K-Singer Star’s contestant recruitment had ended. After an online screening, the second regional preliminaries would soon erupt simultaneously across the country. HS was slated to appear only from the final preliminary, which would take place after both the first and second rounds were over.
More than two weeks remained until then.
But why…
“Pardon? Composer-nim, wait… you mean you haven’t prepared at all?”
Checking in on how the competition song for the grand final was going, the caller heard a blank “Ah, right,” as though HS had only just remembered there even was such a thing.
─ But the main rounds haven’t even started yet—why prepare already?
While she stammered in bewilderment, HS one-upped her by throwing the question back.
“Since this is your first time on a show like this, you might not know, but once the live rounds begin you’ll be swamped. It really is better to prepare in advance.”
─ I appreciate the concern, but I’ll write it when the time comes.
The K-Sing Star music coordinator let out a sigh the handset wouldn’t carry. HS might be a famous composer, but on the broadcast side he was a rookie—hence such an easy line as “I’ll write it then.”
She could understand, yet…
With one phone call her impression of HS was tilting toward ‘piece of work.’
“I do understand what you’re saying, HS-ssi, but…”
From minor staff up to the executive CP, everyone was pouring themselves into planning and producing this program.
And yet, simply because he was the current hot name, he’d foisted the non-negotiable ‘helmet’ request on them—now on top of that he was acting high and mighty.
“Jayble already finished his track and sent it in. Why do you think he did that? Because it’ll be rough to compose once the rounds begin, right?”
Pressing her fingertip to her temple, she added in a strained voice,
“I hesitate to say this, but if we reach that point and you have no song—or hand us something below what we expect from HS—we’ll be in a very difficult position.”
Silence flowed down the line. Too harsh? What if he now tore up the contract? A surge of anxiety rose, yet she did not take back her words. Nothing she’d said was wrong.
HS himself was intriguing, true, but they had also expected a top-quality track; that belief was why they’d swallowed the absurd “helmet” condition and sunk a hefty chunk of the budget to seat him as a main judge.
But if the song fell short and public reaction went lukewarm, the music team would all be chewed out, and the executive CP might end up filing explanations to the station head—chaos all around.
“Hello? HS-ssi?”
Just as she lifted the phone from her cheek to see if he’d hung up—
─ Shouldn’t the song fit whoever ends up singing it in the final? What use is writing it already?
A hard, high-pressure voice rolled from the speaker, enough to clamp her mouth shut.
─ I understand perfectly what worries you; there’s nothing to worry about, so I’ll end the call here.
Flat, undulating words felt all the sharper.
“Uh, well, HS-ssi, that’s not what I—”
Thud-.
The call ended without ceremony.
A sigh laced with worry over whether HS could truly deliver a proper competition song leaked out.
“Haa…”
Soon she was piecing together an imagined composite of HS.
“That fellow’s got a temper.”
Sharp eyes, fierce glare, intimidating face—such was the picture.
With his phone wedged between ear and shoulder, Manager Kim called.
“Hey, Hyunseung. I’m on my way back from handing your track over to the distributor.”
─ What about the date?
“I told them to match it as closely as possible to the cherry-blossom bloom.”
─ Thanks.
“Doing anything? I thought maybe we could grab lunch before my next meeting—”
A buzz in his ear: the distributor calling. The release date already?
“Hold on, Hyunseung, another call’s coming in. I’ll call you back.”
Hurriedly he answered.
“So, is the date set already?”
─ Not yet; there’s an issue, so we called.
“What issue?”
─ A few days ago another track came in that sounds strikingly similar to the one you submitted.
“What? Similar?”
─ Everyone here says it’s basically plagiarism. Frankly, I think so too.
At that, Manager Kim remembered losing the USB Hyunseung had handed him.
No—surely not…
Unable to answer, he listened as the rep continued.
─ You’d better check quickly.
“Can you tell me who turned that track in?”
─ It was Team 1’s manager. I’ll email you the file right now.
“Thanks. I’ll check at once.”
Staring at the darkened screen, he felt his vision dim.
No time to stand here.
He shook his head, collecting himself. If someone really had stolen that USB and plagiarized the song, he—who’d lost it—had to handle it first.
‘Should I tell Hyunseung…?’
A moment’s dilemma: investigate and fix it himself, or inform Hyunseung right away?
He stood alone in the corridor, weighing the answer.
Finally, he turned toward Hyunseung’s studio. Whatever else, the creator had to know.
Manager Kim relayed the distributor’s message; together they listened to Team 1’s submission.
Even a “tin ear” could mistake it for the same song: Hyunseung’s “A Handful of Cherry Blossoms” and Team 1’s “spring ending” were almost identical.
“Hah…”
Rubbing his face, Manager Kim flushed, then spoke.
“Anyone can hear it’s plagiarism.”
“Indeed.”
Hyunseung nodded calmly. Manager Kim studied his face—unchanged. Was he truly unfazed? Someone had stolen his music!
But the urgent thing wasn’t curiosity over Hyunseung’s composure; it was fixing the mess he himself had caused.
First—
“This is obviously plagiarism; I’ll take responsibility and set everything right.”
“You, Manager Kim?”
“Yes. It happened because I was careless. I’m really sorry.”
He apologized solemnly.
“I have no excuse.”
Hyunseung only clutched his forearms, shivering theatrically.
“What is this? You’re starting to act like Jung A-rin.”
“Like A-rin?”
“You’re overreacting to nothing, just like her.”
Manager Kim blinked, then made a mock swipe at Hyunseung’s head.
“Can’t get a word in with you!”
“You looked so serious I couldn’t help laughing. I told you before, didn’t I? The master file’s stamped with its creation date and I already registered it with the Copyright Office—no worries.”
“Still, this happened inside our own company. If it blows up it’ll reach the CEO’s ears…”
Hyunseung sighed briefly and scratched his head. Clearly Manager Kim thought the USB loss was the cause.
To Hyunseung, his Manager’s anxious face looked like someone blaming himself for having a thing stolen—frustrating.
“Manager Kim.”
Sliding off the desk, he added,
“Then let’s fix it before it reaches the CEO.”
“What did you just say?”
Mr. Oh, Team 1’s Manager, eyes narrowing sharply, asked.
“I’m merely asking you to cancel the track you sent to the distributor.”
Hyunseung shrugged as if wondering why he was getting heated.
“Storming in here—what kind of behavior is this? Manager Kim, aren’t you supposed to mediate?”
“Talk to me. Manager Kim only showed me the way because I have something to discuss with Team 1.”
Stepping ahead, Hyunseung continued,
“The same day I delivered my track, Team 1 delivered one eerily like it. I’d like to hear your thoughts.”
Wrinkles piled on Manager Oh’s brow.
“What? Are you saying our Team 1 plagiarized Team 2’s song?”
“I tried to phrase it gently. Should’ve been direct, it seems.”
Seeing a much younger composer calmly interrogate him made Manager Oh laugh in disbelief. Truly ridiculous.
A Team 2 composer barging into Team 1’s office to claim plagiarism—no, stating it as fact?
“This punk—I’d heard you were odd, but you’re hilarious.”
Manager Oh curled his lip.
“So Team 2’s morals are trash?”
“While we’re trash anyway, one more word: whoever in Team 1 stole my song could at least have arranged it better.”
Manager Oh tilted his head. “What?”
“If you’d improved it, I might have let it slide out of admiration.”
“Listen here, you crazy—!”
Manager Oh was about to roar when—
“What on earth is going on?!”
Suddenly Team 1’s higher-up barged in.
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