Chaewon's hands were trembling. His palms were clammy, his breath shallow, and his eyes darted from one flashing camera to another. He tried to hide it, but the shaking wouldn't stop.
Hanbin, sitting beside him, quietly reached over and held his hand under the table. His grip was steady, his smile calm, as if to say: everything will be fine. Chaewon swallowed hard and nodded faintly, clinging to that small anchor.
The lawyer adjusted his glasses, leaned toward the mic, and said, "We will now begin the press conference. Please, direct your questions one at a time."
Immediately, a reporter in the front row raised her hand.
"Mr. Chaewon," she asked clearly, "did the company refuse to pay you after the termination of your contract—because you didn't follow the rules?"
Chaewon exhaled, forcing himself to lean into the mic.
"Yes, they refused to pay," he said, his voice low but steady. "But I didn't disobey any rule in the contract."
Another reporter quickly followed.
"Did the company force you to work even when you were injured?"
Before Chaewon could answer, Simon leaned forward.
"Yes," he said firmly. "A lot of times. When I sprained my foot, they still made me dance. They told me if I didn't perform, they wouldn't pay us at all."
The room filled with murmurs, the scratching of pens echoing in the silence between flashes.
A third reporter spoke, flipping through documents.
"According to the evidence, you weren't paid for almost four years. And when you were, it was only 10 percent of your earnings—even though your contract stated 40 percent. Is that true. So how did you guys afford a living.?"
Winner leaned toward the mic, his voice sharp.
"Yes. And let me add one more thing. They made us pay for our own transport. Our food. Even our airplane tickets. The company didn't cover our stage outfits, our accessories, or even the microphones we used."
The hall erupted with shocked whispers.
Another reporter stood, her tone almost accusing.
"Mr. Chaewon, you were very close with Ms. Soojin. People often saw you two going out for dinners. Did you ever know she was dating a manager at the time?"
Chaewon straightened, his voice calm.
"Yes, we were close. But it was a sibling relationship. We only went for dinner once. I never knew she was dating another manager."
The same reporter pressed on.
"Then how do you explain her betrayal? You said you two were close, but she still chose money over you."
Chaewon opened his mouth, but Hanbin's deep voice cut in first.
"Do we need to explain this?" he asked, his eyes scanning the room. "Money holds power. Soojin wasn't just Chaewon's manager—she was also mine and Simon's. We were all close to her. And yet, she still betrayed us. That choice says more about her than about us."
Another hand shot up.
"Why did the company target Chaewon specifically?"
Hanbin's expression hardened.
"Because he's not just an idol," he said firmly. "He's a producer, a writer, and a composer. The company owed him far more than the rest of us. That alone made him their biggest threat."
The hall buzzed again, the weight of his words settling over the crowd.
One final reporter stood, her voice cutting through the silence.
"Why did it take so long for you to bring these proofs forward?"
Hanbin answered evenly, "Because Soojin disappeared. She was the key to everything. We had no way to fight back until—luckily—we found a good friend willing to help us uncover the truth."
The room quieted after that. Reporters exchanged glances, hesitant, until one last question came—directed straight at Chaewon.
"Will you continue as Nexon?"
The question hung in the air. The cameras stopped flashing. The hall went still.
Chaewon took a breath, his chest rising and falling heavily. His voice, though quiet, carried across the entire room.
"Yes," he said. "I was a Nexon. I am a Nexon. But from now on, I will only be a Nexon… for my brothers."
For a moment, silence. Then, all at once, the room exploded—flashes firing like lightning, voices overlapping, the storm of questions returning. But this time, Chaewon didn't tremble. He sat straighter, the weight in his chest lifting, as if speaking those words had finally freed him.