NOVEL NEXT Chapter 133: Breaking Point
The orchard café shimmered in soft winter sunlight, orange trees dusted with dew, laughter and clinking mugs filling the air. It was the last shoot—everyone sensed the sweetness, a chance to end on warmth after so much storm.
The broadcast was live, but for once, even the crew had relaxed. Mirae helped Seul-gi set mandarin branches in glass jars, Ji-hwan adjusted a baby chair for a family guest, fans outside the windows waving banners for Coffee Prince and Mirae Queen. Joon-ho stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, passing out slices of fresh bread. PD Kang moved quietly between stations, nodding, satisfied.
Then—A violent sound shattered the peace.
The screech of tires, abrupt and raw, like a scream torn through silk. Heads jerked up. Fans near the gate scattered back from the curb as a black sedan spun to a stop in the driveway.
For one stunned moment, the world seemed to pause. Even the livestream's chat hesitated, comments freezing in place.
Then the driver's side door flew open. Do-jin stepped out.
He was barely recognizable—hair tangled, shirt wrinkled, jaw shadowed by stubble. His eyes were bloodshot and wild, ringed with exhaustion and something sharper. His gait was uneven as he dragged himself out of the car, and in his right hand, he gripped a baseball bat.
Gasps erupted. Seul-gi dropped the napkins she'd been folding. Ji-hwan froze, coffee pot in hand. Mirae felt a chill rush down her back, her heart slamming into her ribs.He's not supposed to be here. He's supposed to be gone. Sent back to Seoul…
PD Kang blinked, for a second unable to process what he was seeing. He searched for Do-jin's manager—there was no one else in the car. Just Do-jin, breathing hard, face twisted with something close to hatred.
Security moved quickly. Two guards jogged from the corner, hands up. One called, "Do-jin-ssi, you can't be here—please step away from the set—"
Do-jin's voice cracked, ragged with fury and intoxication. "Get out of my way!"He swung the bat. It caught the first guard on the side of the head with a sickening thud. The man crumpled, hands fluttering once before he lay still.
A scream ripped through the crowd. Panic surged—fans stumbled backwards, some tripping and falling as they tried to get away from the gate. Staff ducked behind the catering van, someone shouted for the police.
The second guard lunged at Do-jin, but Do-jin was already whirling, feral, unpredictable. He dodged, kicking out. The guard went down hard, clutching his knee.
Mirae's hands flew to her mouth. Her knees locked; she couldn't breathe. Seul-gi let out a broken whimper, shrinking away from the open window. Ji-hwan's eyes darted around—families, kids, old people, fans—he began ushering guests out the back, voice shaking but urgent. "This way, please, now—"
On the other side of the glass, a young woman pressed herself flat to the wall, her phone forgotten in her hand.
Inside the café, someone shouted, "CUT THE FEED! CUT THE FEED!"But it was too late—the chaos was pouring out live.The chat erupted:
"CALL THE POLICE!!""What's happening???""Is this real?!""OMG DO-JIN'S GOT A BAT""Protect Mirae!!""This is insane—someone stop him!"
The camera shook, trying to reframe on a calmer angle, but outside, the world had split wide open. Do-jin staggered forward, glaring at the crowd as if they were a single enemy.
He howled, voice cracking, "This is MY show! You think you can just erase me?!" He pointed the bat at the crew, at the cast, eyes wild, unfocused, sweat pouring down his temples.
A few brave fans tried to help the fallen security guard; others, weeping, ran for the orchard paths. One fan filmed, hands shaking, the livestream flickering as thousands of viewers screamed in the chat.
Inside, Mirae's body wouldn't move. Her whole world narrowed to the sound of Do-jin's voice, the bat smashing into the edge of a picnic table, splinters flying. Seul-gi's hand found hers, cold and damp.
PD Kang grabbed the radio, barking orders: "Police! Now! Someone lock the doors, keep everyone inside!" His own hands shook as he ducked behind the camera array.
