The Scandal Queen

Episode Two

I couldn't believe the frenzy my posts had caused. In a matter of hours, my mentions were flooded with reactions—some supportive, some appalled, but all of them eating up the drama.

Honestly, I’d always had a bit of a hard time following rules, but I’d behaved myself for the sake of my career. I was a good little girl and kept my head down, portraying the clean idol image they wanted. By airing my dirty laundry so publicly, I'd essentially torched any remaining bridges with the agency and the industry. But you know what? f**k 'em. If they wanted to throw me out and ruin my life over some stupid pictures, then I wasn't going to go quietly.

My phone kept buzzing with calls from Haein and Ara. I finally answered Haein's call as I was packing up the last of my belongings and preparing to leave my crappy hotel to go sniff out another one, hopefully cheaper.

“Iseul-ah! Are you okay? What the hell was that on Twitter?”

“I'm fine, just … done being the victim,” I said simply. “You wouldn't happen to know any cheap places looking for a tenant around here?”

There was a pause, then Haein replied, “Why don't you come stay with us?”

I straightened and sucked in a breath. “Really?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I insist. There's no way I'm going to sit back while they just kick you out onto the street. Your stupid label should be supporting you instead of turning on you. Ara's here too, and she agrees.” Haein sounded mad, which I appreciated.

I let out a breath and rubbed my face. “That would be … amazing. Seriously, you would be saving my life.”

“Wouldn't be the first time,” Haein laughed, “So are you coming or not?”

“I'll be over in thirty.”

***

Hauling my suitcases into Haein and Ara's cramped apartment, I was relieved to see the looks of concern, not judgment, on their faces. We'd been through too much together for that.

Over the next few weeks, I focused on getting myself back on my feet financially. My savings had been depleted to get myself set up with what little I did have, so I took a job teaching dance classes at a local studio. It wasn't glamorous, but it paid the bills and kept me doing what I loved.

In my downtime, I started writing—pouring all my anger, hurt, and defiance into lyrics. A single song at first, a vicious but vague kiss-off to my shitty ex and the label that had turned its back on me. The lyrics were pointed enough that fans would know exactly who I was referring to, but just plausibly deniable to avoid any legal blowback.

I finished the song in the middle of the night, and once the final lyrics were on the page, I looked down at it and marveled. I really had something there. I knew I did. Now if only I could do something with it.

I didn't have the money for studio time, that much was for sure. Yet, the more I thought about it, the more it ate at me. I couldn't just let the song languish like that. It needed to be heard. I wanted the world to hear my side of the story.

Then it came to me. I might've known someone who could help.

I dialed Seungmin's number, fingers tapping impatiently on my thigh as it rang. He picked up on the fourth ring, voice groggy. “Yeah?”

“Seungmin, it's me. You up?”

A rustle, like he was sitting upright. “Iseul? What time is it?”

“Uhh … nearly 2 AM.”

He groaned. “Why am I not surprised you're calling at this hour? What's up?”

“I wrote a song. A really good one—like, could be a huge hit if done right. You down to help me record it?”

There's a beat of silence. “You're serious? After everything that went down?”

“More serious than I've ever been. I'm done playing by their rules and letting them call the shots.” I could practically hear the gears turning in his head. Seungmin had been there through all my Hayze days, had seen me pouring my heart into songs that just got rewritten and twisted beyond recognition. He knew how much the music meant to me.

Finally, he exhaled. “Alright, I'm listening. What've you got?”

Over the next hour, I rapped out the lyrics, humming melodies and explaining the vibe I was going for—dark and smoldering, with just a hint of that playful, in-your-face attitude I'm known for. Seungmin was quiet for a long stretch after I finish.

“Well? You gonna help me out or what?”

“You really want to burn it all down, huh?”

I snort. “Set it all on fire. They’re already bombed my chances of signing with another agency. I’m not going down alone.”

“s**t…” He let out a low whistle. “Okay, yeah. Let's do it. I've got some studio time booked for later this week. You can come lay this down.”

Relief washed over me. “Seriously? You're the best.”

“Just don't get me in trouble, alright? I can't have you dragging my ass into another scandal.” His tone was light, joking.

“No promises,” I teased back. “But thanks, Seungmin-ah. I owe you one.”

“You owe me like a million at this point. Just … make it good, okay?”

“You know I will.”

I hung up, a slow smile spreading across my face. This was really happening. I was taking my career into my own hands.

Let the games begin.

* * *

I spent long nights in the studio with Seungmin, working together to make the sound match my fiery lyrics.

“Harder on that pre-chorus,” I instructed, headphones clamped over my ears as I watched Seungmin tinker with the mixing board. “Like you're screaming it through gritted teeth.”

He nodded, brow furrowed in concentration, and tweaked a few knobs. The speakers blasted the line back at us with a newfound intensity that had me nodding in approval.

“That's it. That's the energy.”

We ran through it again from the top, and I felt that same defiant thrill coursing through me that I did when first scribbling down the lyrics. Every word was a strike back at the people who did me dirty—a big 'f**k you' to the ex-boyfriend who betrayed my trust, and the corporate leeches who turned on me the second things got messy.

Well, I was taking back control of my narrative now.

The beat kicked in and I was in the zone, belting out each heated verse with a sneer. By the time we got to the hook, I was practically snarling the words.

“If all those girls who throw you gifts and scream your name knew that it was you, would they care?

Or would they curse my name and say that I’m to blame?

If they knew who you are, would they turn their backs or would they shrug and make excuses?

I wonder if they’d even realize you would do it to them, too?”

Seungmin flashed me a grin and a thumbs-up from behind the glass. He was feeling it too.

