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# Chapter 43: The Price of Silence
Minjun’s fingers stopped. Our final words hung in the air, ringing like an unfinished musical note. The café’s espresso machine whirred again, but Minjun didn’t hear it. Or rather, he refused to hear it. His mind was already overflowing with everything we’d thrown at him. Lee Sujin. The article. The NDA. And a name: Jieun.
Jieun.
That name kept repeating in his head. Like someone continuously tapping on a wall. And beyond that wall, he knew something terrible waited. Yet Minjun didn’t want to break through it. It felt like he shouldn’t.
“Jieun told me, ‘Sujin’s just that kind of person. It’s part of this industry. You have to endure it.’ That’s what I told my friend. My own friend.”
Our voice came again. But quieter this time. Almost a whisper. As if the words themselves were wounding us.
“And later, Jieun quit acting. Left the industry entirely. And then I met Junho.”
We were slowly unclenching our fist. Trembling fingers unfurled one by one across the table. Like we were letting something go.
“Junho saw me. Really saw me. He understood that I wanted to do musicals. Even after I bombed that audition, even when I was blaming myself. Junho told me, ‘You can do this. You’re enough.’ And those words—they brought me back.”
Minjun watched our face. Our eyes were still wet, but the expression was gradually composing itself. Like the expression of someone who’d just confessed their sins. Painful, yet somehow tinged with a strange relief.
“So I owed Junho. A deep debt. And I thought the only way to repay it was to help someone else. That’s when I saw you. And I knew. You’re walking the same path Jieun walked.”
“What path do you think I’m on?”
Minjun asked. His voice was almost mechanical. Like he’d switched off his emotions entirely, gathering only information.
“You’re Sujin’s new target. You don’t know it yet, but you’re walking straight into her trap. And you don’t even know what the trap is.”
We looked out the window again. May’s sunlight still illuminated Seoul. But it didn’t look warm anymore. Like everything had turned cold. Like all color had drained to grey.
“Do you know what Sujin sees when she looks at you? You’re a talented actress. You haven’t been corrupted by this industry yet. You’re still pure. And Sujin wants to break that. Because broken actresses are easier to control. Broken actresses don’t resist. They follow Sujin’s every command absolutely. Because they think they’re already ruined.”
Minjun didn’t move. But internally, an earthquake was happening. Everything we said matched every fear he’d harbored. Sujin’s warm smile. The calculation behind it. The attention and care he’d craved so desperately. What if it was all a trap?
“So what should I do?”
Minjun asked.
“You have to run.”
We said it. And for the first time, we made direct eye contact. Our eyes were burning.
“Right now. Leave this company. Get away from Sujin. And never come back. Don’t repeat what I did to Jieun. Don’t make the mistake of abandoning yourself by saying ‘you have to endure it.’”
Minjun heard the words. But he couldn’t accept them. His body refused. Like being asked to tear away his own flesh. Like being told to abandon his only hope.
“But what about my contract? The penalty?”
Minjun asked.
“Ignore it.”
We said.
“What?”
“Ignore the penalty. What does money matter? You need to protect your mind right now. Protect your soul. Money can be earned. But once you’re broken, you can never come back.”
The café’s noise suddenly grew loud. Someone laughed. To Minjun’s ears, that laughter sounded like a scream.
“Do you know how Sujin will handle you?”
We continued.
“First, you’ll get a good role. A really good one. You’ll pour everything into it. Through that role, you’ll feel like a real actress. And that feeling will become an addiction. Then what?”
We paused.
“Then Sujin will ask something of you. A vague request. An unclear demand. Maybe special time on set. Or a private meeting. Or an introduction to another producer. And you won’t be able to refuse. Because you’ll think you owe Sujin for that role. And that debt will keep growing.”
As Minjun listened, he was simultaneously searching his own memories. The times Sujin had called him. Always warm, but always with eyes that seemed to expect something. That discomfort he’d felt. That warning signal he’d tried to ignore.
“Is she really like that?”
Minjun asked. His voice trembled.
“Ask Jieun if you can find her.”
We said.
“Can you find her?”
