Dayo sat behind his desk, unmoving.
The room was quiet—too quiet.
A pen lay between his fingers, tapping lightly against the polished surface of the table.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
His eyes were fixed on nothing in particular, but his mind was racing.
He wasn't angry.
Anger was loud, careless, emotional.
This was different.
This was calculation.
The industry was moving against him—not openly, not yet—but the signs were clear. Agencies pulling back. Actors withdrawing. Silent pressure from the so-called "Big Five."
They thought they had him cornered.
Dayo exhaled slowly.
"Still predictable," he muttered.
The pen stopped tapping.
He picked up his phone.
Scrolled.
And stopped on a familiar name.
Min-Jae.
He pressed call.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then—
"Dayo," Min-Jae's voice came through, relaxed. "What's up? I was just about to call you now."
Dayo leaned back in his chair. "You heard already?"
