Late at Night
Executive Director Park headed to an upscale bar somewhere in the busy Cheongdam district. Every seat there was in a private room, and once you stepped inside, the place was so spacious that it was practically impossible to find your way without an attendant. Rumor had it that a single night’s bar tab could equal two or three months’ salary for an average office worker. Still, many figures in the entertainment industry frequented the place for its uniquely private atmosphere.
Among those rooms, the VIP room:
Executive Director Park sat in the seat of honor on a sofa, looking bored as he repeatedly glanced at his watch.
“Executive Director, your guest has arrived.”
At the waiter’s announcement, the door opened.
“Good evening.”
A chubby middle-aged man walked in, and Executive Director Park greeted him warmly.
“CP Kim, thanks for coming all this way.”
“Not at all.”
“Have a seat. Let’s wet our whistles first.”
Park casually dropped some ice into his on-the-rocks glass and poured in an expensive whiskey.
“We help each other out, don’t we?”
He handed CP Kim the glass. CP Kim, eyes brimming with caution, looked at him silently.
“There’s no telling how many times you’ve helped me out.”
“Oh, it was nothing.”
“Anyway, I’ve called you here because I want to give you a piece of premium info.”
“Premium info?”
“But I’m not entirely sure if I should even say anything…”
Swirling his own glass, Park went on. “You know I’m not someone who spouts nonsense.”
“Absolutely, I know that.”
“This is top-secret within the company…” Feigning hesitation, Park trailed off.
CP Kim played along, “You know there’s no one in this business who can keep a secret better than me.”
“I’m aware, but still…”
“If I started talking, tomorrow’s entertainment news would explode. Just think how many people would have to resign or how many celebrities would be forced to retire.” CP Kim puffed himself up dramatically.
Park responded, “True enough.”
He paused again. “Just let me be the only one who knows.”
At that, CP Kim, eyes full of anticipation, looked at Park.
That sly old fox…
CP Kim had known Park for over ten years in the broadcast industry. In his view, Park might look big and bald—maybe even loud and straightforward at first glance—but underneath, he was like a den of snakes. Back when they first exchanged names, Park had been nowhere near an executive title.
In fact, he had just been a glorified “manager” not so different from a common road manager. CP Kim had watched from a distance as Park employed his trademark resourcefulness to climb all the way to an executive position, shaking his head in disbelief each time.
He’s probably going to drag things out again tonight before getting to the real point. Why not just spit it out and ask for what he wants…
Park never gave out favors without expecting a return. Maybe that thoroughness was what propelled him to an executive position, but it also meant every meeting with him felt like a transaction. No doubt the same was true tonight: after leaking some “premium info,” he’d surely ask something of CP Kim.
Even so, they’d managed to maintain a close relationship because Park’s info was always reliable.
“You’ll have to keep this to yourself for a while,” Park warned again, adding, “Oh, what the hell, never mind. KOK is coming back to Korea soon.”
“Huh? Aren’t they still in Japan?”
It was news to CP Kim, who prided himself on his broadcast-industry connections. KOK, known as “the idol of idols,” was currently on a solo concert tour throughout Japan. If this was true, it was prime information that would make entertainment reporters salivate. And there was no way a cunning man like Park would just offer it up for free.
I knew it…
Trying to deduce Park’s intentions, CP Kim let a subtle, knowing smile show on his lips.
“So you want them to have their comeback stage on Music Center, right?”
The only thing Park could plausibly ask of him was to schedule KOK’s comeback stage on “Music Center,” a long-running show he’d produced for years. From both perspectives, it was a perfectly reasonable win-win request. What music show CP would reject the comeback stage of a colossal idol group like KOK?
“See, I knew you’d catch on quick, Kim CP.”
“Nah, you flatter me.”
Then, eyes shining with ambition, he added, “As soon as their comeback schedule is set, just let me know. I’ll pencil them in as the last act on Music Center.”
“That’s exactly why I wanted to talk about scheduling. The group’s comeback is sooner than expected.”
CP Kim made a reluctant face.
“How soon are we talking?”
Park hesitated again—“Well… Next week.”
At that, CP Kim’s expression darkened.
Next week’s final slot…
It was already assigned to The Supers, an idol group from ON Entertainment—one of LS Entertainment’s main rivals. With the power that big entertainment companies wielded, reversing such a decision was nearly impossible. What’s more, while The Supers couldn’t compare to KOK, they did have a solid fan base and decent popularity. They’d locked in that final spot two months earlier, completing discussions with the show’s production team. In short:
“This puts me in a difficult position…”
It was nearly impossible to change the order at this stage.
