Through the crack of the studio door, an all-too-familiar silhouette squeezed its way inside.
“Composer-nim, I’m here.”
Hyunseung glanced sideways over An Jiho and asked, “Looks like you’ve got something to say?”
“How did you know?”
“It’s obvious the moment I see you.”
“Yes. That’s right.”
After the brief reply Jiho added, “And I brought something to give you.”
He forced an awkward smile, and at the same time a faint grimace crossed Hyunseung’s face.
The guy who always narrowed his sharp eyes was suddenly smiling so warmly; it rubbed him the wrong way.
“Hey, quit smiling.”
“Why?”
“It’s creepy.”
Jiho let out a long breath and answered,
“I’m just happy we’ve been able to finish our comeback prep on a perfect highway thanks to you.”
“You know the saying about the horse and the old frontier1? Don’t celebrate too much.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll keep that in mind. Anyway, I’m here to say thank you, and—”
He took something from his pocket and held it out.
“I came to hand this over.”
“Hm? Isn’t this a dollar book?”
“I heard you’re going to Europe.”
“I already exchanged plenty, so I’m fine.”
“Still, it’ll be handy when you leave tips.”
Jiho blocked the hand trying to return the envelope and continued,
“What you’ve done for us is priceless, so we scraped together money among the members as a token. Please accept it lightly.”
Hyunseung looked down at the bundle of dollars in his hand. He’d heard that all the members still worked part-time to cover living costs. They had saved their meager cash to prepare this?
‘The thought is touching.’
At this point refusing would be rude. He nodded reluctantly.
“Thanks. I’ll put it to use.”
“And also, this.”
“What’s that now?”
“Our fans prepared it.”
All Night? Another threat letter? Or one of those long notes that start with hoping for his household’s peace and end with begging him to take care of The Moon?
‘I don’t need these things.’
He’d never been swayed by The Moon fandom’s threats or tributes. He gave them the song out of a lingering guilt from a past life and because the instrument named An Jiho caught his ear.
Of course, if it were a PlayStation he’d welcome it with open arms.
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know either.”
Jiho searched his memory and explained,
“I ran into a fan in front of the building today. She asked me to give it to you to say thank you.”
Hyunseung opened the shopping bag. Inside were a single white envelope and several neatly wrapped boxes. After peering in he nodded a few times.
“Alright, I’ll check it later.”
“Yes.”
“If that’s all, you can go.”
Jiho did not budge at the dismissal.
“Composer-nim.”
“What?”
Shhh—
As if the world had stopped, Jiho held his breath, then spoke his heart.
“Thank you.”
He exhaled deeply, as though making a big decision, and repeated, “Really, thank you.”
For a composer of Hyunseung’s stature to give a song to a no-name idol group— that alone deserved thanks.
He was grateful that the composer never mentioned the fans’ pleas that had led to the song.
‘It must have been his way of looking out for us.’
A consideration to protect even a sliver of pride in an unpopular group.
Suddenly the day they first met flashed before him, overlapping with the memory of the man casually tossing barbed words.
“Your song isn’t garbage that needs to be thrown out.”
“Oh?”
“Well, it’s at least clean recyclable trash.”
Back then being told his song felt like abandoned garbage hadn’t delighted him, but now he knew: the man was clumsy with words yet delicate and thoughtful.
Others might not think so but Jiho did. In fact, he liked that side of Hyunseung and wanted to get closer, to become someone helpful to him. Of course, he’d never say such embarrassing things aloud even if it split his lips.
“Done now?”
“Yes, that’s all.”
“Then go.”
“I’ll repay the favor.”
“Fine— pay it back double.”
“Alright, I’ll get going.”
Jiho bowed, turned, and walked toward the door, ears reddening from a lifetime’s worth of unsaid thanks. The way he insisted on expressing gratitude felt oddly endearing, and Hyunseung almost smiled.
Step, step.
Just as Jiho reached the doorway, Hyunseung, eyes still on the monitor, called again.
“Hey.”
“Yes?”
A moment of silence passed.
“You know none of my songs has ever failed to hit number one.”
Annoying but factual.
“Yes, I’m well aware.”
“Don’t stain my career.”
“I’ll treat it like life and death.”
Hyunseung swung his head to look at him.
“Good. Go out there and tear it up.”
Their gazes locked in mid-air for an instant.
