Chapter 82: Jun’s Negotiation
The polite veneer of the meeting dissolved as Angela reached into her designer bag and slid a sleek, holographic tablet across the obsidian table. The screen flickered to life, displaying a meticulously crafted proposal.
“Let’s get down to business,” Angela began, her voice regaining its commanding edge, the soft purr replaced by the sharp precision of a CEO. She leaned forward, her eyes locking onto Jun with an intensity that suggested she was pitching for the biggest deal of her career.
“My proposal is simple, but the execution will be unprecedented. We want Jun and Hana’s first-time encounter to be the flagship event for NetFuk. To be clear, we aren’t just talking about a high-resolution video upload; we are planning a global media event. We will treat this like a cinematic premiere. We’ll start with a month-long rollout: cryptic, high-tension teasers on every major social platform, coordinated countdowns that will have the entire world holding its breath, and behind-the-scenes ‘preparation’ segments that build an insufferable amount of anticipation.”
She paused, her hands gesturing to emphasize the scale. “We’ll stream it globally, in real-time. This is the kind of exposure that doesn’t just increase views; it creates a paradigm shift. This will catapult Jun’s branding into the stratosphere, transforming him from a local curiosity into a global icon overnight. Every major overseas luxury brand—from the fashion houses of Paris to the watchmakers of Switzerland—will be fighting for a piece of his image. He won’t just be a ‘Prime’ in Asia; he will be the definitive face of masculinity for the entire world.”
Angela’s eyes flickered with a mix of professional pride and predatory excitement. “NetFuk isn’t just a platform; it’s the current epicenter of digital desire. We have the infrastructure to ensure that when Jun and Hana finally unite, it isn’t just a recording—it’s a cultural moment. We will curate the lighting, the atmosphere, and the narrative to ensure that the world doesn’t just see a sexual encounter, but a masterpiece of intimacy and power.”
She paused, a small, confident smile playing on her lips. “And since we’ve invested heavily in DiveVR, we’ll utilize a high-fidelity, multi-angle camera setup. Viewers won’t just be watching a screen; they’ll feel the heat, the breath, and the intimacy as if they were in the room. And to make this easy for you, the partnership is completely non-binding. No long-term shackles.”
As Angela spoke, she tapped a final command on the tablet. A set of figures appeared—the proposed remuneration for the livestream.
Hana leaned in, her eyes widening as she saw the numbers. She let out a small, audible gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. The amount was staggering. It was significantly higher than her entire revenue for the past year—even with her “National Sweetheart” title and millions of followers.
Beside her, Sora’s eyebrows shot up. As a CEO, Sora understood the math of the industry. She quickly estimated the potential revenue from the surge of new subscribers the stream would attract. She’s offering nearly 80% of the projected growth revenue as an upfront payment, Sora realized. This is an absurdly generous offer.
Jun didn’t react. He picked up the tablet and read through the figures with a clinical, bored expression. He had seen similar payouts in his previous life; to him, a large sum of money was just a number.
Hana, however, was vibrating with excitement. She tugged on Jun’s sleeve, her eyes sparkling. “Oppa… look at that! We could buy a whole building with this!”
Sora remained silent, her gaze shifting between the numbers and Jun. She waited for his reaction, wondering if he would be swayed by the sheer scale of the offer.
Jun set the tablet back down on the table with a soft clack. He looked Angela straight in the eye, his expression devoid of excitement. “It’s not good enough,” he said calmly.
The silence that followed was deafening. Angela’s smile froze, and for a moment, her eyes flashed with annoyance. She felt a surge of irritation, thinking Jun was just like the other men she dealt with—arrogant, greedy, and trying to play hard-to-get to drive up the price. Beside her, Valentina’s expression soured, though she remained silent.
“I’m sorry?” Angela asked, her voice cooling. “Most people would be falling over themselves for a payout of this magnitude.”
“Most people are looking for a payday,” Jun replied, his voice a low, steady rumble. “I’m looking for a legacy. I spent the last few minutes browsing NetFuk before you arrived. Your content is becoming stale, Angela. You have a massive reach, far bigger than traditional TV, but you’re wasting it. You’ve invested millions into DiveVR, promising users an immersive experience, but you’re still feeding them the same old, scripted formulas.”
Angela’s expression shifted. The annoyance vanished, replaced by a sharp, sudden alertness. Her instincts screamed that this wasn’t a greedy demand—it was a critique from someone who actually understood her business.
“You’ve built a world-class stage,” Jun continued, his gaze piercing. “DiveVR is a marvel of engineering. It can translate the warmth of skin, the scent of arousal, and the visceral weight of a body. But the problem is that your ‘talent’ is just acting. They’re following a script, hitting marks, and performing for the camera. They’re giving the viewers a simulation of intimacy, not the real thing.”
