Since becoming head of division, Kim Woohyun had been so busy these last few days that he hadn’t even had time to drop in on Hyunseung.
In truth…
Things had gotten awkward with Hyunseung after their childish war of words.
“Hoo—.”
Manager Kim went up to the roof to clear his tangled head and stuck a cigarette in his mouth.
He’d been chewing on it so hard the end of the filter had gone all mushy.
Sssss—
He snuffed the cigarette in the water at the bottom of the ashtray, then put another one between his lips.
I am hurt, sure… but I acted way too childish for a grown man.
Right.
Be an adult and apologize first.
With that resolve, Director Kim pulled out his phone. He finally had a bit of breathing room today. Maybe he should text and ask if they wanted to hit the company cafeteria together for the first time in a while?
Ding—!
So this is what “one mind” feels like? Perfect timing: a text from Hyunseung landed.
“Knew it, you punk.”
Kim traced a finger over the bridge of his nose and pressed the banner that read: “Three messages +1 from Dong-jjok.”
Ahh. Of course.
[ Please confirm whether I’m being handed the drama OST job. ]
No “congrats on your promotion,” no apology for calling him oversensitive, no “let’s grab lunch.” Just that.
Truly.
A pure, work-check request.
Workaholic…
Always holed up in the studio with nothing but work on the brain—no wonder the guy struggled with empathy and normal back-and-forth.
Robot of a guy…
Even as he frowned at the text, Kim immediately called the drama team.
Brrrrrr—
After a long ring, PD Nam’s voice came on the line.
— Oh wow, Director! I heard you got promoted. I was going to call. Let’s get a meal soon.
“Yes, I’d like that. By the way, about the collaboration request I mentioned. Has anything been confirmed yet?”
— I passed it on. You haven’t gotten a call? I’ll make sure it’s relayed again as soon as we hang up.
“Please include this part: HS specifically wants to take it on solo.”
— Of course we’ll pass that along. We’re the ones who should be grateful, honestly.
A few more bits of polite small talk and the call ended. Kim found himself thinking again how powerful the name “HS” had become.
Even outside the pop scene, in the drama world, say “HS will do the OST,” and the doors fly open.
All of that…
Was the fruit of Hyunseung’s work.
People who don’t know him say he’s just a born genius who cranks out tricky tracks with ease and rakes in money. But that’s what people say when they don’t know him.
From the person who’d watched him up close, the reason HS had risen to the very top wasn’t just talent.
Right.
It was the result of someone who knew nothing but work, stared down nights with a madman’s eyes, clung to coffee every day, and kept grinding forward.
At the age when you’re supposed to be out having fun, he was supporting a family—so of course he rowed even harder while the tide was with him.
It was like…
Seeing his own early twenties, when he’d jumped into an entertainment company and chewed through any job that came his way.
Kim Woohyun, too, had been the one responsible for his household from a young age.
And there I was, pouting that my feelings were hurt.
If anything, the reason he’d made head of division was that for nearly two years Hyunseung had brought in monstrous results to Team 2.
Trudge, trudge—
With his thoughts sorted, Kim dusted off his pants, grabbed a coffee, and headed for Hyunseung’s studio.
“Ahem.”
He always knocked three times and swung the door wide, but today his hand stalled on the knob and he hesitated… then he just set the cup down at the door and sent a text.
[I relayed the drama OST thing again. And I left a coffee at your door. Drink it while you work.]
It wasn’t pride.
It was just…
A wave of guilt, honestly.
Ahn Sojeong felt her brain short-circuit for the first time in a while.
“Come on, Sojeong. I’m pretty sure I sent it through Narae. Why did I have to come down here myself?”
“Pardon?”
“Or is there some other ironclad reason it has to be Hidden? Pay back the advance and move on.”
“Th-that’s…”
PD Nam didn’t even give her a chance to speak, scolding her straight through.
“When someone like HS offers to work with you, you grab it with both hands. Why can’t you eat what’s fed to you?”
“N-no, I just…”
Seriously?
HS had actually offered to do their drama OST? So Narae hadn’t misheard and it was real?
In Sojeong’s ears, she could still hear Narae pounding on the door and whining, “It’s true…”
“It’s really true?”
“Would I make that up? Do you think we’ve got time to joke around, Sojeong?”
“I don’t, it’s just… it’s hard to believe. And it’s not ‘a bunch of LS-Entertainment staff composers on the project’—you mean HS alone?”
When she asked again, PD Nam slapped the desk and shot back:
“That’s what I said. You know he’s got some ties to Ahn Jiho, right? I bet that’s why HS stepped up. Casting Jiho was a great call.”
“Ahh, right. I didn’t even think about their connection.”
“Anyway, call Narae for the contact info and get in touch before he gets offended and says forget it!”
Under the thunderbolt, Ahn Sojeong hurriedly texted Narae outside.
She’d brushed her off as spouting nonsense; now she felt a little sheepish…
[Narae, do you still have the contact for the HS job? Can you send it to me?]
What mattered more right now—pride?
The scolding was one thing.
But from a music director’s standpoint, this offer was drool-worthy.
No—this wasn’t “chicken instead of pheasant,” this was “a goose that lays golden eggs” delivered to her arms.
And Hidden won’t even pick up his phone.
