But worrying was useless.
As soon as Eun-jo got a call from Jung Tae-seok, he rushed down the stairs. Just outside the front lobby, behind the massive glass panels, stood people holding up red protest signs. Their faces looked somber—but their bodies were wrapped in head-to-toe luxury brands.
It was Yeo Eun-jo’s family.
“…Fucking hell.”
He muttered under his breath, and the crowd’s quiet murmuring instantly died down. Irritated, Eun-jo ran a hand through his hair.
Why is it always the same damn thing?
Before coming here, his real family had pulled the exact same stunt. When the monthly deposits stopped and their credit cards got cut off, they started protesting outside his agency. The signs claimed he was heartlessly abandoning his parents, who were supposedly terminally ill, and that he was ashamed of his younger sibling, who allegedly walked with a limp.
Terminally ill? His parents were healthier than him—and he was the one getting run into the ground with back-to-back schedules. And the limp? His sibling was at the golf course every day, perfectly fine, swinging through all 18 holes without a hitch. It was all complete bullshit—but the tabloids ate it up, and the story spread like wildfire.
He tried releasing a statement to clear things up. It did nothing. Years of carefully built reputation crumbled overnight, and his face was plastered all over the news. Protesters even started demanding he be kicked off his ongoing drama. Pushed to the edge, the decision Eun-jo made next turned into an even bigger scandal.
Crying and begging for sympathy wasn’t going to work. The only way to drown out a scandal was with something even louder. So Eun-jo secretly held a press conference—streamed live.
“I’m a fucking bastard.”
That’s how it began. He laid it all bare, explaining in detail how his family had emotionally blackmailed and bled him dry over the years. He showed the actual messages—screens filled with curses like fucking bastard and son of a bitch—and calmly laid out the facts.
[No money? Then you’re a fucking bastard.]
[National Actor: Why He Called Himself a Fucking Bastard]
[From Child Star to Victim of Family Exploitation: The Real Story]
[National Institute of Korean Language: Tracing the Roots of “Fucking Bastard”]
The press ate it up. The narrative flipped, and headlines with that same raw intensity began spreading like wildfire. That’s how Eun-jo clawed his way back from the edge. Even now, the memory made his skin crawl.
Looking at the signs outside—just as twisted as back then—Eun-jo pulled out his phone. It rang a few times, then went to voicemail.
—“Baby?”
“Yeah, baby.”
He didn’t take his eyes off the protesters as he replied, voice sweet as sugar.
“Mind if I use your card today?”
Hearing the word baby from Eun-jo—especially while he was stone-cold sober—Jin Mu-seong didn’t ask a single question. He just said, “Okay.”
***
If you’re broke, stick close to someone who’s not.
That was the golden rule Eun-jo learned while maxing out Jin Mu-seong’s infinite credit card. No matter how many payment alerts came flooding in, Jin Mu-seong never once called or texted.
Not bad at all.
Eun-jo stepped into his fourth designer store of the day and checked his phone. Still nothing from Jin Mu-seong.
Figures. He’s not the type to care about this kind of thing.
No matter how much Eun-jo spent, he was the kind of guy who’d sneer and ask why he hadn’t spent more. Eun-jo shoved his phone into his pocket, and right on cue, the manager appeared. The moment the staff heard a black-card holder was in the store, they’d run out of the back room with every bag they had—inventory or not.
“Good afternoon, sir. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for today?”
“Hmm…”
Eun-jo took a slow stroll around the boutique. Under the glittering halogen lights, shoes, clothes, and handbags were arranged in pristine rows like a showroom. As he lazily ran his hand across the display, the manager blinked at him, eyes full of anticipation.
“I’ll take everything from here… to there.”
“A-All of it?”
“Except those sneakers and that cardigan in the middle. Leave those.”
Casually excluding the pieces he didn’t like, Eun-jo handed over the card.
“Oh—oh my!”
The manager rushed over with the reader, tapping in the total at lightning speed. Shkrrrk, shkrrrk! The swipe of the card rang out sharp and clean.
It was the first time Eun-jo had ever spent like this at a department store. Sure, he’d had money before. But he never had the peace of mind to just walk in and shop. Whenever he passed the glittering store windows from the backseat of a van, on his way to some suffocating schedule, he’d make the same quiet wish: I hope I have tons of money—and no one knows who I am.
Shit.
Is that why I ended up here?
Though, saying “no one knows me” felt like a stretch now—considering how many men he was entangled with at the moment.
Maybe the wish had come true, in a roundabout way. He wasn’t famous enough to get chased out of department stores anymore. As that thought crossed his mind, Eun-jo scratched his head.
The manager finished packing everything into shopping bags and approached with a notepad.
“We’ll have these delivered to your home. May I get the address—?”
“Nah. I’ll take them with me.”
“S-Sorry?”
Eun-jo tilted his chin toward the entrance. Following his gaze, the manager saw a line of staff from other stores already waiting outside, each loaded down with shopping bags. All of them were beaming—hitting their year’s sales record in one afternoon would do that.
Everyone except the rookie staffer had rolled up their sleeves, now proudly holding the bags like flag-bearers in a parade. And with that trail of employees behind him, Eun-jo headed for the next store.
Pretty sure this is a talent.
People always said your hands would shake the first time you dropped real money in a department store—but maybe it was easier when it wasn’t your own card. All Eun-jo had to do was twirl his finger around, cut out what he didn’t like, and the rest took care of itself.
Kinda nice.
By the time he stepped out of the building, his entourage had grown into dozens.
***
Outside the Esper Center lobby—
The family’s protest was drawing quite a crowd. Just from reading the signs, dozens of curious Espers had already gathered. A reporter from a major broadcast station had even stopped by that morning, and the family’s hopes were at an all-time high. If they could get this on air, Eun-jo wouldn’t be able to talk his way out of it.
Smiling to herself at the thought of how this might play out, Eun-jo’s mother, Bok-ja, was immediately scolded by her husband, Cheol-won.
“Honey, I told you—not now! You’re supposed to be the heartbroken mother abandoned by her bastard son. What the hell are you smiling for?”
“He’s right, Mom. What kind of terminally ill patient grins like that?”
Their son threw in his own jab, and Bok-ja quickly wiped the smile off her face.
“Ah, right, right. My bad.”
“Just hold on a little longer. This’ll all be over by today. He’s working at the Center now, and that’s still a public job. If he ends up with a scandal like this hanging over him, you think they’ll let him stay?”
“It’s not a scandal. We’re just telling the truth.”
Bok-ja cut in, voice sharp with indignation. And truthfully, things had gotten hard. Ever since the money stopped, she couldn’t go to the hair salon or the nail shop. They’d had to fire the housekeeper and the driver.
Driving her own luxury car herself? The shame of it! Bok-ja’s expression darkened instantly at the memory.
“Honey! That has to be the Center Director!”
Cheol-won shouted, pointing toward the road. A convoy of sleek black sedans glided to a stop in front of the lobby. Seven of them—all the same model—lined up perfectly, like some presidential motorcade.
A man in a suit stepped out from the first car and respectfully opened the back door.
And from inside, emerging like a prince, came the last person they expected—
Yeo Eun-jo.
“E-Eun-jo?!”
He stepped out in a pale yellow knit sweater and beige slacks, looking like someone completely new. Maybe it was the soft colors, but he radiated the aura of a well-bred youngest son from a wealthy household.
Without sparing them even a glance, Eun-jo turned around. And as if on cue, the other sedan doors opened at once—and staff began pouring out, both hands stuffed with luxury brand shopping bags.
