Twenty-one-year-old Seong Jiwon’s days were utterly ordinary.
Classes, classes, classes, and practice.
Acting, dancing, singing.
“It’s not like any of that’s gonna get you anywhere. Why try so hard?”
“……”
He just loved singing that much.
Something as simple as hearing “Jiwon-ah, you’re really good at singing” was enough to leave him soaked in happiness for the rest of the day.
His trainee period was anything but short.
He’d known what he wanted from a young age, and he knew his face was decent enough, so he’d gotten into the company relatively early.
“Jiwon-ah, I’m not just saying this because you’re my baby—you really are beautiful. As you go through life, plenty of good things are going to come your way. So only say pretty things and only listen to pretty stories, okay?”
Those were the words his grandmother always had on her lips.
There were times he’d cried as he answered her, and times he’d beamed and pulled her into a hug.
But reality was always, without fail, unforgiving.
Halmoni. I’m sorry.
“You’ve been here that long and still can’t debut. Don’t you get it? You’re not gonna make it.”
He’d clawed his way to the center position only to have it ripped away recently, and when he’d clawed back to first place in today’s monthly evaluation, that was what came back at him.
“Aren’t you sick of it? I sure am. Watching you cling on like a cockroach, desperately refusing to unstick.”
The guy in front of him was clearly below average in both looks and skill, yet he kept getting shoved into the debut lineup every single time.
Maybe that was why every time he saw the bastard, it felt like his long years of training were being trampled on.
Would it even be worth debuting if it meant being in the same group as someone like him?
At this point, he wasn’t sure anymore.
One thing was clear, at least. That guy was decidedly not a good person to him.
“Yeah. Can’t say it is.”
At some point, Seong Jiwon’s days, once filled with nothing but practice, began ending with arguments against trainees who didn’t know the first thing about respecting others.
“You’re the one floundering around every day. How is that fun?”
“……!”
One line was all it took for the guy’s face to go red and purple. That part was almost entertaining.
“Hey, Seong Jiwon—!”
“Hyungjo-ya.”
He didn’t think raw insults and venom suited him, and he wasn’t particularly fond of them either, but he knew exactly how to put someone like the guy in front of him in his place.
“How about you spend the time you waste selling your body on actual practice instead?”
He looked down at the stupid face gaping wordlessly, then turned on his heel and walked out of the building.
Mm.
The truth was, he could feel himself growing more and more on edge these days.
And for good reason. D.go had recently kicked off a new boy group project.
Last time it was “Your image doesn’t match the group’s” and before that, “You’re too young”.
The “rejected” stamps slapped on him numbered more than he had fingers for.
He knew better than anyone that this was his last chance.
“Jiwon-ah, you’re home?”
“Oh, Halmoni!”
The moment the front door opened and he heard his grandmother’s voice, he scurried to her room and began kneading her shoulders with warm, affectionate hands.
“How was today?”
“Great, of course. Like always.”
Seong Jiwon put on a picture-perfect smile.
Even in a well-off household, the shadow of absent parents doesn’t fade easily, so his grandmother was always careful with him.
“You’ve been looking busy lately, my puppy.”
“Yeah, I got into the debut lineup.”
“Oh, really? Are they treating you well?”
“There’s a Director I trust and follow, at least…”
His gaze caught on the layers of wrinkles etched deep into his grandmother’s face.
The thought that worrying over him had put them there stung somewhere inside, but it was still bearable.
“I just have to give it my all.”
His grandmother’s wrinkles deepened further, and the corners of her eyes curved gently.
“That’s right, that’s right. Where in the world is there a child as lovely as our Jiwon-ie? But you mustn’t overdo it, okay?”
“Of course not.”
Seong Jiwon tucked away his grandmother’s words one by one, holding each close to his heart. The situation was far from ideal, but he didn’t want to burden her with any more worry than she already carried.
His grandmother stroked his cheek lovingly as he answered without protest.
“But tomorrow’s your birthday, so come home early, all right? I’ll have lots of our Jiwon-ie’s favorite foods ready.”
.
.
.
“Excuse me?”
One day, Director Jo pulled Seong Jiwon aside.
“I’m saying let’s redo the profile shoot.”
Something felt off, seeing Director Jo smile so awkwardly.
“We already shot those a month ago.”
“I think it’d be better to reshoot. I hear the new boy group the company’s planning is going to be a performance-focused group, and your profile photos have too soft an image. Oh—do you have anything else on your schedule today?”
Seong Jiwon couldn’t answer right away.
Today was his birthday.
He remembered his grandmother telling him to come home early, but after a moment, he slowly shook his head.
Redoing the profile shoot once or twice wasn’t going to be a problem.
“…No. I don’t have anything.”
“Good. Then I’ll drive you there.”
As if he’d been waiting for exactly those words, Director Jo immediately slung an arm around Seong Jiwon’s shoulders and urged him toward the parking garage.
“Huh? Why would you…”
“No reason. Gotta have days like this once in a while.”
Director Jo seemed a little different from usual, which caught him off guard, but Seong Jiwon soon fell into step where the man led.
The reason he’d stayed at this place despite debut falling apart time after time was because of Director Jo. In this rotting, crumbling company, he was the one person Jiwon could trust and rely on.
“Then I’ll leave it to you.”
And so, that day too, he believed.
Even if it was something special, it was the kind of thing you could write off as a small kindness.
