From A Producer To A Global Superstar-Chapter 240: Reaction to Ban

"I feel really sorry about this."

Min-Ji’s agent said the words slowly, carefully, as though she was afraid they might shatter something fragile between them.

Min-Ji looked up from the script in her hands. "Sorry about what?"

"The Park Hyun-Seo situation," the agent continued. "You’ve heard about it, right?"

Min-Ji nodded. "Yeah, I heard something. That Park Hyun-Seo got picked. People are talking about it."

She paused, then frowned slightly. "But what exactly happened?"

The agent exhaled softly and leaned back against the chair.

"Park Hyun-Seo had a problem with one of the VIREX executives a while back," she said. "Nothing public. Just... friction. But that executive never let it go."

Min-Ji’s brows knit together. "But Park Hyun-Seo getting the role shouldn’t cause this much trouble."

"That’s how you see it," the agent replied gently. "Not how they see it."

Min-Ji fell silent.

"The issue isn’t just that Park Hyun-Seo was chosen," the agent continued. "It’s that Park Hyun-Seo was chosen over VIREX-affiliated actors. That bruised egos. Big ones. And you know how VIREX can be when someone tramples over them—especially someone they see as having no power."

Min-Ji clicked her tongue lightly. "That still doesn’t sound like enough reason to create chaos."

The agent gave a small, tired smile. "In this industry? It’s more than enough. Nobody wants to appear weak. It’s dog-eat-dog—always has been."

Min-Ji leaned back. "Well... I’m just glad things are moving forward. At least nothing happened to my email or confirmation. Everything left now is just to start filming."

"Yeah," the agent agreed. "Let’s hope it stays that way. I just heard a meeting was held—hopefully it’s nothing."

A brief silence followed.

Then the agent’s phone buzzed.

She glanced at the screen casually at first.

Then her fingers froze.

Min-Ji noticed immediately.

"What is it?" she asked.

The agent didn’t respond.

She stared at the screen, eyes scanning rapidly.

Her expression shifted.

Confidence drained from her face, replaced by something colder. Heavier.

"Agent?" Min-Ji called, panic creeping into her voice.

Still no response.

Min-Ji reached out and tapped her arm. "Hey. What happened?"

The agent swallowed.

"Hold on," she said quietly. "Let me confirm something."

She stood up and walked a few steps away, dialing a number.

The call connected almost immediately.

"Yes."

"...I see."

"...Understood."

The call ended.

She turned back slowly.

Min-Ji’s heart sank before a single word was spoken.

"What is it?" Min-Ji asked again, her voice tight.

The agent hesitated.

Then—

"Min-Ji... the agency has cancelled the contract with The Train to Busan."

The words hit like a slap.

"What?" Min-Ji stood up abruptly. "Cancelled? Why?"

"They’ve issued a ban," the agent said quietly. "We’re not allowed to work on the project."

Min-Ji stared at her. "A ban? After everything was approved?"

"I know," the agent said, frustration leaking into her voice. "But this is coming from the top agencies. This isn’t something we can interfere with."

Min-Ji’s hands clenched into fists.

"This is insane," she said. "That movie—it’s good. Not just good, it’s strong. The script alone—"

"I know," the agent interrupted softly. "I read it too."

Silence fell.

"This is a missed opportunity," Min-Ji whispered.

The agent nodded. "For a lot of people."

Min-Ji slumped back into her chair, exhaustion weighing her down. She had worked her hardest for this role. She knew this movie would likely take her to the next level—but now she had to drop it because her agency said so.

"Ahhh... this is making me mad," Min-Ji muttered.

Her agent patted her arm. "It’s okay. Hopefully they come to an agreement and we can still participate in the project."

But even her voice lacked confidence.

And it didn’t stop there.

In another part of the city, an actor slammed his phone onto the table.

"You’re joking," he snapped. "We already agreed."

"I’m sorry," his manager said on the other end. "The agency pulled out. Orders from above."

"For what reason?"

"...No reason we’re allowed to say."

"F**k," the voice muttered.

The call ended.

Elsewhere, a young actress sat silently in her car, staring at the cancellation email glowing on her screen. She had already memorized her lines. Already imagined herself on set.

Now it was gone.

All the hard work she put into the role disappeared with a single email.

In studio offices, practice rooms, and cafés across the city, similar conversations played out.

Shock.

Anger.

Disbelief.

And most of all—disappointment.

Most of them had read the script.

They knew the project wasn’t ordinary.

It had weight. Depth. Potential.

But agencies controlled their lives.

Contracts owned them.

Revolting wasn’t an option.

All they could do was accept it—

And swallow the bitterness that came with signing under a big agency.

While the industry quietly erupted, Dayo sat in his office, reviewing production timelines.

His phone buzzed.

A message.

We have a problem.

Dayo frowned and picked up the call.

"What happened?" he asked calmly.

There was a pause on the other end.

"Actors are withdrawing," Jang-Wook’s familiar voice said. "Multiple. Different agencies. All at once."

Dayo’s expression darkened.

"How many?"

"...Most of them."

He leaned back slowly.

"Reason?"

"They’re saying agency restrictions. No direct explanation."

Dayo exhaled. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

So it had begun.

"I suspected this," he said quietly. "Anything else?"

"Yes," the voice hesitated. "This isn’t random. It’s coordinated. All actors from big agencies are backing out—and even the smaller ones are pulling away, scared of offending the big dogs."

Dayo closed his eyes briefly.

VIREX.

And not just them.

"Alright," he said. "Keep monitoring. Don’t panic."

He ended the call and stared at the ceiling.

The storm he had prepared for—

Had finally arrived.

He never expected it to escalate this far. They had gone too far.

But Dayo didn’t panic.

He already had a backup for this too.

He was prepared for what was to come without much though he went back to arranging the files he was sorting all of these would come in handy very soon.

And the real question wasn’t why they were doing this—