chapter 19

Chapter 19: Smoke and Mirrors

The press conference was scheduled for noon, but by 11:30 a.m., thousands of reporters, influencers, and livestream moderators had already filled the media hall in Gangnam. Every camera was aimed at the blank podium, a soft buzz of anticipation thick in the air. The hashtag #JihoonSpeaks had surpassed four million mentions.

Backstage, the atmosphere was far colder.

Ji-hoon sat in front of the vanity mirror, surrounded by a cluster of stylists and handlers who were trying too hard to act normal. The lights reflected off his pale complexion. The bags under his eyes were expertly concealed, but nothing could hide the exhaustion in his gaze.

He adjusted his collar.

"I hate this suit," he muttered.

"It's tailored for a funeral," Min-kyu said bluntly, adjusting Ji-hoon's cufflink. "And that's exactly what this is. Either your career dies today, or the scandal does."

Eunha sat nearby, flipping through her notes. Her laptop was open, showing the speech she had helped craft over the last two nights with Ji-hoon and the agency's legal team. Not too defensive. Not too emotional. Calm. Clear. Measured.

But in her gut, something twisted. Even with a perfect statement, the outcome wasn't guaranteed.

"Don't stray from the script," she said softly. "You're not here to win hearts. You're here to hold the line."

Ji-hoon glanced at her through the mirror. "You really think people will believe me?"

Eunha didn't answer at first. She looked up from her screen, meeting his eyes.

"I think the truth is more boring than the lie. That's our biggest problem."

The room fell into silence.

At 11:57, a stagehand peeked in.

"Three minutes."

The lawyer, Seo Jin-ha, stepped forward and gave Ji-hoon a quick rundown. "Stick to the points. If they press, decline politely. Do not go off-record."

"Got it," Ji-hoon said, standing.

Eunha stood too. She touched his sleeve, grounding him.

"You've lived in the public's imagination for too long," she said. "Today, you become real again. Just... remember who you are."

Ji-hoon looked at her — this stranger from Nigeria who had risked everything to help him. His lips twitched.

"Real's not as glamorous as they think."

"And that's exactly why it'll work," she replied.

---

The cameras clicked the moment he stepped onto the platform.

A hundred eyes stared back. Reporters from all networks. A front row filled with international press. Over 2.1 million people watching the livestream in real time.

Ji-hoon took a breath and bowed.

"Thank you for coming. I will keep this statement brief and factual."

He began to speak.

No dramatics. No tears. Just his voice — firm and restrained.

"I did not have a relationship of any kind with Kang Sae-jin beyond a single professional interaction during a commercial shoot six years ago. We did not maintain contact after that event. I was unaware of any allegations, or grievances, until news of her death surfaced."

He paused to let the words settle. The only sound was the click of shutters.

"All allegations suggesting otherwise are being reviewed by both my legal team and independent investigators. I have submitted full access to my communication records, schedules, and travel logs. I have nothing to hide."

He scanned the crowd.

"There is deep sorrow when a young life ends. But using that pain to spread false narratives helps no one. I ask the public and the media to seek truth—not sentiment—before judgment."

He ended with a second, solemn bow.

"Thank you."

---

The moment he stepped offstage, Min-kyu exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for hours.

"Good," the manager said. "Very good. Clean. Controlled."

But Eunha wasn't celebrating.

Her phone buzzed again — this time from the private research forum where she had been collaborating with two ex-entertainment staffers under code names. A new post had gone live: a blurry image of Ji-hoon sitting across from a girl — Sae-jin — in what looked like a private cafe.

The caption read:

> "More proof they were close. This wasn't a one-time shoot. Why lie?"

But the timestamp on the image was suspicious. It claimed to be from 2017 — a week Ji-hoon had been in Busan, filming.

Eunha zoomed into the wrist of the man in the photo.

A tattoo.

Ji-hoon didn't have any tattoos.

But someone else did.

"Han Jae-woo," she muttered.

Min-kyu overheard her. "Who?"

"Ji-hoon's former stunt double," she replied, already typing fast. "They were close once, right?"

"Yeah. Until he left. Claimed the industry 'broke' him. Why?"

She turned her screen.

"Because I think he's the one in that picture. Not Ji-hoon."

---

Later that night, Ji-hoon sat in the backseat of a van, scrolling through social media.

Public opinion was shifting.

Slowly.

One trending post read:

> "He sounded sincere. Maybe we judged too fast."

But then he saw it — the café image again. This time with zoomed arrows and edited overlays trying to prove it was him.

He closed the app.

"People don't want the truth," he said aloud. "They want a story."

Eunha, seated beside him, looked out the window. The Seoul skyline glittered past.

"Then let's give them the real one."

He turned to her. "You still sure about helping me?"

Her voice was soft, but firm.

"I wasn't born sure. But every lie they tell makes me more certain."