the morning headlines blazed across every screen, phone, and billboard: Jennie Kim's Concert Sells Out in Record Time. tickets to her upcoming seoul show were gone in under three minutes, and fans had swept through the merchandise faster than her team could restock. from limited-edition hoodies to collectible posters, the frenzy left nothing but empty racks. jennie was the face of kpop's new era, a force impossible to ignore. she wasn't just a singer; she was a brand, a movement, a symbol of everything that was aspirational and unattainable.
on instagram, her follower count had skyrocketed to over 100 million, making her the most followed k-pop artist on the platform. her influence extended far beyond music—luxury brands lined up to sign her as an ambassador. chanel, calvin klein, and now another high-fashion brand had added her to their roster, further cementing her status as the queen of not just k-pop, but global fashion.
yet, as jennie looked out over the city from her penthouse, the glittering skyline that others would envy, she felt a gnawing emptiness. she was relevant—beyond relevant—but at what cost? she rarely appeared on tv shows, a deliberate choice by her agency. she was too expensive for most networks to book, and her agency preferred it that way. the goal was exclusivity, to create an aura of untouchability that only added to her allure. but with that exclusivity came isolation.
the truth was, Jennie didn't make nearly as much as people thought. the 20-80 split with her agency meant she only saw a fraction of the millions she generated. the rest disappeared into the company coffers, fueling the machine that kept her at the top but left her feeling like a well-paid employee rather than the superstar everyone assumed her to be. it was a gilded cage, one she had willingly stepped into, but a cage nonetheless.
the industry's darker underbelly was a realm that jennie had only heard about in hushed tones. idols—once bright stars in the industry's firmament—were sometimes driven to desperate measures. some of them turned to becoming escorts, leveraging their fame to secure wealthy patrons who could provide a level of financial stability they couldn't achieve through their careers alone. others sought sugar daddies, using their status as a bargaining chip for a cushier lifestyle. the stories jennie heard were harrowing, tales of exploitation and abuse, but also of some who found a way to navigate the murky waters with their dignity intact.
the most chilling aspect was how her agency was maneuvering behind the scenes. there were whispers—faint, but persistent—about the agency's willingness to sell her, to auction her off to the highest bidder if the price was right. it was a disturbing thought, but one she couldn't shake. no one had ever actually paid for such a deal, but the very idea that her worth could be quantified in such a degrading manner was terrifying.
jennie had maintained her virginity, a personal choice that stood in stark contrast to the persona she projected onstage. the seductive moves and suggestive lyrics were part of her act, a carefully constructed image designed to captivate. beneath it all, she was still a young woman grappling with the reality of her situation. her agency's dark intentions and the industry's grim realities loomed over her, casting long shadows over her bright career.
jennie's phone rang, pulling her from the haze of exhaustion. she squinted at the screen, seeing her manager's name. with a weary sigh, she answered.
"hey," jennie's voice was barely more than a whisper.
"hey, jennie! it's me. i just wanted to remind you about next week," her manager's voice was upbeat, almost too eager. "you've got that exclusive event with the big names. you know, the one with the wealthy businessmen."
jennie rolled her eyes even though her manager couldn't see her. "yeah, i remember. what about it?"
"great! and i wanted to let you know, the outfits are ready. the team has really put a lot of effort into them," her manager continued with barely concealed excitement.
jennie's silence spoke volumes, but her manager barreled on. "they're quite striking, just perfect for this kind of event. you'll definitely turn heads. it's all about making a lasting impression on these high-profile clients."
jennie sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the conversation. "i'll do it. just... let me have a moment to breathe"
"of course. we'll touch base again before the event. take care of yourself, okay?"
"yeah, sure. talk to you later," jennie said, ending the call and letting her phone slip onto the bed beside her. she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts a tangled mess of frustration and resignation. the exhaustion wasn't just physical; it was a deep, gnawing feeling that came from constantly being forced into a role she was beginning to resent.
