Korea JoongAng Daily - Daily News from Korea

The author is a writer and senior fellow at the Institute for Social and Economic Research.

On Feb. 4, 1945, as the end of World War II came into view, the leaders of the United States, Britain and the Soviet Union gathered in the Black Sea resort city of Yalta. Franklin D. Roosevelt of the United States, Winston Churchill of Britain and Joseph Stalin of the Soviet Union agreed to hold a weeklong summit to discuss the postwar handling of Nazi Germany and related issues. Thus began the Yalta Conference.

Germany's fate had effectively been sealed. The country was to be placed under divided occupation by the United States, Britain, France and the Soviet Union. The Allied powers agreed to ensure only the minimum living conditions for the German population and to assume no further responsibility beyond that. Germany's arms industry would be dismantled and confiscated, and major war criminals would be sent to an international tribunal to take place in Nuremberg. A disarmed and divided Germany would host Allied troops, particularly U.S. forces, standing in opposition to the Soviet Union.

A secret protocol was adopted concerning issues in the Far East. Once Germany surrendered, the Soviet Union agreed to break its neutrality pact with Japan and enter the war against Tokyo within "two or three months." The United States, reluctant to confront Japan's Kwantung Army stationed in Manchuria directly, sought to counter one adversary with another. This calculation would prove to be a grave misjudgment. Japan surrendered just five days after the Soviet Union entered the war. Soviet troops advanced rapidly into the Korean Peninsula, reaching the 38th parallel. Not only Germany, which had started the war, but also colonial Korea, which had been drawn into it against its will, ended up divided.

The Yalta Conference marked both the end of World War II and the beginning of the postwar order. The barbed wire of the Cold War split Germany into East and West in Europe and divided the Korean Peninsula into North and South in Asia. When North Korea invaded South Korea, the Cold War could no longer be described as "cold." The United States was already helping rebuild the economies of Germany and Japan, both former enemy states, to counter the communist bloc. The world order that has shaped global affairs for the past 80 years began in this way. As signs now suggest that this order may be approaching its end, the need for calm judgment and clear thinking has never been greater.

This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.

The author is a senior culture reporter at the JoongAng Ilbo.

Actor Ahn Sung-ki (1952–2026), one of Korea's most respected and widely beloved performers, died on Jan. 5, 2026. He lived a life defined by quiet integrity and unshowy devotion to his craft. In the Korean film industry, he was often described as "Papami," a colloquial expression suggesting that the more closely one looks at his life, the more admirable stories emerge. It was an apt description for an actor who pursued performance not as a path to celebrity but as a disciplined calling shaped by humility, patience and consideration for others.

His attitude toward aging and the gradual shift in roles that comes with it was equally instructive. Long accustomed to leading roles and major acting honors, Ahn surprised many in 2001 when he stepped onto the stage at the Blue Dragon Film Awards to accept the prize for best supporting actor. The award recognized his performance as Jin-rip, a seasoned warrior of the Goryeo Dynasty (918–1392), in "Musa: The Warrior" (2001).

The film's original Korean title, "Musa," literally means "warrior." Directed by Kim Sung-soo, the historical epic is set in the late Goryeo period and follows a group of Korean envoys and soldiers stranded in Ming China after a diplomatic mission goes awry. Within the group, Ahn's Jin-rip is not a flamboyant hero but a figure defined by restraint and moral gravity, someone who holds others together through judgment and quiet resolve.

"Among actors, the award one wants most is the supporting actor prize," Ahn said in his acceptance speech. "I have always coveted it, and I am grateful to finally receive it." The remark drew a standing ovation. It resonated because it reflected a man who had come to value contribution over position, and presence over prominence.

"Musa: The Warrior" was both the most physically punishing film of Ahn's career and the one that gave him his clearest professional insight. Reflecting later on Jin-rip, he described the character as someone who gathers those around him and creates the momentum for everyone to move forward together. That, Ahn concluded, was also his own role as an actor.

On and off the screen, he became a steady moral anchor for younger performers and crew members. He came to understand that meaning lay not in being first but in supporting others from behind. From that point on, distinctions between leading and supporting roles, or the numerical weight of a part, mattered less to him than whether the work itself was honest and necessary.

Still, he was human. As the years passed, he could not entirely avoid the quiet disappointment that accompanied being edged out of leading roles. During the casting process for the crime thriller "Nowhere to Hide" (1999), Ahn initially assumed that the protagonist detective would naturally be him. Instead, he was offered the role of a serial killer, a supporting part, a proposal that reportedly came as a shock.

