The Animal Island OST project was really interesting. Perhaps it was because he’d once been obsessed with the game, but the act of envisioning each theme and translating it into a musical score was fun in and of itself.
That didn’t mean it was smooth sailing all the time.
Yes, there were a lot of tracks to compose, but it was also a brand-new genre for him, which made him want to push for fresh codes and instruments for each theme—aiming to give every one a unique color.
Maybe that was why.
Hyunseung’s studio had been silent for quite a while.
Eventually, to relieve the stiffness in his body, he headed to the rooftop. Stretching his arms overhead, he twisted his torso and let out a prolonged groan, “Ugh,” realizing he’d been sitting for too long.
“Manager Kim’s not coming today either, huh.”
He quietly mumbled after noticing once again that Manager Kim was absent. He hadn’t meant to voice it—no one else was around, so the words simply vanished on the breeze.
Ever since that day Manager Kim hinted he might leave the company, Hyunseung had barely seen him. Maybe he was busy prepping for a new job, or busy with something else, but…
It felt odd.
It was just one small piece missing—someone’s nagging at the start of each day—but it left him feeling a bit empty.
“Ah…”
He shook his head, as if ridding himself of stray thoughts. Manager Kim would be busy dealing with his own work, and Hyunseung had his own tasks to handle. That was all there was to it.
He began stretching again to improve his focus, the warm air caressing his cheeks even though he’d stepped out in just a light jacket.
Spring must be on its way.
Yes, that magical season that stirs hearts and sets them all aflutter. Thinking about “spring” reminded him of a track from his previous life called “A Handful of Cherry Blossoms”—a song that had bestowed him with perennial royalties. People often said, “You know spring’s coming when ‘A Handful of Cherry Blossoms’ hits the charts again,” so it was considered the top of spring-themed songs.
“Mmm…”
He stopped stretching and plopped down on a bench. Lately, he’d realized he’d set aside all his personal compositions to focus exclusively on the Animal Island OST. He rarely spent so long on a single project, even in his previous life.
Sure, it was super fun, a big challenge, and deeply meaningful. However, by focusing on just one thing for so long, maybe he wasn’t achieving the best possible results, stuck in a cycle. That thought made him restless.
Tap, tap…
“People can’t live on just staples; we need snacks now and then.” Making up his mind, he headed back to the studio, a single plan in mind:
He’d create a new version of “A Handful of Cherry Blossoms.”
Even in his previous life, he’d never been fully satisfied with that piece despite its success. This time, he’d do more than just spring—he’d make songs for spring, summer, autumn, and winter, each one capturing the essence of a season.
If all four managed to become the defining tracks for Korea’s four seasons, he wouldn’t be limited to just the springtime royalties; he’d reap happiness all year round.
“All right. Let’s do this.”
As the idea formed, new melodies flooded his mind like an incoming tide. His heart thumped to a growing rhythm, and his hands twitched restlessly. A pleased grin crept across his face, and soon the studio was alive with sound once again. Light, fluttering melodies spilled from his fingertips—like scattering petals, or the sweet feeling of new love rekindled.
Yes.
For Hyunseung, this was no chore. It was just a refreshing break.
Around lunchtime, Director Choi dropped by a regular haunt near the office—an old eatery he’d frequented for ages, popping in when nostalgia struck.
Sliding open the wooden door, he was greeted by the warm air inside and the savory aroma of pork broth.
“Ma’am, one pork soup, please.”
He took a seat in a far corner, placing his order. Huh, wonder how long it’d take. Thinking about it made his stomach growl. As he glanced around, someone familiar walked in.
“Oh? Director Choi?”
“Huh, Hyunseung—what brings you here?”
“Didn’t like what the company cafeteria was serving today.”
“Then come join me. Sit here.”
So Hyunseung, a composer from Director Choi’s 2nd Team, ended up sharing his table. The cozy atmosphere felt awkward for a moment.
“Another pork soup, please.”
After that additional order, neither said a word until their food arrived. Finally, steaming earthenware bowls were placed before them, and they spoke for the first time:
“Enjoy.”
“Yeah, take your time.”