We worked well into the early morning like that—him tweaking sounds and laying down tracks, me alternating between recording scorching verses and guiding his production with relentless attention to detail. I was a woman possessed, fueled by fury and exhilaration.

I didn't realize how late it'd gotten until the first rays of dawn were peeking through the studio windows. Seungmin rubbed his eyes wearily.

“You're really not f*****g around, are you?”

“They f****d around,” I said with a half-shrug. “Now they'll find out.”

He chuckled darkly and leaned back in his chair with a groan. “We should probably take a break, get some food, and rest before we pass out.”

The very idea of stopping made me antsy. I was so close to finishing, I could taste it. But I can also taste how dry my mouth was, how leaden my limbs were beginning to feel.

Reluctantly, I nodded. “Fine. Few hours to recharge, then we're going straight back in, yeah?”

“You're a madwoman, you know that?” Seungmin said, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we headed out. “But I f*****g love it. This song is gonna break the industry.”

I smirked at that. Damn right it was.

* * *

I leaned back in the studio chair, eyes half-lidded as I listened to the final mix one more time. The thunderous bass-line shook the room, punctuating each of my biting lyrics with seismic force. A wry smile tugged at the corner of my mouth—this was it, this was the searing middle finger to my past I'd been waiting to unleash.

As the track faded out, I turned to Seungmin with an expectant look. He pulled off his headphones, lips parted in an approving grin.

“Damn, Iseul…” He shook his head in disbelief. “You went full scorched earth on their asses.”

“They had it coming.” I shrugged, though I couldn't hide my own sense of satisfaction. “Especially that jackass Jihyun.”

“For real. The way you dragged him without actually naming names?” Seungmin let out an impressed whistle. “That's some masterful shade.”

He was right—I'd made sure to bury my toxic ex in a lyrical onslaught, calling out his lies and his sketchy behavior in painstakingly crafted verses. But I'd been careful to never explicitly name him or give obvious details that could open me up to legal action. Just plenty of juicy subtext that any fan could easily read between the lines on.

“I left a trail of breadcrumbs,” I said with a sly wink. “But it's not my fault if people put the pieces together.”

Seungmin laughed at that, slapping his hand on the mixing board. “You're too much, you know that? This is going to set the internet on fire when it drops.”

“That's the idea.” I ran a hand through my sweat-damp hair, suddenly aware of how utterly drained I felt after our marathon session. “We did good work here.”

“More than good.” Seungmin gave me an appraising once-over, eyes shining with professional respect. “This is a straight-up masterpiece of a diss track. Leagues beyond anything else out there.”

* * *

The day finally arrived. After weeks of grueling studio sessions, my revenge anthem, “It's Not Me, It's You” was ready to detonate across the internet. Seungmin had handled uploading it to the major streaming platforms while I put the finishing touches on the music video.

As soon as the video went live, my phone started blowing up. The notifications flooded in—new followers, comments, shares. I smirked, opening up the YouTube app to watch the view count skyrocket in real-time.

It was like I'd lobbed a grenade into the eye of the storm. Within hours, my song had rocketed to the top of the charts, displacing even the biggest idol groups. The video's dislike bar was essentially non-existent, buried under an avalanche of rabid fans spamming the like button.

More importantly, the reaction vids and theory posts began rolling in thick and fast. Everybody was desperate to figure out just who I was taking dead aim at with those searing lyrics.

The breadcrumb trail I'd laid out was vague enough to avoid legal issues, but just explicit enough to stoke rampant speculation. Fans pored over every line, every subtle insinuation, in a frantic bid to solve the mystery of my mysterious ex.

It didn't take long for the consensus to form around a certain former boyfriend of mine—an idol from one of the biggest boy groups in the game. As the penny dropped for more and more listeners, the backlash against him came out in full force.

Comment sections and forum threads filled up with scathing takedowns, vicious memes, and exposes digging into his rumored infidelity and lies. Jihyun’s pristine reputation was going up in flames before my very eyes.

Smirking, I leaned back on my couch to take it all in. I hadn't uttered a single syllable confirming his identity, but it was open season on his cancellation, regardless. My work was done.

I sat back, watching the chaos unfold with a satisfied grin. The numbers didn't lie—”It's Not Me, It's You” was an unstoppable juggernaut, demolishing everything in its path up the charts.

In a matter of hours, the song exploded across social media. Fans and listeners flooded timelines and comment sections, showering praise on the track's razor-sharp lyrics and undeniable catchiness. Reactions and theory vids dissecting the lyrics' hidden meanings went viral left and right.

It didn't take long for music blogs and entertainment sites to catch wind of the commotion. Thinkpieces and hot takes scrutinizing the song's subtle disses and veiled allegations started hitting the net by the minute. My name was on everyone's lips once again—the girl at the center of the latest piping-hot gossip.

The buzz only intensified as the song's popularity skyrocketed. Within days, “It's Not Me, It’s You” had bulldozed its way into the upper echelons of the charts, leaving a trail of smashed records in its wake. It was the breakup anthem reverberating across the nation, the rallying cry for the scorned and betrayed.

With the hype at a fever pitch, I took to i********: to pour gasoline on the flames. A single post—just a snippet of lyrics and a devil emoji—made my message crystal clear. I wouldn't be silenced or shamed into submission. Not this time.

My defiant stance rallied fans to my corner in droves. Hashtags and social media campaigns sprouted up overnight in a grassroots wave of solidarity. For every critic trying to tear me down as an unruly American brat, a hundred more voices rose up to defend my uncompromising authenticity.

The industry was splitting down the middle over where they stood on me. Some friends rushed to support me, while others did their best to distance themselves. But one thing was undeniable—I was a household name again. A bona fide lightning rod in the heart of the K-pop scene.