He accepted the role, withdrew from it, then accepted again. The hesitation suggested a period of internal struggle familiar to many veteran actors. Yet the film he approached with reluctance ended up reshaping his thinking about acting. Ahn delivered performances that produced enduring scenes in Korean cinema, including a rain-soaked fight sequence and a tense assassination on a stairway. For many viewers, he remains the film's central presence, regardless of billing.

In a 2003 conversation with his close junior colleague Park Jung-hoon, Ahn spoke candidly about that period. Scripts for non-leading roles had begun arriving several years earlier, he said, leaving him disappointed and hurt. Over time, however, his perspective changed. Even if a role's scale grew smaller, he decided, its depth must not.

From that conviction emerged what Ahn himself called the aesthetics of the downward slope. If a role could illuminate a film, he would not refuse it. It was this posture that later allowed him to reaffirm his stature as a l...

The author, a former president of Seoul National University, is the chairman of the Korea Institute for Shared Growth.

Korea's economy remains mired in a deep slowdown despite strong performance in a handful of sectors such as semiconductors. Growth has hovered between zero and 1 percent with little sign of a sustained rebound. Income distribution has also deteriorated to a level that threatens social cohesion. The top 1 percent now accounts for about 15 percent of total income while the top 10 percent earns close to half. In short, Korea has sunk into a trap of low growth and widening inequality.

At the root of this crisis lies the breakdown of the trickle-down mechanism that once linked large corporations with small- and mid-sized enterprises (SME). The virtuous cycle in which corporate gains flowed to suppliers and households has been severed. Over the past decade, average operating margins in manufacturing have stood at around 6 to 8 percent for large firms but at just 2 to 3 percent for SMEs. This gap cannot be explained by productivity differences alone. Unfair practices such as forced price cuts, passing on higher raw material costs, demands for technical data and exclusive dealing arrangements may have boosted big firms in the short term but have weakened smaller ones, deepening polarization. The result has been sluggish growth across the entire economy. Corporate competitiveness ultimately depends on the strength of SMEs.

Recent shocks have further entrenched these structural disparities. Tariffs imposed under the Trump administration and a persistently weak won have intensified the imbalance. When tariffs raise costs for large exporters, the burden is often shifted to subcontractors through lower prices, reduced volumes or altered contract terms. A high exchange rate compounds the problem. While a weaker won cushions large exporters, it drives up import costs and squeezes margins for smaller firms reliant on foreign inputs.

To overcome the crisis and secure sustainable prosperity, a fundamental shift in economic thinking is required. For the past 17 years, I have advocated the concept of shared growth. Shared growth seeks to reconnect the economy, achieving sustainable expansion while easing polarization. It rests on a simple principle: Grow the pie together and share it fairly. This is not a matter of corporate charity or one-off assistance but the shortest path to restoring fair rules of competition.

From the stage of expanding the pie, large firms should develop and share innovative technologies while SMEs build capabilities on that foundation. Through this process, a virtuous cycle of cooperation can take shape within production systems. Restoring such dynamism would allow the economy to achieve both equity and growth.

For this to happen, executives at major corporations must cultivate a stronger sense of community. The success of Korea's conglomerates was built on the infrastructure of "Korea, Inc." and extensive government support. They therefore carry a social debt to the nation and society that cannot be ignored.

Some large companies have introduced programs such as performance-sharing schemes and cooperation funds. Yet the impact on the ground has been limited. The reason is that many of these initiatives are ineffective or focus on after-the-fact compensation. Sharing gains only after results materialize leaves outcomes determined by bargaining power. Large firms can always turn to alternative suppliers, while SMEs have already sunk investments into equipment. Post hoc negotiations may appear fair but in practice reproduce imbalance. What is needed is an institutional shift toward sharing risks and rewards in advance.

The institutional foundation for shared growth is economic democracy. Economic democracy means creating a fair playing field in which cooperative models can function. This principle is grounded in Article 119, Paragraph 2 of Korea's Constitution, which empowers the state to prevent market...

President Lee Jae Myung has been issuing a stream of hard-line messages aimed at owners of multiple homes. On Tuesday, he posted a warning on social media that selling sooner would be better than holding on, and that selling early would be better than selling late. In another post, he criticized those who sympathize with such homeowners by saying, "They say money is the devil. Surely the devil has not taken even the minimum conscience." Directing such language not only at homeowners but also at media outlets that point out problems with excessive regulation is excessive.