Forget “chicken instead of pheasant”. This was a jackpot.
“If HS does the OST, it’ll be a huge boost for our drama promo. We cannot miss this shot. You get me?”
Even on his way out, PD Nam’s veins were standing out in his neck.
“Whew—.”
Left alone, Ahn Sojeong ran a shaky hand through her hair, caught between confusion and excitement.
Ding—!
A text from Jo Narae.
[See? When I told you, you didn’t believe me… If I give you the contact, how about a celebratory drink with me tonight?]
Honestly.
She loved that straightforward personality.
[Deal.]
Now, time to contact Hidden about canceling the collaboration contract?
If he even picked up…
At the knock on his studio door, Hyunseung sprang up.
“Kim— …What are you doing here?”
But when he saw the face slip through the cracked door, he looked vaguely disappointed and sat back down.
“Composer, what’s with that reaction? Were you expecting someone else?”
“No. Anyway, why’d you come?”
“I told you I’d drop by today.”
“Oh. Right.” He seemed to dredge the memory up. “So why are you here?”
“Why? To help because I want to be of some use.”
Suddenly, Ahn Jiho thumped his chest like a hero and said, “Just leave it to me.”
“Help? With what?”
“I know everything.”
“What exactly do you ‘know’?”
“I know you gave me a push. For me.”
“In what universe did I give you a push?”
“Oh, come on, don’t play dumb.”
He flushed, then poked Hyunseung’s side with his elbow.
“Hey, hey. That’s assault, you know.”
“Assault?!”
“With your build, that’s not ‘cutesy’—that’s assault.”
Jiho pulled an embarrassed face for a beat.
“Anyway, I’ll help you catch inspiration.”
“I don’t need your help for that. Really, you don’t have to.”
“No, no. I even brought the script. Let’s treat it like a table read.”
Hyunseung had no idea what Jiho was on about. It all sounded like “banging on a gourd in the middle of the night”. All random noise.
So he ignored it, picked his pen back up—
“Ahem.”
Jiho, dead serious, cleared his throat and pulled a thick script out of his bag.
And then…
He launched into a one-man, two-roles performance that was honestly painful to watch.
“Fair maiden, we shall meet again when the red moon rises.”
Using a totally unconvincing “maiden” voice, at that.
“Truly? Then promise me.”
Jiho hooked his pinky with both hands and delivered a pretty decent sageuk tone.
“You cannot see it, but our fingers are bound by an invisible red thread.”
Listening to that, Hyunseung’s grip tightened.
Snap—
The finely sharpened pencil lead smudged and broke across his notebook.
“Cut it out. Are you trying to test my cringe-resistance?”
When he frowned for real and snapped, Jiho’s face went blank with shock.
Why’s he mad? Is my acting that bad?
He calmed his features and asked, genuinely confused:
“I figured if you understood the drama’s emotions it might help. Is it not helpful?”
“Drama?”
“Yes, what I just did was the highlight scene from the sageuk Red Thread, the drama you’re taking the OST for.”
“Red Thread?”
“You’re not doing Red Thread?”
Hyunseung nodded slightly and answered.
“I said I’d be open to a drama OST, but I haven’t gotten a definite yes yet.”
“So it’s not because it’s Red Thread…”
“I just learned that’s what the show is called.”
“Excuse me? Th-then… why did you specifically reach out to do that drama’s OST?”
“Because they’re sampling a track I sold outright for that drama’s OST. I’m not going to sit by and watch my work get handled any which way by some random composer.”
Jiho’s face went as red as a boiled lobster. The PD had tossed off a line:
“I think HS really cares about you guys. The day your casting was decided, he reached out and asked to do the OST.”
He’d practically worn out his tongue bragging to the members.
Right now, if Jiho dropped dead on the spot, the cause would be death by embarrassment.
“How did you even know about it? I don’t even have confirmation yet.”
Jiho couldn’t bring himself to answer. He dropped his head.
If they saw his face, as red as a ripe tomato, they’d know he’d chugged a whole bowl of hopeful delusion.
I’d like to bite my tongue clean through.
As Jiho squeezed his eyes shut, scrambling for words—
“It did help, though.”
At Hyunseung’s offhand remark, Jiho felt like his heart had been whacked with a hammer.
“If I do end up taking it, I think I can make a next-level OST.”
“It… helped?”
“Yeah. I was too lazy to read the script, your bit actually did help.”
This time the sting hit right behind his nose, and his eyes prickled.
“Hey, Ahn Jiho.”
“Wh-what.”
“You crying again?”
“No.”
“You’re a big guy. Why are you always crying?”
“I said I’m not!”
Hyunseung clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“Talk about timing.”
He glanced down at a new text and cracked a grin.
[I spoke with the music director. We sent the contract; they’d love you to start right away. On that note—how about dinner tonight?]
Jiho studied his face and asked, surprised to see him smiling like a kid:
“Did something good happen?”
Hyunseung gave a short hum.
“A parent can’t beat his kid. ‘Dad’ texted first to make up.”
With that, he set down his pen and texted Dad Kim back:
[How about having dinner with your mother tonight—at that place we missed last time—instead of with me?]
On the notebook by the console, over and over, he had scrawled:
“sry for calling you a tin-can robot / sry for calling you oversensitive.”
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