Manager Kim dropped by Hyunseung’s studio every few hours.
“Have you really decided to appear?”
“Isn’t that choice a bit too rash?”
“Put it on hold and think it over again, even now.”
Watching him worry himself hoarse, Hyunseung shook his head vigorously.
“Your nagging seems to get worse every day.”
“Kid, I’m saying this because I’m worried about you.”
“Wouldn’t it actually be good if I get on TV and boost my name value?”
“Don’t you hate having your face exposed?”
At that, Hyunseung nodded slightly, saying, “That’s true.” Yes—this time around he’d tried to stay as hidden from the public as possible, make the music he enjoyed, amass a comfortable fortune, and live a warm, free life with his family.
However, the ragged edge of regret he’d left behind in his previous life clung to his ankle. The first and only instrument he’d ever missed… all he wanted was to hurry up and play that woman.
Besides, if he went on air wearing a helmet, he wouldn’t have to worry much about his face being shown. Thanks to limited relationships, no one would recognize him, so he wasn’t greatly concerned.
“Well, when does life ever go exactly the way I want? It sounds fun, at least….”
He could hardly drag out his former life as an explanation, so he answered vaguely.
“Honestly, that blasted ‘fun’ of yours….”
Manager Kim shook his head with a displeased face. Hyunseung’s one criterion was always “fun.” On that slippery standard he walked a tightrope.
True, the end always delivered the finest performance, but this time was altogether different from anything so far. A guy that sensitive about showing his face…
It wasn’t just a disposable interview photo—he was going on live TV as a judge for an audition show. Manager Kim simply couldn’t understand it.
Helmet or not….
If he looked at it purely commercially, he might have suggested showing a glimpse of his face while he was at it, but Hyunseung wasn’t merely a business partner to him.
Manager Kim knew full well that Hyunseung wouldn’t reverse a decision once made. All he could do was support him quietly.
Just then.
“Winter must be over by now, right?”
Out of nowhere Hyunseung asked.
“Mm? Well, February’s almost done…”
“Then spring will come now, won’t it?”
“Sure. Why keep stating the obvious?”
He didn’t answer that. Hyunseung only smiled. Spring had crept a handspan away. It meant the song he’d kept close to his chest was ready for the world.
“Soon, let’s play it on the speakers at the new house with Mother.”
Offering a USB, he spoke.
“What’s this?”
Tilting his head, Manager Kim took the drive.
“The spring‑season song I was working on.”
“You finished it that fast?”
“Yes, but I haven’t chosen a singer yet.”
“Then we’d better find one quick.”
After a moment, Hyunseung glanced at the USB in Manager Kim’s hand and grinned.
“Yeah—record it soon and release it.”
Because the song on that USB…
“Before the cherry blossoms are in full bloom.”
…he was sure it would ring out every year along with the blossoms.
“Let me know once it’s fixed, then.”
Leaving that tidy bow, the man turned and exited the conference room.
“Hmmm.”
Executive Director Park watched his back and hummed with interest.
His name was Kang Hajun.
He was the solo debut prospect Management Team 1 was pushing hard this year.
“Right—let’s give that kid a spectacular debut this fall.”
Rubbing his hands like a fly, Executive Director Park beamed, even drumming the desk as he laughed heartily.
“A real gem, a gem.”
He had reason to be pleased.
Kang Hajun, who had joined Team 1 as a trainee not long ago, was so good in looks and skill he could debut solo right away. His star quality glittered, and above all, he came from money.
The day Kang Hajun signed his trainee contract…
His parents came along. If they could just debut their son, they said, financial support was limitless, begging Park to take good care of him.
Such devoted parental love was welcome news to an entertainment company that had to burn huge sums to launch a singer.
“Exactly, exactly. A rare talent.”
“Hajun’s almost a finished musician already.”
Team 1 staff, gauging Park’s mood, bobbed their heads vigorously.
“Oh, right.”
Something occurred to Park; he snapped his fingers.
“I hear a big audition show called K‑Sing Star is starting up.”
“Yes. We’ve even had scouting calls for some of our artists.”
“Really?” he asked and fell into thought.
“Hmm……”
K-Sing Star, said to have drawn staggering production money and investment, was the talk of the industry. With famous PD Kim Young‑ho staking his life on it, expectations ran high.
Agencies usually used connections and favors to place a trainee on such shows. That way their faces got aired a lot, and by debut they already enjoyed wide recognition.
Yes.
It might be a golden opportunity.
“How about this, everyone?”
Licking his dry lips, Park spoke in earnest.
“Send our Hajun to K‑Sing Star as a contestant. Maybe put someone from LS on the judging panel too. Then even if he gets cut, LS likes him and signs him.”
Tapping the desk with a fingertip, he added,
“Looks good, right? First off, who among our people has been asked to judge?”
“They asked Sehun, leader of K0K, but he’s prepping for a world tour and declined.”
“What about Team 2?” Park pressed. A staffer answered, gauging his mood.
“In Team 2… I heard they asked Professor Moon Beomjae, but he absolutely hates TV.”
