Chapter 50: Work That Came Walking In (4)
“Ah-yeong-ssi? I’m going to count down, so choose by the time I hit three. Okay, one…”
“I choose Yoon Hyeok-pil-nim.”
Her decision came before the count was even halfway through.
Kim Do-kyung and Son Ji-hyuk weren’t the only ones who froze—Yoon Hyeok-pil stared at her in stunned silence as well.
The unexpected answer dropped like a bomb, leaving all three participants speechless.
Even the production crew seemed caught off guard.
A heavy silence blanketed over the café.
But Ji Ah-young, at the center of it all, simply tilted her head, unfazed by their stares.
“…Haha. Ah, this—it’s just for the show, right? You get how variety works, huh? But no, no, that’s not how this goes. Three, two, one—you’re supposed to answer on cue, yeah? You know that. You’re supposed to speak with the count.”
Son Ji-hyuk was deep in denial.
“Alright, again. Three, two, one!”
“Yoon Hyeok-pil-nim.”
“……”
Even with the redo, nothing changed.
The result stayed the same.
Son Ji-hyuk’s expression shifted from frustration to sheer bewilderment.
“Do you two… have some kind of history?”
Kim Do-kyung looked back and forth between Yoon Hyeok-pil and Ji Ah-yeong, intrigued.
“No, nothing like that.”
Ji Ah-yeong responded confidently, without hesitation.
“Well, if that’s what you want, then that’s that… But Ah-yeong-yang, are you planning to treat this like a hobby or something?”
Son Ji-hyuk fired back, clearly irritated, his gaze sharp.
Kim Do-kyung gave a low chuckle and gently pulled him by the shoulder.
“You got rejected. Don’t be a sore loser. Let’s go. We’re out of time.”
Despite his words, Kim Do-kyung’s expression wasn’t exactly bright either.
It was an expected reaction—and an understandable one.
After all, as a vocalist with 15 years under his belt, he probably had his own sense of pride to protect.
“Do your best. We’re off, then~”
“Hey, Yoon Hyeok-pil. If you can’t deliver with Ah-yeong-ssi, you better be ready.”
Yoon Hyeok-pil stood there dumbfounded, still overwhelmed by what just happened and unable to respond.
Ji Ah-yeong bowed her head politely in his place.
“Yes. I’ll do my best~”
With that, she casually moved to stand beside me.
Without thinking, I caught a whiff of her scent.
She smelled… amazing.
I must’ve sniffed a bit too noticeably, because Son Ji-hyuk glanced at me with a look of pure envy.
“Ahem… Right. We’re off. Ah-yeong-ssi, if you ever change your mind, just give me a call, yeah? You know how to reach me.”
“Less talking, more walking.”
And with that, Kim Do-kyung and Son Ji-hyuk exited the café.
What was once a meeting of three teams now felt almost deserted with just one remaining.
The silence in the café was borderline chilly.
“Shall we get moving too?”
I gestured toward the Letter building, clearly visible from the café window.
But then Ji Ah-yeong suddenly tugged on my sleeve.
Her voice was barely a whisper as she leaned in and said,
“Um… I quit as a trainee at Letter.”
“…What?”
Well, that was unexpected.
The Together Duo team ended up settling not in Letter’s studio, but in mine.
As I watched cameras being set up in every corner, I couldn’t help but feel grateful I’d actually put some effort into the interior.
If this were my old studio, I’d probably have died of embarrassment.
“We’ll film for about an hour. Only two to three minutes will air.”
The assistant director said this while double-checking the camera settings.
Still, only two to three minutes out of a whole hour?
What a terrible return on investment.
“We’re ready. Please begin.”
At the cue signal, I sat down in my studio chair and adopted a deliberately serious tone.
“First, take a seat.”
Yoon Hyeok-pil and Ji Ah-yeong sat down on the sofa—at a noticeable distance from each other.
“Alright, first we need to pick a song—”
“Ah, before that—could you maybe ask why Ah-yeong-ssi chose Hyeok-pil-ssi? I think the viewers would be curious.”
Of course, the writer butted in again.
She’d been unusually chatty today.
What was her name again?
Yoo Yeong-hye, I think.
It was slightly annoying, but I decided not to push back and followed the suggestion.
“…Ahem. Right. So, why did you pick us?”
“Uh…”
Ji Ah-yeong paused for a moment, staring directly at me.
Her gaze was so intense I had to subtly look away.
“I just… had a feeling this team would suit me best.”
She gave a short answer, then offered a sheepish smile.
“Okay, well… let’s start by picking a song. Do you have anything in mind?”
“……”
“……”
Yoon Hyeok-pil and Ji Ah-yeong simply stared at me blankly.
Not a word between them.
Right.
Of course they didn’t.
They only just found out they were a team today.
“Fortunately, I came prepared. It’s originally a solo song by a female singer, so arranging it as a duet might be a bit tricky.”
I paused for a moment, looking between Yoon Hyeok-pil and Ji Ah-yeong.
Above their heads, I could almost see their colors—deep navy like a night sky for him, and radiant gold like sunlight for her.
Yoon Hyeok-pil’s voice has a solid foundation.
Whether he’s cast in a leading or supporting role, he can handle it all.
Ji Ah-yeong, on the other hand, is a bit of a gamble.
Her tone is exceptional—easily one of the best I’ve heard—but her technique still lacks polish.
She struggles with the high notes.
So, I need to pick a song where their pitches can harmonize well.
“Us Back Then, and Now.”
“…Sorry, what?”
It was probably unfamiliar to them.
But this was my secret weapon—the kind of song I hesitate to use now because it’s that good.
