Park Jeon-mu, who had stopped by the company café-terrace since morning, moistened his parched mouth with an iced americano.
“Haah….”
The moment he took his lips off the straw he had been chewing for some time, a deep sigh burst out. The reason his sigh was this heavy was simple.
“Why isn’t that kid coming?”
Noon was approaching, yet the person he was so desperate to meet still hadn’t shown up.
He said he never skips grabbing a coffee on his way in….
And yet, even if he did show, Park had no idea how he ought to start the conversation.
Tap, tap, tap-
Even the legs trembling beneath the table betrayed his impatience. His insides were so noisy he could hardly stay seated.
With both hands cradling his head, he heard the second hand of his wristwatch clicking in his ears, telling him time was racing by.
Just until exactly twelve—yes, I’ll wait only until high noon.
He had made up his mind, and was about to rise and order another coffee, when—
“Oh? Executive Director Park? We’ve been bumping into each other a lot lately.”
Lifting his gaze, he saw the very face he’d been waiting for.
Had the wait felt too long?
Park shot upright without thinking.
“Why, only now—!”
Realizing his voice was far too loud, he quickly cleared his throat.
“Khmm, ahem… On your way in to work?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Let me buy you a coffee again today—could you spare a moment?”
After a brief thought, Hyunseung nodded. “Sure.” A short tea time wasn’t a problem.
Of course,
If Park started harping on the plagiarism dispute or asked for favoritism on K-Sing Star, Hyunseung planned to leave without mercy.
“Thank you.”
Taking the coffee, Hyunseung bowed, then sat in the seat opposite Park.
“Did you need something?”
“Uh, well…” Park bit his lower lip.
Is this really okay?
Seeing Hyunseung’s perfectly calm face threw him; he suddenly found it hard to speak.
Yesterday Hyunseung had stormed into Team 1, the team Park managed, and accused them of plagiarism—practically asserted it as fact. Barely twenty-four hours had passed since that uproar. Park himself had brazenly demanded proof.
But the plagiarism had turned out to be real, and surely the fellow before him already knew.
Yet how can he be this unfazed?
“About yesterday…”
When Park finally met Hyunseung’s eyes, that quiet gaze met his squarely.
“I’ll take full responsibility and apologize in his place.”
“For what?”
“The plagiarism. Internally we checked—turns out our kid picked up a USB, assumed the audio on it was sampling material, and while nicking pieces here and there ended up like that…”
“Sampling?” Hyunseung echoed, then let out a short laugh. That track was far too finished to dismiss as “sampling,” and not just any finish—the kind that pays royalties like a pension.
“Anyway, he didn’t know any better and made a mistake, so let me apologize.”
It had happened inside LS Entertainment, a company hypersensitive about plagiarism. Serious indeed—so Park must have come to apologize.
Yet watching this scene wasn’t exactly pleasant; Hyunseung felt no urge to make him beg. As long as the copyright returned to its rightful owner, he had little interest.
Park still wrapped his subordinate’s wrongdoing in the paper of “simple mistake,” and that sight made Hyunseung smile.
Yes, it was funny.
And oddly, he found Park rather human. Willing to switch stances for gain, coveting someone else’s bowl when he already had food, living with claws out to keep every scrap on his team’s table—wasn’t that image close to the primal human form?
Had they been on the same team, Hyunseung thought, Park would have been a formidable ally.
“We’ve already canceled the Team 1 submission.”
“Alright.” Hyunseung nodded.
That was enough. Had the fight dragged on he was prepared for legal action, but there’d be no headache now.
“Plagiarism is delicate; I won’t ask you to hush it up. We’ll accept whatever internal penalties come. But can you help me see that it’s handled at my level?”
Hyunseung raised his brows in surprise.
“Pardon?”
This was the man who hadn’t apologized over Jung Arin or Man Records; now he apologized and even offered to shoulder everything? Hyunseung couldn’t help but be startled.
Judging by Park’s first reaction and this conversation, he must have waited here on purpose to meet him—just to protect his team member.
Maybe… more human than I thought.
“Everything’s back in order. You won’t be facing penalties yourself.”
“You haven’t reported it upstairs yet?”
“No.”
“Why not? It’s quite serious.”
“My choice.” Hyunseung shrugged.
Seeing that, Park finally released the tension he’d been holding. He’d boasted of taking responsibility, but after the warning he’d received for swiping Man Records’ document, he’d feared this time might cost him more than a scolding.
So composed—too composed.
