Chapter 42: My Singer (7)
February 27th, 10:00 AM.
I was waiting for Oh Hae-young at a coffee shop.
At first, I’d picked a pretty upscale Korean BBQ restaurant as our meeting spot, but she declined, citing the Kim Young-ran Act1 (it’s an established Korean anti-corruption law), and suggested we meet at a café instead.
Ten minutes had passed as I sipped my matcha latte and killed time.
Finally, she appeared.
“Hello.”
“Oh, yes. Nice to meet you.”
I stood up to greet her.
Oh Hae-yeong sat across from me, smiling as she said,
“You’re calling me at a time like this? I thought you’d thrown my business card away.”
“Well… First, what would you like to drink?”
“I’ll have the same as you.”
“Sure. Just a moment.”
I got up and placed the order at the counter myself before returning to the table.
At first, I made small talk—asking about her recent work, current assignments, the usual stuff.
But Oh Hae-yeong cut me off, saying it was annoying and told me to get to the point.
Which was perfect.
I immediately launched into everything I had prepared to say.
“Hm. So that’s what happened~ But shouldn’t you be taking this to Letter Entertainment, not me?”
She asked as she sipped her latte through a straw.
I shook my head.
Going to the agency would be the worst possible move.
Handing over ammunition to two powerful and prideful factions would only lead to a messy dog fight—and everything would spiral into a complete mess.
In this kind of mess, the ones who inevitably suffer more are the female idols over male idols, and rookie groups like Lilac in their promotional period over established acts like Romeo who aren’t currently active.
Sure, Romeo might be eyeing a Japanese debut, but that’s something they can easily postpone.
“I want this to be resolved as quietly as possible.”
“Excuse me? You’re handing me a scoop like this and saying you want it handled quietly? If I run this, it’s a one-way ticket to scandal city.”
“That’s why I haven’t told you who the victim is yet.”
“…Hmph~”
If the story breaks and they can’t identify the victim, all the responsibility lands squarely on the reporter.
Whether she realized it or not, Oh Hae-yeong gave a small nod in understanding.
“But if you wanted to handle it quietly, why not do it yourself?”
“I’m already affiliated with Letter.”
“Oh, really?”
Oh Hae-yeong smiled brightly.
For some reason, it felt like a new line had been added to her mental notepad: Heli signs an exclusive contract with Letter Entertainment.
“So then, what exactly do you want me to do?”
“Just leak the scoop to someone at KAN Entertainment.”
“Hm~ That’s not hard. Piece of cake. But…”
She smiled again, but it didn’t feel innocent.
“What are you going to do for me in return?”
“…Well. What can I offer you?”
At this point, I felt like I could agree to almost anything—so long as it wasn’t completely out of line.
“Hmm…”
Those cunning eyes scanned me.
But it didn’t feel unpleasant.
She was my only connection in journalism.
EN was a semi-major outlet, after all.
As of now, this means that Oh Hae-young is the perfect match.
“Well, there’s nothing I want right now.”
But then, unexpectedly, Oh Hae-yeong let out a sigh.
“…Excuse me?”
“I’ll do you this favor. Just give me a scoop sometime down the line. Something I can slap an exclusive or breaking tag on.”
She laid out her deferred-payment terms like that, then stood up.
Slinging her bag over one shoulder, latte in hand,
“I’ll try to drop the tip sometime this afternoon, maybe? You handle the rest.”
She left with a casual, almost indifferent tone.
For some reason, her retreating figure looked pretty damn cool.
I found myself watching her walk away for a while.
February 27th, 2:00 p.m.
Lee Ha-yeon sat quietly, scrolling through the entertainment section of a portal site.
It was flooded with articles about Chan-hyeok and Yoo Ah-ra.
Of course, nothing was confirmed—just a series of speculative reports.
Some journalists were holding back, sensing that something was off, especially since Rich Path—the most credible outlet in this field—had yet to say a word.
But unless either agency made an official move, the flames wouldn’t die down anytime soon.
Still, Lee Ha-yeon had yet to release a statement.
In fact, she was deliberately suppressing one.
Truthfully, this situation was more of an opportunity than a crisis for her.
After all, Lilac still hadn’t renewed their contract.
