Chapter 85: The Foolhardy Korean

"Damn it! I already kicked him out of the company, yet that shameless bastard Gu Cheng still comes back to pester Quan Bao-ya! If I ever see him again, I swear I’ll rip that rotten face of his to shreds!"
At S-M Entertainment, Director Kim hung up on Park Young-gwan’s call, trembling with rage.
The name Gu Cheng had become, over the past year and a half, the ultimate taboo in his presence—a scale you dared not touch.
Ever since S-M adopted the trainee selection system years ago, supervisors could beat trainees or even debuted artists at will. Who would dare resist?
But Gu Cheng dared.
On the day he was fired, Kim Young-min "generously" announced an amnesty: if Gu Cheng agreed to a public corporal punishment to restore the management’s authority, the dismissal would be rescinded.
Gu Cheng refused. And when Kim Young-min threw a punch, Gu Cheng caught his fist in a vice-like grip.
It was the first time anyone had dared to seize Kim Young-min’s fist in S-M’s history.
Yet what truly baffled Kim was Gu Cheng’s meteoric rise over the following year.
Talent agents rarely cared about happenings in the internet world, so Kim paid little attention to Gu Cheng’s initial success in the online and gaming circles.
Only after "Meteor Garden" aired on Dongyi KBS, with ratings surpassing last year’s "Autumn in My Heart," did Kim Young-min finally realize the magnitude of the shock.
And then came deeper regret—though Kim’s regret was not quite like that of ordinary people. For most, regret is a compound verb directed inward. Kim’s version was split: regret for himself, resentment for others.
He regretted not locking such a superstar-in-the-making into a slave contract;
He resented Gu Cheng for escaping, ungrateful to his master.
"If only I hadn’t let him go, even if he were idle, it wouldn’t have cost the company much. He’d never have achieved such success later. I should never have given him freedom!"
Such thoughts exploded when Park Young-gwan called, complaining about Gu Cheng and Quan Bao-ya being together.
In his fury, Kim Young-min revealed a bombshell: "Gu Cheng was fired for violent fighting, he injured a local trainee named Park Eun-ho. But that guy was cunning, careful not to cause real harm. Besides, Park Eun-ho was at fault first, and we didn’t want company scandals exposed, so we kept it quiet."
Of course, those details about Park Eun-ho weren’t volunteered; Kim only divulged under persistent questioning by Park Young-gwan, biting the bullet.
He reasoned: if Gu Cheng were to be slandered, the truth about the motives would eventually be exposed, so it was better to take the initiative.
After speaking, Kim patted his chest, declaring that if Park wanted to blacken Gu Cheng’s name, he could—he didn’t care if both S-M and Gu Cheng’s reputations were ruined.
He only wanted Gu Cheng’s image destroyed in Dongyi, forcing him to leave the country for good and never touch S-M’s female artists again. As for Gu Cheng’s success in Huaxia, Kim knew he couldn’t influence it.
Thus, two men, unrelated and not even in the same industry, became allies united by their bizarre shared goal of cornering and extorting Gu Cheng.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