As former lawmaker Yoon Hee-sook has noted, owners of multiple homes are not a single, uniform group. Democratic Party lawmaker Seo Young-kyo inherited a home in a regulated area. Forcing the sale of such properties can hurt tenants who must vacate. Owners of multiple homes also supply the rental market and form demand in the presale market. Demonizing them risks shrinking presales and ultimately undermining housing supply. Yoon's criticism that "the president's declaration of a witch hunt against owners of multiple homes is highly dangerous" deserves careful consideration.

On the same day, the government said it is considering ending the temporary suspension of heavier capital gains taxes on owners of multiple homes while allowing transactions in regulated areas such as Seoul that are contracted by May 9 to have an additional three to six months to complete payment and registration. The fact that authorities are now considering exceptions if tenants cannot move out within six months suggests a welcome shift toward flexibility. Policy responses must fully reflect real-world transaction practices and market conditions. Regulators should proceed with care so that restrictions on owners of multiple homes do not lock up listings and leave genuine end-users bearing the brunt.

While the president's determination to stabilize housing prices is clear, legislation needed to support supply-side policies remains largely stalled. Of the 23 bills required to implement the supply plan from Sept. 7, 2025, which aims to provide 270,000 homes annually in the Seoul metropolitan area starting this year, only four have passed the National Assembly. The Jan. 29 plan announced last week to build 60,000 homes in the capital region also faces uncertainty, as disagreements persist between the central government and local authorities over specific sites in Yongsan, Taereung and Gwacheon. Without persuading local governments and residents and demonstrating that supply measures are actually moving forward, it will be difficult to restore market confidence.

No one disputes the need to rein in soaring housing prices. But few would support policies that lump all owners of multiple homes together as speculators or dismiss reasonable concerns about the side effects of inconsistent regulation. Rather than escalating confrontational exchanges on social media, the administration would do better to focus on passing delayed legislation and delivering credible follow-up measures that address both demand and supply in a balanced way. Only then can the government hope to secure lasting stability in the housing market.

This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.

This article is by Shin Ha-nee and read by an artificial voice.

It was a rare spectacle even by K-pop standards. At the Seoul kickoff of its latest world tour, boy band Monsta X left an undeniably lasting impression — beginning with lavish production value and closing with a surprising farewell to the group's youngest member ahead of his enlistment.

Fresh off its 10th anniversary, Monsta X opened its first world tour in four years, "The X: Nexus," with three shows at KSPO Dome in southern Seoul from Friday through Sunday, attracting about 20,000 fans in total.

The 200-minute concert felt like a commentary in more ways than one. Especially in light of the group's 10th anniversary show at the same venue six months ago, which left some fans disappointed due to the notable absence of several major hits and which also raised questions about the group's journey going forward at the time. However, on this night, Monsta X made it abundantly clear that it has still a lot left to offer.

"After celebrating our 10th anniversary last year, launching a new tour in the New Year feels like opening a new chapter for Monsta X," said member Joohoney during a brief intermission after the group opened the show with an intense run of some of its most iconic hits: "Dramarama" (2017), "Love Killa" (2020) and "Rush Hour" (2021), followed by "Lone Ranger" (2023) and "Catch Me Now" (2025).

Debuting on May 14, 2015, Monsta X is known for its hard-hitting performances coupled with an aggressive and driving sound. Opening the show with "Dramarama," one of the group's most recognizable tracks, immediately set the tone for the evening.

Aside from the veterans' strong live performances — especially by main vocalist Kihyun and rapper Joohoney — what stood out most was the stage lighting.

Calling the concert a light show would not be an exaggeration. The production value amplified Monsta X's trademark explosive energy through an intricate array of effects, from beams fanning outward across the dome to laser lights frenetically crisscrossing the venue.

Colored lights lined the cross-shaped thrust stage, while two sets of ring-shaped light fixtures — one suspended above the main stage and another above the thrust — rose and fell, at times tilting diagonally like an asteroid belt.

Between sets, the lights even took center stage briefly, bursting into full-spectrum rainbow hues, a spectacle that would be more commonly seen during year-end stadium-scale award shows. Combined with the generous use of haze, confetti and pyrotechnics, the production pushed the group's intense performance up a notch.

