“Yes, I’ll make sure to pay everything before the surgery date, so please proceed with the best possible treatment.”
With those words, Manager Kim turned away. His steps were as heavy as smoke settling to the floor.
Bzzzzzt—!
His phone, tucked into his pants pocket, began to vibrate urgently.
–Landlord here. Please let me know by the end of the week if you’re renewing your lease.
Damn it. Of all times, his lease was expiring just now. The landlord wanted to raise the security deposit by fifty million won in line with the neighborhood’s rising prices. Why did bad news always pile on at once? The frustration made him want to hurl his phone at a wall.
But no, that was impossible.
Ever since he started in this industry, that phone had become essential, a priceless repository of contacts and data. Working without it would be like going into a warzone without ammunition.
Tap, tap…
His feet felt bound by chains as he walked—so heavy. He forced himself out of the hospital, taking a breath of fresh air that seemed to loosen his burden.
“Huh…”
He rarely smoked these days, but now he placed a cigarette between his lips, breathing out clouds laced with complicated thoughts.
Yes, he’d always planned to change companies eventually.
He pulled out Kim Wooseok’s business card from his jacket’s inner pocket. Though he’d only received it recently, it was already crumpled. He’d spent many sleepless nights clutching it.
Executive Director: Kim Wooseok
He stared at it, the word “Executive Director” elegant in raised print, imagining that the name below it might someday be “Kim Woo-hyun” instead of “Kim Wooseok.” If he did switch jobs, he’d apparently start as a department head.
That effectively meant he’d be one step closer to becoming an executive. So was there any reason to hesitate? After all, it was common to change positions in this industry for a better future.
It was time to make a decision.
In truth, the sense of duty or loyalty that had held him in place was the sort of thing one could manage only in one’s youth.
At last—
He took out his phone and typed a text:
About the job offer you mentioned: I’d like to meet and give you my answer. When are you available?
The release date for the Animal Island OST was finally set. Accordingly, the A&R team was in the final stages.
“I swear track #6 is ridiculously amazing.”
“Nah, I love the opening track best. Its progression is so on point.”
“All the tracks are awesome. It’s just personal taste at this point, right?”
“Exactly. But how is he gonna finish all 15 tracks in time? I miss my bed.”
“Didn’t you see him scold me for messing up one short volume adjustment?”
“Yeah, you’d better tell your family you’re not going home anytime soon.”
The in-house audio engineers were busily finalizing the mastering. Sometimes they praised Hyunseung’s music, other times they’d whine—under constant barrage of instructions.
“But it is genius… wow.”
“Right? Producing 15 tracks this consistently good is insane.”
“He’s a monster, man. Who else could pull this off?”
And, as always, they ended up singing Hyunseung’s praises. They’d stop mid-work just to marvel at his chord progressions and unbelievably good variations.
“Why are you guys chatting?”
Suddenly, Team Leader Han walked in, carrying cups of coffee in both hands.
“I heard you were swamped enough that even if someone died in here, nobody would notice.”
One of the engineers accepted a coffee, grumbling:
“Team Leader, my brain actually died ages ago. My body’s just moving on autopilot.”
“Same. We’re basically walking corpses whose hearts keep beating because the music’s so good.”
Their complaints, tinged with affection, were understandable—these were talented engineers who loved polishing great music. If they didn’t love Hyunseung’s compositions, or if his music was subpar, they wouldn’t be sacrificing their sleep, showers, and meals to stay locked away in the studio.
“Well, of course it’s good—it’s a Hyunseung track.”
At least within A&R, everyone harbored some degree of fondness for Hyunseung. That included Team Leader Han. They trusted and admired every track he’d made so far. From his early “just messing around” lumpsum compositions to hits for Seojini, Jung A-rin, Gong Hyoju, plus his own personal album—it was all phenomenal work that yielded results.
On top of that, the Japanese localization of Hyunseung’s personal album had slowly climbed to around 50th place on the Oricon chart. If the articles—both Japanese and Korean—claiming he might reach No.1 soon were any indication, everyone believed in his success.
“Huh? I just got a new email.”
One of the engineers, busy sipping coffee while checking mail, spoke up.
“We already got all 15 songs, right?”
“Don’t tell me he added another theme?”
“He wouldn’t… would he?”
“With him, you never know.”
They all crowded around the computer, wearing mixed expressions of both anticipation and dread.
It was a single attached audio file.
“A Handful of Cherry Blossoms…?”
Someone mumbled the filename.
Bzzzzt—!
Right then, a text came in from Hyunseung.
HS: The audio I just sent can wait until the current project’s done.
One engineer let out a sigh of relief. Wait, that still implied more work after the OST. Like an endless treadmill.
“So he basically wants us to never rest.”
“Yeah, keep earning our paycheck, I guess.”
“Well, what can we do? Let’s just check it out now.”
“We already saved the file—let’s give it a listen.”
They were already juggling the theme songs, but curiosity is human nature. Like having a covered plate from a gourmet chef right in front of you—of course, you’d want to peek and taste it.
Click.
