When they went down to the building’s basement, a door came into view with the shabby lettering “TM-ent.”
Creak—
Opening the old steel door sent a grinding noise echoing out, and at the sound a middle-aged man ran out in stockinged feet.
“Boys, you must be worn out from the out-of-town show.”
The man was Kim Hyoseop, CEO of TM Entertainment.
Though only in his forties, his face was lined and somehow shadowed from hard living.
“I thought you’d be too tired, so I almost didn’t call you in…”
Today, however, CEO Kim looked oddly excited as he went on.
“But this is something I just couldn’t keep to myself.”
“What’s going on?”
“First sit down and relax; come on in.”
He led them into the president’s office, itself little more than a single-room cubby inside the cramped agency.
Taking the seat of honor, he rubbed his hands together like a fly and started cautiously.
“You all know HS, right?”
“The composer, you mean?”
“Yeah, that HS.”
“What about him?”
After a brief pause, he grinned.
“For some reason he’s contacted us; he says he’d like to meet you once.”
“Meet us? Why?”
“Why else? If he thinks you’re okay, he’ll give you one of his songs, no conditions!”
So eager he almost toppled forward, Kim perched on the chair’s edge.
Nor was he the only one excited.
Members Choi Jeonghyuk and Joo Woomin shot to their feet, flapping like freshly caught fish.
“Sir, this time it’s real? HS really says he’ll give us a song?”
“Wow, why would a composer like that give a song to us?”
“Who cares why? This means all that’s left is for us to make it big!”
Only the youngest member, Lee Chanyeong, and the leader, Ahn Jiho, kept gloomy faces.
“Saying he’ll give us a song if we look ‘okay’ also means he might not. Isn’t that pure false hope?”
Apparently Chanyeong didn’t believe it.
“Sir, could we talk alone for a moment?”
Jiho seemed to harbor some objection.
Thump.
Leaving that request behind, he walked out of the office first.
“Sigh…”
CEO Kim followed him outside, already guessing what he meant to say.
As expected, once the office door shut, Jiho pressed him.
“Sir, you promised we’d go with my song.”
“I did, but—”
“I really thought this track would make it.”
Then, visibly deflated, he asked again.
“Then if we use HS’s song as the title, can mine at least be on the release?”
Kim let out a deep breath and clasped Jiho’s shoulders, pleading.
“Jiho, you know we can’t afford that. Let’s put out a digital single with HS’s song only, and on the next record we’ll put yours as the title—okay?”
Ji-ho could only mutter, “Sir…” unable to go on.
This song, he was sure, would break them out…
They had taken every gig that paid a dime or showed a face, worked part-time jobs, wrote songs every day in a bare-bones studio—because the group’s fate rested on him.
If the song was good enough, the world would notice—he believed that, and he believed the CEO would back him.
But reality was harsher than belief.
“I hate saying this too,” Kim continued in a dark voice, “but you know where we are. We’re barely keeping the group alive. I sold my house, my car—everything. We’ve all done our best.”
Finally he added in a low tone.
“We have to focus on success only. This might be the last chance.”
For the encouraging CEO to speak that way meant not only THE MOON, but TM Entertainment itself was on the verge of closing shop.
Inside the office, the other members laughed brightly, oblivious. Jiho realized how long it had been since he’d seen such shadow-free smiles.
“Haah…”
He agonized a moment longer.
“So HS said he’d give us a song if we check out?”
“That’s right.”
“Fine. But if his song’s no good, I’ll refuse it.”
When Jiho finally nodded, CEO Kim exhaled in relief.
“Thank you, Jiho. Really, thank you. It’ll work out—trust me.”
His hands gripping Jiho’s looked especially worn today.
One week later Yoon Jaeyi arrived at Hyunseung’s studio at the appointed time.
“Oh, Jaeyi, you’re here,” Manager Kim greeted her first.
“Is the composer…?”
“Working, as always.”
He pointed: Hyunseung sat with headset on, downing caffeinated drink—looking every inch the sleep-starved producer.
“He doesn’t look well.”
“Seems he pulled an all-nighter.”
“For my song?”
Manager Kim scratched his nape. “That, and he suddenly took on extra work.”
“Extra work?”
“A fan of some unknown idol group basically threatened him, so he promised them a song.”
“Threatened? Shouldn’t that be reported?”