After a softer mid-concert segment comprising "Middle of the Night" (2019), "Deny" (2023) and "AND" (2022), the show once again picked up the pace with "Do What I Want" (2025), followed by "N the Front" (2025) and "Tuscan Leather" (2025).

As with many long-running K-pop groups, the six members also took the stage individually for solo performances, with almost all of them unveiling unreleased songs that surprised fans. Joohoney's songs were only ones that were not new to the audience, as his second solo EP "Insanity" was released on Jan. 5.

The finale started with "Beautiful Liar" (2023), "Alligator" (2019) and "Shoot Out" (2018), after which Monsta X launched into several repeats of explosive choruses upon the crowd's enthusiastic request.

"Back in our earlier days after the debut, I could never have imagined that we would still be loved by so many Monbebe [Monsta X's fandom] 11 years after our debut," said Kihyun by the end of the night.

"You are the ones who always motivate me to become better and remain grateful," he added, looking at the fans filling the venue.

And then came the real highlight of the night during the encore — as I.M, the youngest member of the group, decided to shave his head before his upcoming enlistment scheduled for Feb. 9.

His older bandmates, who have already completed their service, took turns shaving off his hair in a symbolic farewell...

This article is by Shin Ha-nee and read by an artificial voice.

It was a rare spectacle even by K-pop standards. At the Seoul kickoff of its latest world tour, boy band Monsta X left an undeniably lasting impression — beginning with lavish production value and closing with a surprising farewell to the group's youngest member ahead of his enlistment.

Fresh off its 10th anniversary, Monsta X opened its first world tour in four years, "The X: Nexus," with three shows at KSPO Dome in southern Seoul from Friday through Sunday, attracting about 20,000 fans in total.

The 200-minute concert felt like a commentary in more ways than one. Especially in light of the group's 10th anniversary show at the same venue six months ago, which left some fans disappointed due to the notable absence of several major hits and which also raised questions about the group's journey going forward at the time. However, on this night, Monsta X made it abundantly clear that it has still a lot left to offer.

"After celebrating our 10th anniversary last year, launching a new tour in the New Year feels like opening a new chapter for Monsta X," said member Joohoney during a brief intermission after the group opened the show with an intense run of some of its most iconic hits: "Dramarama" (2017), "Love Killa" (2020) and "Rush Hour" (2021), followed by "Lone Ranger" (2023) and "Catch Me Now" (2025).

Debuting on May 14, 2015, Monsta X is known for its hard-hitting performances coupled with an aggressive and driving sound. Opening the show with "Dramarama," one of the group's most recognizable tracks, immediately set the tone for the evening.

Aside from the veterans' strong live performances — especially by main vocalist Kihyun and rapper Joohoney — what stood out most was the stage lighting.

Calling the concert a light show would not be an exaggeration. The production value amplified Monsta X's trademark explosive energy through an intricate array of effects, from beams fanning outward across the dome to laser lights frenetically crisscrossing the venue.

Colored lights lined the cross-shaped thrust stage, while two sets of ring-shaped light fixtures — one suspended above the main stage and another above the thrust — rose and fell, at times tilting diagonally like an asteroid belt.

Between sets, the lights even took center stage briefly, bursting into full-spectrum rainbow hues, a spectacle that would be more commonly seen during year-end stadium-scale award shows. Combined with the generous use of haze, confetti and pyrotechnics, the production pushed the group's intense performance up a notch.

After a softer mid-concert segment comprising "Middle of the Night" (2019), "Deny" (2023) and "AND" (2022), the show once again picked up the pace with "Do What I Want" (2025), followed by "N the Front" (2025) and "Tuscan Leather" (2025).

As with many long-running K-pop groups, the six members also took the stage individually for solo performances, with almost all of them unveiling unreleased songs that surprised fans. Joohoney's songs were only ones that were not new to the audience, as his second solo EP "Insanity" was released on Jan. 5.

The finale started with "Beautiful Liar" (2023), "Alligator" (2019) and "Shoot Out" (2018), after which Monsta X launched into several repeats of explosive choruses upon the crowd's enthusiastic request.

"Back in our earlier days after the debut, I could never have imagined that we would still be loved by so many Monbebe [Monsta X's fandom] 11 years after our debut," said Kihyun by the end of the night.

"You are the ones who always motivate me to become better and remain grateful," he added, looking at the fans filling the venue.

And then came the real highlight of the night during the encore — as I.M, the youngest member of the group, decided to shave his head before his upcoming enlistment scheduled for Feb. 9.

