Episode 93: Special Lesson (1)
“So… MyWay is launching a new boy group? Around May?”
“Yes.”
After my short answer, the sound of typing on a keyboard comes through the phone for a moment.
“And the producer is also…”
“Yes. It’s me.”
Another concise reply, and the tapping continues a little longer.
“Mmm…”
Kwak Sun-bin lets out a soft groan.
The confident tone she had when she first asked if I liked her article is nowhere to be found.
Why?
‘Because if this is really exclusive, it’s an absolute jackpot.’
Even though MyWay’s name value falls short of the big three agencies, it still carries weight.
That alone already guarantees a baseline level of interest for a new boy group.
Add Hylliy’s current wave of attention on top of that?
You don’t even need a calculator.
“When does the embargo end?”
She’s firmly grasping the hand I extended.
As a reporter, there’s no other choice for her.
“The day Hylliy gets #1 on a music show. Release it the day after that.”
“#1? Given the current atmosphere, probably next week.”
“Maybe.”
Kwak Sun-bin offers an optimistic guess, but my thoughts are a little different.
‘No matter what, the title of “current #1” isn’t that light.’
There’s no way Pleiades and Starlight are just going to sit back and watch Hylliy claim the top spot on the charts.
I managed to offset the difference in fandom size with Ji Se-hyuk’s name for now, but without a follow-up punch, it wouldn’t be strange if we get overtaken at any moment.
‘Of course, I’ve prepared countermeasures to some extent…’
But whether they’ll work or not is something we’ll have to see.
I need to be mentally prepared for the possibility that Pleiades could hold #1 for the next week or so.
There’s no need to explain all of that one by one.
Kwak Sun-bin has been in this industry long enough—she’s not someone who wouldn’t consider that possibility.
“Mmm… What if Hylliy doesn’t end up getting #1?”
“Then the embargo will just last a little longer. Until the day Hylliy wraps promotions, probably. And the article content will change a bit too.”
“For example… something like revealing who the producer is?”
“…”
“I’m starting to get a rough idea of the picture MyWay is drawing. Got it. Anyway, if I want to write a proper article, I have no choice but to keep the embargo.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at how she was getting almost everything without me giving her much at all.
The fact that someone like her is on my side—and that the reason started because she’s my fan—is impossible not to smile about.
“I’ll contact you again next time.”
There’s no need to hide my laughter today, so I end the call with a bright, unfiltered voice and head toward the person who’s been waiting.
“Sorry. It was a bit urgent.”
“No, it’s fine. I didn’t wait that long.”
My only same-age friend since the regression—Ji-woo—says that with a bright face that still carries a faint trace of awkwardness.
[TL Note: Changing Jiu to Ji-woo]
“Anyway, congrats on #1. The song was really good…”
Ji-woo’s face is bright because my achievement is genuinely worth celebrating.
The lingering awkwardness is because it’s been far too long since we last saw each other face-to-face.
“Has it been three months?”
“More than three. I basically never left after moving into the officetel last year.”
Ji-woo had shut himself inside like a can of tuna, and I’ve been too busy to visit.
We’ve at least reached the point where we can talk casually through messenger, but that’s about it.
The closeness I feel toward Ji-woo is still just internal familiarity.
While I’m thinking that,
“I should make a good song like you too… It’s not working out.”
Ji-woo mutters while slowly turning his coffee cup.
There’s no way I could miss the self-deprecation in his voice.
‘This kid. He finally said it.’
I’ve known for a while that Ji-woo was struggling with this kind of worry.
Ever since <Blue Poem>, Ji-woo hadn’t produced any clear results for several months, and one thing came to mind because of that.
“Actually, about the hiatus before I wrote <Blue Poem>… At the time it felt like absolute hell, but looking back now, that period feels like the most precious time in my life.”
One summer day before the regression, when the two of us were drinking together, Ji-woo suddenly said that to me.
“To put it simply… it was the time when I was establishing my own music. Something like that?”
Just as Ji-woo himself described it, starting with <Blue Poem>, he went on to write several solid tracks in a row that performed quite well.
‘Probably…’
The order might have gotten reversed this time.
Thinking about it that way, maybe leaving him alone was the right call.
It’s something that would resolve itself with time anyway, and compared to the hiatus he had before the regression, the current one hasn’t even reached half that length yet.
‘Ji-woo’s personality has always been like that from the beginning.’
The reason I was surprised when I saw his face in the elevator was exactly because of that.
The Ji-woo I knew was the type who would rather dig a hole for himself and find the solution inside than share his worries with others.
Yet here he was, coming out of that hole on his own—even though his worries weren’t resolved yet.
I had planned to visit him soon anyway, but this is definitely encouraging.
‘Is Ji-woo changing too…?’
Because of the <Rising Star> incident, where I pushed him to take the step he should’ve taken himself?
I don’t know.
‘No matter how close we are as friends, our personalities are completely different. How could I possibly know what’s inside him?’
But the fact that the person he came to find wasn’t his girlfriend Jung Eun-hye, but me.
Then, naturally, the right thing to do is help him.
In a time when all the relationships I’ve rebuilt after returning to the past are either superiors or subordinates, having the one and only same-age friend makes it even more so.
