Pen and Paper Translations

Ultimately, the wager between Hyunseung and Jayble ended in a dramatic victory for Hyunseung.

[Composer HS: “Jayble, please donate to the organization I choose, as promised.”]

It was a bet stipulating that the winner would decide where the loser’s donation would go. Therefore, as the winner, Hyunseung named the organization, and Jayble was required to donate the promised 500 million won to that place.

Jayble carried out his promise quickly. Less than 24 hours after Hyunseung specified the organization, the donation was complete—and under Hyunseung’s name, no less.

Hyunseung’s chosen organization was the Korea Association of the Deaf.

Jayble visited the Seoul branch of that association, shook hands with the director for a photo, and behind him hung a banner that read:

[A 500 Million Won Donation Made by Composer HS]

Click, click—

Cameras flashed as reporters snapped away. Jayble forced a smile. Naturally, he wasn’t feeling all that cheerful. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d ever lost—this, essentially, was his first defeat in a music chart showdown.

“Did you ever imagine you might lose?”

“How do you feel right now?”

“Jayble, could you give us a comment?”

Under a barrage of questions, Jayble answered calmly:

“I accept the result. Even if chart performance doesn’t necessarily define the ‘artistic merit’ of music, the fact is, I lost. I streamed HS’s songs myself, and each one was impressive. If I get the chance, I’d like to do a similar wager in the future.”

With a wry grin, he added: “I think it was a meaningful, productive challenge.”

Even the slightest frown would have led to a flurry of negative press. Photos of him scowling would accompany articles claiming:

“Jayble, unable to accept his defeat, maintained a sharp and sullen expression throughout the interview.”

He had to avoid showing any weakness. He was a professional composer and a seasoned media personality. Sure, it was humiliating, but to steer the narrative in a favorable direction, he had to project a cool composure—a true artist who graciously accepted the result, unfazed by mere wins and losses.

“Jayble,” a reporter called out, raising his hand.

“Some fans say Taichi Sakamoto, CEO of Man Records, effectively changed the outcome by publicly endorsing HS. How do you—?”

Indeed, if Taichi’s statements hadn’t gone public, the outcome might well have been Jayble’s victory.

But reporters weren’t simply offering up this juicy angle out of kindness. From past experience, Jayble suspected this question was a trap.

“Whatever the case, the result is the result.”

With those words, Jayble bowed his head. Though a bitter defeat, public opinion wasn’t turning against him. People seemed more interested in the outcome—namely, the hefty 500 million won donation he’d delivered—than in who won or lost.

If he viewed the donation as part of his branding strategy, it didn’t feel like a waste. It was an image-building expense. And thanks to the buzz over their wager, both sides had seen much higher streaming figures than usual. Yes, he lost as much as he gained—a worthwhile trade-off.

Sure enough, looking at the netizens’ real-time reactions below the latest articles showed there was still an upside.

Scroll, scroll…

[That was a legendary showdown nobody will forget; I’d welcome more bets like this any time.]
↳ Right?? I’m telling you, both of them are crazy talented; that’s why this was possible.
↳ I ended up checking the music charts daily, my heart pounding the whole time…

Scroll, scroll…

[Jayble’s so cool—straight up dropping 500 million won… he’s just oozing chill vibes.]
↳ Plus, he donated it under HS’s name! That’s so big-hearted, right?
↳ Doesn’t matter who lost. They both put up a good fight, that’s all there is to it.

However—

What mattered now was that HS’s presence was starting to really get under Jayble’s skin.

Damn mosquito…

For a moment, he drifted into a deeply pensive state.

---

Before Jayble’s donation articles could even make waves, they were buried by a breaking story:

[“Man Records x HS Collaboration Confirmed!”]

That single headline overshadowed everything.

“Taichi Sakamoto of Man Records, who claimed he traveled to Korea to collaborate with HS, confirmed the partnership today. According to an insider, the collaboration itself is settled, though there is still negotiation over the scope of the work and the RS (revenue split)…”

Scroll, scroll…

[I knew it. I believed in you, HS! My national pride is off the charts. Seriously, HS deserves to be declared an intangible cultural treasure; let’s petition for it.]
↳ Late to the party, but I heard HS is not only super talented but also apparently drop-dead gorgeous?? Any chance he’s single? Asking for a friend.

Scroll, scroll…

[Now that he’s got Man Records backing him, how epic of a track will he deliver next? HS—don’t hold back; do whatever you want.]
↳ I’ve been stuck in his album for over a month, sobbing nonstop. Someone get me out of here, please… ㅠ

Scroll, scroll…

[ I was about to give up on my dreams, but after listening to HS’s tracks, I found myself dreaming again. I’ll keep cheering for you, always—so grateful!]

