“ I’m sorry.”
The moment he was eliminated in the battle round, Kang Ha‑jun returned straight to the company building and sought out the executive director’s office.
“No, no.”
Director Park waved both hands vigorously at Ha‑jun, who had his head bowed.
“What’s there to apologize for? Come on, lift your head.”
“I really wanted to win….”
“Well, sure, that would’ve been the best outcome, but—”
Putting on a show of calm nonchalance, Park continued,
“Winning wasn’t the goal to begin with. We aimed to raise your name value, remember? You made plenty of buzz; that alone is enough.”
In truth he, too, felt disappointed, but an elimination couldn’t be undone. Park merely smacked his lips at the regret.
Just then, Ha‑jun, having raised his head, spoke cautiously.
“Director Park, there’s something I need to discuss.”
“Hm? Is there some other problem?”
“I did lose, but… backstage HS said he’d give me a song.”
Wondering if he’d heard wrong, Park narrowed his eyes.
“Hold on, Ha‑jun—what did you just say?”
“HS said he’d give me a song, first.”
“You mean that HS—LS Entertainment’s in‑house composer?”
When Ha‑jun nodded, Park, unbelieving, pressed again.
“You’re telling me HS himself offered you a song?”
Ha‑jun, seeing the doubt on Park’s face, calmly added explanation.
“Yes. He even gave me his personal chat ID.”
“He gave you his personal chat ID?”
Ha‑jun nodded and produced his phone. Opening the messenger ‘Kka‑Talk’, he showed that in his favorites list there was a single user: “HS”.
“That… that’s his Kka‑Talk?”
Park doubted his own eyes. Partly because HS had shared contact info with Ha‑jun at all—but also because
Swipe, swipe—
the profile pictures were nothing but photos of stray cats, utterly out of character.
He likes this kind of thing…?
Blinking, Park tapped into the chat.
“Ah…”
Skepticism morphed into a sigh of acceptance as he read.
I know it may be rude of me to ask again, but the offer is so miraculous I can hardly believe it. May I confirm once more that you truly wish to give me one of your songs?
Followed by HS’s reply:
—yy (=“yeah yeah”)
I’d like to meet in person and discuss details—when would be convenient?
—wait till K‑SingerStar ends
Understood. I’ll wait. Please contact me.
—ok
A terse conversation, ending with almost no content.
“His chat style is the same—no change at all,” Park muttered.
Ha‑jun, watching Park’s half‑amused expression, tilted his head.
“Director Park, you don’t have HS’s personal contact either?”
“Well, he’s on a different team. I’ve only ever gone through the Team 2 manager….”
Feeling oddly sheepish, Park scratched the back of his head and handed back the phone. Only a few managers and executives in Team 2 knew HS’s personal info.
Yes—within the company Park was famous, but simply being on a different team meant he didn’t know. Proof that the contact wasn’t handed out lightly. Even HS’s real name was known to but a handful.
Considering that, the fact he’d given Ha‑jun his ID meant he truly intended to hand over a song.
“I see… so that’s how it is.”
Lost in thought, Park murmured, then suddenly grabbed Ha‑jun’s shoulders, shaking him.
“That’s it! We’re set! It’s as good as done!”
He hopped in delight like he’d just reeled in a prize fish, the earlier disappointment forgotten.
“If you can debut with one of his songs, a hit’s basically guaranteed!”
Yet opposite Park’s excitement, clouds gathered on Ha‑jun’s face.
What if…
Was HS just being polite? A consolation for a loser? Pity?
Endless question marks kept him from simply accepting the offer.
“Ha‑jun, you don’t look happy?”
Park studied his complexion.
“You were worried HS didn’t like you, remember? Him offering a song proves he does, no?”
Hearing the very answer he wanted, Ha‑jun’s face brightened a little.
“You really think so?”
“Of course!”
“But what if, when he learns I’m on a different team, he changes his mind?”
His face darkened again.
His manager had whispered that Team 1 and HS were rivals—that relations weren’t good. Worse, the recent plagiarism fuss had left Team 1 awkward with HS.
If I admit I’m a Team 1 trainee…
Park patted his shoulder reassuringly.
“As someone close to him, I guarantee: he’s not that petty. If he likes you, team lines won’t stop him.”
At that, Ha‑jun nodded.
Yes—he’d read every article, every interview, learned HS only gave songs to singers he personally deemed “good instruments”—a picky mad genius. If that was true… if giving his ID meant he really liked him as an instrument…
A faint smile began to spread.
“Fan‑tastic! Fan‑tas‑tic!” Park sang. “It’s all good news.”
“Are you that happy?”
“Of course! Falling in an audition? A speck, nothing! But getting his song—that opens a splendid second act for your career.”
To Park, losing the show but gaining HS’s song was one loss, two gains.
A week passed after the battle round.
Meanwhile Yun Jae‑i, having learned to wield her voice, displayed explosive power. With her unique rhythm sense and tone she sailed through the following duet round.
“So in that battle, who won—Yun Jae‑i or Kang Ha‑jun? No, don’t tell me; you won’t anyway…”
“What are you doing?” HS asked.
“TV cut the result right before announcement! Devilish editors,” Manager Kim pounded his chest in frustration.
He’d become a die‑hard viewer, chatting live every week.
Then, smoothing his lapels, he asked,
“Ha‑jun—what do you think? My gut says he’s a sure thing….”
HS hummed and nodded.
“Shall we reach out? Maybe meet Yun Jae‑i too? Or has another label already signed her….”
At that HS muttered, “Ah, right,” realizing he hadn’t mentioned giving Ha‑jun a song.
Just then Kim’s phone vibrated loudly.
“Oops! Arin said meet at the parking lot by one—let’s go.”
HS merely nodded and grabbed his coat.
I’ll think about it later…
First he’d finish playing the two instruments he’d found on K‑SingerStar.
Jung Arin, HS, and Manager Kim met at a Korean set‑meal restaurant near the office. Dishes crowded the table so full there was scarcely room between plates.
“Eat up. You live on cafeteria food,” Arin said.
“What’s wrong with that,” Kim grumbled.
“Just wanted to treat you to something healthier and pricier.”
“Oh? Dissing our cafeteria?” HS teased.
Arin rolled her eyes. “Let’s not start…”
“Busy as you are, how’d you find time to treat us?” Kim asked.
“ ‘A Handful of Cherry Blossoms’ blew up so hard I never even got to see real blossoms.”
Pouting theatrically, but smiling all the same.
Concerts, festivals, shows—her schedule left no breathing room, but compared with almost being cut as a trainee, she could endure anything.
“So, composer‑nim, will you write a summer season track too?”
“I was thinking of it—why?”
“Then could I sing that one as well?”
HS dead‑panned: “I wasn’t going to give it to you, and that cutesy pose makes me want to even less.”
“Why?!”
“Summer songs need someone with long, cool limbs—”
“Isn’t that discrimination against those under 160 cm?” she huffed, hands on hips.
“You’re under 160?”
“…Just a little.”
HS chuckled and went back to eating, mind already spinning.
It really is getting hot.
Who should sing the summer track? Maybe someone with an even fresher tone…
Suddenly a voice popped into his head. “Ah!” He set his chopsticks down.
“That guy.”
“Huh? Seeing things?” Arin waved a hand before his eyes.
“You need sleep, too much caffeine—”
“I’ve decided.”
“Good. Get rest—”
Ignoring her, HS whipped out his phone.
Taptap, tap.
A brief burst of typing.
Need to meet tomorrow. Urgent.
The message shot off to Kang Ha‑jun sooner than Arin or Kim could blink.
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