Episode 49: A Mere Road Manager…
A concept meeting for the new album was held with the members of Free Sense.
The meeting room was filled with key staff from VIP Entertainment, including CEO Jung Han-yong, who was in charge of producing, the A&R (Artist & Repertories) team responsible for the overall concept, the costume and hair stylist teams, the PR team, the art director, and the vocal and dance teams.
From our Manager Team 2, either Team Leader Jeon Min-yong or Manager Kim Jung-sun was supposed to attend, but due to a scheduling conflict with the male idol trainee auditions, I was sent as the representative.
It seems I’ll likely be handling Free Sense’s work schedule until their official activities begin.
Each team’s leaders opened their laptops and tablets, preparing for the meeting, and I did the same, ready with my laptop in front of me.
Until the meeting, I had assumed CEO Jung Han-yong was the main producer for this album, but I was wrong.
He was only responsible for writing the lyrics and composing the music. The overall producer was someone else entirely.
It was Joo-hwan, the A&R team leader and idol producer.
Though it was my first time meeting Joo-hwan today, I was already familiar with him through various articles and interviews.
He was the composer and producer behind most of GraceOne’s title tracks.
If CEO Jung Han-yong was a star who had reached his peak and was slowly fading, Joo-hwan, born in 1990, was a rising star in the prime of his creative flow.
Unlike the traditional composer Jung, Joo-hwan was a former singer who had released albums and performed himself. He was an all-around player with talents spanning vocals, rap, dance, and concept creation.
As an entertainer, his somewhat off-putting appearance kept him from succeeding as a singer, but his sophisticated and sharp musical talent, along with his knack for concept and visual creation, earned him recognition, leading to a successful transition to A&R and producing.
They say the scope of A&R teams varies by company, and their roles are becoming more specialized, often splitting off into separate departments. But at VIP Entertainment, thanks to Joo-hwan’s multifaceted sensibility, the A&R team still holds significant influence and responsibility.
“Since we have some teams working together for the first time, let’s go around and introduce ourselves,” CEO Jung Han-yong said.
Each team’s staff took turns introducing themselves.
The choreography was being handled by FreeRule, the team currently working with GraceOne.
The costume team, which had been with Free Sense from the start, would continue to take charge.
“PR team, Oh Yoon-sun,” said the PR representative.
Finally, it was my turn.
“Nice to meet you all. I’m Kang Hyun-jong from Manager Team 2.”
“You’re not someone I’ve seen before…?” Joo-hwan said, his sharp, narrow eyes fixed on me.
Dressed head-to-toe in high-end streetwear luxury brands, he spoke in a cocky tone.
“Are you Manager Jeon Min-yong? Did he get transferred somewhere else?”
“No, he couldn’t make it because of the male trainee auditions, so I’m here in his place.”
“Oh, so you’re the new manager that Team Leader 1 recommended, right?”
“No, that’s Manager Kim Jung-sun, but she’s also tied up with the auditions.”
“What the…?”
Even if I’m younger than him, to say “What the…?” right to my face?
It was probably an unconscious remark, but it came off as if he was saying, “Who does this lowly employee think he is, showing up here?”
In first meetings where people don’t know each other, small things like tone or behavior can easily create preconceptions.
That’s why most people hide their flaws and present themselves as politely as possible during initial encounters.
Not bothering to hide that suggests either ingrained arrogance or a lack of basic manners.
Come to think of it, many people I’ve met at the company left a bad first impression but turned out to be good people. Team Leader Jeon Min-yong was like that, and so was CEO Kim Yong.
My prejudice against Team Leader Lee Sook-young from Team 1, who badmouthed our Team 2, is still a work in progress, but even she had her good sides.
At the very least, she tried to be polite when speaking with me on the phone.
That’s not even effort—it’s just basic manners for anyone navigating professional life.
It wasn’t just Joo-hwan’s tone that bothered me; his entire demeanor—his gaze, his attitude—felt disrespectful.
But then, I realized I wasn’t exactly being humble myself.
Who am I, a three-month newbie, to judge the behavior of an A&R team leader?
In a regular company, it’d be like a junior employee sizing up a senior executive’s entire character based on their demeanor.
No matter how young he is, he earned his position through skill, not connections.
Yeah, even Ah-hyun, who I initially thought was rude based on first impressions, turned out to be a warm person.