Now, people were starting to call “HS” Korea’s top composer. Fan café membership ballooned exponentially, and LS Entertainment’s official website was inundated daily with requests to reveal HS’s face—enough to drive the staff crazy.

Moreover, his title track “Dear my Beethoven” spawned a “high-note challenge” trending everywhere, from well-known singers to everyday people. They all posted covers, and thanks to that viral craze, Hyunseung’s album maintained the No. 1 spot on the music charts for a full two months after its release.

Meanwhile—Hyunseung himself, at the center of all the controversy, seemed no different than usual.

“Min Hyunseung, I made the rare effort to come see you—shouldn’t you at least treat me like a guest?”

This was Seo Jini’s greeting when she suddenly turned up at Hyunseung’s studio.

“Have you considered that you might be an uninvited guest?”

“That’s no way to talk to someone who went out of their way to see you.”

“Have you forgotten my personality? I don’t do polite lies.”

Seo Jini narrowed her eyes, muttering, “Right, whatever,” under her breath.

“Anyway, I brought a gift.”

She thrust a shopping bag toward Hyunseung with a cool expression. Inside were a casual designer shirt and knit from a Japanese luxury brand, neatly packaged.

“What’s this?”

“I’ve noticed you only ever wear hoodies like a kid.”

“I am a kid.”

“Ugh… I guess it was pointless to pick something out with you in mind.”

She had come straight here after arriving in Korea for a brief break from her Japanese promotions. She’d even prepared a little present for Hyunseung—the one who had effectively ushered in her second heyday—only to be met with this lukewarm, if not downright cold, response.

“Why do you two always act like you’re on the verge of growling at each other?”

Manager Kim peeked into the shopping bag and added,

“Hyunseung, don’t forget it was Seo Jini’s cover of ‘Dear my Beethoven’ on YouTube—and her high-note version—that sparked the high-note challenge. Basically, she kicked off the second wave of the song’s popularity.”

“He wouldn’t know or care. He’s too wrapped up in himself.”

Of course, Hyunseung’s No. 1 streak wasn’t 100% due to Seojini, but she definitely played a part. Another composer might have bowed in gratitude; Hyunseung, on the other hand, wore no trace of appreciation and suddenly looked at her with the same penetrating gaze he used when producing.

“I wouldn’t say that’s entirely thanks to Seo Jini. The song itself is good; that’s why it went viral.”

“Huh?”

“And during the repeated ‘Live on’ bridge section, you were off-key by about a semitone.”

Ignoring Seojini’s fierce glare, he continued,

“Also, the last line before the outro dragged half a beat longer than it should have, overlapping with the transition to the variation. Want me to go on?”

“So you did watch it?”

“I saw it was trending… But hey, at least your old habit of clenching your jaw for high notes is gone, which makes it easier on the ears.”

Seo Jini, silent for a moment, muttered, “He’s giving the poison and the antidote all at once,” then gave a small scoff. Still, she seemed somewhat pleased to have received any praise from Hyunseung; her lips were curled up just slightly.

Then—

“Wow, Seojini, you really picked out some nice stuff for Hyunseung,” Manager Kim said, hoping to change the subject.

“But you didn’t get anything for me?”

“Nope. Why would I?”

“That’s heartless.”

Crossing her arms, Seo Jini shot back with mock scolding,

“Shouldn’t you be the one buying a gift for the composer, Manager Kim?”

“Me? Why? That guy’s making way more money than me. He’s like a walking conglomerate now.”

It had been about a year since Hyunseung joined the company, and in that time, he had produced phenomenal results. One might say, with some exaggeration, that he’d become “a one-man major enterprise.”

[Last year was HS’s year—could this year be his year, too? From unknown to star composer with his own fan café!]

[Composer HS’s ‘DMB’ surges back to #1—four straight weeks dominating the local music charts!]

[HS dethrones top composer Jayble, becoming the #1 earner in songwriting royalties last year!]

[Seo Jini and Jung A‑rin win at the Asian Music Awards! Both express gratitude to composer HS…]

Judging by the constant flood of articles, last year was indeed “HS’s year,” and likely this year would be too—especially with his next collaboration set with Man Records, a major new beginning.

Moreover, at CEO’s direction, old songs Hyunseung had casually sold off for lump sums were gradually re-registered under his name, and they were even used as comeback title tracks for LS Entertainment’s idols.