With less than a year left, no one even knew whether Letter’s efforts to coax them into resigning were working.
If it were any other agency, they probably would’ve taken a more aggressive and efficient route by now.
But Letter hated media wars.
That’s why they’d let go of several stars in the past—even ones they could’ve easily kept.
A warm farewell. Letter wishes their artists a path full of flowers.
That’s the line they always used when a contract ended.
“Yeah, right. A ‘path full of flowers,’ my ass.”
Lee Ha-yeon didn’t like the way things were being handled.
Why should they hand over an artist they nurtured to a rival agency without asking for a dime in return?
It didn’t even make sense.
But Ji Hyun-wook’s convictions had always been unshakable.
He insisted that it was thanks to principles like those that Letter had risen to its current position—and that was how he’d convinced Ha-yeon.
Because of that, she hadn’t been able to resort to any “dirty tactics”.
But things are different now.
KAN had kindly taken the initiative and unleashed public opinion against Lilac.
Ji Hyun-wook, worried, had even called her personally, but she’d brushed it off, saying it was a delicate matter and bought herself time.
All of it was for the sake of renewing the contract.
Better to crawl through the mud and succeed than walk a flower-strewn path and fail.
That was the principle and conviction Lee Ha-yeon had carried with her all this time.
“Let’s see…”
She picked up her phone and dialed a number.
“Ah-ra-ya, how are you feeling?”
Now was the time to cast a gentle lure—one so smooth the fish wouldn’t even realize it had bitten.
February 27th, 6:00 p.m.
Today, Lilac’s schedule was canceled.
Well, technically not entirely—they still showed up for the music show, likely to prevent the rumors from spreading any further.
But aside from that, their other engagements had only been simple events and interviews.
The agency had requested understanding and pulled them.
And so, Lilac found themselves with an unwanted day off.
I didn’t like that.
Why should Lilac be forced into a dishonorable break when they hadn’t done anything wrong?
“…Sigh.”
After simmering with anger and thinking it over, I started focusing on what I could do.
So I arranged a new version of the song.
“This is harder than I thought.”
Four hours of fighting with the DAW later, I finally finished the acoustic rearrangement.
At first, I figured I just needed to strip away some layers, but the deeper I got, the more I realized acoustic arrangements had their own subtle complexities.
It was like drawing for drawing’s sake—bare but complete.
Deceptively simple, and incredibly hard to perfect.
Anyway, all three songs I had written—Flower Scent, Idol, and On a Snowy Day—had now been rearranged into acoustic versions.
Now it was up to the rest of the team to get behind the idea and push it forward.
Should I call the department head… or Lee Ha-yeon?
It was a tough decision.
Still, it would be better to have someone who is somewhat familiar.
I called the team leader.
She picked up before the dial tone could even ring twice.
“Team Leader-nim.”
—”Yes?”
“You finally answered.”
—”Ah, as you know, it’s been an incredibly busy day. But what is it?”
I explained what I had in mind.
“…Lilac’s schedule was canceled today, right? So I was thinking…”
—”Thinking about what?”
“A street busking performance. What do you think?”
—”A street… what?”
“Street busking. It could shift the public’s focus. And if we sit around doing nothing, it’ll just look like we’re guilty.”
On any other day, if Lilac had gone busking on the street, no one would’ve batted an eye.
People would’ve just assumed they were holding some random promo event, maybe stop to watch for a bit, and maybe not.
But that’s not the case anymore.
Right now, the real-time search rankings and entertainment news sections are completely dominated by Lilac.
It’s a cliché, worn-out phrase, but there’s truth in it:
Every crisis is also an opportunity.
And in the same vein—Controversy, no matter what kind, is still attention.
Everything Lilac does right now is going to make headlines.
So if that’s the case, then why not channel that attention into the music?
—”Ah~ That’s a great idea. Is the arrangement done?”
Lee Ha-yeon said it was a good plan.
But something about it kept grating on me—her bright, cheery tone.
That voice of hers, like she was actually enjoying this.
“…Yes. It’s all done.”
—“That’s a solid idea. We were just organizing the press release too, so if we pair it with that, I think we can flip the public opinion. I’ll get the girls ready.”
And just like that, Lee Ha-yeon hung up.
I grabbed my coat.