“Ideally, I’d love to say yes right here, but the lineup’s already set, and all the stage direction and planning are finished. Even with your request, and even though this is KOK’s comeback, The Supers’ first comeback stage since their album release is next week too. I can’t confirm anything on the spot…”
Park pressed him further. “CP Kim, I’m not saying this just because I raised them, but you know The Supers can’t hold a candle to KOK. And honestly, having KOK’s first comeback stage on Music Center benefits you as well, doesn’t it?”
“That’s true, but…” CP Kim touched his chin uneasily.
It was an appealing offer, but he could already foresee the trouble it would cause—especially straining his good relationship with ON Entertainment.
“Kim CP.”
In that signature sly tone, Park spoke again.
“Ah, I nearly forgot.”
He casually placed a high-end watch box on the table, obviously from a luxury brand.
“It’s nothing major, just a small token of appreciation. It has nothing to do with this KOK thing—I just wanted to thank you for all your help so far. So please, accept it without feeling pressured…”
CP Kim’s eyes flickered toward the watch box. Gulp. A Swiss luxury watch, possibly more expensive than his annual salary.
“This is a bit too extravagant…”
Park, however, showed no intent to back down. He slid the box toward Kim CP.
“What’s so burdensome about it? Honestly, someone at your level should have something like this. Even those young, green idols tremble at your words and each owns a pricey watch or two…”
He trailed off, then personally opened the watch box. “Take a look—doesn’t it suit you perfectly?”
With that, Park shut the box again and slid it right in front of CP Kim.
“And am I the kind of guy who asks for favors with nothing to back them up?”
“Well, no…”
“Right. I’ve got a perfectly good excuse to offer, so hear me out.”
Park lowered his voice. “Our company has a rookie making her debut stage next week, right?”
CP Kim nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”
He muttered as if trying to recall the rookie’s name. “Jung Arin, right? I gave her a slot near the end of the show because she’s LS Entertainment’s first new rookie in ages. If I’d known she was connected to you, I could’ve put her even closer to the final slot…”
“No, no.” Park quickly shook his head and paused a moment. “Use that rookie as your justification.”
“Sorry?” CP Kim squinted at him.
“Instead of LS Entertainment’s hotly anticipated rookie taking a prime spot, we push her all the way to the opening slot, effectively discarding her from the music show lineup, and let KOK—who put together an album in Japan with top-notch producers—take the last slot. Then—”
Filling CP Kim’s glass again, Park continued, “That gives you a plausible reason, doesn’t it?”
If it all went to plan, Park would score a “two birds with one stone” scenario. He’d get KOK’s secretly prepared comeback stage set as the final act and, at the same time, sabotage the up-and-coming composer in Director Choi’s faction.
Silence.
“Man, seriously…” Park looked at him sharply. “I didn’t expect you to be so dense.”
“I just—”
“You have no reason to hesitate over this.”
Finally, CP Kim sighed but nodded. “All right, I’ll do it.”
With that kind of rationale, ON Entertainment wouldn’t have many ways to counter except filing some complaint.
“Hey, CP Kim.” Suddenly, Park stood up, a cigarette between his lips. “What do you mean with ‘I’ll do it’?”
The intimidating question caused CP Kim to immediately pull out his lighter and light the cigarette. “I’ll arrange the lineup to your satisfaction.”
Only then did Park, looking pleased, tidy his suit jacket and head for the door.
“That’s better. I’m off to the restroom. On the way, I’ll send in a couple of girls—pick some good ones. Tonight, I’m paying you back for all your help, so order whatever drinks you like…”
He paused, gesturing with his chin at the watch box.
“And put that watch on.”
“…”
“Someone might think it’s not yours otherwise.”
With that, Park said, “Well? Hurry,” prodding him.
“Yes…”
With awkward fingers, CP Kim fastened the watch.
Park grinned. “Look at that—I told you it’d suit you.”
And then he left the room.
“Phew…”
CP Kim stared at the closed door, then suddenly spat an insult:
“That goddamn bastard…”
He hated the way Park had become subtly condescending and overbearing ever since he’d made it to “executive” rank. Still, KOK’s comeback was extremely appealing, and the tax-free, high-end watch right in front of him was just as enticing.
“Well, let’s help each other out…”
That was always how the entertainment and broadcasting industries worked. As long as the interests lined up, they could even shake hands with an arch-enemy.
“Hmm.”
He glanced down at the watch on his wrist.
“Does it really suit me…?”
He cracked a small smile and picked up the glass in front of him.
Clink, clink.
The liquor inside sloshed back and forth, much like the two men’s ambitions—dangerously close to spilling over.
Past Midnight
“Yaaawn—”
Manager Kim, returning to the office late at night after a longer-than-expected meeting, let out a jaw-splitting yawn.
Bzzz, bzzz.
His phone buzzed ominously.
“Who’s calling at this hour…?”
It was a junior colleague from Management Team 2—the same team as him, figuratively speaking.
“Hey, don’t you sleep? You’re still at work?”