I shouldn’t overthink this.
Suppressing my irritation as best I could, I responded politely to Joo-hwan.
“I’m a road manager who just started recently.”
“A road manager? A road manager is here for a concept meeting?” Joo-hwan asked, looking at CEO Jung Han-yong as if seeking an explanation.
Despite CEO Jung Han-yong being far superior in age, experience, and rank, Joo-hwan’s eyes were filled with an arrogance that suggested he was the ultimate authority.
It felt like the vibe of a spoiled third-generation chaebol heir dismissing the authority of older executives.
No matter how much I tried to think positively, wrong was wrong.
I’m just an imperfect, immature human myself.
Even though Joo-hwan was the A&R team leader at the center of this concept meeting, and his skills and talent were widely recognized, I couldn’t help but find him personally grating.
It seemed like he had a blunt personality, someone who speaks their mind regardless of status or age, but that didn’t erase the impression of arrogance.
Maybe it felt particularly off-putting because just this morning, on my way to work, my dad had told me that the more successful you are, the more humble you should be.
Judging by the slightly tense expressions of others glancing at Joo-hwan, it didn’t seem like I was the only one who felt this way.
Ah-hyun and Jin-ah, who shared a similar straightforward disposition, openly showed their displeasure, shooting glares at Joo-hwan.
I knew Ah-hyun wouldn’t cross any lines, but I was a bit worried about Jin-ah.
Joo-hwan, shrugging his shoulders and tilting his head side to side like a thug flaunting his Free Sense, continued speaking.
“It’s my first time seeing a road manager at a concept meeting…”
His tone was slightly mocking, but he wasn’t wrong.
The staff gathered today were probably curious why a rookie road manager, the lowest-ranking position, was attending a concept meeting.
CEO Jung Han-yong seemed to think it was worth addressing and introduced me.
“He’s new, but he’s good at his job. Based on what Hyun-jong has done so far, he’s practically at the level of a manager. CEO Kim Yong himself recognized his talent.”
Even though Jung Han-yong’s playful side often put me in awkward situations, it was clear he genuinely liked me.
He felt like the dependable neighborhood hyung who teases you at home but has your back when you’re out in the world.
Hearing him praise me deepened my fondness for him.
“Really? What has he done?” Joo-hwan asked in a casual, almost dismissive tone.
Jung Han-yong began listing my accomplishments since becoming Free Sense’s manager, even downplaying his own contributions to lift me up.
“Honestly, Free Sense was on the verge of collapse because of me, and this guy basically performed CPR on the group. If you go to the office, you’ll see the contract he and CEO Kim Yong signed, framed like a trophy.”
The PR team, who worked in the office, already knew this story, but the choreography and stylist teams, who were more like external collaborators, chuckled or looked at me with surprised expressions, as if thinking, “Oh, so that’s the guy.”
“He’s someone Team Leader 2 trusts enough to send as his stand-in, so let’s not worry about his tenure or title,” Jung Han-yong added.
Maybe I was overanalyzing, but his words—“don’t worry about his tenure or title”—felt like a subtle jab at Joo-hwan, as if saying, “That’s why I put up with an arrogant guy like you.”
That seemed to settle the matter of my credentials.
As the guide track for “Smile Again,” recorded in Ah-hyun’s voice, played on repeat, the meeting proceeded.
Joo-hwan, as if proving his arrogance stemmed from his skill, led the meeting with professionalism.
He showed the stylist team his prepared references for costumes, hair, and makeup, asking for their input. The stylist team leader responded positively, saying they weren’t bad.
He also had a musical discussion with CEO Jung Han-yong.
“PD-nim, you intentionally went for a retro vibe, right?”
“Exactly.”
“It’s pretty good.”
“Turned out well, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, I’ve been into retro lately too. I’m thinking of going in a similar direction for the male idol group we’re preparing.”
The term “kkara” he used is industry slang, roughly meaning “vibe” or “direction.”
Jung Han-yong’s face lit up at the praise for the track, looking almost innocently delighted.
“Actually, Hyun-jong helped set the reference for this. The bridge part? He wrote and composed it himself,” Jung Han-yong said.
“Oh… really? Hmm, I see…” Joo-hwan responded.
My subconscious had already labeled Joo-hwan as a jerk.
