The conference room inside HIL Studio’s headquarters, a documentary production company, was overflowing with energy for the first time in a while.
And for good reason.
It was the day they would be holding a meeting about the official notice that had dropped from the sky during the last meeting, which had felt like a drought.
“Our side is fully prepared, and now we just need them to arrive.”
At Catherine’s words, Tim fastened the collar that had become rumpled from running around.
Because there wasn’t much time left until the time “they” Catherine mentioned were supposed to arrive.
“Then, everyone except the key meeting personnel, step outside.”
With that, Tim took his seat at the head of the table.
He tried to act as if it were nothing, but his throat kept drying out, so the water jug quickly showed its bottom.
“Would you like more water?”
Quick-witted Catherine handed him a fresh jug. Just as they had almost finished two jugs of water.
Knock, knock.
The employee who had been standing outside to greet their guests knocked.
“They’re here.”
At the voice from beyond the door, Tim counted about three seconds in his head, then replied for them to come in.
Creeeak.
To Tim, the moment the door opened looked slow, like a scene in slow motion.
He wasn’t usually the type to get nervous before something, but this time, strangely, he was tense enough to feel nauseated.
Was it because the living legend Daniel Parker was coming?
Or.
Because HS, the rising scandal maker, was coming?
Or was it…
Because the two of them felt like the last rope that could keep the company from falling?
Step, step.
Daniel Parker, following after the employee, came in looking somewhat smaller than the figure Tim remembered.
And HS, who entered next…
“Mm?”
Looked like something Tim had never even imagined.
“H-HS, is that you?”
Maybe it wasn’t just Tim, because everyone’s gaze in the room was fixed on HS as well.
It was true that preliminary research had been lacking, since HS wasn’t yet extremely famous in the U.S., nor had it been a long time.
Even so…
No one expected him to show up wearing a helmet. And one with a flame mark, an extremely tacky helmet at that.
According to what they had learned through employees, HS was.
A Korean composer rumored to be dating Sarah Stewart.
A supernova composer who had suddenly barged into the Billboard charts.
Someone who had gone head-to-head with Mateo on digital releases.
And then, a composer who had put Vincent out front and created a label.
Yes.
That was all the information they had gathered on a person named HS.
As additional information, they had heard that in Korea he was popular on an idol level, and that he had striking looks.
So…
How could they have expected him to come wearing a helmet?
“Why is the atmosphere like this?”
As the silence continued, HS sensed the strange air and asked while looking over everyone in the room.
“Is there some kind of problem?”
“No, no. Please, have a seat.”
Tim shook his head and pointed to the empty seats where water jugs and materials were neatly set.
When Daniel and HS (presumably) each took a seat, the room fell silent, as if someone had poured water over it.
Whether it was because Daniel looked plainly weakened, or because HS had come wearing that mysterious helmet, he couldn’t tell.
“It’s a pleasure. I never imagined a musician as renowned as you, Daniel, would be the one to request a documentary proposal first.”
It was Tim who broke the stillness first.
“And to think you’re working with composer HS as well. We consider it an honor just to be able to accompany the process of the two of you.”
With a gentle smile, he strung together pleasant words to shift the mood.
“I don’t think it’s something worth calling an honor.”
But HS drew a line cleanly, in a self-mocking tone.
“Excuse me? No, not at all.”
Tim waved his hand and denied it.
He truly did think it was an honor.
No.
He felt even the word “honor” was insufficient.
To Tim, they were… like a blessing sent down by the heavens.
Something they had desperately wished for, and the sky had dropped into their hands.
Saviors, the kind who grabbed the hand clinging to a cliff and pulled it up.
“To us, it truly is an honor. Still, though…”
Daniel trailed off, then asked quietly.
“Could we possibly hear why you chose to entrust it to us?”
It was an honor, a miracle, an opportunity, but it wasn’t as if they had no questions. Even if HIL Studio was known for making documentaries.
That, too, was in the past.
Rather, by stubbornly insisting on documentaries, they had been pushed aside, reduced to a production company that wasn’t much to look at.
“Why entrust it to HIL….”
Daniel murmured as if turning the question over, and then.
“Hm….”
He glanced at HS.
Of course.
Since HS was wearing a helmet, it was hard to tell where he was looking.
“The reason is there isn’t one.”
It was HS who opened his mouth instead of Daniel.
“We chose you because we judged that you would capture, as it is, every historic moment, from the production process to the album being released and the stage being performed.”
His voice was plain, and sincerity seeped through.
Not too little, not too much.
That voice, carrying weight, filled the room.
Nod, nod.
As if moved, everyone nodded along.
“However, there is a condition.”
Up until HS flipped over the document lying on the table.
“As for filming the work process, we’ll do it by installing cameras.”
Before his words even fully ended, question marks floated over everyone’s heads.
Sure, when filming wildlife or nature documentaries, you install observation cams and people stay far away, but….
When filming people, was there any need to do that?
Then a cameraman in charge of filming spoke up, as if objecting.
“However, for the quality of the documentary, it would be better to have a professional filming team accompany the shoot—”
But within seconds, he was cut off.
“I don’t like people crowding around inside my studio.”