He answered jokingly, but—
“Sir, there’s a bit of a problem…”
“A problem? What problem?”
“When do you think you’ll be back at the office?”
It sounded serious.
“I’ll need another thirty minutes or so. Why?”
Then came a response he hadn’t expected at all:
“You know Jung Arin’s debut stage…?”
“Yeah, she got a decent slot, right?”
“The person in charge just called me…”
The junior staffer hesitated before adding, “They changed the order.”
“Changed it?”
“They moved her to first.”
Manager Kim reflexively growled, “What kind of nonsense is this?”
The junior staffer continued, “But there’s something weird about the timing. Just a short while ago, KOK’s 10th-anniversary mini-album teaser was uploaded, and articles said it’s coming out next week.”
“What did you say?”
“None of us saw that coming. The team is in panic mode right now. Even if she’s just a rookie, this is LS Entertainment. It’s crazy to put her as the opening act…”
Manager Kim tried to remain calm.
“I’ll check as soon as I arrive.”
The staffer added, “I did some digging, and apparently The Supers—ON Entertainment’s group—were scheduled for that last slot. Now KOK, who suddenly pushed up their album release, took it. Then Arin got bumped to the opener… everything feels off.”
Manager Kim rubbed his face and answered, “Yeah, it is strange…”
The junior employee went on:
“Anyone can see they’re using Arin as an excuse to reshuffle the lineup. Looks a lot like Executive Director Park’s influence, doesn’t it? They say KOK’s hush-hush album production in Japan was all on his orders…”
Manager Kim cut him off with a serious tone. “Hey, knock it off. Don’t speculate about things we’re not certain of.”
“Still…”
“What good does it do for our own people to get into petty squabbles?”
He ended the call more or less there.
“I’ll check once I’m in.”
Sure, no good would come from having the staff gossip about higher-ups’ political plays. But no matter how he looked at it, this had Park’s fingerprints all over it. A surprise KOK comeback coinciding with Arin’s release wasn’t enough—now they’d intentionally reshuffled her stage slot.
What did Park stand to gain from going out of his way to sabotage someone from his own company?
Maybe Arin is just a scapegoat for providing ‘justification’?
If Arin was moved to the opening act, that might placate ON Entertainment—who lost their final slot to KOK. Still, something felt off. If it was purely about “justification,” he could have delayed the comeback by a week rather than rushing everything. Could it be personal animosity?
But why would an executive hold such a grudge against a total rookie like Arin?
“Huh?”
Just then, Manager Kim recalled how Park and Hyunseung had bumped into each other near the elevator a few days earlier.
“No way…”
He immediately dialed Hyunseung’s number. “Hey, Hyunseung, remember the time at the elevator?”
“Yeah? What about it?”
“When you ran into Executive Director Park.”
“Oh, right. That happened.”
“Anything unusual happen on the way up?”
“No, we just rode in silence.”
“Really nothing at all? Honestly?”
A brief silence.
“Hmm, he did say we should grab tea sometime.”
“He invited you for tea? Then what?”
“I said we’re both busy, so maybe if time allowed.”
Manager Kim let out a small groan, “Ah…”
He didn’t know for sure, but it seemed plausible Park had shown interest in Hyunseung. Knowing Hyunseung’s usual disinterest, he’d have paid it no mind… and maybe Park decided to treat him as a threat, figuring he was in Director Choi’s camp.
“Am I overthinking this…?”
But then again, Park was definitely the type who would do something like that.
“What? I can’t hear you—did you need anything else?”
Manager Kim spoke hurriedly, “Hyunseung, postpone tomorrow’s work. I’ll call you—come meet me.”
“Huh? Why?”
“It looks like Executive Director Park has it out for you.”
Hyunseung asked, “He looks about fifty—did he get pissed because I turned down a tea party invitation? A big bald guy acting like he’s some delicate lady—absurd.”
Manager Kim sighed, “Anyway, we can’t just stand by and do nothing.”
“I really don’t get what you’re talking about…”
“Tomorrow afternoon, we’ve got somewhere to go. Keep your schedule clear.”
Hyunseung kept asking where, but Manager Kim dodged the question before hanging up.
“Phew…”
As soon as he ended the call, Manager Kim started plotting how to defuse the situation. There was a saying in Korean: if you want to catch a “dog,” go to the “monkey,” and vice versa—an allusion to bitter rivals. Manager Kim had tried to handle it himself, but he couldn’t just stand by and watch anymore. He had to get help from Director Choi, who was openly at odds with Park and also happened to be his own mentor.
“How did it come to this…?”
He had never intended things to escalate this far, but the situation was spiraling out of control.
Notes: In the story, the term “justification” (in Korean, “명분”) refers to a pretext or plausible reason that Executive Director Park (and, by extension, CP Kim) can use to explain or legitimize why the music program’s performance order is being rearranged so drastically.
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