The look he gave Jung Han-yong seemed to say, “This guy, who never listens to anyone outside his composing team, actually took input? Must mean his confidence is shot and he’s losing his edge. Tsk tsk…”
Joo-hwan then turned to me, asking with mild surprise, “Did you study music or something?”
“No, not really. I just had a melody pop into my head and jotted it down.”
“But weirdly, that melody matched perfectly with the MR and chord progression I had prepared. It’s like he wrote it after hearing my track,” Jung Han-yong added.
“Well, as long as it turned out good, that’s what matters,” Joo-hwan said, brushing it off.
Brushing off CEO Jung Han-yong’s words, Joo-hwan turned to me with a testing tone.
“But can you really be ready for activities in three months? I heard the two new members aren’t prepared at all.”
“As CEO Jung mentioned, that’s why we significantly reduced Seon-yu and Woo-ya’s parts.”
“It’s not just about the song. What about the choreography? You can fake your way through a song with a backing track, but choreography? That’s obvious if it’s not polished. And it’s not just this album—they need to practice the old repertoire too. Three months feels way too tight…”
To be honest, parts and practice weren’t my domain.
There were separate vocal and dance trainers for that.
I glanced at Bae Eun-young, the dance team leader in charge of the group’s choreography training.
She answered on my behalf.
“Seon-yu’s been a trainee for a while, so she picks things up quickly. Woo-ya’s a bit of a concern, but with the current practice pace, I think we can manage.”
“Manage…?” Joo-hwan pressed. “How many choreographies are they working on right now?”
“The existing songs are ‘Halloween Day,’ ‘Style,’ ‘Ya,’ and ‘How Do I Look Today’—four songs. Plus two event repertoire songs and the title track for this album, so seven in total.”
“Seven songs in three months? That might work for an amateur event stage, but Free Sense is a professional group. Can you really be fully prepared in that time?”
“We’ll have to try,” Bae Eun-young replied.
“‘We’ll have to try’ isn’t good enough… Can you actually do it?” Joo-hwan shot back, his tone tinged with frustration and irritation.
His response left even the veteran choreographer Bae Eun-young momentarily speechless.
“In my opinion, we should push it back a bit. I don’t care about anything else, but as long as my name is attached to this, I absolutely won’t let them go on stage unprepared. This isn’t the ‘90s. Three months is completely impossible.”
His sharp, almost venomous words visibly deflated Seon-yu and Woo-ya.
Even CEO Jung Han-yong and the other team leaders didn’t push back.
He wasn’t suggesting scrapping the album, just extending the preparation period, so his point had some legitimacy.
“Actually, I was going to bring this up since we’re all here today. How about this?” Joo-hwan clapped his hands, signaling a conclusion.
“Let’s delay the album release by just two months. An album isn’t cheap to produce, and if we rush it out half-baked just because we’re riding some momentum, it’ll be a disaster. We’re not amateurs, are we?”
Delay the album release…?
That would mean the future I saw in my vision would fall apart.
Of course, that vision isn’t necessarily the only path.
The outcome in that future vision is likely just one of many routes to success.
But everything was moving perfectly according to a proven success formula, with 100% certainty of success. Changing direction now would be a mistake.
Even CEO Jung Han-yong, who had already expressed concerns about the preparation timeline, seemed to partially agree with Joo-hwan.
If this went on, the success formula could collapse.
Startled, I raised my hand and blurted out my objection like a sneeze.
“I’m sorry, but that won’t work. We absolutely have to make a comeback by October.”
A mocking smirk spread across Joo-hwan’s face as he looked at me.
“Road manager, do you even know what A&R is?”
“I do.”
“And I’m the A&R.”
“Yes.”
“Haha… You know, and yet you’re acting like this…?”
His previously casual tone grew sharper.
“Do you think the people here are agreeing with me because they’re thoughtless? If this album flops, it’s not your problem, road manager, but it’ll tarnish the reputations of the team leaders here. And have you thought about the sponsors investing in this album?”
This was one point I couldn’t back down on, no matter what.
Straightening my hunched back, I spoke confidently.
“I’ve invested in this album too.”
“What?”
“The album release timeline was already finalized with CEO Kim Yong. I put my entire six years’ worth of salary on the line to make this album happen. I’m not taking this lightly—I even signed a slave contract for this Free Sense album. I can compromise on other things, but the preparation timeline is non-negotiable.”