Well," he said casually, his voice cool and effortless, "school is… an enlightenment in progress."

It was a vague answer, deliberately so. Before anyone could press further, he leaned back in his seat, his tone shifting slightly—more inquisitive now, though still laced with a quiet sarcasm.

"But Uncle Lee, I do have to ask—what's this meeting actually about?"

His gaze flicked between them. "Isn't it a bit unusual to invite a director from a completely different company to a meeting that, as far as I know, has nothing to do with JH's business?"

He paused, then added with a teasing smirk, "Unless, of course, you're thinking of selling some of your SM shares to us. In that case… we can talk numbers."

The comment earned a small chuckle from himself, but his tone was just ambiguous enough to keep them guessing—half joke, half veiled prod.

He turned and nodded politely to Kim Youngmin. Though Jihoon never felt entirely at ease around him, he knew the value of good manners, even when they were more performance than sentiment.

In this industry, appearances weren't just for show—they were weapons.

Lee Sooman, however, wasn't laughing.

The moment Jihoon mentioned selling shares, the older man's brows twitched.

His jaw tightened. If SM was his kingdom, then shares were his crown jewels—and the company itself, his legacy.

To joke about handing it off, even in passing, was like poking a lion in the eye.

"You little brat," Lee Sooman snapped, half-growling. "The problem started because of you! So of course you have to be here to help fix it!"

Jihoon blinked, thrown.

Huh?

Me? What the hell did I do?

Those were the exact words—and expressions—written all over his face.

From what he could remember, his involvement with SM was minimal—an OST here, a casting collaboration there.

SM had co-invested in one or two of his films, yes, and Yoona had starred in Your Name.

But other than that? There was no reason for him to be dragged into whatever internal mess this was.

Sensing his confusion, Kim Youngmin stepped in with an awkward cough, clearly eager to shift the mood—and perhaps save himself from Lee Sooman's wrath in the process.

He offered Jihoon a rehearsed, almost conciliatory smile, the kind you give someone when you're about to explain why your mess is now their problem.

"Let me clarify," Kim began, hands folded neatly. "It's… a bit complicated."

Jihoon gave him a look. Of course it is.

Youngmin continued. "Recently, we've had a situation with the girl group we launched—SNSD."

"Things were going smoothly at first, but now… there's growing tension in the fandom. It's gotten out of hand."

Jihoon tilted his head slightly, still not seeing the connection.

Youngmin sighed. "You see, certain members—like Yoona, Taeyeon, and Jessica—are receiving a lot more attention from fans and the media."

"And it's not random. Yoona's rising popularity is largely due to Your Name… and Taeyeon and Jessica gained massive exposure thanks to singing your OSTs."

Jihoon sat up a bit straighter. Now it was starting to make some sense.

Youngmin went on, "The disparity in popularity has created factions among the fans."

"Some believe we're favoring a few members and neglecting others like Sunny and Tiffany."

"It's led to online arguments, bitter comments, and now, public scrutiny of SM's internal management."

Jihoon didn't say anything, but the corners of his mouth tightened. He could already see where this was going—and he didn't like it.

"To make matters worse," Kim sighed, glancing nervously at Lee Sooman, "I… tried to control the narrative. Redirect public attention. I thought if we shifted focus to another topic, the fanbase might settle."

Jihoon's eyes narrowed.

"I leaked a small rumor," Youngmin admitted sheepishly. "Something harmless at first... a fake dating scandal between Jessica and Lee Donghae from Super Junior."

He raised his hands as if to defend himself before Jihoon could respond. "It was supposed to be a distraction. Just enough to redirect the media's attention—nothing serious."

"Nothing serious?" Jihoon repeated, incredulous. "You call dragging someone's name into a fake scandal harmless?"

Youngmin deflated. "It backfired. Badly. Donghae's fans turned on Jessica. She's getting harassed online—name-calling, threats... It didn't calm anything down. It just added fuel to the fire."

"Now we're dealing with two crises instead of one."

Jihoon exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing. It was a disaster.

And worse—an entirely avoidable one.

Yoo Youngjin, who had been silent until now, spoke up with a grim look. "And the online narrative is spiraling further."

