Scumbag A's Plan to Save the Heroine - Chapter 38

The fury in Song Rang’s voice nearly pierced through the screen, burning across the phone line.

On the other end, a short, bearded man with black-rimmed glasses, his expression timid and his tone obsequious, stammered, “Yes, Brother Song. The group of fans we sent to stalk and photograph Ruan Ye are now in court…”

Zhang Wei paused, hesitant to continue. He gritted his teeth and blurted out, “The court has already served summonses to their families. Someone is appealing to the Federal Supreme Court, seeking criminal charges against them.”

The commotion around Song Rang was deafening, like being in a bustling marketplace. To him, these fans were no different from the penny-pinching housewives haggling over a few ounces of vegetables.

The earlier incident had already put him on edge, and now this new crisis only added to his frustration.

Overwhelmed by irritation, Song Rang lost control of his temper. The imperfect emotions he had suppressed beneath his perfect public persona erupted. He shoved away a fan’s hand that had touched his shoulder and roared impatiently, “Get lost! Can’t you see I’m busy?!”

The crowd froze for a moment.

Since his debut, Song Rang had been renowned in the Federation’s entertainment industry as a “gentleman of refined character, as warm and smooth as jade.” No matter how difficult the situation, he remained calm, treated others with kindness, and always acted with reason and evidence.

Fans had often used this to criticize veteran actors who were skilled but notoriously picky about scripts and quick-tempered, arguing that they should be more humble and respectful like Song Rang.

“How could you do this?!” a female Omega cried, her voice trembling with tears. She clutched her swollen, reddened hand, sobbing, “We’re all here waiting for you because we admire you! We just wanted an autograph or a photo with you!”

“Y-yeah!” A young man standing at the outer edge stammered, his timid demeanor belying his boldness when it came to his idol.

After his shout, more and more voices joined in, condemning Song Rang’s rude behavior.

When a wall falls, everyone pushes it down. Once a single voice opposes a wrong, a thousand others will follow suit.

Song Rang, still in his stage costume, was trapped by the crowd. The fans who had moments ago been screaming for his autograph had transformed into aggrieved victims demanding an explanation.

The entertainment industry’s turnover rate was lightning-fast, and the shift from fan to hater could occur at the speed of light with just the right trigger.

Frantic and overwhelmed, Song Rang had to set aside his phone. He forced a smile and began explaining, “I’m so sorry, I really have something urgent right now. I apologize to everyone. I hope we can meet again at an official event soon? I’ll definitely make it up to you with signed copies of my new album and group photos.”

He glanced desperately across the street, praying for his manager’s car to arrive quickly and spare him from having to reason with this irrational, frenzied mob.

The hour hand slowly crept toward the final phase of the day, marking the boundary between afternoon and midnight. The sun’s light gradually dimmed. Bright headlights pierced the darkness, their glare particularly harsh. As the car sped toward him, its horn blared repeatedly, piercing the eardrums of those nearby.

Song Rang’s eyes lit up. Seizing the moment when the loudest protesters instinctively covered their ears, he squeezed a narrow path through the crowd and darted toward the half-open car door that had just come to a stop.

Thump.

Thump.

The crowd outside relentlessly pounded on the car windows. Song Rang slumped in his seat, clutching his chest and gasping for breath. The exquisite dragon robe he had worn on set was now trampled and mud-splattered beyond recognition, thanks to the fans’ frantic jostling.

Zhang Wei, observing the man’s pallor, cautiously asked, “Brother Song, what’s wrong?”

Song Rang’s eardrums still throbbed from the car horn and the crowd’s cacophony, while his eyes swam with stars from the relentless flashing of paparazzi cameras. He waved his hand dismissively, wanting to cut to the chase. “Get that trending topic taken down immediately.”

“Huh?” Zhang Wei, who had been balancing a laptop on his lap, nearly dropped the device as his leg jerked in surprise. He adjusted his glasses, bewildered. “Brother Song, didn’t you say we were using this trend to promote the new drama? We only bought it five hours ago—not even half a day! If we take it down now, won’t all that money be wasted?”

After a long pause, the man slumped in the back seat finally regained his composure. Though his mind had cleared, his tone remained impatient as he barked orders at his assistant, who also served as his manager.

“Remember your place. Without me, you’d still be a nobody in the entertainment industry. How else would you have become the top manager you are today? When I tell you to do something, you do it. Stop asking so many questions!”

Zhang Wei was naturally timid and avoided conflict. He had studied management in college, but after graduation, he couldn’t find a job due to market saturation. Out of desperation, he submitted a resume and inexplicably landed a position as a manager at a major entertainment company.

In reality, he was merely a puppet for powerful celebrities. Before Zhang Wei took over, Song Rang had already risen to fame through talent shows.

“Yes, yes, I’ll call the entertainment company that controls the Federation’s trending topics right away,” Zhang Wei nodded frantically, like a chicken pecking at grain. He hurriedly pulled out his phone to find the number, terrified that any delay would provoke Song Rang’s wrath.

As Song Rang’s closest manager, no one knew him better than Zhang Wei. After years of working together, he had long seen through the celebrity’s polished facade. This seemingly gentle and refined man was, in truth, a complete hypocrite who would stop at nothing for fame, even exploiting his childhood friends.

This was somewhat understandable; after all, ruthless capitalists had always climbed to the top by trampling on the hard work of others. Yet Song Rang was also remarkably fragile, his mental state easily destabilized. When he faced setbacks outside the company, he would often vent his anger on the trainee idols who hadn’t even debuted yet.

The abuse ranged from verbal insults to physical beatings.

Zhang Wei sighed inwardly, watching the blur of trees receding outside the car window as his fingers flew across the keyboard. He had already sent an email to the Entertainment Company, using a template he’d used countless times—a task he could complete in under five minutes.

Song Rang sat quietly beside him, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. Song Rang’s gaze was confused, and he was somewhat dissatisfied with Zhang Wei’s work efficiency. But remembering that Zhang Wei was working for him, his anger subsided slightly. He turned away and closed his eyes to rest.

If Song Rang had leaned in just a little closer, he would have seen the four large characters on the screen: “Resignation Application.” But Song Rang had never truly cared about the feelings of his staff.