105: Chapter 105 Trampling Those Scumbags into the Mud

Min Sunye stood behind the door, wearing a blue and white striped hospital gown with sleeves that were a bit too long, covering half of her hands.

Her eyes were red, and tear tracks still lingered on her face, glistening in the dim light. Seeing Song Tianhao, she instinctively took half a step back, like a frightened rabbit.

"Pr… President…"

Min Sunye's voice was hoarse, carrying the nasal tone of someone who had just been crying.

Song Tianhao walked into the hospital room and closed the door behind him. Only a small bedside lamp was on in the room, casting a dim, yellowish light that barely allowed one to make out the outlines of the furniture.

Outside the window, the night in Seoul was still thick, with only a few scattered lights from distant high-rises. The whole world seemed to have fallen asleep, leaving only this room awake.

Song Tianhao sat down on the sofa with a natural movement, as if this were not a hospital room in the middle of the night, but the reception area of his office.

Min Sunye stood by the bedside, her fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her hospital gown. She didn't answer, just kept her head down, her shoulders trembling slightly.

Song Tianhao didn't rush her, just waited quietly. He fished a cigarette case out of his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, twirled it between his fingers twice, and then put it back; this was a hospital room, and he couldn't smoke.

"Sit down," he said.

Min Sunye walked slowly to the bedside and sat down, two meters away from Song Tianhao. She curled up her legs, hugged her knees, and huddled into a ball. It was a posture of insecurity.

"Can't sleep?" Song Tianhao asked.

Min Sunye nodded, just a tiny movement.

"Because you took medicine?"

"No…" Her voice was very low, "I just… can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I…"

She didn't finish what she was about to say.

Song Tianhao looked at her. In the dim light, her face was very pale, and the dark circles under her eyes were clearly visible even in the gloom.

At twenty-something years old, her eyes looked as if she had experienced half a lifetime of storms—exhausted, guarded, and filled with a lingering layer of fear.

"In the USA," Song Tianhao suddenly spoke up, "things haven't been going well?"

Min Sunye's body stiffened.

"I've never been to the USA," Song Tianhao continued, "but I've heard that it's not paradise. Especially not for Asian artists."

Min Sunye's lips began to tremble.

"Tell me," Song Tianhao's voice was calm, not forcing her, just stating, "what happened."

"No… nothing," Min Sunye's voice dropped even lower, "just… ordinary performances, ordinary schedules…"

"Ordinary enough to give you depression? Ordinary enough that you need sleeping pills to fall asleep?" Song Tianhao interrupted her, "Min Sunye, I am not a reporter, nor am I your fan. I am your president. I need to know what my artist has been through in order to decide how to help you."

Min Sunye raised her head, and tears fell without warning.

"President…"

"Go ahead," Song Tianhao's voice softened slightly, "there are only the two of us here. Whatever you say, no third person will ever know. I promise."

Min Sunye looked at Song Tianhao for a long time. Her eyes were struggling, hesitating, and finally, a crack appeared in that hard shell.

"They…" she began, her voice trembling violently, "the managers… would hit people."

Song Tianhao's eyebrows raised slightly.

"Not the kind of heavy hitting," Min Sunye's hands holding her knees were shaking, "it was pinching, twisting, hitting with folders… it didn't leave obvious marks, but it hurt a lot. Especially… in places that couldn't be seen."

As she spoke, she instinctively touched her thigh. There, the fabric of her hospital gown puffed up slightly, as if hiding something.

Song Tianhao didn't speak, just stood up, walked to the water dispenser, and poured a cup of warm water. He tested the temperature himself before handing it to her.

Min Sunye took the cup, and as her fingers touched the warmth of the cup wall, her eyes turned red again.

"What else?" Song Tianhao sat back on the sofa.

"The producers… would get handsy," Min Sunye's voice was even lower, almost inaudible, "in the recording studio, backstage, in the car… they said it was like that in the USA, that it was an 'unspoken rule,' that we had to 'do as the Romans do.' If we resisted, they would cancel our performances, dock our pay, and tell the company we were being uncooperative."

