A month had passed since Jayble’s and Hyunseung’s albums were released simultaneously, and about three weeks had passed since the “5-billion-won donation bet,” which started with the so-called “retirement stakes” controversy.
“Wow, this is seriously amazing, isn’t it?”
“For real, it’s practically a miracle at this point.”
“Well, the songs are that good, after all.”
The staff in the PR office burst into enthusiastic seal claps. It was no wonder—they’d watched most of Hyunseung’s album tracks climb into the top ranks.
It was the result of everyone tenaciously joining forces, moving forward step by step like climbing a cliff face.
“Still, we haven’t hit No. 1 yet….”
“Hey, shhh….”
“But the deadline is—”
At that moment, a staff member started to speak without reading the room and immediately got elbowed in the side, cutting off his words. He felt wronged: wasn’t checking the data and relaying it to the team exactly what the PR department was supposed to do?
He was right, though. None of Hyunseung’s tracks had yet to clinch the top spot. While the title track was fighting for No. 2 or No. 3 in real-time charts, breathing down the neck of the song at No. 1, they were still in the midst of a time-bound wager.
Even if they claimed the top spot after the deadline passed, there would be no prize to speak of. If Hyunseung lost, people could say it was the natural outcome. After all, he was the one who issued the challenge in the first place—if he couldn’t even enjoy the glory of being No. 1, he would then have to cough up all his earnings as a donation.
“It’s probably because Jayble’s fandom is so rock-solid that it’s hard to overtake his song from second place.”
Team Leader Gwak calmly conveyed the situation to Manager Kim.
“I’d expect as much. Jayble is Jayble for a reason, right? Well, the die has been cast, so there’s nothing we can do now….”
A palpable darkness fell across Manager Kim’s face. Even his last words sounded a bit deflated. It felt like there was an invisible barrier at that narrow boundary separating second place from first, blocking them from crossing over.
As the promised deadline inched closer day by day, a new round of mockery aimed at Hyunseung started popping up in a few articles. It felt like standing in front of a blazing heater—his skin was beginning to feel bone-dry from the heat.
Then—
“About Jayble….”
While everyone was caught up in the mix of excitement and anxiety, Hyunseung alone remained calm, like a wild plant silently holding its ground. And he opened his mouth to speak.
“If I manage to steal the No. 1 spot from Jayble even for a single day, I’m off the hook for the bet, right? I’ll be considered the winner and donate five billion won, correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, our title track went from No. 3 to now holding No. 2 for two days straight. Don’t you think we could get No. 1 at least for one day?”
“Sure, but there’s only a week left—”
“A week, exactly. You think there’s no chance my song could nab No. 1 for even a single day in a whole week?”
Hyunseung fired off the question as he looked around. Everyone scratched their heads or quickly gulped down coffee to avoid his gaze.
“Right… of course.”
It was then that Manager Kim spoke in a voice that carried a firm resonance. Truthfully, everyone here wanted Hyunseung to take the top spot. Even those not in the room—anyone who had contributed even a little to Hyunseung’s album—would naturally want him to win the “donation bet.” Most of all, Hyunseung himself certainly wanted it.
Among them, the PR department staff members worked with a level of dedication that went well beyond mere duty. However, given the uncertain circumstances, they couldn’t just say so out loud. They were a group well aware that what you wish for and the actual outcome don’t always line up.
“That’s right. We must hit No. 1. Everyone’s worked too hard for this.”
Team Leader Gwak chimed in with his agreement. It had been an arduous and lengthy project, even more intense than when an idol group makes a comeback. Now, the finish line of that project was right in front of their eyes.
If they could surge ahead at the end and seize victory by dethroning the current No. 1, it would make for an even more dramatic story. And that story would become material that the PR office could use over and over again like a never-ending broth.
In short—
They had already thrown out the bait to the public: “Seriously, you’re not listening? It’s this good—how could you not?” All they could do was wait, desperately believing Hyunseung would claim No. 1. However…
“Hyunseung.”
They still needed a contingency plan.
“It won’t come to that, but if you do lose, how much are you planning to donate? The press is really pressing us on that.”
Hyunseung pondered for a moment, his expression thoughtful, then nodded as if he’d come to a decision.
“Well, since they said five billion won, of course I’ll donate five billion as well.”
Out of nowhere, Manager Kim leaped to his feet in shock.
“You just renewed your lease and everything—there’s no way you have that much spare money lying around, right? You need to be clear. This will be reported publicly.”
Then—
Hyunseung scratched his cheek with a mischievous smile.
“So even you, Manager, can’t just check my income statement directly, huh?”
Manager Kim replied:
“Well, that is personal information, so of course not…”
He seemed struck by a sudden realization.
“Wait, don’t tell me—?”
Hyunseung simply shrugged.
“You do have the funds, don’t you? You do!”
Hyunseung offered no direct answer, only silence.
And that silence itself turned suspicion into certainty.
“You little… I’m so jealous! I can’t believe it! You do have it!”
Incheon International Airport’s arrival gate was bustling with people.
“When are they coming out…?”
Among the large crowd, one person looked particularly anxious: a journalist from Shinil Daily, Kim Hye-yeon.
Tap, tap—
Whenever she was nervous, she had a habit of biting her fingernails. The flight carrying the person she was eagerly waiting for had arrived at 2 p.m., as indicated on the display board. Yet there was no sign of him.
