The Boy with a Knife Behind His Smile
Jiho's debut had shocked the industry.
Not because it was perfect — but because it was brutal.
His lyrics struck like accusations. His gaze dared the camera to look away. And his fans… they knew. They didn't want sweet. They didn't want humble.
They wanted the boy who had been left behind — and came back burning.
Within six months, Monarch became the most-streamed debut solo EP in Korea.
Jiho didn't flinch under pressure. He didn't flinch at all.
But inside, he was unraveling.
The Loneliness of Victory
Fame had filled the space once occupied by pain — but it hadn't replaced it.
He no longer cried. He couldn't. There was no time.
He rehearsed until 4 a.m. Ate in silence. Slept with one eye open.
Interviews praised his discipline. Brands adored his image. The industry whispered his name like a prayer — or a warning.
But Jiho, now 21, sat most nights in front of his black notebook — now leather-bound and well-kept — and wrote down names he still hadn't decided what to do with.
Whispers of the Past
One day, a junior staff member left an anonymous note in his dressing room:
"They're trying to bury your name again. Internal sabotage. Watch your back."
Jiho didn't react outwardly. But his heart thudded once — hard.
He began tracing who still feared him. Who still hated him.
And who was pretending not to.
The K-Phantom Files
With K gone, Jiho assumed the role of his own protector.
He bought burner phones. Paid off part-time tech students to pull old emails from the agency's servers. Created a fake assistant under an alias — and made himself impossible to deceive.
The more fame he gained, the more corruption he uncovered.
Even the executives who now clung to him had dirty hands.
Jiho didn't out them.
He let them sweat.
He let them owe him.
And that was far more powerful.
The First Collapse
His first panic attack came during his second music show win.
On live television.
He smiled, bowed, gave a speech.
Then collapsed backstage.
No one noticed.
They were too busy praising the perfection of the Monarch.
He woke up alone, face against cold tile.
And whispered, "Get up."
He did.
Rumors and Shadows
A rumor spread that Jiho had a secret partner. That someone was protecting him.
A powerful backer.
He never denied it.
Because a phantom ally was more dangerous than a visible one.
Even K, wherever he was, would've appreciated that.
Seungmin's Letter
Months later, Jiho received a letter forwarded by an old receptionist.
No name, no address.
But he knew the handwriting.
"You look cold on stage. But I see it — the fire. It's still there. I'm sorry for everything I couldn't be when you needed me."
Jiho folded the letter in half and tucked it into his notebook.
Not forgiven. Not forgotten.
But seen.
And somehow, that mattered more than it should have.
The First Time He Smiled for Real
It happened during an off-season photoshoot.
No cameras. Just a photographer who didn't ask about branding. Who played old-school jazz and told him, "You don't need to look fierce. You're already dangerous. Just breathe."
Jiho laughed.
And it surprised even him.
The photo was never released.
But he kept a copy in his apartment, framed beside his notebook.
Proof that something soft still lived in him — somewhere deep, untouched by ambition or betrayal.
And So the Crown Was Forged
By the time he turned 23, Jiho no longer answered his phone directly. His signature was worth millions. His former enemies bowed at award shows.
The press called him "untouchable."
But Jiho knew the truth.
He wasn't untouchable.
He was unforgiven.
And as long as that stayed true, he would never stop climbing.
Because if he stopped...
He'd have to feel everything he buried.
"You worked. You supported. You sacrificed. And in the end, they left you."
Yoon Jiho stared blankly at the stage from behind the black curtains. The screams, the lights, the chants of names that weren't his—all of it blurred into meaningless noise. Just two years ago, he stood on that same stage as a trainee, full of dreams and loyalty. Now he was no one. Forgotten. Thrown away.
Not because he lacked talent, but because someone made sure he would fall.