Manager Kim stared bleary-eyed at his phone. He knew HS’s first-ever interview piece was about to be published. He kept refreshing the internet browser again and again.
Because, after all, reporters were never to be trusted. Even if he were to cut them some slack for once, Gye Jin-seong was still the last person he’d believe.
“Tsk…”
Kim couldn’t stop recalling how that bastard had sneered smugly, plucking at his nerves. Yes, he was thoroughly untrustworthy. On the day of the interview itself, Hyunseung had shown up late, and Gye Jin-seong’s attitude and tone had been downright thorny.
“Huh?”
As Kim was chewing on his anxiety, phone in hand, foot tapping nervously, a new headline finally popped up on the portal’s main banner:
[EXCLUSIVE] Mysterious composer “HS” gives first official interview—
He immediately clicked the link, murmuring softly,
“Oh?”
“Currently the hottest name in the scene, the cryptic composer ‘HS’—we finally met in person. He arrived wearing a helmet, reminiscent of Marshmello or Deadmau5, but the aura from his tall frame and the glimpse of his eyes suggested he’s quite good-looking…”
Contrary to his fears, the article opened on a positive note. It addressed the main burning question—this composer’s mysterious image—and that alone seemed primed to draw attention.
Scrolling down:
The interview format was neatly structured. Most of the content was standard fare—questions about why he started composing, his backstory, experiences with the artists he’s worked with. Essentially, the usual self-introduction type of piece.
Still, the Q&A revealed Hyunseung’s personality in every answer: direct, frank, confident, with a dash of wry humor. That was at least satisfying, as far as Kim was concerned.
Finally, the highlight: the question everyone was fixated on.
– We hear you postponed your personal album on purpose so you could compete in the charts against the famed composer Jayble. Currently, the numbers show you trailing him. How do you feel?
“If it’s a guaranteed victory, I’m not sure we can call it a ‘match.’ There’s no law saying the tide can’t turn. I’m confident. If Jayble’s up for it, I’d propose a ‘character-deletion match’ (like in games, you stake your account). Put simply, it’s like wagering your entire career. If he’s too scared…”
At the last line, “staking your career,” Manager Kim practically felt dizzy. Yes, he’d gotten a partial heads-up beforehand, but to see it actually in print? Yet again—Hyunseung’s answers: direct, honest, brimming with confidence and that breezy wit…
He steadied his nerves and scrolled further:
“The entire interview with him felt like I was getting swept away by a mischievous charm. His unwavering self-assurance and eloquence had me turning into a fan. I’m truly excited to see what he’ll do next…”
“They ended up writing it more favorably than I expected.”
Manager Kim took a breath, seeing the article reach its end. He’d worried about possible ambiguous phrasing that might be twisted against Hyunseung, but it seemed quite well-presented. Especially the concluding lines, which had heaps of praise—clearly, Gye Jin-seong, the reporter, had fallen for Hyunseung’s peculiar charm. Of course, just because it was a decent article didn’t mean Kim would trust him. You never knew when that snake might stab you in the back.
“But still…”
A bit of unease washed over him. Never mind Gye Jin-seong—Hyunseung’s provocative wording in the interview was so overt. Would the public eat it up and spit it back out? Worse, the second that content made the rounds, the press would be scrambling like crazy for a follow-up, desperate to hear Jayble’s stance on this “duel.”
“Jayble won’t just keep quiet, either.”
From experience, Jayble was a born star. He had real composing chops but also star quality big enough that it would be a shame if he were “just” a composer. Manager Kim might believe Hyunseung had even greater star potential, given his singularly bold character—but that didn’t change the fact that Hyunseung was veiling his face. Winning over public love and trust without showing your face was a steep hill. Meanwhile, Jayble read the media’s rhythms flawlessly, guided the public’s response, and had long since nailed his personal brand. As a result, he’d amassed huge influence as a TV personality, too.
Chances were, Jayble would handle this “career-wager challenge” in a way that favored him, harnessing his image and clout. All in all, Jayble was formidable, a big threat.
One false step, and Hyunseung’s interview might blow up in their faces, with Hyunseung crucified by the public. Avoiding that outcome was obviously part of Manager Kim’s job.
“Haah…”
As those thoughts churned in Kim’s head, Hyunseung remarked offhand.
“What, is Jayble gonna rig the charts to force me into retirement?”
“He might not go that far, but he could manipulate the press, shape a narrative that puts you on the defensive—”
“The water’s already spilled. Whether Jayble wipes it up or I do, so be it. Stop worrying.”
Yes, the seeds were sown, the flames lit. All that was left was for them not to get burned to ash. Manager Kim gave a big sigh:
“Fine, but if anything happens, I’ll be the one ‘wiping’ it up. You just pray the numbers climb.”
“Ooh, you’re acting cool again—?”
The fuel had already been poured, the bonfire roared. All that remained was making sure Hyunseung wasn’t the one left in cinders.
