Once again, Manager Kim headed to Hyunseung’s studio. Part of him felt weighed down, yet part felt uplifted.
Contradictory as it was, his mind was tangled because of the scout offer he’d received the day before, yet he was also excited to share good news with Hyunseung—so he felt both anxious and pleased.
Knock, knock.
Standing at the studio door, holding both emotions, he lightly rapped and then opened the door. As usual, Hyunseung sat with his back to the entrance, looking exactly as he had the day before. Déjà vu, indeed.
“This kid didn’t go home again.”
“And here you are again, Manager.”
“Should I stop coming by— Am I bothering you?”
“Of course not. Did you bring me food?”
Manager Kim grumbled, “All I ever hear is you begging for food.” But in truth, as usual, he had brought some. He set the sandwiches and smoothies on the table.
“Here.”
Hyunseung promptly grabbed the smoothie, stuck the straw in his mouth, and slurped.
“So you dropped by again to feed me?”
“No, I’ve got something else to tell you.”
“Oh, you’re changing companies?”
Manager Kim glanced away in a hurry. “No,” he mumbled. Damn this sharp kid.
“Anyway, this morning someone at our Japanese branch gave me a report. I came here straightaway.”
“About the Japanese localization album?”
“Exactly. It dropped on the 3rd, and it’s performing even better than expected.”
He set a file on the table, shifting into business mode.
“If you look at these figures, you’ll see the local response has been building—and as of this morning’s Oricon chart update, your album entered the Top 100. Clearly the songs are great, and Man Records is pushing hard on promotion as well.”
“That’s great.”
“Not only that. Look at this list—advertisers, radio producers, variety shows, even audition programs want you. They say you can keep the helmet on, just come on any show once. They’re desperate.”
“No thanks.”
Manager Kim, who had been brimming with excitement, deflated slightly. He fished out an invitation.
“Figured as much, so I told them we’d consider it. But this, at least, might be good for you.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s an invitation from the Composers’ Association. They hold these quarterly gatherings, and you’ve been invited. It’s a chance to meet other composers, broaden your network—”
“No, I’m not going.”
He expected as much. Hyunseung hated publicity and mingling with strangers, so a rejection was inevitable.
“At least pretend to think about it.”
Manager Kim couldn’t help grumbling, feeling a bit let down. Even though Hyunseung wasn’t a typical managed celebrity he’d personally discovered, he was still someone he had recruited. He genuinely wanted him to succeed. Hyunseung’s astonishing talents deserved proper recognition, love, and room to grow.
Yes, he hoped Hyunseung would become more influential, forging an even bigger presence in the world—and had always quietly supported that. But Hyunseung’s lukewarm attitude took the wind out of Manager Kim’s sails, leaving him feeling silly for caring. Like an adult sulking because a kid didn’t match his enthusiasm.
“You mad at me?”
“No.”
“You totally are.”
“I said I’m not.”
“Liar.”
Hyunseung studied Manager Kim’s face and gave him a gentle poke in the ribs. Then he got up and returned to his console seat.
“I don’t want my face out there, obviously. But if an opportunity is fun and doesn’t force me into public exposure, I’m not entirely opposed.”
He tapped his mouse, and the DAW project window filled the screen. Manager Kim didn’t know much about production, but just seeing the intricate chord stacks told him how much work Hyunseung had put in.
“For now, though, I want to focus on the collaboration with Man Records. I’m having so much fun that I can’t concentrate on anything else. Once I finish this project, I’ll think about the rest.”
Hyunseung finished speaking calmly and turned his back to Manager Kim, refocusing on the screen. It seemed this project mattered greatly to him.
“In that case, want to hear what I have so far?”
Hearing that, Manager Kim felt a twinge of shame for having been upset. Head bowed slightly, he muttered, “Sure.” Indeed, Hyunseung wouldn’t need other “help” to gain recognition; one good track from him was enough. Manager Kim realized that wanting him to do everything else was just his own ambition.
“It’s not finished, so hold on.”
Hyunseung asked for a moment, then spent quite some time tinkering with the master keyboard. Something wasn’t going smoothly, apparently, but he wore a contented grin the entire time.
“I think Track 4’s chorus section is great, but the highlight feels a bit underpowered. Check it for yourself.”
“Sure.”
“And Track 7 has this amazing intro, but I’m stuck on the verse—it’s not clicking. Give it a listen.”
“Okay.”
Manager Kim listened intently to the repeated melodies. It was rare for Hyunseung to show off his work so willingly—and with such excitement—but he was clearly thrilled about this project. Indeed, it was a blast of creativity from a real talent who thrived on the joy of composing.
“Wow.”
Every snippet of each track was outstanding. It felt almost a shame to “waste” them on a mere game soundtrack—these were good enough to top mainstream charts if reworked as pop songs.
“It’s seriously great.”
Having listened, Manager Kim felt that was all he needed to say—no fancy terms required. Everything was simply fantastic.
Suddenly, he remembered Kim Wooseok’s words from yesterday:
“Woo-hyun, how many stars have you produced at LS? They’re all rolling in fame now, and doesn’t that sting even a little?”
Yet Manager Kim harbored no jealousy or resentment about Hyunseung’s talent or success. He simply wanted him to flourish, providing all the support he could.
