After the press conference, the situation flipped completely.
[ Composers Who Vanished Due to Hidden’s Fabrications Finally Speak—A Flood of Victims Totalling Seven ]
The lawyer in charge proved he hadn’t been bluffing when he’d said he was thoroughly prepared.
“Everything on our side is already in place.”
One by one, piece by piece, they set things off and tightened the noose around Hidden’s neck.
[ Audio containing testimony that money was requested by Hidden submitted as evidence—Further investigation underway ]
[ Composer Hidden, signs of lobbying worth hundreds of millions uncovered via an illegal Chinese shell company… ]
Hidden not only faced additional investigations beyond defamation and spreading falsehoods.
He also lost the public’s support, blasted by opinion for playing the victim while being the perpetrator.
Right.
“Hidden’s as good as finished.”
It really was over now.
[ “Red Thread” Production Team States: “We only terminated because Hidden breached the contract.” “He took the deposit and never shared any work.” ]
[ Composer HS Files Complaint Against Senior Composer ‘Hidden’ and Holds Press Conference—Candid Remarks Draw Attention on Behalf of Multiple Victims ]
No more.
No more tabloids about him were floating around; if anything, this incident became the point where his fanbase grew.
Hmm.
Everything had been resolved, everything had gone smoothly.
So what is this lingering unease?
The arrows once aimed at him, at Jayble, or at other victims without names…
Now that they were aimed at Hidden, that fact left him oddly unsettled.
Ah. He wasn’t feeling sympathy. Plenty of others must have bled tears from the stones Hidden had casually tossed.
In his previous life, he too had lost everything to someone like that.
It’s just he’d had the foolish thought: Might this incident keep such things from happening again?
… only to feel bitter after thinking it.
Of course it would repeat.
Like a chain of wrongdoing that never breaks.
Let me just do what I can.
Hyunseung didn’t care to “enact justice.”
He had no desire to step up and change society.
He would simply do what he could, right now.
His gaze slid to the box of fan letters he’d received when he’d been caught up in the rumor scandal.
At first, tense that he might find curses written there, he unfolded the pages—and they were filled to the brim with hopeful lines.
That they believed in him.
That they were truly grateful for music that brought comfort.
That this time, they would stand and win.
That he must never give up….
As long as people like that existed, wouldn’t he surely be able to live this life differently?
It’s a life given to me once more, after all.
For now, work first.
— ♬ ♬ ♬ —
From then on, with hands whose trembling had finally stilled, Hyunseung wrote out a beautiful melody.
A few days passed, and the drama OST work sailed along like a well-wind-filled sloop—smooth and swift.
But for some reason, Hyunseung’s expression looked as serious as if something weighed on him.
“Hyunseung, I’m free for once. Dowant to go grab a meal?”
Kim Woohyun, who had stopped by the studio, asked lightly, but Hyunseung shook his head.
“I’m not in the mood to eat right now.”
At that, Kim started and asked again:
“You? Not in the mood to eat? No way.”
“Yeah. The winter season track just isn’t coming together.”
“Huh? Aren’t you working on the OST right now too?”
“That’s that, but I need to crank out the season song quickly….”
Watching his face sink into thought and trail off, Kim muttered, just loud enough to hear, “Workaholic.”
But for Hyunseung, it was a truly massive dilemma. January was already almost over; winter’s tail end had arrived.
If he couldn’t finish winter, the highlight of the seasonal set, then wouldn’t the resolution he’d carved into this year evaporate into nothing?
He absolutely could not let that happen.
“Carols?”
At his soft murmur, Kim jumped in: “Carols are good.”
“Yeah, but that’s so obvious….”
Ignoring him completely, Hyunseung kept asking and answering himself.
Winter, winter, winter.
Winter—the season when the year ends and a new one begins.
That’s why people like winter and await it with a flutter.
However—
This was the song to crown the final season. He didn’t want to write something that just captured the usual, predictable mood and feelings.
“Manager Kim.”
“Nope.”
“Ah—Division Head.”
“That’s right. Eun-jjok, what is it?”
“Nope.”
“Ah—Dong-jjok, what is it?”
Only after a few rounds of needless back-and-forth, thanks to the mixed-up nicknames, did Hyunseung finally get to the point.
“How’s your romance business going?”
“Why poke where it hurts?”
“Oh, so it’s over?”
“I’m just going to focus on work.”
“So you got dumped?”
At that, Kim gripped his shirt over his heart and bowed his head.
“I asked because sometimes other people’s love lives help me write, but you’re no help at all.”
That add-on dealt even more damage, but Kim suddenly recalled a parenting show he’d seen on TV.
The “Gold Nugget Project.”
What were you supposed to do again? Right—don’t flare up or snap back; respond calmly and gently.
“Our Dong-jjok is very talented at killing a man twice…”
“What’s with that tone?”
“What’s wrong with it? Isn’t it soft and gentle?”
Hyunseung grimaced, unable to adjust, then:
“How about this: whoever’s been dumped more in life buys lunch today?”
With a sly grin, he drew one last blade.
“What’s the matter? Scared?”
In the end, Kim’s Gold Nugget Project didn’t last even a minute.
“You heinously cruel bastard….”
Inside LS Entertainment headquarters, the executive office closest to the CEO’s suite.
The luxurious nameplate inside read “Park Tae-muk.”
Swipe, swipe—
Breathing softly on it as if handling a treasure, Senior Managing Director Park polished the nameplate until it gleamed.
“Looks good.”
From a very young age, Park had valued appearances intensely.
He had nothing, and nothing to show.
So he defined himself as a hard man and kept himself under harsher discipline.
