Episode 136: Team Yujin (1)
Maybe because it was the first day of August, the heat felt even more intense.
The asphalt was slightly damp from the rain that had fallen overnight, but it wasn’t enough to cool things down—instead, it only raised the humidity, making everything feel more uncomfortable.
But the smile never left my lips.
I’d deliberately stepped outside to make the call, so sweat was pouring down like rain, yet the high-pitched excitement in my voice showed no sign of dropping.
I was up to something pretty fun, after all.
“Coffee, ade, beverage, tea series—all included. Lattes except mint choco, right?”
“Yes.”
“For snacks, you chose B. Sandwiches, three kinds of macarons, croissants, madeleines, and a fruit lunch box.”
“Yes, that’s correct. Please make sure the fruit is as fresh as possible.”
“Haha. Don’t worry. I can’t claim we’re the absolute best in the mobile coffee truck industry, but we’re definitely in the top three.”
So-called “coffee truck tribute”—a mobile café booking.
The destination: Zia’s drama filming set.
‘There’s more to think about than I expected.’
Since I’d mostly been on the receiving end in the past, I hadn’t realized just how many details there were to handle.
‘Fans do all this just out of pure fandom. They really are amazing.’
I had sent coffee trucks under my name before, but back then the staff handled everything.
Of course, the PR team member who introduced me to this company had offered to take care of it all.
‘Not this time.’
This wasn’t just support for a colleague or junior artist—it was a surprise event for the person I love.
Even if I got the introduction from someone else, it had to start and end with my own hands for it to have meaning.
“Then what about the time? The base is three hours, with extensions available.”
“Hmm…”
Even so, I couldn’t decide something like this unilaterally.
Through Lee Ahjeong, I’d already received Zia’s filming schedule, so I knew a suitable date to send the coffee truck—but the exact hours were impossible to predict.
‘Three hours? Isn’t that a bit short?’
Or was it? When I received coffee trucks, didn’t they sometimes stay over three hours?
After turning thirty-five in the previous timeline, I no longer had schedules worthy of receiving coffee trucks, so my memory was fuzzy.
Still, I didn’t drag out the decision.
“Please add two more hours. If the filming staff wraps up early, you can leave with them then.”
Too much is better than too little in cases like this.
I’d even added borderline questionable drinks like hibiscus tea and Ssanghwa-cha for the same reason—better to have extras than run short.
Well, it probably wouldn’t actually take a full five hours anyway.
“Then the total comes to… around this much.”
Of course, this is a capitalist society.
The cost jumped quite a bit,
‘But that doesn’t matter.’
More than half of the Blind Singer Season 3 prize money was still untouched. Hylliy’s Mysty activities and Orion’s debut had brought in additional incentives, and Project Trinity appearance fees had just been deposited.
There was more than enough to give Zia a morale boost.
“Please send the account number to this number by text.”
“Yes. I’ll send it now. For mobile bookings, we need 50% deposit three days in advance—so by the day after tomorrow. The rest can be paid on the day.”
“Ah, yes. Understood.”
I said that, but I had no intention of dragging this out.
As soon as the text arrived, I pulled out the tablet I’d brought and completed the transfer immediately.
“I’ve just made the deposit. Could you check?”
“Huh? Already? Uh… may I ask the depositor’s name?”
The question made me freeze for a second.
I’d sent it under “Han Yujin” without thinking—and only now realized.
Even with my excitement running high, and even though I’d taken shelter from the sun, the heat of this sweltering day was impossible to ignore.
‘Well, nothing to be done.’
In times like this, all you can do is brazen it out.
At least my name wasn’t anything particularly unusual.
“Han Yujin.”
“Han Yujin… Wait, Han Yujin?”
A startled voice came through the phone, but—
“Does the voice sound really similar too? People say that a lot. But when they hear it in person, they say it’s actually different.”
“Ah, yeah—it really does sound a lot like him.”
The voice on the other end quickly returned to normal.
It was the kind of tone that said, “No way it’s actually Han Yujin, right?”
“Yes, deposit confirmed. Wow, you paid the full amount already.”
“I’ll send the promotional photos and message today. Please make it delicious.”
“The account number text has the email address. Just send it there.”
“Got it. Thank you. Have a good day.”
I hung up, feeling like I’d cleared one hurdle, and the forgotten heat rushed back in all at once.
Standing up, I felt a wave of dizziness spin through me.
‘Wow, if the weather’s this bad from morning, how are people who work outside supposed to survive?’
The heat was so intense I even found myself worrying about strangers who had nothing to do with me.
Instinctively drawn toward the cool breeze of modern science’s greatest invention—air conditioning—I started walking, but my hand never stopped fiddling with my phone.
‘Photos… these should be fine.’
Most were shots from the music video for “Affection Luck,” but there was one different picture mixed in.
A photo I’d deliberately included so that even while hiding my identity behind a message like “Please take good care of rookie actress Woo Zia!” Zia would immediately know it was from me.
‘Ah, I can’t wait.’
The evening of the day she receives this surprise event.
Just imagining what kind of face Zia would make when she saw me made my pounding heart blow the heat away for a moment—
“Ah, Yujin hyung.”
A voice pulled my gaze away from the brightly smiling image of Zia on my screen.
It was Su-hyuk.
“They’ve arrived.”