“What are you muttering about?”
“Huh?”
“<Blue Poem>. Who wouldn’t see it’s a great song already? What are you worrying about?”
I only said something obvious.
But Ji-woo started looking at me with a slightly shocked face.
“You… remembered that?”
What the hell is this guy saying?
“You said you made that song to give it to me, right? How could I forget? We literally talked about starting work in spring.”
“Ah… I thought you didn’t say anything, so… With how busy you’ve been lately… I figured it just kinda fizzled out…”
I barely managed to hold back the urge to smack this idiot’s head, engraving the character for “patience” in my mind as I regained composure.
I had sworn not to steal a song meant for someone else, and I’d been practicing whenever I had time—only for him to come out with this now?
“Ya punk, it’s your song! You’re the one who decides when we start! I’ve been practicing like crazy, wondering when we’d record!”
“No, I don’t know anything about recording… I thought you’d handle it.”
“Did you tell Ailee or any of the other staff that you’re leaving it to me?”
“Uh… no?”
Deep breath. Another “patience” character.
But that wasn’t quite enough, so I found a scapegoat.
“Yeah. This is Ailee’s fault.”
The fault of Ailee for not telling him something so obvious.
Of course Ailee would be wronged, but let’s call it revenge for ordering the indoor toss.
‘Actually… maybe it worked out better this way.’
Thinking about it, this might have been for the best.
If things had continued like this, he probably would’ve never even thought about working on <Blue Poem>. Then when time got tight and I came looking for him, I wouldn’t have been able to vent this frustration with just two “patience” characters and one blame on someone else.
In that sense, he’s lucky.
Thanks to <Mysty> hitting #1 on the charts, he finally had an excuse to come out and congratulate me.
And,
“Ji-woo, come to the company tomorrow. I’m scheduling <Blue Poem> recording for tomorrow.”
“Huh? Tomorrow? Like, right tomorrow?”
Watching the recording of <Blue Poem> might let him realize just how good of a song he actually made, and maybe that would lighten Ji-woo’s heart a little.
Even if it takes time either way, if I can give him the strength to endure it, isn’t that pretty meaningful as a friend?
‘Yeah, lucky…’
…my ass.
How the hell is not exploding when it should’ve been considered “lucky”?
***
The next day.
“Sorry.”
Seo Yoonje, me, Ji-woo, and Ailee.
The four of us are gathered, and Ailee bows her head.
“I had no idea Composer Gong felt that way. I should’ve explained it to him. It’s my fault.”
As expected, Ailee is the adult in the room.
It’s not really her fault at all, but the way she takes responsibility anyway…
“Well, it’s fine, right? The misunderstanding’s cleared up, and it wasn’t even an issue to begin with.”
As Seo Yoonje says, there was never any need to assign blame or treat it as a problem, so the atmosphere doesn’t get heavy and the conversation continues smoothly.
“So the recording will be handled by Yujin-ssi?”
“Yes. It has to be.”
“You sure it’s okay?”
He doesn’t say the obvious “You’re already so busy,” which is probably Seo Yoonje’s way of being considerate.
But watching Ji-woo bow his head even lower, it’s clear that consideration didn’t really help.
“If the CEO helps, I think it’ll be fine.”
“Me? That might be tough. I’ve got something I need to focus on for Ahjeong right now.”
The moment I casually toss the bait, Seo Yoonje dodges like the slippery snake he is.
And when he winks with just one eye, it’s obvious the excuse is about Zia’s contract.
I already know Song Tak will handle everything with BNW anyway.
“Then I guess I have no choice but to be okay. What else can I do?”
I wasn’t expecting much from the half-joking suggestion anyway, so I’m not disappointed.
Of course Ji-woo’s head drops even lower, but since everyone except him knows this part of the conversation is a joke, the meeting proceeds without a hitch.
“Ailee. Is the concept ready?”
“Yes. Team Leader On has been preparing since last December. We’ve already coordinated with finance and PR. It’s a bit tight on time, but since it’s a digital single again, we can make it if recording finishes quickly.”
Normally this would require a full concept meeting, but thanks to Seo Yoonje’s push and the free pass I got from the Hylliy situation, I’m cleared.
“Then we’re good. Yujin-ssi said he’s already prepared too, so we can start right away.”
With those few exchanges, the meeting wraps up.
Ji-woo’s head still isn’t lifting.
He probably just realized that everything was already prepared and he was the only one who thought he’d ruined it all—he must be mortified.
Seo Yoonje lightly pats Ji-woo’s shoulder.
“It’s okay, Ji-woo-ssi. Anyone would’ve misunderstood. You just learn as you go. Like I said, it wasn’t even a real mistake or problem. Come on, lift your head.”
“…Yes…”
His reply is tiny, and his head barely moves.
Seo Yoonje knows better than anyone that no one can fix Ji-woo when he’s like this, so instead of wasting effort, he turns to me to close the meeting.
“When do you want to start?”
The answer’s already decided.
“Right now.”
“Huh?!”
At that, Ji-woo’s head snaps up like magic, but—of course—only he looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
‘Everyone else already knows.’
That everything was prepared ages ago, and there was no need to drag it out any longer.