She glanced at her watch, which read 2:20 p.m. Thinking about it logically, going through immigration and baggage claim for an international flight could easily take that long—or even longer. There was no need to overreact.
“Don’t overdo it,” she reminded herself.
Still, she checked her watch again. The person she was waiting for hardly ever appeared outside of official events. She was stunned when she heard he had accepted her interview request so readily. Was he really that easy to book?
Perhaps he had changed his mind? Maybe his schedule changed?
She was certain she hadn’t gotten the date wrong—she’d confirmed it dozens of times, writing it in her notebook, on Post-it notes, in her calendar. She even checked her phone repeatedly to see if there was any missed call or message from his agency. Then, suddenly—
“Oh?”
There he was. The very person she’d been repeatedly searching online for, the person she had waited for with bated breath, worried that he might not come. Finally, he emerged from the arrival gate. Feeling an immense surge of relief, Kim Hye-yeon greeted him like a long-lost family member:
“Mr. Taichi!”
A smile naturally spread across her face, fueled by the wave of relief that washed over her.
“Nice to meet you. Apologies for being a bit late.”
Walking calmly, Taichi offered a polite greeting to Hye-yeon.
“That’s all right. Shall we head straight to the meeting room we booked?”
Taichi glanced at his watch and looked around.
“My apologies, but my schedule is a bit tight. Would it be possible to do the interview in that café right over there instead?”
“Oh, the café? Yes, that’s totally fine. Let’s go!”
She led the way to a nearby café. She had spent a lot of time and money arranging a dedicated interview space, but that was the last thing on her mind now.
After all, the person she never dreamed she’d meet in her lifetime was standing before her, and she knew she didn’t have much time with him. Her steps naturally quickened.
They sat down in the café, cups of steaming drinks in front of them. There was an awkward moment between them, but there was no time for small talk to break the ice.
“Shall we start the interview right away?”
“Yes, of course.”
Just then, she recalled what her senior reporter had told her before she left the office the previous day:
“You’ve landed an opportunity that could change your career. Don’t let it slip through your fingers like an idiot.”
She felt her lips tremble as she tried to steady them. Don’t shake, she told herself. But her lips barely had time to close after forming the vowel of “shake.” She wanted to say, I’m trembling here—please save me!
“Ahem.”
She couldn’t keep acting like a fool, trembling and wasting precious minutes. Pulling herself together, she took out her neatly organized list of questions.
“I personally believe that among the many music distribution companies out there, Man Records is the most sensitive and agile in responding to the digital music market.”
“Thank you for the kind words. I’d say that reputation is largely thanks to our skilled staff.”
“It’s known that Man Records strives for a very unique musicality. Is there a particular criterion that you, Taichi Sakamoto, use to select what you consider a ‘good song’?”
Upon hearing this question, a subtle movement passed across Taichi’s lips. Then a moment of silence ensued.
What is it?
Hye-yeon tried to read Taichi’s expression but couldn’t decipher it. Had she accidentally asked about some trade secret? Should she pivot to another question? As her nervous thoughts spiraled, her hand crept toward her mouth.
“If it’s difficult to answer, we can move on—”
“No, I’ll answer.”
Only then did she let out a silent sigh of relief and lower her hand.
“To be honest, I hesitate to talk about it openly, but I’m quite dissatisfied with the current digital music scene. This is just my personal opinion, but it’s definitely regressing.”
“Regressing…?”
“Yes. I understand that with so many songs released every single day, there’s bound to be a flood of similar-sounding tracks. But what frustrates me is that so many modern composers have found the so-called ‘money chord’ that guarantees success, and they refuse to put it down.”
Taichi’s face looked genuinely troubled. So many songs these days felt more ‘manufactured’ than ‘created’; the word “produced” or “churned out” seemed more apt than “composed.”
In such a predictable cycle, how many of those tracks could remain relevant to the public a few decades from now? If anyone asked him, he would insist the answer is a firm no.
“To break this cycle, someone has to pioneer something new. Instead of relying heavily on machines and coding, or sticking to catchy, addictive sampling that’s already proven to succeed, we need people who insist on real analog recordings—even if it’s more cumbersome—and stubbornly pour their own story into their music. We need a trailblazer of the new generation who can open a door in this regressing music market.”
“I see. So, from your perspective, is there anyone currently active who fits that trailblazer role?”
“Unfortunately, they’re very hard to find among today’s composers. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say there’s practically no one. But I recently discovered exactly one person by chance. Actually, that’s precisely why I came to Korea—to meet that composer.”
Taichi smiled gently, adding:
“Accepting this interview was also part of my effort to help that composer in any way I can.”
Watching him speak so passionately about music loosened Hye-yeon’s anxiety. Excitement welled up inside her as she imagined filling her article with far more substantial content than she had expected. The list of questions she’d prepared began to fade into the background.
She felt almost like a child on Halloween, clasping her hands and waiting eagerly for candy. In a bright tone, she asked:
“So this person is a Korean composer, right?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“So… could it possibly be Jayble?”
Taichi tilted his head for a moment, repeating, “Jayble?” Then he answered firmly:
“No, it’s not him.”
Then—
“It’s HS.”
The name that came out of Taichi’s mouth made Hye-yeon’s hands freeze mid-typing.
“What? Did you say…?”
Taichi smiled and repeated:
“HS. I came to Korea specifically to meet him.”
Suddenly, memories of the heated rivalry between Jayble and HS flashed through her mind. She had a hunch that once this interview was published, the entire landscape would change.
Leave a Reply