HS rejected it cleanly, for a personal reason.
At that, disappointment clearly spread across people’s faces.
And for good reason.
They had been making only private, small documentaries, and now they could finally make one proper “work.”
They had been swelling with dreams of reigniting “HIL’s” revival through this documentary.
But if they did it with only simple observation cams, as HS demanded, it was obvious they wouldn’t get the shots or the quality they wanted.
Still no one could refute him. To anyone, it was clear the production company was in the weaker position.
Daniel Parker and HS.
There was no public that wouldn’t be curious about them, and no production company that wouldn’t welcome them.
They couldn’t lose them over a single condition like that.
After a while, HS slowly turned his head, scanning the people in the room who looked miserable.
“Outside the work process, it’s fine if the filming crew follows and records. Of course, not me, only Daniel Parker.”
He offered news that would be welcome. At that, Tim quietly let out the breath he’d been holding, as if he’d been rescued at the last moment.
It was a shame they couldn’t film HS’s other daily life, but the protagonist of this documentary was “Daniel” anyway.
Just as they were relieved and exhaled.
“Why only me?”
Daniel grabbed HS’s forearm and demanded, bristling.
That was when it started.
The conference room suddenly became noisy.
“Because it’s your documentary, so of course only you should be filmed separately.”
“You’re the one who proposed it first.”
“You said you liked it too. You said if you left something like that before you die, you’d be living a glamorous life to the end, and you went on and on about how it was a good idea.”
“That’s because you kept sweet-talking it like it sounded so plausible, so I got tempted—!”
As if nobody around them existed, the two kept arguing.
Keeping a knife-edge tone where you couldn’t tell if they were truly angry or not.
“So what, you’re not going to do it?”
“That’s not what I’m saying!”
“Right. You’re going to do it anyway.”
As Tim stared at the two of them like he couldn’t believe it.
“J-just a moment. Both of you, stay put.”
He had heard their age gap was fairly large.
Yet like same-age friends, they bickered childishly, and he had to separate and mediate.
Somehow….
He had the feeling this documentary production would have many moments that would jolt and rattle like driving on an unpaved road.
Eric, the editor in charge of video editing at HIL Studio, sat down at his work table.
Even though it was late night, long after the sun had set, the reason he sat down was…
A newly started project.
He had to start, little by little, editing the documentary footage of Daniel Parker’s album production process.
That evening, they had sent over footage of the work process, and if he didn’t start trimming it down in advance from now, it was clear it would become unmanageable later.
“Ugh.”
Eric kneaded his knotted shoulders and made an ugly face.
Then, after only a moment…
He placed his hands on the keyboard and mouse.
Click.
He launched the editing program, then backed up the footage he’d received.
After checking the overall flow, he planned to cut out unnecessary parts in advance and store them.
“Hm….”
As the video started, the first thing he saw was Daniel’s face.
- Uh, where am I supposed to look?
- You don’t have to look anywhere.
- But the camera is running.
- What, do you think this is some talk show? Don’t act tacky, just do what you always do.
HS seemed to have positioned himself knowing exactly where the observation cam was, so only his slanted side profile could be seen.
- Did you just call me tacky?
- If you want beer, shouldn’t you start quickly?
Daniel nodded like an idiot.
- Ah, right.
He’d felt it during the last meeting too, but listening to the two of them talk…
They felt like childish boys.
Click!
So, there was no way he could use a scene like this in the documentary, so he would cut it out and store it.
Ah, what if every conversation was like this?
Eric felt a worry flash through him, that what if there were no usable scenes at all from the work process.
- You practiced a lot?
- Of course.
- But you know…
- What now?
He raised the playback speed and checked the footage, stamping down his impatience, and then.
- Seriously, why did you choose HIL?
One interesting thing reached his ears.
- A long time ago, you made a documentary here that obsessively captured the life of a male lion.
- Yeah.
- That lion reigns as the king of the jungle, always living cool, flashy, and relaxed, and in the end, he grows old, gets sick, and meets death.
- Even animals can’t help growing old and getting sick.
- But to me, it looked so cool. Even up to the moment the male lion lived his whole life fiercely, then died under a quiet tree.
HS turned his head sharply toward Daniel and continued.
- That’s why I thought it was perfect for producing your final work.
- When I’m bickering childishly with you, I keep forgetting.
- Forgetting what?
- That this album isn’t one that will bring back my prime. It’ll be my final work.
Eric fixed his headset again, as if doubting his ears.
Then he rewound and slowed the playback speed, focusing again on their conversation.
But…
The word “final work” definitely came out of their mouths.
‘Final work…?’
What on earth did that mean? He’d only heard it was a retirement album….
As Eric stared blankly at the screen, stunned.
- You can do both.
- What?
- Make a final album that proves your whole life was your prime.
For the first time, HS fully revealed his side profile and placed both hands on Daniel’s shoulders.
- Yeah. That’s what we do.
With that, Daniel silently started walking toward the booth.
Click!
Eric stopped the hand that had been about to cut the footage.
And for a long time, he did nothing but stare at Daniel’s back in the video.
T/N: Maybe I’m always tired or I’m getting old… but I teared up. Be safe and stay healthy, everybody.
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