Honestly, I’m not even sure I’m capable of arranging it properly with my current skills.
“Us Back Then… huh?”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
Makes sense.
This song came out when they were still in middle school, and I had just turned twenty.
It’s one of those hidden gems—only known to those who really know—but its emotional impact has hit me like a wave more than once.
“Just give it a listen.”
No amount of explanation can compare to hearing it yourself.
So, I played the track.
The ₩1.2 million speakers produced a crystal-clear sound.
An elegant melody you don’t hear anymore these days, paired with a humble voice filled with nostalgia.
The soft balance between the two painted a scene that was lyrical and deeply emotional.
A woman reminiscing about a cherished past—rendered in a style that resembled Impressionist paintings.
The colors faded softly, like memories themselves.
Listening to it, you couldn’t help but be drawn into your own recollections.
In some ways, it was almost like a Monet.
—Even now, you and I still remain there…
Lost in that distant mental image, I didn’t even notice the song had ended.
Now then, what did my singers think?
Ji Ah-yeong’s eyes were wide in awe, and Yoon Hyeok-pil looked deeply moved.
“So, how about we go with this one?”
“…But wouldn’t it be a problem if the song’s too unknown?”
Just then, the writer cut in again.
“I think uncovering lesser-known songs could be interesting.”
But it wasn’t me who said that.
The confident and clear voice belonged to Ji Ah-yeong.
Both the writer and I turned to look at her in silence.
“…Ah. Yes, understood.”
The writer scratched the back of her neck, clearly a little embarrassed.
Just then, my phone buzzed.
—Severance Hospital
—Kim So-ha-nim, you have an appointment at the Cerebrovascular Center on March 15th at 3:30 PM
“What was that message?”
Ji Ah-yeong asked when she saw me staring intently at my phone.
“It’s from the hospital.”
“Huh? Why the hospital?”
Her eyes went wide with concern.
“I had an injury before. It’s just a routine checkup.”
“Oh… but don’t people usually say health checkup? Routine Checkup sounds like something for machines.”
“…Right. That. A health checkup.”
Was it back in October?
Or maybe November?
It’s already been four months.
“It’s nothing serious, so don’t worry. For now, let’s skip the arrangement. I’ll just adjust the key and split the parts. Let’s try singing it through once.”
“Yes!”
“Okay.”
Both Ji Ah-yeong and Yoon Hyeok-pil answered enthusiastically.
Something about Ji Ah-yeong’s expression looked oddly happy, and it lifted my mood too.
“Ah, but wait a second.”
Just as I was about to start, someone else from the crew interrupted.
This time it wasn’t the writer—it was the assistant director.
“Um, we’ve actually prepared a little game.”
“…A game?”
“Yes. Since our concept is a blend of variety and music. We’re not sure if it’ll actually make it into the broadcast, but…”
As they trailed off, they pulled out a toy hammer and a metal pot.
“Alright, let’s all sit down. This is great for team bonding. Heli-ssi, you played this during Travel Log, didn’t you?”
“Huh? Well, yeah, I did, but…”
“Please say the line yourself, Heli-ssi. Something like, ‘To break the ice, let’s try this first.’”
“…Right now?”
“Yes! It sounds too staged if we say it.”
“……”
It hit me again at that moment—there’s not much real in reality TV.
At the same time, Kim Yo-han quietly returned to the office.
Lately, he’d been avoiding work, claiming he wasn’t feeling well.
But the truth was, he was scared the Chan-hyeok incident might blow back on him.
“Whew…”
In his familiar, cozy studio, Kim Yo-han let out a deep sigh as he sank into his chair.
He turned up some soothing pop music and closed his eyes.
A wave of emotion crept over him.
Somehow, he’d made it through without getting caught.
The constant anxiety he’d been carrying started to ease.
But then, suddenly, a surge of anger bubbled up.
This was all the reporters’ fault.
Those bastards always take one word and spin it into ten.
When did Chan-hyeok ever say he was dating?
He just said he liked her.
And that Heli or whatever the hell his name is—he’s just as bad.
He should’ve just kept his head down and stayed quiet.
Why the hell did he—…
“You’re here?”
A cold voice suddenly brushed past his ear.
“Aagh!”
Kim Yo-han startled so badly he toppled from his chair.
Scrambling up from the floor, he whipped his head around.
Team Leader Lee Ha-yeon was standing there.
“Wh-what the hell?!”
“Why are you so startled?”
“How wouldn’t I be?! You can’t just barge into someone else’s studio like that—”
“I knocked. You must not have heard over the music. It was pretty loud.”
“Knocked or not… Agh, damn it.”
Scowling at her for no real reason, Kim Yo-han climbed back into his chair.
“Anyway, what are you doing here?”
“When someone scans their access card, I get a notification. You haven’t shown up in ages, so when I saw you clock in, I came by to check.”
As she said this, Lee Ha-yeon casually sat down on the sofa.
That natural, unbothered gesture annoyed Kim Yo-han to no end.
He glared at her.
“No, seriously—why are you here?”
“That’s actually what I wanted to ask you. Why haven’t you been coming to work lately? Something happened?”
“S-something? No, I told you already. I wasn’t feeling well…”
“Kim Yo-han-ssi.”
Lee Ha-yeon cut him off mid-sentence with a smile.
“Let’s stop the acting, shall we? I heard a rumor. A rather interesting one, in fact. I came to see for myself whether there’s any truth to it.”
“W-what rumor?”
“Well, that’s the thing…”
She trailed off, her voice slow and deliberate.
And the smile curling at her lips—It was like a snake eyeing its prey.