But—
“Hyunseung, how about we grab lunch in the company cafeteria? It’s been a while.”
He couldn’t deny a small part of him felt envy at Hyunseung’s ease in all this.
They arrived at the cafeteria after peak lunch hour, so it was quieter than usual. Grabbing trays, they headed for a secluded spot.
“Eat plenty, Hyunseung.”
“You say that like you’re paying?”
“What’s it matter?”
“Who shows up at the cafeteria without a meal ticket?”
“I figured you’d have one.”
Hyunseung just shook his head and dug into his tray, shoveling down food in big bites.
“Take it slow.”
Manager Kim smiled wryly. As far as he knew, whenever Hyunseung immersed himself in work, he could ignore hunger—or even basic human needs—so it was no wonder he stayed slim. If anything, it was shocking he didn’t lose more weight.
He recalled the grin Hyunseung wore back in the studio.
“So, do you really find work that fun? At the end of the day, isn’t it still a job—for money?”
“Don’t you enjoy your work?”
“I used to. But can you really have fun 365 days a year?”
He prodded his rice with his chopsticks. It was more a statement of frustration than a question. Who can just have fun at work every single day?
In reality, he felt you had to consider money and practicalities, not just “fun.”
He stared off for a moment.
When he lifted his head, he saw Hyunseung munching away without a care. Even while eating, he was fully focused—an inherent trait, perhaps.
“Is the same old cafeteria food really that tasty?”
“For me, it’s these same old meals that keep me alive.”
Hyunseung finished off the last sausage and continued:
“If work isn’t fun sometimes, you do it just to live and eat, right?”
Manager Kim breathed out a soft “Ah,” letting those words sink in. It was unexpectedly wise.
“Yeah. Enjoy your food, then.”
He placed his own sausage onto Hyunseung’s tray. Hyunseung’s words nudged him closer to leaning toward that job offer—if the end goal was simply to “eat well and live well,” he ought to weigh the options logically, not just emotionally.
Yes. He needed to eat well and live well, too.
He’d stayed at LS mostly because there hadn’t been any better alternatives. And since frequent moves were common in this industry, most people would understand if he left. Some might criticize, but those closer might well congratulate him.
Especially the kid across from him—he’d probably stand by him quietly, no matter the choice.
That thought calmed Manager Kim’s inner turmoil.
“You know, Hyunseung, you’re oddly light yet solid at the same time.”
“That came out of nowhere, kind of creepy.”
“Just… let’s keep seeing each other for a long time.”
“If it’s just once a year, we can do that forever.”
“You little brat. If not me, who’d bring you food?”
“Seo Jini, or the engineers do sometimes…”
“Ugh, you’re so full of yourself.”
Manager Kim left more than half his meal unfinished as he rose.
“I’ve got plans, so I’ll head out.”
“Sure. Take care.”
“Remember, if you’re working to feed yourself, eat properly. And try not to spill food on your clothes like a kid, okay?”
Hyunseung said “Nag, nag,” and gave a casual nod before returning to his meal. He scooped up the sausage Manager Kim gave him with a big forkful of rice. Chewing, he looked up to see Manager Kim’s figure heading to return his tray.
It was clear the Manager was at a crossroads. He wasn’t the type to make rash decisions, yet it was as if he were caught in a raging storm.
From Hyunseung’s past-life experience, the man was either contemplating switching careers altogether—or, more likely, switching agencies. Manager Kim was well-suited to his current job, so it was probably the latter. He must have received a tempting scout offer from that old department head. Hence his disquiet.
In this turbulent industry, Manager Kim had probably watched many people come and go. But he’d always accepted it, nodded, and carried on. He was one of LS’s most veteran employees with near-zero turnover, after all. Possibly, he’d never made such a life-altering move himself.
Hyunseung suddenly stood and followed him.
“Manager Kim.”
“Hm?”
“Don’t overcomplicate it.”
“What do you mean?”
He hesitated. What was I going to say again? Rubbing the back of his head, he fished for words. So many clichés popped into his head, but he chose something relatively straightforward:
“Just… don’t let sentimental ties hold you back or let you take a loss.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“I only said it because you gave me that sausage.”
“Right… I’m taking off.”
With that, Manager Kim hurried out of the cafeteria, face tense. Yes, Hyunseung guessed right.
Hyunseung had never expected to have Manager Kim around forever. This was the entertainment industry. Anyone could fly off to a better position at any time, and if Manager Kim chose that path, Hyunseung intended to respect it.
However, now Manager Kim had become someone Hyunseung genuinely wanted to keep around. Someone worth the effort of trying to make stay. In any relationship, the person who wants it more pays the price. Hyunseung didn’t believe in total equality—whether parent and child, romantic partners, or just colleagues.
In his past life, agencies had always been the ones courting him, offering tempting deals to keep him or sign him. He’d weigh up the offers—the real cost and benefits, not intangible sentiments like “loyalty”—then choose a new home.
That same “realistic” Hyunseung—
He wouldn’t dream of persuading Manager Kim to remain out of mere loyalty or emotion. Instead, if he really wanted to keep him, he’d have to pay what it cost. Of course, the choice lay with Manager Kim, but Hyunseung stood ready to meet that cost.
Yes—Manager Kim had become that important to him.
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