In the company, no matter what genre Hyunseung produced, people wanted to use it—whether it be children’s songs or trot. He wasn’t the only one benefiting from the success.

While it wasn’t officially confirmed, rumors suggested Manager Kim might be recognized for his contributions—possibly a candidate for a higher position if things continued on this track.

“Hyunseung, never retire.”

“Huh?”

“I mean it. Don’t you ever retire.”

Manager Kim’s tone was serious—almost pleading.

“You and I have to be together forever.”

Countless artists who’d achieved record-breaking success had vanished afterward. Plus, while he didn’t know the exact numbers, Hyunseung must have earned more than enough to last the average person a lifetime. If he added the upcoming royalties, he’d be set for life, financially speaking.

Most of all, geniuses were notoriously temperamental. And Hyunseung in particular cared more about “fun” than money. The day he declared, “I’m not enjoying this anymore,” ManagerKim wouldn’t know how to hold him back. Just the thought made his head ache. He couldn’t let that happen.

“Hm.”

Hyunseung stroked his chin as though pondering. Manager Kim went pale.

“I won’t retire.”

He couldn’t guarantee that he’d be by Manager Kim’s side forever, but now that he had returned so young, he wanted to pit himself against the iconic hits he never got a chance to challenge in his previous life.

And even if the day came when his relevance started to fade, he’d rather break his own records than retire. He wanted to spend this second life making music for pure enjoyment, not chasing wealth or fame.

“But you won’t be with me forever?”

“We’ll see.”

“Couldn’t you at least lie and say yes?”

“Someone’s sulking again.”

“Enough of that. Tomorrow is your second meeting with Man Records, right?”

Hyunseung let out a small sigh.

“Oh, right.”

“You forgot again, didn’t you?”

“Well, at least I remembered now.”

“What would you do without me?”

“Probably be just fine.”

Shaking his head in mock defeat, Manager Kim lightly tapped Hyunseung on the back.

“Come on, let’s go grab lunch in the company cafeteria. Gotta fuel up before your meeting. I heard they’re serving bulgogi today.”

“Any chance you could steal me a meal ticket?”

“Don’t you feel bad about stealing from someone? You’re practically asking a flea for its blood.”

“You’re not exactly a flea, though.”

Seo Jini, watching them banter, let out a sigh.

“You’re both childish.”

Guys in their 20s or 30s… apparently no different.

---

Taichi was waiting in an LS Entertainment meeting room for Hyunseung to arrive.

Which projects will he accept?

The second part of Man Records’ collaboration proposal listed around ten potential projects. Taichi didn’t expect HS to take them all. He just worried what would happen if nothing caught Hyunseung’s interest.

Still, the first part of the offer was something there was no reason to refuse—Japanese localization and distribution of HS’s album. Taichi planned to bring that up first. Of course, he’d have to sweeten the royalty terms. And he had to ensure that using popular Japanese singers for his tracks wouldn’t degrade the quality.

“Hmm.”

Keeping an eye on the time, Taichi checked his watch. Their scheduled hour was nearly upon them.

Knock, knock, knock—

Finally, the knock he’d been waiting for. The door opened, and HS—Min Hyunseung—stepped in, bowing politely.

“You’re already here. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“No trouble at all; I only got here a short while ago.”

“Shall we get right into the collaboration details?”

Hyunseung sat across from Taichi, smiling casually. Taichi, sensing a good vibe, smiled as well.

“You reviewed the proposals, right?”

“Yes, I read everything thoroughly.”

“About the first part…?”

“No reason to say no. If Man Records is willing to handle everything, why would I refuse? I looked at the distribution fees and royalty splits, and they were more than fair. I’m grateful.”

Taichi felt relieved inside, nodding in agreement. As expected, there was no reason to turn down the first proposal—it was basically a bonus.

“In that case, let’s move on to the second part. We don’t expect you to take on everything, but did any of the listed projects catch your eye?”

With a half-bored expression, Hyunseung scratched his cheek.

“Hmm, honestly, the others didn’t really excite me.”

“In that case, we could forward more options—”

“No, I’m interested in No. 7—working on the OST for Nin-Six, the game developer.”

Taichi paused to recall item 7 from the second proposal.

“Ah, that’s likely the ‘Island of Animals’ Season 2 OST. May I ask why you want that one?”

He knew game OSTs typically didn’t generate huge profits. They depended heavily on the IP; very few cases were actual money-makers. The fact he had to recall the details suggested it wasn’t commonly done.

“No particular reason.”

Taking a moment, Hyunseung added casually,

“I just really like that game.”

There was no hidden motive—he liked it, plain and simple.

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