…
At that same moment, the famed composer “Jayble” was busy with his own interview at a studio.
“We’ve been chatting for quite some time,” the show’s host said, flipping a cue card.
Jayble gave a relaxed smile. Frankly, he hated doing these interviews. Whatever he wanted to say was presumably all in his album, wasn’t it?
Sitting in front of a camera, face powdered, lights in his eyes, forced chatter and forced smiles—none of that was to his taste. But gone were the naive days when he couldn’t manage his expressions. Doing media appearances was part of the price of “making the music I want.”
“Yes, indeed time flew,”
Jayble responded calmly. Because if you wanted total freedom in your art, ironically, you had to do these disliked tasks.
The host got to the final question:
“I’ve got a possibly sensitive topic. A new composer, HS—who released an album on the same day as you—recently did an interview that’s got the public buzzing…”
They paused, reading Jayble’s face. The talk of HS’s interview was currently setting the internet ablaze. All those brazen lines about “deleting your account,” “betting your career,” the kind of content that excited netizens. Jayble, no doubt, had read it multiple times. Right on cue, his eyes narrowed slightly. The host, sensing the tension, pressed:
“May I ask your thoughts, Jayble?”
Jayble gave a faintly unreadable smile. Indeed, an irritating question. He’d never listened to HS’s tracks or cared to, but it was vexing. Like a mosquito whining by your ear when you’re half asleep, trying to feed on his fame. If it had been a genuine junior, he’d have straightforwardly advised them: Instead of piggybacking on someone else’s celebrity, start by doing the fundamental tasks a “creator” should do. He might’ve said that. That would be more fruitful.
“Hmm, let’s see.”
He put on a show as though pondering. But he’d rehearsed this question.
“Even though we dropped our music on the same date, I don’t see him as a competitor.”
Instantly, the host’s eyes lit with a predatory glint.
“So you think HS lacks the career or skill to be called a rival?”
Jayble’s voice stayed controlled:
“Not exactly. Composition, after all, is business. The key measure is numbers—chart ranks, revenue. But fundamentally, it’s art. It’s not a sport.”
“So that’s ambiguous?”
“I don’t consider myself in competition with anyone. Art isn’t a sport. Yes, I do ‘compete,’ but with my past self. That’s all. Creating better music than before, or not—that’s my only battle.”
The host’s face tightened. This wasn’t the “spicy” quote they’d wanted. They wanted more provocative lines. So the gears turned—how to pry out a raw reaction?
“But—”
Jayble was a professional:
“I wouldn’t say I find it pleasant, either.”
He knew how to get more attention once the topic arose. The corners of his mouth curved gently. Another camera was filming. This was going out raw to countless viewers. He was well versed in leveraging that moment.
“I’m not the type to avoid a fight if someone picks one with me.”
The host looked delighted, as if glimpsing an oasis in the desert. They spoke expectantly:
“So…?”
A hush fell.
“If he wants winners and losers, I can go along. But I’m skeptical about ‘retirement’ as a penalty. You see, I’ve made enough money that I could retire anytime, so for me it wouldn’t be a big deal—”
He lifted his chin, gaze flicking to the main camera, the red light blinking. Taping in progress. All these words would be broadcast widely, or posted in articles. He continued:
“But for HS, that might not be true. It’d be awful to lose your livelihood over a momentary burst of bravado. Plus, it disregards the love and trust fans have for your music. I find that a bit unfortunate.”
Yes: magnanimity is the privilege of a winner. In the realm of “art” and “creation,” Jayble always reigned as champion. The public doesn’t want a humbly gifted genius, they want someone who’s qualified to be arrogant. They thirst for that vicarious thrill. This was simply business. The match was set, so he’d just seize back the initiative. That naive rookie tried to get some clout with a cheap shot; Jayble would calmly respond, unwavering. He specialized in controlling the narrative.
“So, you’d prefer a different bet than ‘retirement’?”
Jayble nodded:
“Why not have the loser make a donation?”
He elaborated:
“If I lose the No.1 chart position to HS even for a single day in the next month, I’ll immediately donate five hundred million won (around 500 million KRW) to whatever cause he chooses. That’s far more productive and altruistic, right?”
The host was impressed.
“Then if HS loses? Given his lesser career and finances, matching 500 million would be unrealistic…?”
A brief silence.
“He can donate whatever smaller amount he can spare.”
Jayble gave a warm smile. He’d reigned long enough to master that leisurely expression, soaked in the confidence of a lion at the top of the food chain.
“Wow…”
The host, staff writer, and even the camera operator were all grinning. A historical moment, no less. The bonfire was already blazing, and Jayble just poured another drum of gasoline on it. They would be the first outlet to break it. They imagined their show garnering record ratings—and them reaping big bonuses.
“I can’t wait to see how this all shakes out…”
The stakes were rising exponentially.
Leave a Reply