"Does Park Jin-young know?" Song Tianhao asked.

Min Sunye's tears fell even harder.

"He knows…" she said, choking back sobs, "the president knows, but he… couldn't do anything. He said the market in the USA was just like that, and if we wanted to get in, we had to follow their rules. He said… just endure it and it will pass, once we become famous, everything will be fine."

"And did you become famous?"

This question was like a knife, piercing precisely into the most painful part of Min Sunye's heart.

She shook her head, shaking it desperately, sending tears flying everywhere.

"No, we didn't become famous, we were nothing… In the USA, we were nothing. They called us 'those Asian girls,' they couldn't even remember our names. We practiced fourteen hours a day, learning English, learning American dances, learning American songs… but they still said we weren't good enough, said our style was wrong, said we weren't 'American' enough…"

The more she spoke, the more agitated she became, her voice getting louder and louder, until finally, she was almost screaming:

"We worked so hard! We tried so desperately! But they still looked down on us! The managers hit us, the producers touched us, the audience booed us… President, do you know that feeling? It's like… like you're a dog, they throw you a bone, and you still have to wag your tail and say thank you!"

She was sobbing until she couldn't catch her breath, her whole body trembling.

Song Tianhao didn't comfort her, nor did he interrupt her. He just listened quietly, waiting for her to say everything she had to say, and to cry out all of her grievances.

When Min Sunye's crying gradually turned into whimpering, he finally spoke:

"Anything else?"

Min Sunye raised her tear-blurred face to look at him, her eyes filled with a kind of desperate, self-destructive resignation.

"There was one time…" she closed her eyes, her voice as low as a whisper, "a celebration party… in truth, there was really nothing to celebrate, it was just a small performance. That producer cornered me in the restroom… He said if I didn't agree, he would ensure WG could never enter the USA market."

Song Tianhao tapped his fingers lightly on the sofa armrest.

"And then?"

"I ran," Min Sunye said, "I kicked him, and I ran. Later… later he had the manager dock three months of our performance fees, saying we were 'unprofessional.'"

She opened her eyes and looked at Song Tianhao, her gaze holding something Song Tianhao couldn't understand—it was like shame, yet also like relief.

"President," she asked, her voice very soft, very soft, "am I… dirty?"

Song Tianhao looked at her for a full ten seconds.

Then he stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to her. The night outside was still deep, with neon lights flickering in the distance—red, blue, green—like the eyes of this city that never closed.

"Min Sunye," he said, his voice calm, yet carrying an unquestionable power, "you are not the one who is dirty; they are."

Min Sunye froze.

"Those who hit you, those who touched you, those who used power to oppress you," Song Tianhao turned around and looked at her, "they are the ones who are dirty. You are only a victim; you did nothing wrong, not a single thing."

Min Sunye's lips trembled, and tears began to fall again.

"But… but they all said that this kind of thing is normal in the industry… said that if we want to get ahead, we have to accept it…"

"That's bullshit," Song Tianhao interrupted her, his tone cold, "in my company, there is no such thing. And there never will be."

He walked back to the sofa, but didn't sit down, instead standing in front of Min Sunye, looking down at her.

"Listen well," he said, "from now on, you are an artist of Sky Entertainment. With me, no one can hit you, no one can touch you, and no one can force you to do anything you don't want to do in any way. If anyone dares, I will make them get out of this industry, get out of this country, and get to a place where even their mother can't find them."

His voice wasn't loud, but every word felt like a nail, driving into Min Sunye's heart.

"You are not a commodity, not a toy, not an accessory to anyone. You are Min Sunye, the leader of Wonder Girls, and my artist. That is enough, do you understand?"

Min Sunye looked at him, tears flowing even harder, but this time, those tears weren't just sorrow; there was something else in them, as if someone had finally raised a shield for her, blocking the stones that were being thrown at her.