Just yesterday the man had left with eyes full of menace, yet now he behaved as though mountains were mountains and water’s just water. Young men his age usually bristled with pride, unable to forgive even trifles.
Where did such poise come from?
Park marveled inwardly, even feeling regret that Hyunseung wasn’t on his team.
Could I have leaned on him instead of struggling alone?
No—such thoughts would only eat him. He slapped the table and stood.
“I’ve taken enough of your time. I’ll be off.”
Rising, he added,
“By the way, forget that request for biased judging I made before.”
“I had no intention of granting it anyway.”
“You’re nothing if not consistent.”
Hyunseung tilted his head and scratched the back of his neck.
“I’ll take that as praise.”
“He’s shameless,” Park chuckled without malice for the first time.
K-Sing Star’s second preliminaries had been held nationwide, and at last the day of the final, third preliminary dawned.
“Senior, long time no see!”
Lee Yeonga jumped up and greeted Kim Gwangjin with a ninety-degree bow as he entered the audition hall. Though Yeonga was already a ten-year veteran, Kim was a legend who had passed forty years in music.
“Yes, we only met on that last radio show.”
“Please invite me again.”
“No, we should be the ones inviting you—aren’t you terribly busy?”
“For you, I’d drop everything.”
Chatting warmly, the two occupied two of the three judges’ seats.
“Wow, even for the third round there are this many?”
Kim flipped through the thick stack of papers and clicked his tongue.
“I know, it feels like we won’t finish before midnight. Can we really see them all today?”
A staffer answered between their complaints.
“Many run away at the last moment—nerves, parents object, that sort of thing—so we’ll manage.”
“Oh, really?” Yeonga nodded but hardly sympathized; she herself would never flee after coming this far.
“Pathetic,” she muttered under her breath.
Then Kim tapped the empty seat on his left.
“Who’s taking this last spot?”
Yeonga likewise glanced at the vacancy, curiosity plain, and turned to staff. A Seoul-round judge meant a main judge for the finals.
Yet no one knew who. Of the two silhouettes hidden on the lineup poster, rumors insisted one was Jayble.
“It’s Jayble, right?” she probed.
“Uh, actually, Jayble will judge Gyeonggi with Won Jinseop.”
“Then who is it? We’ll know soon anyway.”
After scanning the area, the staffer lowered his voice.
“It’s composer HS.”
Covering her mouth, Yeonga whispered, “Really?” Lately HS was the talk of every broadcaster and musician.
“When is he coming…?”
Her face lit with anticipation; bizarre rumors abounded—he was a hermit, wore a helmet because his eyebags reached his chin, and so on. Meeting him in person!
If she could befriend HS, maybe she’d get a song.
While she fantasized about a glorious comeback with his track—
“Oh, oh! You can’t just walk in like that!”
The youngest staffer blocked a helmet-clad man at the door.
“Eek!”
An assistant PD hurried over, bowed, and intervened.
“Thank you for coming.”
Heads turned toward the entrance.
A gasp rose.
“A… helmet?”
Apart from a few insiders, most temp staff began whispering.
“Isn’t that HS in the helmet?”
“No way, it is!”
“So the rumors were true.”
“Why does he wear it?”
“I heard he has a huge jutting chin.”
“No, a massive birthmark.”
Unbothered, Helmet Man followed the assistant PD toward the judges’ table.
Step, step-
He stopped before Kim Gwangjin.
“I’m composer HS. It’s an honor to meet you.”
He offered a polite handshake.
“I know it’s discourteous, but I must keep the helmet on for unavoidable reasons.”
“I’ve heard you dislike exposing your face. As long as you judge well, that’s fine.”
Kim clasped HS’s hand and patted it.
“You know trends, so we expect sharp judging.”
“Trends hardly matter. Those with talent stand out in any era.”
“Hmm, true enough.”
Just then—
“HS-ssi, I’ve wanted to meet you.” Lee Yeonga swept back her hair and greeted him.
HS didn’t even glance at her. “Yes, likewise,” he answered curtly and sat.
“What the…?”
Staring, Yeonga muttered under her breath.
What kind of guy is this?
Polite to Kim, yet suddenly icy to her—clearly dismissing her.
“Was traffic bad? You were a bit late.”
“I arrived before filming. Is that a problem?”
His indifference made her want to rip off that helmet and see his face.
Should I just yank it?
She swallowed her anger, recalling visions of her comeback stage. Calm down.
Then the staff’s booming voice echoed.
“We’ll take the opening shot!”
One!
Two!
Three!
Click-!
And so, while it was already skewed from the start, the Seoul third preliminary began.
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