"With the fake dating scandal, fans have started digging up old interviews and clips."

"There's one where the girls didn't bow to another artist properly—now it's being twisted into claims that the whole group is arrogant and disrespectful."

He continued, "Netizens are rallying to boycott them. It started as isolated posts, but now it's gaining momentum. If this keeps snowballing… the group might not survive."

That hit Jihoon like a brick.

So that's why Taeyeon had called him last night, asking him to stop by the company. She probably hoped he could write a song or step in to help somehow.

And Youngmin? Manufacturing a scandal just to "balance" fan perceptions?

This wasn't chess. These were real people, with real careers and fragile reputations. Jessica was being shredded online for something she didn't even do.

Sensing Jihoon's rising disapproval, Youngmin rushed to add, "I just thought… your involvement, even indirectly, might help stabilize things. Maybe if you made a statement, or posted something supportive about the whole group—"

Lee Sooman scoffed from the side. "Don't beg him. He's already neck-deep in this. If he hadn't spotlighted those three girls so much, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

Jihoon turned to him, eyebrow raised, his voice steady and firm. "With all due respect, Uncle... I made casting decisions based on talent and what fit the story. I'm not your PR department. I didn't play favorites—I chose professionals."

Kim Youngmin, clearly flustered and struggling to maintain composure, leaned forward, clasping his hands together like a man hoping to hold something—anything—intact.

"Let's not start pointing fingers," he said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "We have a much bigger crisis to deal with here."

Jihoon didn't flinch.

He leaned back in his chair, slow and deliberate, folding his arms across his chest with the kind of calm that only came from being absolutely done with everyone's bullshit.

His eyes didn't betray a hint of emotion—but the room felt colder all of a sudden, like someone had opened a window in the middle of winter.

His silence? Louder than any shouting growl.

Point fingers? That line almost made him laugh out loud. Almost.

It was pathetic. Insulting, even.

First of all—he wasn't part of SM Entertainment. Never had been. He was merly acollaborator, not a soldier under their command.

Second, even if he was, the idea that they were trying to pin this entire disaster on him—the one person who actually delivered results—was beyond absurd. It was disgusting.

If this had been anyone else, they might've flipped the table by now.

Hell, someone with less self-control might've thrown a punch. Because the accusation didn't just lack logic—it lacked decency.

It was obvious what this was: damage control.

And not the smart kind. The desperate, scrambling-in-the-dark kind.

They were trying to toss someone into the fire to quiet the board, the shareholders, the press—whoever was screaming the loudest at the moment.

And Jihoon? Well, he was convenient. He was visible. He was effective.

So why not him?

Never mind the fact that his film and OSTs had single-handedly put their rookies on the map.

Never mind that the very same girls they were now "concerned" about had become breakout stars because of him.

Where was the finger-pointing when the profits rolled in? When the charts lit up? When fans started buying albums because his story made them care?

Typical. Adult life, Jihoon thought bitterly.

When things go right, everyone's a genius.

When things go wrong, someone's gotta bleed.

And they'd decided he looked like a good sacrifice.

He didn't owe them anything. Not the executives. Not the board. Not even Lee Sooman.

But Jessica? Yoona? The rest of the girls?

If this got any worse, it wouldn't just be a PR blunder—it could derail their entire careers before they'd even begun.

Jihoon exhaled slowly, his arms still folded. A long, deliberate breath that seemed to quiet the static in his mind.

This wasn't his ship. He hadn't caused the sinking. He didn't even live in this damn ship.

But looking at the tension stretched thin across the room, he saw the expression written on every face. Behind Youngmin's overly polite tone and Sooman's cold, simmering glare—they weren't in control anymore.

They weren't captains of the ship. They were just bailing water, hoping the whole thing didn't sink before morning.

And in moments like this, when the ship is leaking, people don't care what caused it—they just want someone to salvage it. And Jihoon knew that person was gonna be him.

And in a moment like this, both Lee Sooman and Kim Youngmin knew their plan had succeeded—because this was an act all along.

To put it simply, it was a trap—a setup designed for Jihoon to walk into, using his concern for the girls as the bait.

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