With the customary pleasantries out of the way, they ate in silence for a bit. By the time droplets of sweat formed on their noses from the hot soup, Director Choi broke it again:
“So… why isn’t Manager Kim with you?”
“I haven’t seen him lately—he must be busy.”
“Yeah, he’s a busy guy.”
The mention of Manager Kim gave Director Choi a lump in his throat. He recalled the young man’s early days at the company—overworked, unwaveringly insisting he was fine, trying to cover his mother’s hospital bills. He used to tell Choi, “I’ll do anything! I can handle it all!” so determined he’d become like a son to Choi.
Kim Woo-hyun.
He’d poured his youth into supporting a mother who’d had pancreatic cancer, which she’d fought off—only to have it come back not long ago. Truly cruel timing.
Still, at least this time it was early-stage, not spread to other organs, so if she fought it head on, survival odds were fairly high.
Yes, so he’d hoped Kim Woo-hyun could finally leave behind the life of living solely for his mother’s treatment. But fate was harsh, pinning him under that burden once more.
“Sigh.”
Director Choi let out a short sigh, focusing on his soup. He glanced at Hyunseung, who was nearly dunking his face into the earthenware dish, devouring it.
No wonder Manager Kim had tried so hard to drag Hyunseung to the cafeteria—someone needed to feed this guy.
“Try not to give Manager Kim a hard time.”
Looking down at the bowl, he muttered:
“He’s already got more problems than he knows what to do with.”
Hyunseung paused, chopsticks mid-air.
“What do you mean by that…?”
Director Choi didn’t look up. If he’d noticed anything, it’d be that Manager Kim was carrying burdens:
“Just, keep an eye on him. Don’t make things harder.”
But to Hyunseung, those words felt significant. If Manager Kim was thinking of leaving, there wasn’t much Hyunseung could do. And if he truly was leaving for a better future, you couldn’t just wave money at him and force him to stay. So Hyunseung had no clue how to “help” or “look after” him.
“I’m not sure what I can do. He’s perfectly capable on his own.”
He hesitated, voice tinged with bitterness.
Hm?
Director Choi couldn’t decode the expression on Hyunseung’s face, but he sensed it revolved around Manager Kim’s situation.
“Manager Kim never showed it, but he has a very ill, widowed mother.”
“Huh? She’s sick?”
“Yeah. The pancreatic cancer she beat two years ago came back.”
Hyunseung softly gasped, “Ah.” Memories of his father’s battle with that same illness in his previous life surfaced, leaving him a bit stunned. Or maybe even hurt.
“That must be tough.”
“All the money he makes probably goes straight to hospital bills.”
“Between chemo, hospital stays… that’s huge.”
“He’s been going every day, too. Must be exhausting.”
“Right… that’s not easy at all.”
Hyunseung pictured himself in a past life, where his father was hospitalized. He’d paid the bills but left his sibling to handle the emotional toll. It was all too familiar to him now: paying was the easy part; being there, dealing with it daily, was far harder. Manager Kim was doing both alone.
“I really had no idea. He never talks about himself, and he always seemed fine.”
“He’s not one to complain. And to top it off, he’s earlier to work and later to leave than anyone else. Of course I dote on him.”
So that’s why some folks may be scouting him, Hyunseung thought, but he kept quiet. It wasn’t his place to say anything until Manager Kim was ready to speak.
“So, just… keep an eye on him, try not to make trouble, all right?”
“I mean, I’m not his kid. I doubt I can cause him any real stress.”
“He might look sturdy, but he’s soft for people who are ‘his’ people. That’s why he always covers for you, standing up for you as soon as something happens. He must consider you part of his inner circle.”
Inner circle…
Yes, I became one of his people and so did he become mine.
“I’ve got a lot of people to look after in this company. I can’t focus exclusively on Manager Kim.”
Director Choi set down his spoon firmly.
“So it’s you who needs to step up, all right?”
Hyunseung, having listened quietly, nodded. Then he hoisted the earthenware bowl and slurped the broth in one go.
At last, he lowered the empty bowl and nonchalantly replied:
“Sure. I’ll look out for Manager Kim.”
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