Through the glass, Joon-ho stepped into view. He moved slowly, gaze steady, meeting Do-jin's wild eyes.
The chat went wild:
"That's Joon-ho!!"
"No, don't go out—he's armed!!"
"What is security doing?!"
"Protect Coffee Prince!"
But Joon-ho kept moving, quietly, calmly. In the chaos, his presence seemed to anchor the café—one still point amid the storm.
Meanwhile, outside, Do-jin spun, swinging the bat again, this time smashing a potted plant. Dirt scattered, ceramic shattered. He was sweating, mumbling to himself. "You stole it—you and that old man. I was the star…"
Security regrouped at a distance, unsure, hands raised, wary of pushing him further. One radioed, "Police are five minutes out. Hold position!"
Mirae's heart thundered. She saw the blood on Do-jin's shirt, the tremor in his hands, the terror etched across so many faces.He's going to hurt someone. He's going to ruin everything—
But as Joon-ho drew closer to the glass, their eyes met. Mirae managed a nod, silent plea shining in her eyes.Be careful.
Do-jin, hearing the shouts behind him, whirled again, brandishing the bat at the crowd. "You want a show? You want to watch a real star? Here I am!"
He stumbled, eyes rolling, sweat slick on his brow. The drugs, the rage, the humiliation—they mingled until nothing was left but this raw, desperate spectacle.
Inside, the tension reached a fever pitch.PD Kang, his voice cracking: "End the feed, end the feed now—"But it was too late. The whole world was already watching.
And somewhere in the tangled mass of bodies, banners, and shattered tables, Mirae felt the last, fragile barrier of safety dissolve—replaced by the terrifying knowledge that nothing, for any of them, would ever be the same.
Chaos reigned in the orchard café, the sunlight now tainted by panic and shrill cries. Do-jin stormed across the makeshift set, his bat a brutal exclamation point in his hand. He smashed through a stack of chairs, splinters and orange peels scattering across the flagstones. Guests cowered behind tables; staff retreated wherever they could, all too aware the cameras—though now ordered off—had already captured too much.
He spun, eyes wild, spit flying as he raged at no one and everyone."It's all your fault! You!" He pointed the bat at a trembling PA. "If you'd just cut the damn scene—"His words tangled, throat raw with hate and whatever drugs had him so unmoored.
Mirae pressed herself against the wall inside the café, hands locked over her mouth, body shaking. Seul-gi crouched low, pulling a young girl guest behind the bar with her. Ji-hwan hovered by the back door, torn between escape and duty—he'd never seen real violence up close before, not like this.
Do-jin's rage swerved, eyes landing on Joon-ho as he stepped forward, calm but commanding."You—" Do-jin's voice trembled, incredulous, as if only now realizing his real target. "You ruined everything! If you'd just taken the blame, I'd still be the star!"
Joon-ho didn't flinch. His voice was quiet, somehow steady in the whirlwind: "You brought this on yourself, Do-jin. It's over. There's nothing left for you here."
Do-jin's face twisted. He stalked forward, bat raised, spitting out his grievances in a single, seething rush:
"You think you're better than me? Helping that old man? It was all fake! All of it! My sugar mama—she fixed everything! My family got the video, deepfaked it, spread it—"
His words slurred, eyes rolling. "If you'd just shut up, taken the fall, none of this would have happened! I was the star! This was MY show!"
He swung the bat again, smashing a display of mandarin jam jars. Glass shattered, sticky citrus flooding the stones. "They were all supposed to believe it! You ruined it—"
Joon-ho took another step forward, gaze unwavering, body coiled but relaxed, as if seeing through Do-jin's bluster to the desperate boy beneath.
"Enough," Joon-ho said. "You're finished, Do-jin. There's no coming back from this."
The line in the sand. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Do-jin's rage boiled over. "SHUT UP!" he screamed, and charged.