“I don’t know. I tried to find her, but Jieun really disappeared. No one knows where she went or what she’s doing. She’s just… gone.”
Silence descended. In that silence, everything was collapsing. Minjun’s hope, his trust, his future. All of it crumbling at once.
The café door opened. Someone came in. Minjun heard their footsteps. But those footsteps belonged to a completely different world than his own. That person was still living in their own world. They didn’t know. How dangerous the world was. How cold it could be.
“What about Junho?”
Minjun asked.
Our face hardened.
“What?”
“Does Junho know? What kind of person Sujin is?”
“Yes. Junho knows.”
“Then why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t he warn me?”
Minjun’s voice rose. For the first time, emotion erupted. Anger, betrayal, and deep confusion.
We didn’t move at the question. As if we’d been asking ourselves the same thing.
“Because Junho can’t say anything. Because Junho is also caught in Sujin’s trap. Junho plays the mentor while simultaneously finding new actresses for Sujin. Junho can’t refuse. Because Junho is already broken. Junho is already in Sujin’s hands.”
“So Junho is my enemy.”
Minjun said it. The moment the words left his mouth, it felt true. Junho too, and us, everyone was betraying him.
“No.”
We said firmly.
“Junho isn’t your enemy. Junho became Sujin’s tool without even realizing it. But Junho knows. Junho understands what he’s doing. And because of that, he’s breaking apart even more.”
Minjun heard the words. But couldn’t accept them. Couldn’t accept them, and yet understood them with perfect clarity. Junho’s anxious eyes. The way Junho tried to help him while keeping his distance. It all made sense now.
“So what should I do?”
Minjun asked. This time, his voice was quiet. Almost like death.
We hesitated. We opened our mouth, then closed it. Several times.
“You… you have to run. Right now.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. Somewhere Sujin can’t find you.”
“But my parents? My life? My contract?”
Minjun asked. And without knowing it, he laughed. It was a laugh close to crying.
“You have to abandon it all.”
We said.
“Like Jieun did?”
“Yes.”
Silence descended. Deep silence. Irreversible silence.
The café’s espresso machine whirred again. Very loudly. Like a scream. In that sound, Minjun felt his future disappearing. Or rather, he realized that his future had never existed at all.
“But why are you telling me this now?”
Minjun asked.
Our eyes grew blurry. This time, tears actually formed. But still, they didn’t fall.
“Because I couldn’t help Jieun. I’m hoping I can help you. And I… I need to help Junho.”
“How do you help Junho?”
“I need to free Junho from Sujin. And if Junho helps you escape… maybe Junho can escape too. This is the only way.”
Minjun tried to understand the meaning. But couldn’t. Everything was too complicated. Everything was too tangled.
His phone rang.
Minjun looked at the screen. The Starr Entertainment CEO, Lee Sujin.
Our eyes met. In that gaze was everything. A warning. Fear. And a glimmer of hope.
Minjun didn’t answer. Instead, he hit the reject button.
In that moment, all the café’s noise seemed to stop. Like the world itself had paused. And in that pause, Minjun realized his life had completely changed.
There was no turning back now.
Minjun left the café. We didn’t follow. We both knew there was nothing left to say.
The streets of Gangnam were still bright in May’s sunlight. Buildings rose high. People moved back and forth. Everyone following their own path. But Minjun didn’t know his path anymore. His path had disappeared.
He was walking, but he didn’t know where. His legs moved, but his will wasn’t behind them.
His phone rang again. Sujin.
He didn’t answer this time either.
It rang again. He didn’t answer.
On the sixth ring, Minjun turned off his phone.
The black screen stared back at him. In that black screen, Minjun saw his own blurred reflection. Actor Minjun. Rookie actress. An actress of The Starr Entertainment. All those identities now felt like a prison.
He stopped walking. On a corner of Gangnam street. In the shadow of a building.
Instead of his phone, he looked at his hands. They were trembling. Like the hands of someone who wanted to hit someone but couldn’t.
And in his mind, the name Jieun kept ringing. Like an alarm. Like a warning signal. Like the sound of death.
Minjun couldn’t stop that sound.