"President…" she said, choking back sobs, "then will you… look down on me?"

Song Tianhao crouched down to look at her at eye level.

"What could I possibly despise you for?" he asked. "For not speaking up when you were being bullied? For not fighting back when you were hit? For enduring so much for the sake of your teammates? Min Sunye, if I were to despise anything, it would be that you are too foolish and don't cherish yourself enough."

He reached out and gently touched the pale pink scars on her wrists.

"These," he said, "should not be your way of punishing yourself. The ones who should be punished are those who hurt you."

Min Sunye looked down at her wrists. She had looked at those scars so many times, so many that she had almost forgotten how they came to be—on some late night, in that tiny apartment bathroom in the USA, she had dug them in with her fingernails, carved them with a utility knife.

They weren't deep, but they were painful enough to make her temporarily forget the pain in her heart.

"President..." she whispered, "do you really... not despise me?"

"I don't," Song Tianhao said. "Not only do I not despise you, but I am also going to take revenge for you."

Min Sunye was stunned: "Re... revenge?"

"Yes." Song Tianhao stood up, took out his phone, opened an email, and handed it to her to see.

The email was entirely in English. The sender had an unfamiliar name, and the content was brief, essentially warning WG not to appear in the USA again, or "bad things" would happen.

The sender's tone was arrogant, carrying a condescending threat.

"This is..." Min Sunye looked at the sender's name, her face turning pale, "It's that producer..."

"I know." Song Tianhao took back his phone. "It was received this afternoon. Your former manager and that producer sent it together."

Min Sunye's hands began to tremble.

"What... what do they want to do?"

"They want to scare you into silence." Song Tianhao sneered, "Unfortunately, they scared the wrong person."

He sat back down, opened his contact list, found a number, and dialed it.

The call was answered quickly, and a respectful male voice came from the other end: "President."

"Attorney Lee," Song Tianhao said, "I'm sending you an email. The senders are the producer and manager from the USA. I want you to sue them in the name of Sky Entertainment for sexual harassment, personal injury, extortion, and... intimidation and threats. I will have Manager Jang compile the evidence for you, including medical records, witness testimonies, and the email itself."

There was a two-second silence on the other end, then the voice said: "President, cross-border litigation is very troublesome, and evidence collection..."

"Money is not an issue." Song Tianhao interrupted him. "I don't want compensation; I want them in jail. Do you understand?"

"...Understood."

"Also," Song Tianhao continued, "contact the media in the USA and leak this. No need to name names; just say an Asian girl group suffered abuse while developing in the USA, and let public opinion ferment. Once they get anxious, they will naturally jump out to defend themselves, and that's when we release the hard evidence."

"President, will this..."

"Will it what? Will it affect WG's reputation?" Song Tianhao glanced at Min Sunye. "Their reputation wasn't ruined by this incident; it was ruined by those scumbags. What I'm going to do is trample those scumbags into the mud and let everyone know what happens when you touch my people."

His voice was calm, but beneath the calm lay a cold fury, like the deep sea with its surging undercurrents.

Attorney Lee on the other end clearly sensed this anger, and his voice became even more respectful: "Yes, President, I will handle it immediately."

"Three days," Song Tianhao said. "Within three days, I want to see the indictment. Within a week, I want to see reports in the US media. Within a month, I want to see those two scumbags ruined."

"Yes!"

The call ended. The hospital room fell silent again.

Min Sunye stared blankly at Song Tianhao, as if she didn't recognize him.

"Pre... President..." she stammered, "are you... are you really going to sue them?"

"I really am." Song Tianhao put his phone back in his pocket and looked at her. "What, do you think I can't do it?"

"No, it's not..." Min Sunye hurriedly shook her head, "I just... just didn't expect..."

"Didn't expect me to go to such lengths for you all?" Song Tianhao smiled, a faint but genuine smile. "Min Sunye, remember what I said today: At Sky, artists are not commodities; they are people. No one can touch my people. If they do, they will pay the price."