“In the end, Seong Ji— is also ——, huh———.”
“Acting all cl—— and pur——, ——, —gure.”
As he passed through the hallway and waited for the elevator to the underground parking lot, he could feel other trainees whispering behind him.
It was the kind of thing he dealt with all the time, familiar enough. Yet for some reason, this time, it felt ominous.
Seong Jiwon hesitated for a moment, then quietly opened the recording app on his phone.
He felt a flash of guilt, as though he were doubting Director Jo, but he told himself there was never any harm in being careful.
Sitting in the passenger seat of the expensive foreign car, Seong Jiwon watched the buildings slide past.
All he could think about was how to finish the profile shoot quickly and get home.
“…I hear you’ve been practicing really hard.”
“I need to do more, ahaha.”
Director Jo broke a brief silence.
Seong Jiwon hung the smile he always wore at the corner of his lips.
Hard work and dedication don’t betray you.
No matter how much the people around him wavered, he firmly believed that the time and blood and sweat he’d poured in would come back as something good.
No. The truth was, clinging to that scrap of belief was the only thing Seong Jiwon could do back then.
“…Hey, Jiwon-ah.”
The car that was supposed to take him to the profile shoot stopped in front of an unfamiliar hotel.
“Take this.”
“……Excuse me?”
Seong Jiwon had no idea what was happening. He looked around, bewildered, and Director Jo held out a small envelope.
The feeling of dread made him not want to take it. When he hesitated, Director Jo took his hand and pressed the envelope into it. In that instant, he understood exactly what this was.
“I really do care about you, and I didn’t want to push you into something like this. But the company hasn’t been in a good place lately.”
“……”
“At this rate, you won’t debut next time either. The entire project might fall through. Let’s be real. There’s no shortage of kids who want to be celebrities. Are you really going to throw away this chance too?”
The envelope in Seong Jiwon’s hand slowly crumpled. What Director Jo was saying, stripped bare, was simple: Do it, or I’ll replace you with someone else.
After a pause, a small sigh reached his ears, followed by a voice softened to something almost soothing.
“…Just go inside. Contact me when it’s over. It’d be better if nothing happens. For both of us.”
He wanted to pick it apart, point by point. But his mouth wouldn’t open.
“Don’t forget the cap.”
As if possessed by something, he stepped out of the car in a daze and walked into the hotel lobby.
He passed beneath a chandelier scattering light in every color and sank into one of the sofas arranged in the first-floor lounge.
Befitting a luxury hotel, the feel of the leather clinging to his body was excruciatingly vivid, and the scenery filtering in under the brim of his cap was cruelly sharp.
Rustle.
That was when he remembered the envelope he’d been clutching this whole time.
Seong Jiwon tore open the envelope and pulled out what was inside.
In his trembling hand was a card with a three-digit number engraved on it.
A room key, most likely.
“Ha, ha…”
He was sitting in a place that smelled pleasant and felt warm, and yet he felt like he’d been thrown into a gutter.
“Haha.”
Profile shoot, my ass.
Time, effort, his own convictions, and the person he’d relied on.
Everything crumbled into nothing.
“Wow. So this is how it was always going to end up.”
He stopped the self-mocking laugh that had spilled out before he could help it, pulled out his phone, and hit stop on the recording.
The more he retraced what had just happened, the more his insides felt like they were shriveling to dust.
What do I do?
Seong Jiwon wasn’t stupid.
Wanting to make his dream come true was one thing. But crossing that line was something else entirely, and he had no intention of doing it.
Transfer to another agency?
If he did, there was no way he’d land at a major one. D.go would do everything in their power to drag his name through the mud.
He erased that thought immediately.
Go public?
It’d feel satisfying, sure. But that would be all.
He’d either get sued, or—even if he didn’t—he’d never set foot in the entertainment industry again.
Then what, blackmail?
If he waved the recording around, they’d at least stop making him do this shit.
But it was obvious they’d find some excuse to kick him out of the debut lineup afterward, and even if he somehow debuted, getting any kind of push would be out of the question.
He didn’t have the ability—or, if he was being honest, the will—to keep fighting alone among those vipers of adults.
“……Ha.”
No matter what scenario he imagined, all that came back was suffocation.
The world looked black and white.
Seong Jiwon decided to throw everything away and put an end to it.
Let’s just quit.
He’d waited too long with nothing to show for it.
It was time to stop agonizing over an uncertain tomorrow.
Just as Seong Jiwon, having made peace with everything, reached for the key card—
“Cheolsu-yaaa!!”
A shout calling for someone rang through the lobby.
It wasn’t his name. He rose slowly from the sofa and pressed the brim of his cap down once—
“Hey, Cheolsu-ya. Where do you think you’re going?”
“……?”
“Your hyung’s here.”
An unfamiliar force pressed down hard on his shoulder.
A loose, swaggering tone of voice. A pleasant mid-low register that was close enough to feel.
“Not happy to see me? I’ve been waiting forever for you.”
He turned his head slightly to look at the stranger.
The man had a cap pulled low over his face, just like him.
Jiwon furrowed his brow, and the man lifted his face just enough.
He was handsome enough that even Seong Jiwon, who had spent years at a major agency, momentarily mistook him for a celebrity. But his complexion was pale, the skin around his eyes was dark, and his expression was cold.
“…Who are you?”
“Me?”
The corner of his mouth shot up in an amused grin.
“The guy who’s here to wreck the place.”
