From A Producer To A Global Superstar-Chapter 272: Family drama

The final scene of the day wrapped up, and the actors and actresses felt a sense of relief hearing Dayo’s voice call for wrap-up.

Jang-Wook, the assistant director, called cut, and the set slowly exhaled. Lights were dimmed, cameras powered down, and crew members began packing equipment with the tired efficiency of people who had done this too many times to count. It had been a long day, and they were happy to have finished today’s scenes without any accidents or excessive retakes.

Dayo stood still at the side, watching the set clear out one by one.

Jang-Wook walked toward Dayo and nodded.

"They’re done with the packing, boss."

Dayo smiled faintly when he heard Jang-Wook call him boss. He had started calling him that after the discussion they had. Dayo just shrugged and finally turned to face the crew.

His voice rang out on the set, not too loud, just enough to be heard by everyone present.

"Before we all leave," he said, "I want to say something."

People paused. Conversations died down. A few crew members exchanged looks and turned fully toward him.

"It’s been a long journey," Dayo continued. "Rough in some places. But we’ve all grown. Not just technically, but personally some even physically."

This earned him a few chuckles.

Dayo smiled and continued. "The improvement I’ve seen in everyone here... it matters."

There were nods. Quiet agreement.

Then his tone shifted, heavier and more direct.

"I’m sure you’ve all seen what’s happening online."

That did it. After all, the internet was still on fire with controversy about Dayo being a bully to his actors.

The atmosphere changed instantly. People straightened up to hear what Dayo had to say. Some looked uneasy. Others looked angry on his behalf.

After all, they all knew it was fake since they witnessed the scene themselves. They still remembered Dayo ending the shoot for the day because of the injury.

"I know most of you saw the video," Dayo said. "And I know some of you were already ready to defend me."

A few voices murmured agreement.

"It’s unfair," someone muttered.

"They twisted everything," another added.

Dayo lifted a hand calmly. "I know. But listen to me first."

The set went silent again.

"I’m not doing anything about it."

The reaction was immediate.

"What?"

"Huh?"

"Why not?"

People looked at each other in disbelief. It sounded wrong how could he not want to clear his name?

Dayo didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t rush his words.

"I’m informing you, not asking," he said directly. "There will be no statements. No explanations. No online responses. Nothing."

Confusion spread across faces.

"But we have the real footage," someone said. "We could release it."

"Yes," Dayo replied, nodding. "We could. And we won’t."

That only made it worse.

"So we just let them lie about you?"

"Let them drag your name?"

Dayo waited until the noise died down again, smiling slightly because he knew they cared.

"I’m asking you to trust me," he said simply. "That’s all."

There was no arrogance in his voice. Just certainty.

"If anyone approaches you," he continued, "I repeat—do not deny anything, and do not confirm anything. If they ask about the incident, your answer is ’no comment.’ Nothing more."

The room was quiet again.

Slowly, reluctantly, people nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"Understood."

Dayo gave a short nod in return.

"That’s all. Go home. Get some rest. I’ll need your energy for the next scenes."

He turned and walked away before anyone could say more.

Upon getting home, he opened the door, and something felt off. The energy was different.

The house felt cold not physically, but emotionally.

He stepped inside and immediately noticed the silence.

His siblings were seated in the living room. Janet. Sharon. Deborah. None of them spoke when they saw him. They just looked up.

Dayo smiled instinctively and opened his arms, expecting the usual welcome.

No one moved.

That was when he knew something was wrong.

He lowered his arms slowly and glanced past them.

His brother caught his eye and gave a subtle look barely noticeable. A signal they’d used since childhood.

Mom.

Dayo inhaled quietly and walked forward.

She stood up, phone already in her hand.

"So," she said calmly, "what is this I’m seeing?"

She turned the screen toward him.

The video played. It was the edited video of Dayo.

The shouting. The angle. The distorted audio.

Dayo stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary, then laughed.

A real laugh.

"That’s funny," he said.

Everyone turned to him.

"What’s funny?" Sharon asked.

Dayo looked at his mum. "Mama, you trained me as a Yoruba woman for more than twenty years. Do you really think I would do this?"

"Let me show you something."

Dayo didn’t hesitate. He pulled out his own phone and played the original video.

The real one.

The silence in the room shifted completely.

"Oh," Deborah said quietly.

His mother, seeing this, smiled and said, "Eh, I trust my son. I knew he wouldn’t do such a thing."

"But the internet—" Sharon started.

Dayo cut in gently. "This is how it works. Truth moves slower than noise."

His mother frowned. "So what are you going to do?"

"Nothing," Dayo replied.

That didn’t sit well with his family.

"But they’re blackmailing you."

"I know."

"You could stop this."

"I could," he agreed. "And I won’t."

Sharon crossed her arms. "And why exactly?"

Before Dayo could answer, his father spoke.

"He said he has it under control," he said calmly. "Let him handle it."

His mother looked between them, then sighed.

"At least now I know you didn’t do what they’re saying," she said. "That’s enough for me."

She paused, then smiled slightly.

"Eh, so what did you prepare for dinner?" Dayo asked as he rubbed his stomach.

His mother smirked and said, "When we came to Korea, you promised us Korean dishes."

Dayo raised an eyebrow. "That’s what you’re worried about right now?"

"I can’t cook Korean food," she replied flatly. "You’re the only one who can cook. So go cook."

The tension cracked.

Dayo laughed.

He knew exactly why she was doing this. It was because everyone praised his food as better than hers, and as a Yoruba woman who took pride in her cooking, her pride was hurt. So she made sure to stress him anytime cooking came up.

Dayo just shook his head at his mother’s childish behavior. "Alright," he said. "I’ll cook."

That was when Janet and Deborah finally stood up and rushed toward him, wrapping him in a hug.

"Welcome back," Janet and Deborah said.

Dayo hugged them tightly. "Thank you."

As he headed toward the kitchen, they followed him, chattering, asking questions.

Dayo smirked. He had deliberately dropped bait to make sure they followed him all the way—after all, he now had extra maids to cook with him.

And somewhere else, far away, people continued shaping a story they thought they controlled—unaware that Dayo had already planned several steps ahead.