“Right….”
Jiho nodded vigorously.
“I’ll leave a spectacular line called ‘The Moon’ on your portfolio.”
A vow he added for himself.
With The Moon, Yoon Jaeyi’s debut was also just ahead.
“For the one who had only me….”
CEO Jeon Nam-il mouthed the title once, then set the file on the table.
Gulp.
The conference room was so quiet the sound of swallowing echoed.
‘I didn’t expect the CEO to attend….’
Manager Kim was present as the representative from A&R and management. He had prepared brief materials, thinking it would be a simple inter-department meeting.
But the CEO had turned up, so after his briefing he lowered his head over the papers, stealing glances. Had the CEO ever joined a debut meeting for a rookie?
No— never. Usually he just checked finalized documents after PR and marketing wrapped things up.
Probably Hyunseung’s influence, no doubt.
Yes.
Yoon Jaeyi was, in a sense, discovered directly by Hyunseung. Like a goose that lays golden eggs bringing in another goose. Whether she would lay golden eggs or ordinary ones remained to be seen.
Then the CEO’s calm yet weighty voice filled the room.
“PR team, start a brief report.”
PR chief Kwak cleared his tight throat.
“Ahem. First, her story was aired once during the audition program, and a post on her personal SNS was found by a fan, drawing sympathy votes—”
A simple PPT slid onto the screen.
“As with other channels, we’ll push SNS strongly, tying the song to the story for promotion.”
Sensing the mood, the marketing lead stood and continued.
“The next slide shows marketing will feel the same. Stage production will also focus on her story—”
Listening silently, Manager Kim had mixed feelings. They were going to leverage someone’s painful past to increase sales—common, yet brutal.
Of course, he was no different.
“Management is aligned as well,” he said. “We’ve booked talk-show-style programs, aiming to steer public opinion firmly this time. Details are in the packet.”
He sat down after the brief.
“I see,” the CEO nodded without changing expression.
“And the debut song is based on that SNS post?”
Kim Sijang answered at once.
“Yes. Our in-house composer HS served as executive producer.”
“Good. With HS on it and public sentiment positive, let’s ride the wave.”
The approval made every team leader inwardly cheer. Though Yoon Jaeyi had won the same audition show as Kang Hajun, their situations differed. Her fandom was smaller; they needed heavier promotion, and the CEO had given the nod.
“And The Moon….”
CEO Jeon Nam-il paused mid-sentence, lips pressed together in thought.
The Moon. He had read the reports, seen both the erroneous article and the correction. Turning over the events in his mind, a curious smile spread.
‘Not ordinary at all.’
He had known HS was giving a song to an outside group when the rumor broke. He presumed a quick correction would follow.
But expectations were overturned. A small ball launched by an entertainment reporter spread speculation; then another ball, launched by HS, soared higher— the golden-egg goose making perfect use of reporters, LS, even his own name to pull media strings and boost The Moon’s profile.
For a group from another agency, that was plenty.
“Let’s not waste even one article slot on people who aren’t our family.”
Jeon Nam-il said firmly, “Focus all aggression on Yoon Jaeyi’s debut.”
Still, deep inside he felt a budding certainty that anything with the name HS would succeed. And he was curious: could a small company’s group like The Moon, armed only with a single beam of light named HS, truly break through?
“We’ll finalize and bring the papers for approval. Meeting adjourned.”
In that instant a flash of intuition told him this year, like last year, he’d receive a stack of reports plastered with the name HS.
Ah…
Perhaps next year, and the year after, it will be the same.
- The Korean proverb “인생사 새옹지마” (lit. “life is Sae-ong-ji-ma”) comes from the Chinese idiom 塞翁之馬 (“the old man’s horse at the frontier”).
An old man who lived near China’s northern border one day lost his only horse when it ran away beyond the frontier. His neighbors came to console him, but the old man said, “Who can say this is not a blessing?” A few months later the horse returned, bringing with it a magnificent wild stallion. Everyone congratulated him on his gain, yet the old man said, “Who can say this is not a disaster?” Not long after, his son rode the new horse, fell, and broke his leg.When war broke out, every able-bodied young man in the region was conscripted and many died. The old man’s son, because of his injured leg, was exempted and survived.
tl;dr: “Good luck can turn to bad, and bad luck to good.” ↩︎
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