“Ah, really? Already?”
Even though the sentence was short and missing a subject, I instantly understood who Su-hyuk had left out.
At the same time, I pressed the power button on my smartphone to erase Zia’s face and slipped it back into my pocket.
“Shall we go then?”
I deliberately spoke in that tone to kickstart my “Producer Han Yujin” persona.
If I didn’t, the ordinary twenty-something man who loved Zia too much would grow too big to suppress.
Of course, I wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about that.
***
Accompanied by Su-hyuk trailing behind me like an attendant, we entered the studio assigned to the Trinity production team.
“It’s actually pretty nice, huh?”
“Of course. They can’t afford to half-ass it when they’re hosting such important guests.”
Waiting for me inside the studio were the Project Trinity production staff.
These were the people Su-hyuk had notified me about when he said they’d arrived.
Music On Net had built up an incredible infrastructure from running countless audition programs—no wonder it was nothing to scoff at.
A program like Project Trinity was one of their main sources of revenue.
In normal times, this facility would barely see use, but they had no choice but to keep it perfectly maintained anyway.
Honestly, dragging myself all the way here in this godforsaken heat—when MyWay’s practice room was only a five-minute walk from home—still didn’t sit right with me.
But unfortunately, this was also one of Project Trinity’s rules.
Asking a freelancer like Heo Yul-bok—who had no fixed affiliation—to build his own full training system for the kids would be ridiculous.
It was a measure to maintain some semblance of fairness between teams.
Beyond just fairness, gathering trainees from various agencies and bringing them to a producer’s home base could feel a little uncomfortable.
‘There’s bound to be some psychological burden from being outsiders.’
Trying to train while carrying that kind of burden—how focused could anyone really be?
It was better for me to move a little more.
‘Honestly, I’m satisfied with this level.’
Aside from it being a bit cramped, the quality was on par with MyWay’s practice rooms.
The fact that the vocal training room—with perfect soundproofing—was only one floor away and didn’t require moving between buildings was actually better than MyWay in some ways.
The advantages didn’t end there.
“Ah, the kids are here.”
““Hello.””
““Hi.””
Right on cue, the five members of “Team Y”—named after my initials—entered together.
The word “together” is what matters.
‘They’re even providing dorms?’
To build teamwork among kids who otherwise had none, the Project Trinity production team had arranged accommodations for each team’s members to stay in during filming.
One small room suitable for two people, and one larger room suitable for three.
Each room came with its own bathroom, and above all, the location was perfect—just a three-minute walk from this practice studio.
Even the early Polaris dorm in the previous timeline hadn’t been this good.
They’d secured five locations with conditions like this across Seoul. It would be ridiculous to complain about coming all the way here just because it felt like a hassle now that I’d become a pro.
“How’s dorm life treating you?”
“Ah, Teacher! It’s as fun as I expected!”
“I mean… hehe…”
So-young answered brightly, clearly having some kind of romanticized vision of dorm life, while Chae-kyung gave an awkward laugh—understandable, since this environment was naturally leagues better than the goshiwon she used to live in.
Nari was holding back her words—probably because of her leader role—but her expression wasn’t bad either.
“What about Ro-a and Soo-jin?”
“Ah, yes… it’s… fine for me too. Chae-kyung unnie has been really… um…”
“Considerate?”
“Yes, considerate. She’s been very considerate.”
“I still don’t really know yet… It’s only the first day, so I’m kind of dazed…”
Of course, Jin Ro-a and Airi—no, Kim Soo-jin—still had a slight air of being on the outside looking in, but that was something time would gradually fix.
‘I’ll have to be extra careful with names for now.’
So far, no slip-ups, but since “Airi” rolls off my tongue much more easily, I could mess up at any moment.
Since no one had brought up stage names yet, I’d need to consciously watch myself on this point.
“Producer-nim. May we begin filming soon?”
Small talk ended there.
It was finally time to get to work.
Following the production staff’s skilled direction to settle the slightly chaotic atmosphere, the kids and I lined up in front of the assistant director with the camera off to the side.
“Hello, everyone in Team Y. How do you like the dorms?”
“Yes!”
““Yes.””
So-young’s cheerful reply came a beat faster than the others, and the assistant director smiled warmly before continuing.
“I’m glad you like them. As we already told you in advance, we will not interfere with the preparation process for your stages at all—except for requests from the producers. The training will be conducted entirely by the people each producer has brought in. You’re all aware of that, correct?”
The assistant director was repeating information they’d already been told when the teams were formed and during our first meeting.
“But today, we’ve come with an important announcement. You need to know what kind of stage you’ll be preparing, right? So let me reveal the mission theme.”
But the rest of what came next was something even I hadn’t heard yet.
That was only natural.
Project Trinity was a program where producing ability—handling songs—was itself one of the competition elements.
They couldn’t possibly share the theme with the producers in advance.
“The theme for the first mission is…”
I heard someone gulp audibly beside me.
If someone was this visibly nervous, it was probably So-young.
‘Well… the other four probably aren’t much different.’
Of course, I already had a rough idea of what the first theme would feel like.
Given Project Trinity’s lineup, the first mission had to be…
“Each producer’s signature song.”
Exactly as expected.
Ah, I really shouldn’t grin this obviously—why can’t I stop smiling?
Is my “fool in love” persona still not fully powered down?