“Right, that fellow wouldn’t even pretend to listen to me. Anyone else besides those two?”
Then—
“Ah, uh, it’s not certain…”
One staffer scratched the back of his head, hesitant.
“What is it?”
“I overheard Team 2 talking…”
“And?”
“Apparently their in‑house composer is going out as a main judge.”
“Composer?”
At the words “in‑house composer,” an unpleasant face flickered through Park’s mind.
No—surely not.
The very man who’d brought countless results to Team 2 last year, yet was a thorn in Park’s side:
Min Hyunseung.
But Min Hyunseung avoided exposing his face to a baffling degree. Even inside the company, few knew HS’s real name was Min Hyunseung, so he’d never appear on TV.
Could he…?
Maybe the public attention lately had changed his mind? He was at the age to love the spotlight. A scouting offer surely came.
Still, even if Min Hyunseung really snagged a main‑judge seat on K‑Sing Star, Park knew he wasn’t flexible enough to grant favors.
Right.
It might actually be easier to cling to Moon Beomjae’s trouser leg.
“Which composer?”
Narrowing eyes that looked uneasy, Park asked again.
“Why the delay? Who is it!”
“Well, it’s…”
The staffer only mouthed silently, wary of speaking that name before Park.
Finally,
Driven by the pressure, he squeezed it out.
“Mr. HS…”
Everyone in the room looked as though they’d heard a historically forbidden name.
Next day, nearing lunch, Manager Kim began frantically searching for something.
“Where on earth did it go…?”
He ransacked his car, office, café terrace, lobby, hallways, restrooms—posted on the company board asking if anyone had found a lost item—no one had it.
In short, the USB Hyunseung gave him had vanished.
No matter how he retraced his steps, he seemed to have lost it inside the building, yet its whereabouts were a mystery and anxiety gnawed.
Clomp, clomp‑
Uneven footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Knock, knock, knock‑
Manager Kim’s final stop was Hyunseung’s studio. Better to take the beating early, right?
“Hyunseung, I’m here.”
“Perfect timing—just lunch.”
Seeing Hyunseung’s face, guilt washed over Manager Kim; he hovered at the doorway.
“What’s with you, like a pup needing the loo?”
“Well, uh, you see…”
Biting his lower lip, he hesitated, then shut his eyes tight and blurted,
“I think I lost the USB you gave me.”
He bowed deeply. The weight of failing to protect copyright pressed him down; he couldn’t lift his head. A work containing an artist’s talent and passion carried that much weight.
“I’m really, really sorry.”
While he repeated apologies like a parrot—
“So that’s all.”
Hyunseung muttered in his usual off‑hand tone.
“Never mind, lift your head and let’s eat.”
“But what if someone picks it up with bad intent…?”
“I still have the master, don’t I?”
“Someone might’ve stolen it on purpose…”
“It’s fine. I already registered it with the Copyright Office.”
ManagerKim gasped, “Huh?”
“When did you do that?”
“I copied the track to the USB—of course I’d prepare that much.”
Manager Kim let out a faint, incredulous laugh. Normally copyright registration and trust went through the company and distributor; a resident composer wouldn’t handle it.
Yet Hyunseung, always seemingly easygoing, had registered it himself—thorough as ever.
“Where do you think you lost it?”
“Probably somewhere in the building…”
“Well, whoever found it won’t dare use it.”
Brushing off his seat, Hyunseung stood. Manager Kim followed, murmuring “I hope so,” but unease lingered.
No—
Honestly, it felt fishy.
Outsiders rarely entered here, so if someone picked it up it was likely an insider; if they were LS staff they’d normally return it.
Everyone knew a USB, tiny though it is, often carries vital works.
Reasonable suspicion arose:
“Either someone took it on purpose, or they’re withholding it.”
It could be either. He couldn’t rule it out. True, since it was registered, they could respond to any later issue.
If someone really engineered this, the likely suspect was Team 1, rival to Team 2—or whoever led that team.
And if, as he feared, Team 1 actually released a plagiarized track of Hyunseung’s, it wouldn’t be an in‑house turf fight but an all‑out brawl.
Please, let it not come to that.
Hoping all his worries were just fretting, Manager Kim patted Hyunseung’s shoulder.
“Who’d dare use it? Anyone can hear it’s an HS track.”
“So you listened alone after I told you to hear it with Mother?”
“Couldn’t help it. Played it the minute I got back.”
Throwing an arm around his shoulder, he grinned.
“Come on, let’s get lunch before the crowd. I’ll buy—feeling guilty.”
“As you should.”
“But the guide’s still only humming—you need the main vocal and a release date. Still no singer?”
“I have a candidate. Since it’s a spring song, I think Jung A‑rin fits.”
“Great idea. She’ll sprint over barefoot to record your track.”
At that, both pictured Jung Arin and chuckled.
“Let’s just hope she keeps her shoes on.”
Soon, they headed to the company cafeteria, leaving the USB worry behind.
Leave a Reply