Success.
With only that goal, ever since stepping into the entertainment industry, he’d barely slept more than four hours a day.
Even now, as an executive, not much had changed.
Though nearing fifty, Park still woke at 5 a.m. to meditate every morning.
Stretching and high-intensity weight training, clean meals, arriving at work earlier than others, reading books about successful people.
He kept his body large yet nimble, striving solely for success.
As a result, he’d earned a spacious private office with a high-end leather sofa and a flashy nameplate.
And on his desk sat a framed photo of his family, smiling brightly.
Staring at the photo with melancholy eyes, he suddenly tipped the frame face-down with a flick.
Creeeak—
Reclining into his chair, Park closed his eyes and murmured low:
“It’s fine. I’m a hard case.”
As a habit, he likened modern society to a dueling ground. He lived with a gladiator’s heart.
His creed and motto: even if he shoved a blade down an enemy’s throat, he’d put good food in his young’s mouths.
He’d come to this worldview the day his family left him.
His wife said she was taking the newborn kids overseas—to study. For the children’s sake, he readily agreed.
On the day he sent them off, standing before the departure gate, his wife wore a sorry look.
“It’s okay.”
Park comforted her like this:
“You know I’m a tough man.”
He was a very solid person.
At the ragged end of long busy days…
He came back to a wide, empty home. The apartment, stripped of his wife and kids’ things, was barren, but he quickly mastered living alone.
He cooked for himself, washed the dishes, did laundry and cleaning, and fell asleep watching some trivial animal documentary—over and over.
—The male lion watched the lioness die before his eyes, yet stepped forward again to protect his cubs…
He loved the predators in those documentaries. He found tremendous appeal in their duality—sinking sharp teeth into a prey’s nape yet protecting their pride, their family. It was an unbreakable conviction.
I should be a predator like that, a husband like that, a dad like that.
When the long-awaited summer vacation came, he silently went to the New Jersey house where his family lived. Through the lit picture window, his family sat gathered at the dining table, smiling.
As he walked closer, he sensed something was wrong. A foreign man he’d never seen sat beside his wife—filling his role.
Hahaha…!
Happy laughter spilled out; the man’s hand circled his wife’s waist; he stroked his children’s hair.
One cigarette, two, three.
Watching from a distance, Park chain-smoked. Tossing the last butt and grinding the ember out under his shoe, he muttered a quiet spell.
“It’s fine. I’m a f***ing tough bastard.”
It was the incantation that ran through his life.
Knock, knock—!
At the sound on the door, Park opened his eyes, snapping out of the deep drift.
“Come in.”
At his words, his direct subordinate entered properly and handed over the approvals folder.
“These are today’s documents for your sign-off.”
Like a machine, Park began reviewing them. From that day on, he had lived without skipping a single day.
He’d never sloppily shed tears.
He didn’t know what his wife had told the kids, but before long, even contact with them grew scant.
He told himself it didn’t matter.
An alpha male shouldn’t be swayed by such trifles; he should simply do what must be done.
Above all, he had to keep his word.
He’d promised to support them until the kids finished college in the U.S., so he simply kept that promise.
He could choose not to see; he could choose not to know. And who’s to say everything wouldn’t someday return to its place?
He simply hardened his heart and hoped everything would return to its place.
Of course, sometimes, when the emptiness and desolation surged, he tried drowning in drink, or holding a younger woman—
But even that wandering brought no joy.
He hadn’t loved his wife, but he’d felt a strong comradeship. The grimy feeling of betraying a comrade didn’t sit well; he stopped quickly.
He simply controlled himself with even stricter discipline.
He read an average of ten books a week, took care of his body diligently, did more work, and focused only on making more money.
At times he chose to play the villain.
Villains, after all, take fierce care of their families. In nature’s logic, predators can’t help but stand among the ranks of “evil.”
Even if he had to play the heavy, he welcomed it.
“Phew….”
He finished for the day and left the building. For some reason, he didn’t feel like driving; he simply walked where his feet took him.
Then a quiet-looking pojangmacha (street tent bar) caught his eye.
“Been a while.”
He was used to drinking only in private rooms or bars; the shabby tent bar felt welcome.
“One udon and a bottle of soju, please.”
It felt awkward lifting the flap and going in, but his body remembered; he ordered as naturally as ever.
Glug—
Maybe because of the memories that surfaced, or the faces of his children fading to a blur, the drink tasted especially sweet tonight.
How much had he had?
By the time an empty bottle rolled across the table, the ground swayed close, then far. His stomach sloshed; his head throbbed.
Gurrrgle.
Still, Park’s hand didn’t stop.
Gurrrgle.
“I’m a really f***ing tough bastard; I’m fine,” he muttered again, refilling the empty glass.
“Senior Managing Director Park?”
A familiar voice came from somewhere. He lifted his head and there was Hyunseung.
“What are you doing here alone? Pathetic.”
“…….”
“You don’t have to say it—I can guess. You really ought to use that heart of yours a little more gently. Given that temper, it’s a wonder you aren’t an office outcast.”
A punk who has never once buttered his words for him—mouthy as hell.
But that made him comfortable.
Right—amid all the people busy currying his favor, wasn’t it fine to have one guy like this?
“What does a pea-sized brat know….”
Park sniped, then tossed back his drink in one go.
“Boss, can we get one more glass here?”
Then—
“If nothing else, I do know my liquor.”
Taking the seat across from him, Hyunseung added:
“While we’re at it, pour a drink for the pea-sized brat.”
For reasons he couldn’t name, In that moment, Park felt a strange calm.
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