“He just said he’d give them something. Guy always volunteers for pain.”
She asked timidly, “Am I part of that volunteered pain…?”
“What? No, of course not.” Kim waved frantically and changed the subject.
“Better tell him you’re here.”
He tapped the composer’s shoulder twice.
Hyunseung slipped off the headset. “Already lunchtime?”
“No, Jaeyi’s here.”
Spotting her, he gave an “Ah”—clearly having forgotten.
“Right, that.”
“You forgot?”
“Completely.”
“Now what to do.”
Manager Kim glanced at Jaeyi, concerned.
“You truly need a scheduler.”
“You’re my manager.”
“I can’t be by your side twenty-four seven. Did you at least reserve the booth?”
“Not yet.”
Manager Kim covered his forehead in despair.
Unruffled, the composer said, “Then let’s do a quick check here today.”
“Huh?”
“I still haven’t heard you sing live.”
He frowned at her blank stare.
“Gonna stand there forever?”
“N-no!”
“One take. Straight through.”
“Y-yes, sir!”
“Single reply, short.”
“Yes!”
She dashed into the booth like a recruit on roll call.
“This place is a barracks now,” Manager Kim mumbled.
Hyunseung hit the spacebar. Clear but forlorn piano filled the room.
A trembling breath slipped through the monitors, musical in itself.
If I could at least remember, I’d miss you all I liked.
But with no memory, I can’t even miss you.
Do you still remember me?
He nodded at the spoken, almost flat delivery—it made the sadness sharper.
Why did you leave me all alone…?
Don’t let go of my hand, take me with you too.
The song moved into the chorus.
Even in dreams could you just hold me tight once?
I want to know your warmth.
Not as producer but as another soul carrying loss, he listened, mother rising unbidden in his mind.
When the final note faded, he heard coughing beside him. Manager Kim turned away, clearing his throat.
“Sir, are you all right?”
“I’m fine—didn’t cry.”
“I didn’t mention crying…”
Manager Kim rubbed at red eyes. “Place is dusty, that’s all.”
“Funny. Two air purifiers in here,” the composer teased.
He beckoned Jaeyi out; her cheeks too were flushed, eyes wet.
My studio’s turning into a weeping room, he thought.
“Jaeyi.”
“Yes?”
“If you made that man sniffle, you’ve succeeded.”
“I did not cry!” Kim barked.
“Sure, we’ll go with that.”
“It’s not ‘going with’—!”
“I said we will.”
Jaeyi burst out laughing at their childish bickering, the men soon chuckling too.
“This take’s enough,” the composer said.
“Really?”
“Just a light mix.”
Tears welled anew. She’d mined her diary for lyrics, and now he deemed one take enough.
Manager Kim fretted. “You never stop at one.”
“Her story is best raw,” he answered simply. The unaffected voice among dense harmonies exceeded his hopes—and had moved both of them.
“I’ve a mountain of work; this will do.”
“Tomorrow the sun rises west,” Manager Kim joked.
Jaeyi’s face clouded; she excused herself to the restroom.
With the door closed, the composer shoved Manager Kim gently toward the exit. “Really, I have to edit.”
“You’ll collapse. Take a vacation.”
“I’d love to, but no one can help me.”
He pictured his sister’s delighted face at talk of a trip—one he now had to delay.
“Manager Kim, hold up.”
Manager Kim turned.
“What buys off a thoroughly sulking girl in her twenties?”
“Make-up—”
“She rarely uses it.”
“Then a designer bag.”
“She’s still a student…”
Manager Kim scratched his scalp, stuck.
“What are you puzzling over?” Jaeyi asked, returning.
“He wants a gift to cheer a twenty-something.”
Startled, she clamped her mouth. ‘Is he talking about me?’
(T/N: Girl, please.)
“Uh… an MP3 player?”
“No one uses those.”
“A harmony textbook?”
“What?”
He waved both hands. “Forget it. I’ll think. Everybody out.”
“Okay… I’ll go.”
At the door she paused. “And really—don’t worry, I’m fine!”
She hurried off. Door thudded.
Staring after her, he tilted his head. “So what is she fine about?”
“Search me,” Manager Kim said.
“If you don’t know, please leave.”
“You can’t expect men to read women’s hearts!” Manager Kim huffed, but he also left.
Indeed, a woman’s mind was impossible to read.
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