His older bandmates, who have already completed their service, took turns shaving off his hair in a symbolic farewell...

This article is by Yoon Seung-jin and read by an artificial voice.

[Hired in Korea]

As more internationals look to build careers in Korea, many find themselves facing practical hurdles — from limited guidance to a lack of firsthand experience. To bridge that gap, the Korea JoongAng Daily talks with professionals who have carved out their paths in diverse fields, offering readers real-world insights on how to start their careers in the country in this series "Hired in Korea."

When Le Anh Ton joined a small K-pop agency as an idol trainee, he was chasing his long-held dream of becoming an idol, heavily influenced by second-generation K-pop groups like Wonder Girls.

However, life as a trainee came with financial strain. Le struggled so much that he sometimes asked convenience store workers if he could have leftover food. Sometimes, he even accepted food past its expiration date, which often gave him a stomachache. To survive, he worked part-time as an extra in films and dramas.

The relentless pursuit of his dream, despite the struggles, eventually led him to where he is today: an actor with more than 50 projects under his belt. Le has played roles as criminals, romantic leads, an assistant film director and more.

"People around me thought I would do something academic, and even I never imagined myself as an actor," Le said. "I even earned a master's degree in electrical engineering in Korea and had a position secured as a university lecturer in Vietnam, but I still chose entertainment."

"When news coverage of me appearing on Korean movies and dramas went viral in Vietnam, everyone was shocked and started calling me 'Mr. Actor.' Anything can happen in life," Le added.

The Korea JoongAng Daily sat down with Le to hear more about his journey, the challenges of being an actor in Korea and his advice for those hoping to build a career here.

Q. What kinds of projects have you done so far?

A. I've worked on several series and films like "Taxi Driver" (2021-) season three, the fourth "Tazza" film and "A Shop for Killers" (2024-) season two. I've also appeared in a commercial for KT, and currently I'm working as the lead in an independent film.

Did you receive any formal training to become an actor, such as attending an acting school in Vietnam?

No, I didn't. I never even imagined that I would become an actor.

I did a master's in electrical engineering at Seoul National University of Science and Technology, and everyone thought I was going to become a lecturer or a professor. But I wanted to become a K-pop idol, so I just decided to join an entertainment company.

However, when I was an idol trainee, money was very tight. My company was small, and we didn't have accommodation or living expenses. So, I had to work part-time as an extra on film and drama sets.

That's where I really learned acting. I worked as an extra and in small roles on around 40 to 50 projects. On set, I trained myself by watching other actors closely — how they express emotions, deliver lines in Korean or English and stay focused with all the lights and cameras around.

I stayed after shooting, observed and learned. When I decided to become an actor instead and started going to auditions, I used everything I had picked up. Of course, I wasn't good at first, but little by little, I improved.

How did you prepare for auditions at first? Was it hard?

It was tough, but I believe life eventually leads you where you're meant to be if you keep trying.

At the beginning, I sent thousands of emails to agencies and casting directors, and most of them never replied. Still, I kept going — applying for commercials, dramas, anything I could. Even when no one looked at me, I didn't stop.

Whenever I did get a chance, I really appreciated it. Whether it was an extra role or an audition, I treated it seriously. I didn't just work for the day — I focused on learning so that the next audition could be better than the last one.

Preparation also came from real life. I try to observe peop...

This article is by Cho Jung-woo and read by an artificial voice.

[KOREAN CRIME FILES #14]

Behind the glitz and glamour seen in pop culture, Korea's grimmest and most harrowing crime stories, some more well-known than others, continue to haunt society today. The Korea JoongAng Daily takes a deep dive into some of these stories, sharing a glimpse into the darker side of society as well as the most up-to-date known facts. — Ed.

"Hello, I'm here to inspect the plumbing in your boiler room and bathroom."

At around 5:40 p.m. on May 19, 2014, the doorbell rang at the fourth-floor apartment in the southeastern city of Daegu. The voice on the intercom was young.

He said there was a problem on the eighth floor and that building-wide inspections were underway.

The check would take no more than 10 to 20 minutes, he added.

The door opened. Inside was a married couple in their 40s and 50s.

The purported plumber walked into the bathroom connected to the couple's bedroom, looked around and left. About 40 minutes later, at around 6:20 p.m., he returned. He said more work was needed.

"The repairs are taking a while," the 48-year-old woman said.