...
Unfortunately, Kim Young-min misjudged his ally.
He cared for authority, while Park Young-gwan cared for money.
For Kim, every decision to fire, suppress, or beat Gu Cheng stemmed from his own will. So the more successful Gu Cheng became, the more his own prestige and judgment at S-M were questioned. No matter how strong Gu Cheng grew, reconciliation was impossible.
But Park Young-gwan could be bought off, if Gu Cheng was willing to pay.
It was like the two world wars: Germans fought to the end, Italians cut deals and surrendered when the terms were right.
Three days later, Park Young-gwan, armed with his new cache of slander, approached Gu Cheng with a final ultimatum: "Mr. Gu, I think we should talk again. I’m sincere."
Gu Cheng replied with a single word: "Get lost."
Park laughed coldly over the phone: "Don’t rush. You know Park Eun-ho, right? I found him—he was fired from S-M the same year as you, now scraping by as a low-tier dancer in a troupe. I paid him a sum he couldn’t refuse to spill the details of your old fight—he’s got nothing left to lose."
Gu Cheng sneered, "A fight? Please. Dongyi law states injury claims must be filed within six months. Without force majeure, injuries must be assessed and reported within forty-eight hours. You’re scraping up some baseless minor injury from a year and a half ago—do you think my PR and legal teams are fools?"
Park laughed again: "I’ve got more to offer. I just want to meet face-to-face and talk properly."
Gu Cheng considered the possibility Park wanted to record their conversation and said, "Fine, I’ll pick the place."
Park agreed readily: "No problem. Don’t worry, I won’t use any dirty tricks."
Gu Cheng hung up, contacted Kwon Soon-woo for a security company recommendation, rented a bodyguard and a scanner.
Two hours later, they met at the COSTA café outside S-M—Gu Cheng was familiar with the place, making it easier to control the situation.
Park soon arrived, still as punch-worthy as a year ago.
Gu Cheng signaled the bodyguard to scan Park—first a phone, switched off and set aside. No recording devices found, Park was allowed to sit.
Park smiled thinly, sipping his coffee, "Mr. Gu, you’re cautious."
Gu Cheng lit a cigar with a sulfur torch, "If you insist on seeing me, you follow my rules."
Park skipped the pleasantries, produced a folder, and spread out several proposals:
"Let’s put the slander aside for now. Let’s talk games. Although I sold the source code for Legend, remaking a knockoff isn’t hard. Given Legend’s economic value in Huaxia, even if I sink ten million into a superior clone—engine, graphics, sound, systems—I can easily grab a slice of your market.
Software copyright laws worldwide state that as long as the code isn’t identical, it’s not plagiarism. Copying your features is perfectly legal. I’ll call it ‘Legend 2’ or ‘Hotblood Legend,’ whatever. Market it as ‘The original Legend team’s latest work,’ and I’ll surely attract users."
Gu Cheng blew a smoke ring in Park’s face, "You think Huaxia’s Ministry of Culture and Copyright Office are pushovers? Huaxia can skin foreign complainants alive for copying, let alone when I’m in the right. Go ahead and try! If I don’t get your knockoff blacklisted until it’s unrecognizable, my name isn’t Gu!"

Park’s breath caught—he realized he’d been naive about this angle.
Huaxia’s legal system was ambiguous, and the power of censorship not only strong but capricious. Domestic products could be banned for flimsy reasons, foreign ones even more so.
Park, caught off guard, retreated, trying to advance by conceding, "Nice move! Fine, looks like if we fail to reach a deal today, I’ll just run private servers. Like liquid mercury, I’ll find agents in Huaxia, shift locations, siphon off profits bit by bit. I bet you’ll have headaches."
That threat was more effective than before. But Gu Cheng, after a moment’s thought, felt reassured: since negotiations were still ongoing, Park hadn’t invested yet. Developing a game takes time—at least half a year for R&D and testing.
If Park left today and started a project, it would be 2002 by the time it launched. By then, Gu Cheng’s strength and position would be vastly changed, with new ways to block competitors.
Park simply couldn’t estimate the pace of Gu Cheng’s growth. A company worth tens of millions, valued at over a hundred million, might barely be a rival now, but in six months, they wouldn’t even be qualified for a showdown.
"Do as you please. What other cards do you have? You said you found Park Eun-ho—he’s the real reason I agreed to meet today."
Seeing Gu Cheng remain unmoved, Park started to lose his composure.
He had Gu Cheng’s bodyguard retrieve his phone, turned it on, and played a threatening recording.
It was Park Eun-ho’s testimony, beaten badly by Gu Cheng years ago.
Park’s logic was simple: even if the statute of limitations had expired, such revelations could at least tarnish Gu Cheng’s reputation.
A celebrity’s reputation was valuable.
Yesterday, Gu Cheng had easily exposed a weakness when provoked, lowering Park’s estimate of his sophistication. He judged Gu Cheng as a technical genius and artistic talent, but lacking in negotiation and insight, so he dared to show his hand, unafraid of exposing his leverage.
Gu Cheng listened closely, feigning a grim and slightly panicked expression—he knew if he remained indifferent, Park wouldn’t reveal more.
"Park Eun-ho’s words are incoherent. His testimony alone can’t incriminate me, nor damage my reputation. In fact, I could sue Park for defamation and crush him. So Park must have other supporting evidence."
"The witnesses to my fight with Park Eun-ho were S-M trainees and staff, all under gag orders from management. Did Park bribe insiders with promises of immunity from dismissal, or did he collude directly with S-M’s higher-ups?"
While feigning panic, Gu Cheng’s mind raced through possibilities. He felt he was closing in and had a direction for confirmation.
Park’s attempt to betray his own allies for sole gain was truly a blunder.
"I’ll consider it," Gu Cheng squeezed out an awkward, anxious reply, deciding to string Park along for a few days.