He stood up, walked to the water dispenser, poured another cup of warm water, and handed it to her.

"Drink some water. You've talked a lot, and your voice is hoarse."

Min Sunye took the cup, held it with both hands, and took small sips. The water was just the right temperature, neither too hot nor too cold, flowing down her throat and warming her all the way to her stomach.

"President," she asked softly after finishing the water, "what you... what you said just now, is it true? Is it really... not my fault?"

"It is not." Song Tianhao answered firmly. "They are the ones in the wrong, not you. You were just unlucky to have encountered scumbags. But bad luck is not a fault; it's the scumbags' fault."

Min Sunye lowered her head, and tears fell again, but this time, they were tears of relief.

"Thank you..." she choked out, "thank you so much..."

"No need to thank me," Song Tianhao said. "This is what I should do. I am your President, and protecting you is my responsibility."

As he spoke, he glanced at the clock on the wall: 4:20 AM.

"It's almost dawn," he said. "You should sleep."

Min Sunye also glanced at the clock, then whispered: "I... I can't sleep..."

"Then just lie down and close your eyes to rest." Song Tianhao walked to the bedside and pulled back the blanket for her. "Lie down."

His tone brooked no argument, and Min Sunye obediently lay down.

Song Tianhao tucked her in and then walked back to the sofa to sit down.

"President," Min Sunye turned on her side to look at him, "aren't you leaving?"

"I'll leave once you're asleep," Song Tianhao said. "Lest you cry secretly again."

Min Sunye's face flushed red.

"I... I won't cry anymore..."

"Then sleep."

Min Sunye closed her eyes. The hospital room was quiet, with only the sound of their faint breathing. The sky outside began to turn pale, and the sound of early morning bus engines could be heard in the distance.

A long time passed, long enough for Song Tianhao to think she had fallen asleep, when she spoke again: "President..."

"Hmm?"

"You said just now that I am your person..."

"Yes, what about it?"

"Then..." her voice was very small, as quiet as a mosquito's buzz, "will you always... protect me?"

Song Tianhao looked at her. She had opened her eyes and was looking at him anxiously, her eyes filled with expectation, unease, and a trace of cautious longing.

"I will," he said. "As long as you are at Sky for one day, I will protect you for one day."

Min Sunye's eyes brightened, and then she did something that surprised Song Tianhao.

She reached out from under the blanket and gently grasped his finger.

Song Tianhao's fingers were warm, and her hand was very cold. The two hands held together, and warmth was transferred in silence.

"President..." she whispered, "could you stay with me for a while? Just for a while, until I fall asleep..."

Song Tianhao looked at the hand grasping his; it was very thin and very pale, and the pale pink scars on her wrist were particularly conspicuous in the morning light.

He didn't pull his hand away, just said: "Okay."

Min Sunye smiled. That was the first time Song Tianhao had seen her smile; although it was very faint, it was indeed a smile. Then she closed her eyes, holding his finger, and slowly fell asleep.

Her breathing gradually steadied, her brows smoothed out, and there was even a slight curve at the corners of her mouth.

Song Tianhao sat by the bed, letting her hold his hand, without moving at all.

The morning light shone in through the gaps in the curtains, casting a golden patch of light on the floor. It was truly almost dawn.

I don't know how much time passed before the hospital room door was gently pushed open.

Ahn Sohee stood at the door, holding a thermos. She had come to bring breakfast for Min Sunye. The doctor said the patient needed to eat on time, so she had volunteered to come.

But when she pushed the door open and saw the scene in the room, she froze.

In the morning light, Min Sunye lay on the bed, sleeping soundly, a smile still on her lips. And Song Tianhao was sitting on the chair by the bed, one hand being held by Min Sunye, the other supporting his forehead, eyes closed, as if he had also fallen asleep.

His profile looked very soft in the morning light, devoid of his usual cold hardness, and instead possessing a rare gentleness.

Ahn Sohee stood at the door, watching this scene, forgetting to enter for a moment.