Moments later, the man sprayed black spray paint into her face. He stabbed her in the head and struck her with a hammer.

Her husband rushed in. Panicked, he tried to flee, reaching the front door. The attacker caught him , beat him with a hammer and stabbed him.

Both were dead at the scene.

The abusive ex

The man disguised as a plumber was Jang Jae-jin, 25, a university student in Daegu. After killing the couple, he picked up the woman's phone and sent a message to her daughter, urging her to come home early. The daughter was his ex-girlfriend.

At school, Jang was known as a capable and outgoing student. He led a club and served as president of the university's club association. In early 2014, he began dating the daughter, a 19-year-old first-year student who had joined his club. Their relationship lasted about two months, from Feb. 14 until April.

The young woman decided to end the relationship after learning that Jang had spoken about her behind her back to one of her friends.

"Why did you talk about me to my friend?" she asked.

Jang then slapped her — at least five times, according to the court.

When she stopped answering his calls and refused to meet him, he began following her.

One day on campus, he found her and demanded that she go with him to a taxi stand so they could go to his home. When she refused, he hit and kicked her. He dragged her to his house and continued beating her. Her injuries required three weeks of medical treatment.

Her parents soon learned of the violence. They contacted Jang's parents. Word spread at school, and Jang was stripped of his position as president of the club association.

Enraged by his removal, he went near his former girlfriend's home to protest. He did not see her. In later testimony, Jang said that after learning that the parents had contacted his own family about his attempts to reach their daughter, he decided to kill them.

The plot

On May 10, 2014, Jang began planning the crime. He wrote down how to enter the apartment and where to find the tools he would need. He prepared black spray paint, knives and a bag of flour to soak up blood on the floor. He packed disinfectant for himself and spare clothes.

On May 19, he returned to the apartment disguised as a plumber. He had even written a script in his notebook, detailing what to say at the door.

After the murders at his ex-girlfriend's home, Jang took two bottles of soju from the refrigerator and drank them. He then sent KakaoTalk messages to the daughter, posing as her mother and asking her to come home early.

She arrived after midnight.

As she entered, she screamed when she saw her father bleeding in the living room, his body covered with a blanket. Jang grabbed her by the hair and dragged her into a room, telling her that both of her parents were still alive. As he held her there, he spoke at length ab...

This article is by Kim Ji-ye and read by an artificial voice.

A character's plight can be expressed on screen through movement, facial expressions or tone of voice. But sometimes, the body itself tells the story more powerfully than its actions. For his role as King Danjong (r. 1452-1455), the tragic young royal stripped of his throne during the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910), actor Park Ji-hoon lost 15 kilograms (33 pounds) and endured shoots without even a sip of water. The actor used his own physical deterioration to convincingly portray the helpless reality of a leader reduced to nothing in the film "The King's Warden."

"The first thing that I had to do was lose weight," said Park during an interview with reporters at a cafe in central Seoul on Tuesday.

"Rather than just looking worn down, I wanted people to see me as nothing more than just skin and bones. Not simply thin, but someone who looked deeply pitiful."

"To achieve that, I survived by eating just a single apple slice," he added. "And during shoots, I tried to drink as little water as possible because I wanted my voice to sound dry and brittle."

Born in 1441, King Danjong was the grandson of King Sejong (r. 1418–1450), one of Korea's most revered kings, and the son of King Munjong (r. 1450-1452). Despite his royal lineage, his life was tragically short. He ascended to the throne at just 10 years old, only to be dethroned by his uncle, exiled and killed six years later.

Directed by Chang Hang-jun, the historical film is set in 1457, the last year of King Danjong's life. It follows Eom Heung-do, the chief of a poverty-stricken rural village, who invites a high-ranking exile to revive his community, only to discover the man is the dethroned king. The story centers on the evolving relationship and mutual growth between Heung-do and the exiled king. Alongside Park, the cast includes veteran actor Yoo Hae-jin, who plays Heung-do, as well as Yoo Ji-tae and Jeon Mi-do.

Knowing King Danjong's tragic story, Park admitted that he was hesitant to accept the role when it was first offered to him.

"To be honest, it weighed down on me quite a bit," he said. "I tend to second-guess my acting, so I had a lot of doubts about whether I could truly handle his emotions."

Park added that he also "felt sorry" for the character and wasn't able to decide on whether he would take the role until his fourth meeting with director Chang. It was Chang who encouraged him to take the part.

