From A Producer To A Chapter 309: V-Rex on Fire

Chapter 309: V-Rex on Fire

While the whole internet was on fire, the V-Rex agency was calm until it wasn’t, and the first person to see it was the assistant.

He saw the clips first, then the replay, then the screenshots of the AI checks. He sat in his office for almost a full minute, staring like his brain refused to accept what his eyes were showing him. His head started pounding.

His mind didn’t even go to Dayo first.

It went to the source of the video.

Kang Min Ho.

The man he bought the video from.

The mont the assistant rembered Kang Min Ho’s face, his stomach turned. He wanted to pretend he was just a random paparazzi and nothing more, but the truth was simple. Kang Min Ho was not a newbie. He was soone who lived off caras, angles, timing, and patience. It was stupid to think a man like that wouldn’t keep evidence, or wouldn’t plan, or wouldn’t protect himself.

The assistant stood up sharply, grabbed his tablet, and walked straight to the CEO’s office.

He took a deep breath as he already knew what was to co but he had to do the needful so as to try to salvage the situation.

He didn’t even wait for permission.

He knocked once and entered.

The CEO was inside, sitting with soone else, a man who looked like a business partner or investor. The assistant didn’t care. His eyes were hard, urgent.

"Sir. This is important."

The CEO frowned and raised a hand slightly, signaling the other man to step outside. The man hesitated, but the CEO waved again, firr, and the man left.

The door closed.

The assistant walked closer and placed the tablet on the table.

The CEO leaned forward, already annoyed. "What is it? Why are you rushing in like this?"

The assistant swallowed. "It’s about the Dayo issue, sir. The livestream."

The CEO’s face changed imdiately. He took the tablet and watched.

He watched the clip. He watched the AI results. He watched the comnts showing people pointing out the face in the leak chain.

Then he watched again.

His fingers tightened around the tablet. His jaw locked. For a second, he looked like he was trying to breathe properly, then he slamd the tablet down on the table.

"What the hell is this?" he snapped.

The assistant tried to speak, but the CEO didn’t allow it.

He stood up, anger rising fast, voice getting louder with every word.

"Are you out of your mind?" the CEO shouted. "Do you know what you’ve done? Do you know what this ans? I told you to use backups. I told you. I told you to use people that cannot be traced back to us. And what did you do you put yourself in the chain? Why did you allow your face anywhere near this ss?"

The assistant’s mouth opened, but no good explanation ca out.

The CEO hit the table again. Hard.

A pen rolled off the edge.

He kicked the chair back like it offended him, then paced once, then twice, like soone trying not to break sothing. His voice dropped, but it beca even more dangerous.

"You have been with

for what ? almost ten years," he said. "Ten years. You should know better than this. You should know that once your face is attached to a setup, it becos a stain that does not wash off. You think the industry forgives this kind of thing?"

The assistant’s voice finally ca. "Sir, I didn’t think they would do sothing like this. I didn’t think they had the original clip and AI verification ready. I didn’t think—"

"Stop," the CEO cut him off. "You didn’t think. That’s the problem."

His hands went to his head briefly, then dropped.

He looked furious, but under the anger was sothing else.

Fear.

Because he understood the politics.

He was the CEO, but he wasn’t the owner of everything. He held shares, yes, but there were stakeholders that mattered more than him. People who cared about one thing only: stability, profit, and reputation.

And right now, Virex looked dirty.

His phone rang.

The assistant froze.

The CEO stared at the screen.

He already knew who it was.

It was the group of agency executives.

The sa group that had t before. The sa people he had tried to look reasonable in front of. The sa people who had already agreed, at least publicly, that they would "let Dayo be."

The CEO didn’t want to answer, but he couldn’t ignore it.

He picked the call.

The room went quiet.

There were multiple voices on the line, but nobody spoke imdiately. It was the type of silence that ant they were waiting to see if he would confess first.

Then one of them finally spoke, cold and disappointed.

"Are you going to say anything?"

The CEO’s eyes narrowed. "Say what?"

Another voice replied, sharper. "Don’t act stupid. You’re trending everywhere. The assistant chain is all over the internet. Your man’s face is being clipped and compared. Do you understand what you’ve done?"