With the USB containing the finished arrangement in hand, I headed for Lilac.
Ding-dong.
I rang the doorbell to their dorm.
No response.
I’d definitely told them I was coming.
Ding-dong.
Finally, a voice came through—cold and sharp-edged.
—”Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
—”…Yes.”
Only then did Lee Yeon-ji open the door.
She didn’t look well, just like I’d expected.
This guy’s condition is also not good. But rather than being haggard, he looks like he’s furious. He’s about to hit someone.
But it wasn’t that she looked haggard—more like she was absolutely seething. The kind of expression you’d see right before someone punches a wall.
“Where’s Ah-ra?”
“In her room.”
She practically spat the words through clenched teeth.
Yeah, now wasn’t the time to push anyone’s buttons.
I kept quiet and made my way inside.
On the bed, Yoo Ah-ra was lying face down, completely buried under a blanket.
I sat on the edge of her bed like nothing was wrong.
“Ah-ra-ya.”
Her small head flinched beneath the blanket.
But she didn’t respond beyond that.
“Ah-ra-ya.”
When I called again, she slowly started to sit up.
Hugging her knees with both arms, she leaned back against the wall.
“Get ready.”
That was the first thing I said.
But Yoo Ah-ra didn’t respond.
It was probably such an out-of-the-blue thing to say, but she didn’t even question it.
She just lowered her head like a criminal awaiting judgment.
“…Oppa?”
When she finally spoke, her voice sounded so pitiful it hurt.
“…Oppa, just go do what you have to do. This’ll blow over soon anyway…”
I didn’t like that defeated tone, so I cut her off mid-sentence.
“What the hell are you talking about? This is what I have to do.”
“…But oppa, you’re not our manager. You’ve been getting a lot of work lately, and because of us…”
She wasn’t wrong.
I’m not Lilac’s manager.
Even if you went back just three months, I never would’ve imagined myself getting involved with any of this.
But even so—
“I may not be your manager, but you’re still my singer. Anyone who sings my songs is my singer.“
Only then did Ara finally look up at me—properly, dazedly meeting my eyes.
“…So we’ll fix this together. Because you’re my singer.”
Those bright, earnest eyes began to glisten with tears.
The sight of it tugged at me a little, so I smiled and teased Yoo Ah-ra to lighten the mood.
“Are you crying? Seriously, are you crying right now? Hmmm??? Weren’t you the one always bragging about how tough you used to be? And for the record, I’m not doing this because I like you or anything. I’m doing it because I don’t want my songs to flop.”
“…You like me?”
Yoo Ah-ra latched onto the weirdest part of that sentence.
“I said I’m NOT doing this because I like you.”
Flustered, I flicked her forehead.
“Ow—!”
She winced, letting out a small yelp as she rubbed her forehead.
I handed her the USB.
“God, you’re the worst—”
“Take it.”
“Don’t touch my forehead! It’s sensitive!”
“Just take the damn thing.”
She glared but snatched it from my hand.
Already regaining her usual spirit.
“What’s this?”
“Acoustic versions of Idol, Flower Scent, and On a Snowy Day. All guitar-backed. I poured everything into arranging them. Start listening to them now and practice with the others.”
“…Why are you giving it to me? And what practice?”
“Because it’s the directive of Team Leader Lee Ha-yeon. Your actual manager’s waiting outside right now.”
“…Huh? What are you talking about?”
A giant question mark might as well have popped up above her head.
I smirked.
“What else are you gonna do—sit around and sulk?”
In this situation, falling apart would just mean admitting defeat.
That’s why you’ve got to move even more when things are rough.
“The stylist and the coordinator are already here. You, Yeon-ji, and Yoo-jung just need to move your butts.”
“…?”
She stared at me like her brain had checked out.
I added one more thing:
“Time to work. It’s only seven. You should be running around until your feet catch fire. What are you doing lying in bed?”
At that, Yoo Ah-ra furrowed her brows—but the corners of her lips curled into a smile.
“…You really act like you’re our manager.”
“Ahem. Enjoy my attention while you can. Once I start working with other singers, I won’t even look in your direction.”
I said it in mock sternness.
It was clearly a joke, but—
“…Really?”
Yoo Ah-ra took it way too seriously, her expression turning heartbreakingly sad.