"When I was struggling under that pressure, Chang said to me at our fourth meeting, 'Ji-hoon, you're the only one who can play King Danjong,'" Park recalled. "After he said that, I got in the car and went home thinking, 'Maybe I can do this. Maybe it's okay to take on the challenge.' That's how I eventually overcame the pressure and decided to go for it."

In the early part of the film, King Danjong witnesses the deaths of his people, leaving him in a deep well of depression. Park thoroughly conveys the lonely, helpless emotions of King Danjong, which he said he had put a lot of thought into.

"While going through the script, I think I'd spent a lot of time trying to figure out the details of his sadness," Park said. "I felt like I had to portray a more isolated and powerless kind of sorrow, like being at the very bottom of a cliff."

The story grows even more emotional when King Danjong is sentenced to death. The night before his execution, he meets Heung-do in a room for their final conversation, which includes a particularly challenging request. Park recalled the intensity of filming that scene.

"That day, Yoo Hae-jin wouldn't look at me before the shoot, and I immediately knew why," Park said. "I knew that if he had seen me, it could break his emotional arc, so I stayed back. As I waited for the scene in the room, the door opened and he stepped in. Even though it was just a rehearsal, it felt incredible."

Calling the scene "one of the most unforgettable moments" he's ever experienced as an actor, Park added t...

This article is by Kim Ji-ye and read by an artificial voice.

As the investigation into alleged tax evasion by singer-actor Cha Eun-woo unfolds, questions are swirling over not only the staggering amount — reported to be in the neighborhood of 20 billion won ($14 million) — but also for how long it went unnoticed.

At the center of the case is an independent agency, known in Korean as a "one-person agency," that Cha established under his mother's name. The setup reportedly allowed the star to significantly reduce his tax burden. Cha, however, is only the latest in a string of celebrities to face legal scrutiny involving such agencies.

Other stars, including actors Lee Ha-nee and Yoo Yeon-seok, were also embroiled in tax controversies last year after the National Tax Service (NTS) accused them of evading taxes. Both denied any intent to avoid taxes and paid the full amount as calculated under a re-assessment audit.

In recent months, separate controversies regarding independent agencies have also surfaced, with stars failing to properly register their private entities. Comedian Park Na-rae, for example, was recently reported for failing to register an independent agency. Rapper CL from girl group 2NE1 was referred to prosecutors on charges of operating an unregistered agency for five years. The CEO of Gang Dong-won's agency was also sent to prosecutors on similar charges, though the actor himself was cleared after police determined he had not been involved in the agency's management. Most recently, singer Lee Hi reportedly operated an unregistered independent agency for five years.

Under the Popular Culture and Arts Industry Development Act, anyone operating an entertainment management agency is required to register as a popular culture and arts planning business. When violated, the person may face penalties of up to two years in prison or fines of up to 20 million won.

Despite mounting controversies and growing criticism of independent agencies for tax loopholes, an increasing number of celebrities have continued to venture out on their own. Why are so many stars choosing the independent path — and how did it become the center of legal controversies?

What is an independent agency?

An independent agency, as the term suggests, is a corporate entity set up for a single artist or celebrity. This does not necessarily mean that the star manages it entirely on their own, as these agencies often employ staff who handle day-to-day operations.

Though it has been significantly noticeable nowadays, the concept itself is not entirely new. It began emerging in the 2000s, with actor Bae Yong-joon, one of the original stars of the Korean Wave who rose to fame through "Winter Sonata" (2002), founding BOF Entertainment. The company later grew and was renamed Keyeast, which has become one of the largest agencies for actors in Korea.

Actor Lee Byung-hun was also an early pioneer of the trend, establishing the eponymously initialed BH Entertainment together with his manager. Like Keyeast, BH Entertainment has since grown into a major actor agency.

Yet, during the early years of this trend, it was generally believed that only top-tier celebrities with their own distinctive identity could launch their own agencies. Critics say the landscape has shifted in recent years, leading to a wider trend even among budding celebrities.

"It has long been thought that only major stars with their own distinctive branding could set up their own agencies," said pop culture critic Kim Hern-sik. "But nowadays, it seems that almost every celebrity is considering running a personal agency."

Why choose an independent label?

When artists are exclusively contracted with an agency, the agency often has the final say on what the artist can or cannot pursue. However, when an artist parts ways with their agency and establishes their own entity, they gain creative control and the freedom to take on projects they truly want.

"I established the agency after careful thought, ...