The CEO gritted his teeth. "You don’t know what you’re saying."

A third voice jumped in. "We do know. We warned you. We warned you to keep everything under control. Even if your label plays dirty, you keep it silent. That was the only rule. Now Dayo is everywhere, his movie is everywhere, and the entire industry is watching us like fools."

Then soone added, like they wanted to stab the point deeper.

"Was it because of Min-JI? Because she left your agency? Is that why you went behind everyone and did this?"

The CEO’s face tightened.

"What do you an by that?" he asked, but his voice lacked confidence now.

A different voice sighed, like they were tired of him already.

"It ans we should have known you would ruin everything. We thought you had control. We thought you had sense. But you let your personal emotions drive business. Now you’ve exposed all of us to a ss we didn’t create."

Another person spoke, and this ti the tone was final.

"I’m done. I don’t care what your excuse is. This ends now."

The call ended.

The CEO stood still for a mont, staring at his phone.

Then it rang again.

This ti, his blood went cold.

Because this number was not from the executives.

This number was from the person who actually mattered.

The major shareholder.

The one who had the power to remove him without discussion.

He picked up imdiately, like his life depended on it.

A female voice ca through, calm but poisonous.

"I’m disappointed in you. Highly disappointed."

The CEO swallowed. "Ma’am, please—"

"You have one week," she cut in. "Clear this. Fix it. If you can’t, pack your things and leave."

Before he could say another word, the call ended.

The CEO stood there, phone still in his hand, like soone had punched the air out of his lungs.

He didn’t sit down.

His breathing beca rapid. And he turned slowly and looked at his assistant like he was seeing him clearly for the first ti.

And then he snapped.

"Get out!" he shouted. "Get out of my office!"

The assistant flinched and stepped back.

"Get out!" the CEO repeated, louder. "Let

think!"

The assistant rushed out.

The CEO paced again, hands in his hair, eyes wild, mind racing.

His pride was wounded.

His control was slipping.

And worst of all, it wasn’t just Dayo that was winning the public.

It was the fact that the public now had a face.

A link.

A pattern.

It was no longer only "maybe."

It was now "it looks like Virex."

After a few minutes, he shouted again.

"You!" he yelled.

The assistant rushed back in quickly.

The CEO didn’t even let him speak.

"I don’t care how you do it," he said. "Call everyone. Call our dia connections. Call bloggers. Call pages. Pay whatever. Money is not the problem. Push harder. Push anything. Twist anything. Scatter everything. Make noise until people forget what they saw."

The assistant nodded fast. "Yes, sir."

The CEO pointed at him aggressively. "Now go!"

The assistant turned to leave.

And before he could even reach the door, another staff mber rushed in, pale and sweating.

"Sir... we have a problem."

The CEO spun. "What problem?"

The staff mber swallowed hard. "Our accounts. Many of them have been banned or restricted."

The CEO stared. "What do you an banned?"

"Flagged, sir," the staff mber continued quickly. "Social dia accounts tied to us are being mass-reported. So are down already. So are limited. Even so of our actors’ accounts are getting called out. People are spamming their comnts, they’re dragging them, they’re tagging them in the scandal."

The CEO’s eyes widened slowly. "How?"

The staff mber showed him the screen.

It was clips.

Screenshots.

Posts from US fans and Korean fans.

Instructions being shared like a campaign.

"Report anything connected to Virex."

"Mass-report."

"Don’t stop."

"Use VPN if you need to."

The CEO’s mouth opened slightly.

For the first ti since the livestream, he looked genuinely shaken.

Because he understood what it ant.

This wasn’t only Dayo’s plan.

This was Dayo’s fanbase turning it into a war.

And war did not play by industry rules.

The CEO’s voice dropped, quieter now.

"Two days," he said, staring at his staff. "You have two days to stop this and stabilize our accounts. If you can’t... then all of you should start preparing yourselves."

Nobody spoke.

Because everyone in that room understood the truth.

Virex was no longer pushing Dayo into a corner.

Virex was now the one being cornered.

And the worst part was this:

They didn’t even know what Dayo planned to do next.