Once again today, Hidden only dragged himself up, parched, after the sun had already set.
“Ha….”
The breath he forced up from his gut carried a bitter reek of alcohol, and his stomach lurched again.
Now that he was just about to hit forty, he could feel his body wasn’t what it used to be.
“Hoo….”
He heaved himself up, tossed back a glass of cold water, and felt his stomach settle a little.
Tick, tick—
Unlike Hidden’s sluggish movements, the second hand on the wall clock was racing along.
6:14 p.m.
Only when evening was almost gone did Hidden finally start hunting around the house for the phone he’d tossed somewhere.
“Where is it… ha….”
Scowling, he tore through the place until he found it wedged down in the sofa cushions.
“Endless messages, as usual.”
He sprawled back on the couch and began checking the incoming messages in order.
Among them, Hidden read only the ones he wanted to read.
For example…
Invitations to parties or get-togethers, or a text from some actress he was interested in.
He cherry-picked those—
And skimmed past the ones he didn’t want to see with a willful blur: the nagging messages pushing him about songs.
“God, the hounding….”
For Hidden, pleasure came before composition. Not that he’d been like that from the start.
“Korea’s number-one composer.”
It seemed to have started when that tag began to follow him around. He gave songs only to guaranteed-hit idols,
Using the job of “composer” purely to make money and get famous.
Granted, he’d been overtaken by famous younger composers and wasn’t as hot as he’d once been, but the name “Hidden” still sold pretty well.
And with the royalty checks still coming in anyway, whenever new work came in he’d put it off and put it off, then crank it out at the last second.
“Ugh, what a pain.”
Yes, he knew he’d taken money, so he had to do the work eventually. What was he supposed to do about the fact that it was a pain right now?
[Missed calls from Director Ahn: 28]
Hidden let out a long sigh at the missed-call list.
They were calls from Ahn Sojeong, the music director of the drama Red Thread, with whom he had an OST collaboration contract.
Her relentless calling was a huge nuisance, but he couldn’t dodge forever.
He’d already taken a pretty hefty amount as an advance on the contract.
Right.
Strike while the iron’s hot. He’d just knock it all out by tomorrow morning.
Ding—!
Just as he’d decided that…
[ Director Ahn +1 new message ]
Speak of the devil. A text came in from Ahn Sojeong.
So she’d somehow sensed he was awake and was starting up the nagging again?
“Huh?”
But the content was so far from what he expected that Hidden blinked like he’d seen a ghost.
[As the agreed deadline has passed and we have not received any meaningful deliverables, we are terminating the contract. You have not taken my calls, so I must notify you by text—please understand. Please return the advance you received… (view full)]
What the hell was this? Hidden stopped halfway down the long message and stabbed the call button.
Brrrrrrrrrr—
After a ring that felt like it would never end, a calm woman’s voice came on.
— Hello.
She was so matter-of-fact that the tirade he’d been about to launch stuck in his throat.
“Uh…”
Hidden let out a flustered hum.
“This is Director Ahn, right?”
— Yes, it is. What can I do for you?
“I read your text, and I don’t get it.”
— Was the content that difficult? Simply put: contract terminated for failure to meet the terms; accordingly, you must return the advance—
“No, I was going to deliver the material tomorrow. Did you have to send something like this and ruin a person’s mood?”
— You don’t need to deliver anything. We’ve already sent the official termination notice to your label.
Hidden snapped back, his tone bristling.
“What? Is this a joke?”
— You saw my attempts to reach you, didn’t you? How many missed calls was it? Does that look like a joke to you, Mr. Hidden?
Her level tone held a quiet anger.
Over the last month she’d placed more than 200 calls; no wonder the word “joke” set her off.
Hidden knew it, too.
He’d dodged her calls on purpose because he couldn’t be bothered to work.
Above all, there was no advance to return—he’d already spent it—so he decided to tuck his tail first.
“Okay, okay.”
Then, as if grudgingly conceding, he went on:
“I’ll send it today, so let’s not start off on the wrong foot. Let’s keep this friendly.”
But Ahn Sojeong answered in a firm voice that said her mind was made up.
— Right, by keeping the refund friendly.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be? Then how exactly are you planning to get the OST made?”
— Another composer has agreed to handle it. No need to worry.
Hidden let out a derisive snort and sneered.
“Please. ‘Another composer’? What, you’re going chicken instead of pheasant to save the production budget?”
— It’s a goose instead of a pheasant, we may have to invest more. Thanks for your concern.
“Come on, Ms. Ahn—”
— If you have anything further to say, please send it through official correspondence. I’ll end the call here.
And with that, the line went dead.
— The customer is not available. Please leave a message after the tone.
Even when he called back, all he got was that recorded voice.
Unbelievable.
A goose instead of a pheasant? More budget? What kind of composer—Jayble?
Ah.
Don’t tell me—HS? Choi Jihyun?
Tap, tap—
Hidden hurried to the entertainment-news page of a portal site.
If, as she said, someone pricier than him had taken the job, they’d definitely be using it for promo already, right?
Sure enough,
A freshly uploaded headline snagged his eye.
