Outside Hyunseung’s studio, Manager Kim paused to take a deep breath.
“Good grief…”
He had to break bad news to Hyunseung, and the thought made his chest tighten. In spite of how much they’d bonded, Hyunseung still felt intimidating whenever business matters came up.
“He’s probably going to give me an earful…”
At least there was a small silver lining: there was a bit of good news to soften the blow.
“Oh, whatever. Might as well get it over with…”
He knocked carefully on the door.
Knock, knock.
“Yeah,” came Hyunseung’s usual curt response from the other side.
“Oh, you’re here?”
Without even glancing up from his phone, Hyunseung acknowledged Manager Kim, prompting Kim to grumble.
“So you won’t even look at me anymore?”
In answer, Hyunseung said, “Ah, sorry,” and briefly locked eyes with him before returning to that same indifferent tone.
“Sorry. My girlfriend’s feeling under the weather.”
“Your girlfriend? What’s wrong? Is she all right?”
“Mm, not sure if she qualifies as a ‘wife’ figure in your eyes….”
“What do you mean? If she’s your girlfriend, she’s my sister-in-law, right?”
Truthfully, Hyunseung was referring to his “girlfriend” in a dating simulation game he was playing. Manager Kim, of course, had no idea and only grew more and more mistaken with each day.
“Give me her address, and I’ll drop off some over-the-counter meds and porridge on my way home. Or I can just leave it at the door if that’s less awkward—”
Hyunseung wrinkled his forehead, waving him off.
“No, no. That’s… not necessary.”
It certainly wasn’t necessary from Hyunseung’s point of view.
“So, you need something?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, you don’t usually come by unless it’s mealtime.”
At that, Manager Kim said, “Ah, right,” and gathered himself.
“I have some bad news to tell you.”
Time to deliver the main point: the “bad” news.
“What is it?”
A slight pause ensued.
“That title track for your album—does it really have to be Oh Do-hyeon who sings it?”
“So he turned me down?”
“Not exactly—more like… the timing wasn’t right, you know…?”
“So basically, I got rejected.”
Hyunseung shrugged it off. He didn’t look overly shocked.
“Why do you sound so apologetic? It’s not your fault, is it?”
“Are you okay?”
“Well, it’s annoying, but no reason to take it out on you.”
Hyunseung finally set down his phone.
“I’m a pretty narrow-minded person, though.”
“Meaning…?”
“Oh Do-hyeon can forget about ever getting one of my songs, then. Not in this lifetime.”
Manager Kim tried joking to lighten the mood:
“What if he offered you an astronomical amount?”
“Nope.”
“Astronomical?”
Hyunseung gave a wry smile.
“Just watch. Before long, he’ll be begging me with mountains of cash for a song. And if someone like him does, you can bet others will do the same. One thing is certain: Oh Do-hyeon isn’t getting a single measure from me now or ever.”
Coming from anyone else, such words might sound like petty bitterness, but with Hyunseung’s simmering anger, it carried a serious weight.
“Anyway, it’s not as though it has to be him, right?”
“Right. Doesn’t have to be.”
Manager Kim exhaled and mustered his courage to share the more positive news.
“All right, so there’s some good news to offset the bad.”
Finally, he could relay the better part.
“What about Moon Beom-jae? How does that sound?”
Hyunseung’s eyes narrowed.
“Moon Beom-jae…?”
“Not a fan?”
“No, it’s not that—”
“Wasn’t he also on that wish list you gave me of possible vocalists?”
After a moment of hesitation, Hyunseung replied:
“Yes, I did list him, but I’m guessing…”
“Guessing what?”
He caught himself before blurting, “Based on past experience…”
Moon Beom-jae. He was one of the label’s top-tier vocalists, a legendary rocker. In Hyunseung’s previous life, he’d made multiple attempts to work with Moon Beom-jae: even wrote songs specifically with him in mind. But each time:
“The song’s good, but it doesn’t suit me,” he’d refuse. Over and over.
“Well, now we find out the great Min Hyunseung can be humbled by someone?”
“Huh?”
“I know Mr. Moon can be quite fussy. But…” Manager Kim gave some unexpected news.
“It seems he reached out, saying he wants to do it.”
“What?”
“He apparently heard the track by chance, and he’s eager to sing it.”
“Huh—?”
Hyunseung’s eyes went wide.
Why would a singer who turned me down repeatedly in my previous life be volunteering now?
Back then, even when Hyunseung’s career was at its peak, Moon Beom-jae had repeatedly turned him away. Now, as a “rookie” with a shorter resume, somehow he was interested?
What changed his criteria?
“Either way, if Mr. Moon’s singing your title track, that’s surely a good thing, right?”
“Yes, I’m fine with that.”
He was curious why Moon Beom-jae suddenly changed his tune, but he figured that question might answer itself once they started recording.
“All right, then let’s move forward!”
Manager Kim pumped his fist in celebration. Just then, the phone on Hyunseung’s table buzzed:
Bzzz—!
[ The CEO wants to see you in his office right now. ]
It was a text from CEO Jeon Nam-il.
“Looks like I’ve gotta go see him.”
“Right now?”
“Yes. He wants me there ASAP.”
“Who does?”
Clicking his tongue in mild annoyance, Hyunseung replied,
“The CEO.”
The clock on the wall read exactly lunchtime.
At Jeon Nam-il’s summons, Hyunseung found himself standing outside the CEO’s office—his first time in a while. On entering, he let out a quiet breath.
“Hello.”
The air in the CEO’s office felt heavier than usual. The CEO himself, typically engaging, wouldn’t meet Hyunseung’s gaze. Something felt off. Hyunseung got a foreboding sense that an unpleasant conversation was coming. That was just an instinct, but such instincts had served him well before…
“Have a seat.”
