Dancing with the Wolves

Wolves, by nature, are highly intelligent predators.

Social, strategic, and governed by an instinctual craving for blood, it's a hunger etched deep into their DNA.

But place those primal instincts into the framework of human society, and what you get isn't just a wild beast—it's the perfect metaphor for capitalism at its most cunning.

Just like in a wolf pack, there's always an alpha.

The one who controls the resources.

The one who leads the hunt.

The one who decides who eats—and who gets left behind.

And now, in the same polished, air-conditioned president's office at SM—an office that reeked of corporate ego—Jihoon sat face to face with a pack of wolves, led by their seasoned alpha, Lee Sooman.

They were circling him.

Not with teeth bared or claws out, but with polite smiles, veiled threats, and soft words sharpened like razors.

And Jihoon—well, Jihoon had danced with wolves before. He knew the moves. But this time, it wasn't about surviving the hunt.

It was about slipping through their circle without becoming a meal.

The air in the room was tense but dressed in civility.

Lee Sooman sat with a practiced calm, his expression unreadable, while Kim Youngmin—always the eager lieutenant—watched Jihoon with a subtle, almost pleading intensity.

Jihoon's earlier words, sharp and unapologetic, still lingered in the air like the smoke after a gunshot.

Yet neither of them seemed offended.

Instead, they smiled.

Amused, maybe. Confident, certainly. Like predators who thought they'd already won.

Across the table sat Yoo Youngjin, SM's renowned song composer.

Unlike the others, he didn't have the scent of blood on him. He was no wolf—at best, a domesticated husky tossed into a den of beasts.

Loyal, perhaps. But not dangerous. Still, even a husky can run with the pack when called.

No matter how you looked at it, the circle was real.

Jihoon could feel it—tangible, oppressive—as the three of them closed in around him, physically and psychologically.

Lee Sooman, sensing the rising tension, dropped the theatrical act.

He knew Jihoon too well. The younger man was a straight shooter—never one to waste time with smoke and mirrors.

"Jihoon-ah," Sooman began, voice smooth but edged with fatigue, "I know it doesn't look right. It's not ideal. But we don't have a choice. We're caught in something bigger than us. We can't fight it… and neither can you."

Jihoon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"So why don't we just move with the plan?" Sooman continued. "Stick to the path laid out for us."

The words were vague, but the meaning was not. There was subtext—unspoken yet deliberate—directed squarely at Jihoon. A quiet plea. A veiled warning. A reminder of how the game was truly played.

Because the path hadn't been forged by them. Not by Sooman. Not by Jihoon. It had been laid by those who held the real power—the ones with the resources, the reach, and the influence to shape the industry as they pleased. The true alphas of the pack.

And that was exactly what Sooman was trying to convey.

And Jihoon understood.

He just didn't care.

He leaned back slightly, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"You can drop the act," he said flatly. "Let's not waste more time. What's the real plan?"

It wasn't anger that colored Jihoon's tone—he wasn't lashing out.

No, what he felt was something colder.

Disgust.

Disgust at how easily they used people like tools. At how naturally they spoke in vague strategies and press optics, like there weren't human beings behind the headlines.

Like reputations were just numbers in a risk management spreadsheet.

Lee Sooman let out a soft chuckle, clearly trying to mask his discomfort.

"Hah… nothing complicated," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "We just think… if we tie you more closely to the girls, your name—your credibility—will help silence the controversy. The fake news, the rumors… it'll all die down once the public sees you as a unified front."

Jihoon's eyes narrowed—just slightly—but the shift in his gaze was telling. Focused. Calculating.

Because he knew exactly what Sooman's words meant.

On the surface, the plan sounded simple enough: tie Jihoon's rising influence to the girls' image.

Use his credibility as a shield to protect them—and by extension, the company—from the swirling rumors and negative press.

But beneath that surface, Jihoon could sense something else. A deeper motive. The fingerprints of someone far more powerful than Sooman.

Someone higher up. Someone pulling strings from behind the curtain.

If Jihoon had to guess, he'd say this wasn't Sooman's idea at all.

It came from the real players—the true alphas. And their goal was clear: to anchor Jihoon.

The girls were just the tether. And the harbor they were trying to keep him in?

South Korea.

It was a familiar tactic. He'd seen it before—lived it.

Back when his family first assigned Jieun to stay with him, not just to protect her, but to secure him.

Back then, Jihoon had become too valuable to lose, and pairing him with someone emotionally tied to the family had been a subtle way to control him.

Now, a year later, the same strategy was unfolding once again.

But this time, the stage had changed.

To them, the stakes were higher now.

Ever since Jihoon's spotlight had grown harsher, hotter—shining squarely on him—they'd done their homework.

They had combed through his recent moves, dissected his Hollywood dealings, and flagged his quiet but powerful partnership with Fox.

And with that, something had shifted.

That partnership alone must've rattled them.

Because Jihoon was no longer just an ambitious director or a rising producer.

He was becoming a force of his own. A variable they couldn't predict. A money tree with roots deep enough to grow outside of their carefully fenced garden.

And for people like them—people who built empires by keeping others on a leash—there was nothing more threatening than someone profitable slipping out of reach.

They couldn't afford to lose him.

But they also knew better than to confront him directly. Not yet. Not when he still had momentum.

So they pivoted.

They devised a plan. A softer chain. Something that didn't look like control—but was.

Anchor him. Not with contracts or clauses, but with people. Emotions. Obligations.

Tie him to the girls. Make them his responsibility. Let the public see him—because with increased media exposure, controlling him would become much easier.

Up until now, Jihoon had remained a shadowy figure behind the scenes. Ever since his first film, he'd carefully avoided the spotlight. The film premiere of his first film Secret, was the only real public appearance that jihoon made in Korea.

But if the public started paying attention to him—if they began to see his face, hear his voice—they could shape the narrative around him. Steer it. Frame it. And, if needed, weaponize it.

Because if Jihoon could be emotionally tethered, publicly entangled, and quietly cornered, he'd be far easier to manage.

And by than, he'd have more to lose. And with every step he took, he'd be moving through territory they'd already marked.

As long as they could keep him grounded—professionally, emotionally, even nationally—they could still hold on to him.

Still profit off him.

Still control him… without ever appearing to.

But what they didn't count on was this:

Jihoon saw through it all.

He gave a slight nod, subtle but unmistakable—permission to proceed.

Lee Sooman caught it instantly. He didn't waste time with more theatrics. The room no longer had space for performances.

"After a thorough review by our PR department," Sooman began, his voice now brisk, "we believe it's in everyone's best interest for you to make a public appearance. Something casual, humanizing—low pressure, but highly visible."

He moved toward his desk as he spoke, pulling a file from a neatly stacked bundle, then returned to the coffee table and handed it to Jihoon.

"We're recommending you appear on a variety show," Sooman continued. "With one of the girls. Something light, family-friendly. Just enough to calm the noise."

Jihoon didn't argue. He didn't speak. He simply accepted the file, placed it on his lap, and opened it.

The cover sheet greeted him with its bold, unmissable title:

Family Outing.

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