[Composer HS takes on drama OST next? To serve as executive producer for Red Thread’s main theme OST…]
Hidden’s face froze in an instant.
These damn kids these days… no qualms about snatching another man’s rice bowl.
Honestly.
He couldn’t just sit there and take this. HS had been in his face too much lately anyway—this was perfect.
Brrrr—
Hidden dialed somewhere as he muttered to himself.
“Take care out there, junior.”
The look on his face was downright satanic.
[ How about having dinner not with me but with your mother tonight—at that place you missed last time? ]
Seeing Hyunseung’s text, Kim Woohyun hesitated only a moment.
“Yeah. Good.”
He’d been made head of division. It was time to take Mom out for an expensive fine-dining course meal.
He promptly called the restaurant where Hyunseung had held the year-end dinner.
“Hello, could I reserve dinner for two?”
— Oh—this number… may I have your name?
“Ah, Kim Woohyun.”
— Yes, I see a reservation in your name. We’ll have the special two-person course ready at 8 p.m.
“Pardon? Ah—thank you….”
So the kid made the reservation while sending the text, huh? What if I hadn’t gone…
Tomorrow he really would show up first with coffee in hand.
Soon after, Kim Woohyun picked up his mother, who’d been recuperating at home since being discharged from the hospital, and took her to Son Su, a Korean-fusion fine-dining spot.
Because the place was all private rooms, it didn’t feel crowded when they stepped inside—he liked that.
Just then, a woman who looked like a staffer came up with a bright smile and asked,
“Welcome. The reservation is under Mr. Kim Woohyun, yes? You’ve finally made it.”
On the name tag pinned over her left breast was the name Kang Seora.
Pretty name, too.
Dazzled by that lovely smile, Kim didn’t even register the odd phrasing—“finally made it”—and followed her into a room.
“Let me bring some more water.”
Whether every room had a dedicated server or not, Kang Seora handled their meal from start to finish—bringing each course,
Explaining how to enjoy the food and describing the dishes and checking carefully that the flavors suited them.
She looks around my age…
Kim took a quiet liking to Kang Seora, but since he’d brought his mother he kept it to himself, soothed his regret with the cinnamon-punch dessert, and stood to leave.
“Mom, take your time coming out. I’ll go settle the bill and use the restroom.”
Out in the main area, he looked around for Kang Seora. If he was paying anyway, he might as well see that face one more time…
Right then,
She came out of another room, smiling like an angel, and hurried over.
“Did you enjoy your meal?”
“Yes, thanks to you.”
Kim glanced around, then opened his mouth—
“Could you help me with the bill?”
But what came out was just a request to pay.
That’s me, all right.
He was pulling his wallet from his inner pocket with a resigned air when—
“It’s already taken care of.”
When Kang Seora said it with a smile, he blinked.
“That can’t be right. I haven’t paid yet.”
“The person who made the reservation on your behalf pre-paid—every time they booked.”
With a blank look, he asked,
“E-every time?”
“We actually had the reservation and pre-payment in place every day for about two weeks, but the guest never came, so we wondered. I’m glad you made it today.”
Kim steadied his trembling voice and asked again,
“Could you tell me the name of the person who made those proxy reservations?”
Her lips parted—
“They said to tell you ‘Daddy-Long-Legs’ and you’d know.”
At that, Kim hid his shaking hands in his pockets.
Suddenly, he remembered the last time he’d been here.
“It’s a shame to get treated to something expensive and not get to eat properly…”
“Then come back a bit later with your mother and eat.”
“How am I supposed to come to a place this pricey, man.”
“If you want to eat, you come. Anyway, go on now.”
It hadn’t been idle talk. Right. Hyunseung never said things idly.
If he’d booked every day for the last two weeks, he must have started the day Kim had first come—and kept booking until now.
That text today, too—
He’d surely sent it with the same thought in mind.
Maybe…
He’d even known Kim was going to be promoted—that he’d come to the restaurant once he was.
Ahh.
Right—of course. When he’d gone to dine with the CEO and even signed a renewal, Kim had asked what terms he’d demanded, and Hyunseung hadn’t answered easily.
“Well, just…”
He’d let it trail off. And then nothing had changed afterward and Kim had wondered about that.
If his hunch was right…
Then the kid’s hand had been in his promotion to head of division.
And the kid had kept quiet and waited, not wanting to burden him.
I’ve got a long way to go.
To pout at a guy that deep because he didn’t offer congratulations… what a shameful look for himself. Right now, he wanted to die of embarrassment.
“Oh my.”
Startled, Kang Seora held out a handkerchief.
“Sir, is something wrong?”
Damn. He’d tried to hold it back, but it had leaked out.
“No, just something in my eye.”
He rubbed at his eyes roughly with his sleeve.
“Excuse me, I’ll just use the restroom.”
With that, he stepped into the bathroom.
And then…
Ssssshhhhhhhh—
For a long while, the sound of the tap running echoed in the men’s room.
“Hic—kkuh—nnngh—.”
Along with the muffled sound of a man holding back his sobs.
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