The atmosphere in the press hall was curated to evoke a sense of overwhelming power. The lighting was a calculated blend of champagne gold and sterile silver, casting a shimmering glow over the rows of journalists and influencers who had been invited to the event. A massive LED screen dominated the background, pulsing with abstract, fluid patterns of light that looked like digital neurons firing in a cosmic brain. It was an environment designed to make the attendees feel small, while the figures on the stage looked like deities descending from a higher plane of existence.

Min-ho stood at the center, his presence as polished and flawless as a diamond. He wore a suit of deep midnight navy, tailored so precisely it seemed to mold to his frame, emphasizing his sharp jawline and the haughty tilt of his head. He didn’t just stand; he presided.

Beside him stood his agency CEO, a woman whose expression was a mask of corporate elegance, and the man who provided the real gravity to the event: Baek Min-seok. The representative of the Baek family stood with a casual, almost predatory ease, his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the crowd with a mixture of boredom and superiority. Min-seok didn’t need to dress as formally as Min-ho; his power was an inherent trait, a birthright that radiated from him in cold, oppressive waves.

The CEO stepped forward first, her voice amplified by the high-end sound system, ringing through the hall with a crisp, authoritative clarity.

"We have always believed that the future of entertainment lies not in the repetition of the past, but in the courage to transcend it," she began, her voice dripping with a grandiose sense of destiny. "We have always believed that the future of entertainment lies not in the repetition of the past, but in the courage to transcend it. Today, we are proud to announce a historic partnership. Our agency, and our most distinguished star, Min-ho, will be collaborating with the Baek Group on a venture that will redefine the global cinematic landscape."

A murmur rippled through the journalists, a wave of shock and curiosity. They knew the Baek family’s reach, but they hadn’t expected such a direct and aggressive move into the creative arts.

Baek Min-seok stepped forward, his voice a low, resonant drone that seemed to command the very air in the room. "The era of traditional filming is coming to an end," he declared, his gaze fixed on the cameras. "Why rely on the slow, inefficient processes of the past when we can manufacture perfection? The Baek Group is launching the first truly integrated AI-driven cinema project. We aren’t just filming a movie; we are synthesizing an experience. And for this venture, we required a face that embodied the pinnacle of human aesthetic."

He gestured toward Min-ho with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Min-ho will be the main character of our debut AI production. Through our proprietary technology, we can enhance every frame, every expression, and every emotion to a degree that was previously impossible. He will not just be an actor; he will be the digital ideal. This is the future of entertainment, and we are the ones building it."

The room erupted into a flurry of camera flashes. The journalists, sensing the magnitude of the announcement, immediately began shouting questions, their voices overlapping in a chaotic scramble for the first "scoop."

One veteran journalist, a man known for his sharp tongue and lack of patience for corporate fluff, managed to cut through the noise. "Mr. Baek, Mr. Min-ho! There are reports that Min-ho was in the middle of a major project with LUNE—The Fox Priestess. There are rumors of contractual disputes and sudden absences. How do you reconcile this new ’global’ move with the fact that he has essentially abandoned his current production?"

The room went silent. It was the question everyone wanted the answer to, the one that touched on the glaring unprofessionalism of Min-ho’s departure.

Min-ho didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. He simply shifted his gaze to the journalist, a look of mild amusement crossing his face, as if the question itself were a quaint, outdated curiosity.

Baek Min-seok stepped in, his expression shifting to one of calculated disdain. "LUNE?" he began, his voice laced with a stifling arrogance. "A ’major’ project? Let’s be honest. LUNE is a small company. A boutique operation. Their projects are small, their vision is limited, and frankly, their methods are old-fashioned. They are clinging to a romanticized version of filmmaking that can no longer compete in a global market."

He paused, a smirk playing on his lips. "Min-ho is a talent of a scale that LUNE simply cannot accommodate. To expect a star of his magnitude to be tethered to a small-scale production is a mistake in judgment. As for the contract, the Baek Group is not interested in the petty squabbles of small agencies. We have already arranged for the contract termination. We aren’t just paying the break fee; we are paying five times the required amount. We believe in paying for quality, and we believe that Min-ho’s time is far too valuable to be wasted on a project that is, essentially, a relic of the past."

The journalists gasped. To publicly call a partner’s project a "relic" and a "waste" was an aggressive move, one that deliberately sought to diminish LUNE’s prestige while elevating the Baek family’s image.

"Old-fashioned projects are a waste of money and resources," Min-seok continued, his voice growing more assertive. "They are the equivalent of using a typewriter in the age of the supercomputer. Min-ho selecting our project was the only logical choice for his career. He isn’t abandoning a project; he is ascending to a higher plane of existence. He is moving from a local curiosities to a global standard."

He then looked directly into the cameras, his voice taking on a welcoming, yet predatory, tone. "And we aren’t stopping with Min-ho. The Baek Group is building the future of the industry. We invite any actor, actress, or creative professional who feels stifled by the ’traditional’ ways—those who are tired of the limitations of small-minded companies—to join us. We are building a new empire, and there is plenty of room at the top for those with the vision to see where the world is going."

The press conference ended on a note of absolute dominance. Min-ho stood beside Min-seok, the two of them framed by the gold and silver light, looking like the architects of a new world. To the observers, it was a victory. To the fans, it was a coronation. But to anyone who knew the internal workings of LUNE, it was a declaration of war.

In the quiet, sterile atmosphere of the LUNE executive office, the screen on the wall displayed the live feed of the press conference. Joon-ho sat in his chair, his fingers interlaced, his gaze fixed on the images of Min-ho and Baek Min-seok. Beside him, Harin stood with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable, though the tight line of her lips betrayed her irritation.

They watched as Min-ho boasted of his "ascension" and as Min-seok dismissed LUNE as "old-fashioned." The silence in the office was heavy, charged with a cold, calculated energy.

"Old-fashioned," Harin murmured, her voice a low, dangerous ripple. "He has a lot of nerve calling us old-fashioned while he’s riding on the coattails of a family that treats people like chess pieces."

Joon-ho didn’t respond immediately. He watched the way Min-ho smiled—the calculated, artificial confidence of a man who believed he had won. Joon-ho didn’t feel anger; he felt a profound sense of clarity. He saw exactly what the Baek family was doing. They weren’t just hiring an actor; they were using Min-ho as a tool to signal their dominance over the entertainment sector.

"He thinks he’s the one in control," Joon-ho finally said, his voice a resonant rumble in the quiet room. "He believes that the money and the ’global’ label are the only things that matter. He’s forgotten that in the arts, the only thing that truly lasts is the soul of the work—something the Baek family couldn’t buy if they had a trillion won."

Harin looked at him, a small, knowing smile forming. "They’ve made their move. They’ve tried to paint us as irrelevant. But in doing so, they’ve given us the perfect opportunity. They’ve shifted the narrative from ’actor leaves’ to ’corporate conflict.’ And in a conflict, the one who stays calm usually wins."

Joon-ho stood up, walking toward the window and looking out at the city. "They think they’ve taken a prize. But all they’ve done is take a liability off our hands. Min-ho was a bubble, and the Baek family just provided the needle."

As the feed on the screen faded, the two of them stood in the silence, the weight of the battle ahead settling over them. The war for the Fox Priestess had evolved. It was no longer about a missing lead; it was about the clash between a cold corporate machine and a vision of true artistic excellence.