They played the new audio file. A gentle melody drifted out, their hearts swaying. It was sweet and spring-like, just like the title “A Handful of Cherry Blossoms” suggested—petals scattering vividly in your mind.
Unlike the showy combination of countless instruments for the theme tracks, the atmosphere here was simply bright—an audible picture of spring.
“Wow…”
When it ended, no one said anything more than that single exclamation. Someone in the corner whispered, “Monster…” which made them giggle softly.
“Right—he’s definitely a monster.”
“Didn’t I say so?”
“At least we’re certain he’s not human.”
They broke into laughter. The track was amazing—more so because he’d composed it alongside 15 unbelievably high-quality theme songs. It was more than shocking; it was awe-inspiring.
“While we assumed he was in some sort of silent meditation in his studio, he was not only producing 15 incredible themes but also crafting this secret weapon?”
Team Leader Han nodded. “A Handful of Cherry Blossoms” sounded like something they could finalize, record, and release right away for the spring season. Actually, they should release it—no point letting such a track go stale. They had to hurry up, record it, and drop it while the spring mood was fresh.
“Ugh, why’s he not answering his phone?”
The leader tried calling Hyunseung, but got no response.
“Whatever. I’ll go see him myself.”
He left the engineer room, rushing to Hyunseung’s studio. Locked. He knocked and called, but there was no reply.
“C’mon, he composes a masterpiece like that—then just vanishes?”
Meanwhile…
“Thank you for helping me with that property contract, sir.”
Hyunseung had dropped by Lee Duseok’s home, wanting to repay a favor. He had asked for some private assistance from him earlier.
“Think nothing of it. I only helped because it gave me a chance to play Go with you again.”
Lee Duseok placed a black stone on the board.
“But if I may ask—are you always going to go out of your way to help others like that?”
Then, almost talking to himself, he added:
“I didn’t think you were that soft-hearted.”
Hyunseung placed a white stone, pondering. Indeed, he wasn’t the type to meddle in other people’s affairs or show them generosity. But in this case…
He suspected the older man was referring to Manager Kim. He answered:
“Of course not. Why would I hand out money I earned through hard work to just anyone?”
“So that means this particular person is like… family to you?”
“Not exactly, but right now, I’m the one who needs something from them.”
Finishing his remark, Hyunseung continued playing. Lee Duseok’s expression was unreadable behind his silvery-framed glasses—Hyunseung had no clue what he was thinking.
Likewise, Lee Duseok couldn’t read his mind.
“All right. Typically, the one in need suffers the losses. But a person’s heart can’t be bought with money.”
“I’ve spent quite a bit—still can’t buy it?”
“A human heart’s a bottomless jar, you know. You could keep pouring in, but it’s never enough. And you can’t keep on pouring forever, either.”
Hyunseung said nothing until he placed all his remaining white stones on the Go board.
Tap, tap, tap—
The board soon filled with black and white stones. Finally, as Hyunseung placed his last white stone, the match ended.
“Huh, I lost again. I tried distracting you with small talk, hoping to throw off your focus.”
“I’m not going to fall for that. You’ll never beat me with cheap tricks.”
“Really? Next time, I’ll win with pure skill—watch out.”
Hyunseung just gave a short “Sure,” and stood to leave.
Near the door, he paused, remembering something:
“Like you said, my generosity won’t change the world or buy someone’s heart. Probably I’ll just get a headache in the end, right?”
Lee Duseok clicked his tongue, eyes still on the board.
“So why even bother shouldering those losses if you already know that?”
Cutting off his grumbling, Hyunseung clarified:
“Even if the world doesn’t change, and I can’t buy their heart… at least for that person, life might become a bit more bearable, wouldn’t you say?”
With that, he said goodbye.
“I’m off, then, sir.”
Lee Duseok watched the closed door for a moment, then shook his head.
“That brat…”
But he soon let out a faint chuckle.
It seemed that thunderous little rogue had finally started noticing those around him.
Manager Kim returned to the hospital billing office. He’d scrounged up every last won he could find, but covering all the uninsured chemo, hospital stays, and surgery for his mother remained daunting.
“Um, sorry…”
He’d brought in all his savings, and now he was about to break his soon-to-mature deposit at a penalty. He spoke hesitantly:
“Anyway, let me pay some of Ms. Kim Hye-ja’s surgery fee in advance. Please use it for her care.”
He paid two million won, eyeing the staff anxiously—though that sum was nowhere near enough to cover it all. Hospital bills had a way of making him feel so small, worrying that if he couldn’t pay, his mother wouldn’t get proper care.
“I’ll settle the remainder within a week or so—”
But before he could finish explaining:
“But Ms. Kim Hyeja’s outstanding fees, both hospitalization and surgery, have already been fully paid.”
Manager Kim blinked, stunned.
“Huh? That can’t be right. Please check again.”
“It’s true. Another guardian came by yesterday and settled everything.”
“Another… guardian? I’m the only one. Who was it?”
“They seemed like someone I’d never seen before. I asked for a name, but…”
The nurse flipped through the chart.
Suddenly:
“Oh, right!”
She seemed to recall something, clapping her hands before continuing:
“He said, ‘Just tell them it was a tall benefactor.’”
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