He leaned forward, his presence suddenly filling the space between them. “The users of DiveVR are craving something that doesn’t exist in your current library: raw, unfiltered presence. They don’t want a choreographed dance; they want to feel the predatory hunger of a man who doesn’t care about the camera. They want to feel the desperation of a woman who has completely surrendered her will. You’ve given them the most advanced sensory equipment in history, but you’re feeding it content that feels like a sanitized corporate product.”
Jun’s voice became a low, dangerous hum. “If you keep pushing these scripted fantasies, DiveVR will become a novelty—a toy that people get bored of once the novelty wears off. But if you introduce something visceral, something that captures the actual weight of a Prime’s dominance… you won’t just have subscribers. You’ll have addicts. You’ll turn NetFuk from a streaming service into a necessity for anyone who wants to experience what true desire feels like.”
Angela sat in stunned silence for a moment. He had just described the exact plateau her company had hit, but in a way that no consultant or board member had ever articulated. He wasn’t talking about “engagement metrics” or “user retention”; he was talking about the fundamental nature of desire.
“You’re not just offering a video,” Angela whispered, her mind racing. “You’re offering to be the catalyst that actually makes DiveVR work the way it was meant to.”
“What exactly do you have in mind?” Angela asked, her tone shifting from dismissive to genuinely curious.
“I don’t want a one-off payment,” Jun stated. “I want a stake in NetFuk.”
Angela stared at him. For the first time, she saw him not as a another pampered Prime, but as a seasoned veteran. The room felt smaller as the two of them locked eyes, a silent battle of wills erupting between them.
“A stake?” Angela murmured. “That’s a bold ask. NetFuk isn’t a small startup; it’s a global entity.”
“And it’s one that is plateauing,” Jun countered. “If you want the ‘gold standard’ of content—the kind that makes DiveVR an absolute necessity rather than a luxury—you need more than just a contractor. You need a partner who understands the visceral nature of desire.”
Angela leaned back, her mind racing. She couldn’t find a single weakness in his argument. If Jun’s content could revitalize the platform, a stake was a small price to pay. “I’ll consider it,” she said, her voice cautious, her eyes narrowing as she tried to calculate the risk. “But let’s be realistic. You’re a new variable in this equation. If I approve your creative direction for the stream and it hits the targets we set, I’ll grant you a 20% stake in the regional distribution. That’s more than most ‘partners’ get in their first decade with us."
Jun didn’t even blink. He didn’t hesitate, and he didn’t lean in. He simply looked at her with a flat, unimpressed gaze. “50%,” he replied instantly. “And I keep the upfront payment as a signing bonus.”
Angela actually recoiled, her eyes widening. “Fifty percent? Jun, this isn’t a startup; this is a global operation. You’re asking for a partner’s share before you’ve even stepped in front of a camera. That’s not a negotiation; that’s an ultimatum.”
“It’s a valuation,” Jun countered, his voice a low, steady rumble. “You’re offering 20% based on what you think I’m worth as a ‘Prime.’ I’m asking for 50% based on what I know I’m worth as the solution to your plateau. You’ve spent millions on DiveVR and you’re still seeing a decline in organic engagement. I’m the only person in this room—perhaps on this island—who can turn that hardware into an addiction. My presence isn’t a variable, Angela. It’s the catalyst.”
Angela gritted her teeth, her competitive nature flaring. She was used to being the one who dictated the terms, the one who squeezed the talent until they were grateful for the crumbs. But Jun wasn’t blinking. He was calling her bluff, treating her high-powered status as a mere formality.
“Forty percent,” Angela countered, her voice sharp. “And I want a larger cut of the backend royalties if the stream exceeds the projections. That’s my final offer. I can’t give away half the regional distribution to someone I’ve known for twenty minutes.”
“The royalties are irrelevant if the platform is stale,” Jun replied, his voice remaining coolly detached. “And 40% is still a ‘corporate’ offer. I’m not looking for a corporate partnership; I’m looking for a stake that reflects the actual impact I’ll have on your brand. I’ll meet you in the middle.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch, making her feel the weight of the decision.
“30%,” Jun finally stated. “Plus the upfront payment. No royalty adjustments, no fine print. Just a clean, 30% equity stake in the regional distribution.”
Angela stared at him, her mind whirling. She could feel the tension in the room—the way Valentina was watching her with a mix of shock and admiration. Angela realized that if she pushed any further, she risked offending a man who clearly didn’t need her. And in this business, offending the only man who could save your product was a fatal mistake.
“Fine,” Angela conceded, a smirk of genuine respect finally appearing on her lips. “30% stake, plus the upfront payment. But if the numbers don’t hit the mark—if the engagement doesn’t spike by at least 40% in the first hour—the stake is revoked.”
Valentina looked at her partner in genuine amazement. This was the first time she had seen Angela lose a negotiation, let alone concede so much so quickly.
Jun gave a slight, satisfied nod. “Deal.”