The CEO’s voice was low and measured. As soon as Hyunseung sat down, Jeon Nam-il spoke:
“I’ve heard you’re making a personal album.”
Hyunseung guessed the CEO didn’t approve of him pursuing a “composer’s album” while he was in such high demand for other projects.
Well, at least he’s not shutting me down outright… If he really intended to block me, he’d just order a stop without discussion.
“Yes, that’s right.”
The CEO murmured, nodding.
“I see…”
He stroked the rim of his teacup and continued:
“I’ll be blunt. I think it’s a bit early. Your brand isn’t well-established yet, so I’d advise building more recognition first, then proceeding slowly. Wouldn’t you agree?”
When Hyunseung didn’t respond, he added:
“Yes, you’ve had significant success with Seo Jini, Jung Arin, etc. But from the company’s standpoint, we can’t justify giving you full support yet with your career so short. It’d be better if we waited until we could launch a proper marketing push. Don’t you think?”
Jeon Nam-il was, before anything else, a businessman. In the entertainment jungle, that meant carefully weighing every factor. Even with hits under his belt, Hyunseung simply hadn’t been around long enough to secure full backing for a personal album. As a result, the CEO urged him to hold off.
Logically, yes, if they wanted maximum commercial success, the CEO’s advice made sense. True, Hyunseung had turned heads with a few remarkable achievements, but the marketing department would likely find him lacking in brand power to do a large-scale push.
That didn’t mean Hyunseung planned to give up. He was dead set on releasing this album. If the resistance grew too strong… well, he’d dig his heels in. He parted his lips.
“As you say, maybe it is premature.”
“Yes, indeed.”
“But sometimes… the most uncommercial approach ends up being the commercial way.”
Their gazes locked over the desk.
“That’s interesting. Care to elaborate?”
Hyunseung shrugged:
“Imagine we have a goose that lays golden eggs.”
“A golden-egg-laying goose?”
“How do you keep that goose around?”
The CEO smiled faintly.
“I suppose you don’t cut it open.”
Hyunseung nodded.
“Yes, that’s the lesson from the fable. But there’s another key point.”
“Which is…?”
“You prevent the goose from getting curious about the outside world. Give it reason to think its pen is the best place it could be—fulfill its wants and needs so it doesn’t wander off. The goose will continue laying eggs on schedule, so you keep it satisfied enough not to jump the fence, in essence.”
Jeon Nam-il let out a hint of laughter.
“Hmm… there’s a message in that.”
Hyunseung was effectively likening himself to the golden goose. Given he’d consistently delivered “golden eggs,” it wasn’t an arrogant metaphor.
He sure insists on pushing his personal album… but he does so elegantly,* the CEO mused. Indeed, Hyunseung was unwavering, speaking calmly, as though an equal party, not some timid rookie. Strangely enough, the CEO quite enjoyed bantering like this with him.
Just then—
Knock, knock.
A sharp knock on the door, followed seconds later by the CEO’s personal secretary entering with hurried steps:
“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but there’s an urgent phone call. I’m not sure how to handle it—”
“A phone call?”
“Yes. It’s from Mr. Taichi Sakamoto of Man Records in Japan, personally.”
Taichi?
The CEO recalled Executive Director Park’s claim that Man Records was collaborating with them. Was something going wrong?
“Patch it through to my office.”
Hyunseung pricked his ears, intrigued. Man Records was famed in the music world. He’d never worked with them personally, but they were known to prioritize musical quality over mainstream appeal, rumored to be a creative haven—yet notoriously guarded about external collaborations.
As the phone rang,
Riiiing—
The CEO picked up calmly:
“Hello, this is LS Entertainment’s Jeon Nam-il.”
From the other side, in Japanese:
“It’s an honor to speak with you. I’m Taichi Sakamoto, CEO of Man Records.”
The CEO also replied in Japanese, clarifying that he had Hyunseung right in front of him—though he guessed Hyunseung wouldn’t grasp the conversation. That was, of course, a huge misconception, as Hyunseung was fluent in Japanese. He silently listened in.
“I’m confused— Did you never see our official notice? Or are we to interpret your puzzling reply as a polite refusal?”
Taichi’s tone sounded edgy, suggesting something must have gone awry with the collaboration. Possibly an internal matter. The CEO scowled, suspecting Park might have withheld the notice or messed things up.
Man Records must have singled out a specific LS composer. If Park had actually read that official request, there was no way he misunderstood, meaning Park likely concealed it for his own agenda.
The CEO pressed the phone closer.
“If something upset you, please speak freely. We’ll make it right.”
An exasperated Taichi responded:
“I explicitly told you I want to work with him. Why do you keep sending me worthless junk tracks? Is that your idea of a polite refusal?”
The CEO knitted his brows.
So it’s not about a label-to-label partnership at all; they want a specific composer.
Executive Director Park must’ve recognized that and tried to push his own Team 1 composers instead, ignoring Man Records’s actual wish.
The CEO took a deep breath, recalling the puzzle pieces:
Given how frantic Taichi sounded, he’s definitely craving a partnership with that composer.
And if “that composer” is who he suspected…
He glanced at Hyunseung, who pretended not to care.
“I’m truly sorry—did that composer reject you personally? If so, I can arrange a direct meeting—”
But Taichi cut in, still heated:
“It was clearly stated in our official notice: HS — that name appeared at least ten times!”
Yes, so it was definitely Hyunseung. The CEO let a small smile creep onto his lips.
Not arrogance after all, he thought.
He gazed at the “golden goose” by his side.
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