Spain marked the final stop, and after roughly two weeks our European trip was over.
“Oppa, traveling made me realize—trips are basically a test of stamina.”
“Sure, they burn a lot of energy.”
“Which is why our next trip should be somewhere we just lounge around, okay?”
“Yeah. Dad looked worn-out too, so let’s pick a resort next time.”
With a squeal of “Yesss!” Hyuna dashed into the house first.
Just hours earlier—getting on the return flight—she’d stamped her feet saying she didn’t want to go home. Yet the moment she walked through the door, she sprawled facedown on the living-room floor.
“Nothing beats home, no matter what anyone says.”
“Weren’t you yelling you didn’t want to come back?”
“I only said I was sad to leave. I never said I hated home.”
Hyunseung chuckled at his sister then headed for the bathroom.
“I’m showering first.”
He washed up, hurriedly changed, and went to the entryway to leave.
Puzzled, Hyuna popped up, trotted after him, and asked, “Oppa, where are you off to the minute we get back?”
“To check on mine.”
“Out of nowhere? Don’t tell me you’ve got a girlfriend?”
Reluctantly he gave a small nod. “Well, if you have to call her that, sure.”
“Whoa—seriously?”
Shock flashed across her face. She ran off yelling, “Dad!”
“So dramatic,” he muttered, tapping the toes of his shoes on the floor.
“Let’s go.”
Less than an hour after returning home, Hyunseung stepped back outside.
The personal studio felt strange after so long, yet instantly comforting.
Knock-knock-knock!
Today the knocks were heavier—and faster.
“Hey, Min Hyunseung!”
Manager Kim, of course.
“Isn’t that a little too enthusiastic?”
Kim grabbed him in a hug and complained, “Why didn’t you answer my texts or pick up your phone? Yeah, I know you needed to focus on the trip, but you could’ve replied once! Anyway, thank goodness you’re back.”
Still in the hug, Hyunseung gently pushed him off. “Got it. But could you please go easy on the intense skinship?”
“Oh, sorry.”
Stepping back, Kim finally asked what he really came for. “So—what’s this about the New York Philharmonic looking for you?”
“Right. I brought the official letter. Take a look.”
He handed it over. In short, the Philharmonic wanted to consult the songwriter “HS” and invited him to New York.
“Did you swing by New York on your trip?”
“Nope. Didn’t even set foot in the States.”
“Any clue why they’d contact you?”
“Not really. Zero idea.”
“Maybe they heard your music and were blown away?”
He waved a hand. “Does the world-renowned New York Phil scout a K-pop producer just because they’re moved? That makes no sense.”
Kim puffed up. “Your tracks transcend mere pop—why couldn’t they?!”
“I’ll handle the reply myself. Meanwhile, I need to check the status of my songs.”
“You’re impossible. You just flew in, must be exhausted—take a day off.”
“Hard, with you spamming my phone.”
“Uh, well…”
Embarrassed, Kim scratched his cheek.
“Here. For you.”
“Huh?”
“Didn’t have time to buy something nicer—next trip I’ll bring a better gift.”
He tossed over a slim case.
“You didn’t have to…”
Yet Kim’s fingers snapped the case open faster than his mouth could finish. Inside lay a gleaming luxury tie pin.
“Not disappointed it’s cheaper than the watch last time, right?”
“Disappointed? Even one sock would’ve been thoughtful.”
“Next trip I’ll bring a whole pair, then.”
“That’s not what I meant…”
“Anyway, you’ll be promoted soon. Higher-ups need to fuss over small things like tie pins.”
He clipped the pin onto Kim’s tie and patted it. “Looks great.”
Kim’s chest thrummed—half pride, half sentiment. The kid was growing up.
On the way to the engineering suite, Kim noticed another shopping bag. “Gifts for A&R too?”
“Figured I shouldn’t show up empty-handed.”
So grown-up, he thought.
Knock knock.
He poked his head into A&R.
“What the—HS!”
Engineers bolted up as if seeing a ghost.
“No hugs. Brought you something. Same thing for everyone—grab one.”
He set the bag on the table.
“High-end multivitamins? Each bottle’s pricey—did you buy us all one?”
“No one but HS looks out for us—thanks!”
While they gushed, he smiled slyly.
“Take them, boost your stamina, and please finish mastering my tracks to perfection.”
Groans.
“Devil.”
“Pervert.”
“Slave driver.”
He ignored them, sat, and pulled up the session.
“Not all done yet?”
“You dumped a new song on us twenty-four hours ago—expecting everything done is greedy.”
“Because I believe in your skills. So tomorrow everything will be ready, right?”
More groans: “Devil, pervert, beast.”
He laughed; they’d still finish flawlessly.
One engineer asked, “Of the five tracks you dropped, why’d one only have basic notes? Feels empty.”
That “empty” piece needed the homeless violinist’s session. If the man never called back, it would stay unfinished.
‘I’m the fool,’ he mused—forgot a homeless guy might lack phone or email.
But he trusted the man would find a way. In those eyes burned a hunger for music.
“That track isn’t complete,” he said calmly. “I’ll do the rest myself and send the final version.”
Engineers nodded, excited.
Another commented, “These new tracks are all killers.”
“Yeah—how’d you churn them out so fast on vacation?”
“The third one blew my mind.”
“At this rate you’ll sweep year-end charts again.”
Kim clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Looks like HS will dominate once more.”
“Actually, not this time. The solo album’s under another name.”
Utter silence.
“Come again?”
“With your real name?”
“Nope.”
“Then?”
He paused. “Choi Jihyun.”
Standing up, he added, “I’m tired—heading out.”
Gone before anyone could stop him.
Kim stared at the closed door. Gold-ingot kid, forever gold-ingot.
Changing aliases to fight himself—classic HS.
Now he had to figure out how to report this bombshell.
Behind him, engineers whispered:
“Choi Jihyun… who’s that?”
“Probably not random.”
“Maybe an ex-girlfriend?”
“Mom’s name?”
“Nah, first love he buried in his heart.”
Consensus: Choi Jihyun was HS’s hidden first love.
Eden Smith skimmed the official letter from Korea’s LS Entertainment and burst out laughing. Perhaps that young man was even stranger than he’d thought.
The letter politely said: we don’t quite know why you reached out, but if it’s a collaboration, send details; if we’re interested, we’ll contact you.
So unpredictable—begging for a million-dollar session one moment, then acting aloof in a Philharmonic memo.
Research says he’s a hotshot Korean producer…
Ethan was usually the one receiving invitations, not sending them.
But in business, the side that wants something must hustle. He sighed, opened a drawer, and took out his passport. He hadn’t wanted to bring it out so soon.
Looks like, this time, the ones with something to gain were himself—and the New York Phil.
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