From A Producer To A Global Superstar-Chapter 237: Rejection

By the next morning, the internal results were no longer a secret.

The assistant had sent out the emails personally—formal, brief, professional. Acceptance letters to those who made it. Rejection letters to those who didn’t.

Among them was one particular name.

Tae-Oh.

He stared at the screen for a long moment, convinced there had been a mistake.

The subject line was unmistakable.

Regarding Your Audition for Train to Busan.

He opened the email again.

Read it.

Closed it.

Opened it once more.

Still the same.

A polite rejection.

No explanation.

No room for appeal just s cold NO to the project.

Tae-Oh leaned back slowly, disbelief giving way to irritation.

"That’s impossible," he muttered.

He had felt it during the audition—the atmosphere in the room, the nods, the attention. The way Jang-Wook had looked at him... and even the others.

He was supposed to get this role.

Not just because of his performance—but because of who stood behind him.

His agency had assured him: as long as you do your part, the role is yours.

And he had done his part.

Yet here he was.

Rejected.

He stood abruptly and walked out of the room.

Minutes later, he was in his agent’s office.

"This has to be a mistake," Tae-Oh said flatly, dropping his phone on the desk. "We already discussed this with Jang-Wook. The role was mine. Besides, I didn’t see anyone there who could compete with me."

His agent frowned as he read the email.

"...This doesn’t make sense."

"Exactly," Tae-Oh snapped. "Who else was even close?"

The agent hesitated.

"There was someone," he said carefully. "But—"

"But what?" Tae-Oh demanded.

The agent shook his head. "It shouldn’t matter. I’ll escalate this."

He remembered seeing Park Hyun-Seo.

And even if he didn’t want to admit it, Park had been the better actor.

But Park Hyun-Seo was blacklisted.

So why was he even being invited to auditions?

Within the hour, the issue reached higher up.

Much higher.

A call was placed to VIREX Entertainment.

Not long after, another call followed.

This time—to Jang-Wook.

He answered after the third ring.

"Yes," Jang-Wook said.

A familiar voice came through the line—calm, sharp, authoritative.

"We heard Tae-Oh didn’t get the role."

Jang-Wook sighed inwardly.

"It’s true."

A pause.

"...Who did?"

Jang-Wook leaned back in his chair.

"That doesn’t really matter."

The tone on the other end shifted immediately.

"It does."

Jang-Wook pinched the bridge of his nose. "The final decision wasn’t mine."

"Then whose was it?"

Another pause.

"Dayo," Jang-Wook said. "The director."

Silence.

"...The one from America?"

"Yes."

A low scoff followed.

"Does he understand how this industry works?"

Jang-Wook didn’t answer.

"You realize who you’re offending," the man continued. "You realize what kind of trouble this could cause for both you and this project."

"I objected," Jang-Wook said evenly. "I made my position clear."

"And?"

"And I was overruled."

The voice hardened.

"This isn’t good."

Jang-Wook exhaled slowly. "Two of your other actors didn’t make the cut either."

Another pause.

"That tells you everything you need to know."

"Does this American even know what Park Hyun-Seo did?" the man said, no longer using Dayo’s name.

Jang-Wook heard the disrespect but said nothing.

"He knows about the incident."

"What?" The voice rose. "He knows—and still dares give him a role over one of VIREX?"

"As I said earlier," Jang-Wook replied, "it wasn’t my call so i could do notbing about the decision."

"Oh. I see now."

The man clicked his tongue. "I’ll give you an hour."

"An hour for what?" Jang-Wook asked already sensing that things were about to take a different turn entirely.

"For this to be fixed."

Jang-Wook straightened. "It won’t be."

The voice dropped, cold and sharp not because of anything but he knew the kind of person Dayo was and he wouldn’t change his mind

"You know the kind of people this affects if things go wrong."

"I do," Jang-Wook replied calmly. "And I also know I don’t have the authority to change it."

Silence stretched.

Finally—

"...Fine."

The call ended.

Jang-Wook stared at his phone before placing it down.

Then he dialed another number.

Dayo answered while driving.

"What’s up?" Dayo asked casually.

"There’s an issue," Jang-Wook said.

"With?"

"VIREX."

Dayo scoffed. "Figures."

"They’re not happy Tae-Oh didn’t get the role," Jang-Wook continued. "They see Park Hyun-Seo getting it as an insult. They’re threatening backlash—media pressure, industry interference."

Dayo’s grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

"And?"

"They want the casting reconsidered."

Dayo laughed—short, humorless.

"This is my movie," he said. "My money. My responsibility."

"I know," Jang-Wook replied carefully. "I just needed to inform you."

"Who are they to decide what happens on my set?" Dayo said. "If Park wasn’t right, I wouldn’t have picked him. But he is right."

He paused.

"And that’s the end of it."

"They’re serious," Jang-Wook warned. "They can make things difficult."

"I don’t care," Dayo replied without hesitation. "Park stays. Unless he chooses to step down himself, nothing changes."

Jang-Wook went quiet.

He had learned enough about Dayo in a single week to understand one thing—

Dayo was a mirror.

Respect him, and he returned it.

Challenge him, and he pushed back harder.

"I respect you," Dayo added. "I respect your experience. That’s why I’m being clear—this name will not change."

Another pause.

"...Understood," Jang-Wook said.

"And Jang-Wook," Dayo continued, "if you choose to step away to avoid backlash, I’ll respect that too."

The call ended.

Dayo exhaled and changed lanes.

The tension faded quickly.

He had already made his decision—and he would stand by it.

Park Hyun-Seo had the ability to carry the role.

And Dayo would make sure he did.

Minutes later, he pulled up in front of a beautiful, naturally styled mansion.

He checked the address once, then stepped out.

The door opened before he could knock.

"Dayo!"

Min-Jae stood there, smiling.

"You’re early," she said.

He smiled back. "Traffic was kind."

She stepped aside. "Come in."

As he entered, the noise of the industry—politics, threats, pressure—fell away.

For now.

The door closed behind him.

And for the moment—

That was enough.