He swung the bat in a wild, arcing blow. Mirae shrieked; Seul-gi clapped her hands over her ears, eyes squeezed shut. Even Ji-hwan, whose fists were balled white at his sides, stayed rooted in place, heart thundering.
But Joon-ho moved with sudden, shocking speed. He dodged left—the bat slicing through empty air—and closed the distance in a heartbeat. One clean punch, honed by years of discipline, landed flush on Do-jin's jaw.
A gasp rippled through those still watching. The bat slipped from Do-jin's hand, clattering across the patio. For a moment, the actor wavered—his eyes unfocused, knees buckling—then he crashed to the ground, out cold.
Security pounced, pinning Do-jin's arms behind him. He twitched weakly, incoherent, drool and curses running together as his high ebbed into oblivion.
The aftermath was chaos:PD Kang shouting into his radio for police and medics—Crew members crying, hugging each other, some shaking uncontrollably—Guests huddled at the edges, parents clutching their children close, sobbing in relief or fear—SNS, which had never stopped streaming, lit up with a thousand messages a second:
"JOON-HO JUST TOOK HIM DOWN!!!"
"Protect Coffee Prince at all costs!!"
"Did you see how he moved?!"
"Someone call the police—oh my god—"
"This is insane. Are they all okay?!"
Mirae's body moved before her mind could catch up. She burst out of the café, tears spilling down her cheeks. The crowd seemed to melt away as she ran, straight into Joon-ho's arms.
He caught her, holding her tight as she sobbed, her whole body trembling."Are you okay?" His voice was low, gentle, his hands running over her arms, her back, her hair—checking, soothing, grounding her.She clung to him, gasping, "You—he could've killed you, I—"He hushed her softly. "It's over. I'm here. You're safe."
Seul-gi and Ji-hwan emerged behind her, both ashen, but alive and unharmed. Seul-gi's eyes were wide with shock. Ji-hwan looked ready to collapse, adrenaline spent.
The police sirens grew louder, echoing over the orchard. Medics rushed past, tending first to the unconscious guard, then to Do-jin, who was being wrestled into handcuffs, still muttering, "It was mine… my show… you stole it…"
Crew members began herding guests together, accounting for everyone. PD Kang, wild-eyed, finally exhaled. "Is everyone all right?" he called, voice shaking.
Someone answered, "No one else is hurt."
The livestream chat, in defiance of all horror, kept scrolling, the world's eyes riveted on the aftermath:
"Coffee Prince saved everyone!!"
"Give that man a medal!"
"That was so scary—never seen anything like it."
"I hope Mirae's okay…"
Mirae still sobbed against Joon-ho's chest, her hands fisted in his shirt, face buried in his shoulder."You saved us," she whispered, the words muffled but clear.
He stroked her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You're safe," he repeated. "I promise."
Behind them, police led Do-jin away. Fans watched, still frozen in disbelief, some recording, some finally putting down their phones, hugging each other or crying in relief.
Paramedics attended the security guard; another medic checked the bruise blossoming on Do-jin's jaw, then shrugged. "He's lucky it wasn't worse."
PD Kang turned to the camera team, voice raw. "Cut the stream. This is done for today."
Someone asked, "Are we finished?"
Joon-ho, still holding Mirae, looked up, eyes blazing with resolve."We're not finished," he said quietly. "We just survived."
The café—once a place of comfort—was now a patchwork of broken glass, upended tables, and the lingering echoes of violence. But in the center, surrounded by cast, crew, and trembling fans, Joon-ho stood firm, Mirae at his side.
In the distance, the wailing sirens faded, replaced by the soft, shuddering breaths of a group that had been broken, then forged back together by fear and resilience.
And in that moment, as SNS flooded with support and the nation watched with bated breath, the true heart of the story revealed itself—not in the violence, but in the arms that held fast, and the promise that tomorrow, no matter what, they would continue together.