“Huh? Underwear?”
Hye-mi spoke without thinking and only belatedly realized her mistake.
“Ah, no. I-I just… My father always told me this. That trusting someone is difficult, but once you start, you should trust them to the end.”
“But why underwear all of a sudden…?”
“Every time he said that, he used a metaphor about how if you’re going to give away your outer clothes, you should be willing to give your underwear too. So I just—”
“Well, even if you give away outer clothes, I doubt anyone would actually wear someone else’s underwear.”
“I mean, it’s just a metaphor…”
Her voice trailed off awkwardly, and then, after a brief pause, laughter erupted.
Seon-ho laughed first, and then Hye-mi followed.
“So, what you’re saying is, you want to trust me all the way?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll take off my underwear too.”
Seon-ho pulled over to the side of the road and connected his smartphone to the car’s audio system.
“What I said yesterday about ‘Autumn Leaf’—I didn’t mean it lightly. It wasn’t just something I threw out there. I really wanted you to know that.”
“Did you rearrange ‘Autumn Leaf’?”
“Yes. It’s not the final version yet, though.”
Hye-mi’s eyes softened, curiosity shimmering between the curves of her gaze.
“Did you do it yourself?”
Looking at her small face, brimming with curiosity and admiration, Seon-ho had the sudden thought that she might even enjoy it if he simply played folk songs for her.
But he couldn’t do that.
This was the first time he was revealing this song to the world—he needed an honest critique.
“I didn’t do it myself. I just gave a composer I know the direction and source materials for the arrangement.”
“I see. I can’t wait to hear it.”
A moment later, the music began to play.
‘This sounds like Su-rim’s song.’
That was the first thought that came to Hye-mi’s mind as she listened.
There were slight differences in the use of instruments, but the overall feeling was nearly identical.
But she was mistaken.
This was not Jung Su-rim’s song.
The moment a certain melody wove itself into the piece, everything started to change.
The shift completely transformed the way the song was expressed, turning it into a duet.
“Ah…!”
It wasn’t just a duet in the sense of having separate vocal parts.
Like warp and weft threads interlacing to form fabric, the song was intricately and meticulously woven.
The warp threads were Su-rim’s soft murmuring voice.
The weft threads were the gentle melody that were merging with it.
Together, they created something truly, truly beautiful.
And to Hye-mi, that beauty was more than just aesthetic.
Because within it, she existed.
The song already had a place for both Su-rim and herself.
That was why, even though there were no lyrics yet, she instinctively knew how it should be sung.
The melody rang vividly in her mind. It was an experience she had never had before.
Hye-mi closed her eyes.
She didn’t want to divert even the slightest bit of attention from her sense of hearing.
With her eyes shut tight, the music poured into her ears, into her heart, like a shower of stars.
Seon-ho watched Hye-mi anxiously.
At first, she had looked a little surprised, but then she closed her eyes, making his nervousness skyrocket.
What was that reaction?
Did she like it? Or did she not?
Should I have played the final version instead?
This was the first time he had ever shown one of his songs to someone. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind.
Of course, he had played music for her before.
But back then, he hadn’t had the means to create proper songs, so he had only ever produced little tune in them.
And yet, she had always said—
‘It’s amazing!’
His eyes landed on Hye-mi’s face, still tightly shut.
Her long eyelashes trembled faintly.
A delicate wrinkle rested above them.
Her small, pale face was neatly framed by her eyes, nose, and lips.
With her eyes open, her delicate features held a kind of lively energy, but with them closed, she looked incredibly calm.
At that moment, Hye-mi’s eyes fluttered open.
The song had ended.
“How was it?”
“Hmm…”
Her gaze met his.
Seon-ho had the odd feeling that she was hesitating, watching his reaction, almost like she was flustered.
After a moment of deliberation, she slowly opened her mouth.
“I’m sorry. It’s not good.”
“No, you don’t need to apologize at all. It’s completely normal not to like a song.”
“Yeah…”
“Could you tell me what part didn’t work for you?”
Hye-mi thought for a moment, then spoke.
“Because you lied.”
“I… lied?”
“Yes. You lied to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You said this wasn’t a finished song.”
“…What?”
“How could this not be finished? It’s this good!”
The stiff expression she had been forcing began to melt away, replaced by a gentle smile.
And in that moment, Seon-ho realized—
What he was seeing now was her real expression.
The unguarded smile of Cha Hye-mi, hidden beneath layers of polite restraint.
“It’s amazing! Where in the world did you find a song like this?”
“Wait… so you were just messing with me?”
“Yes!”
“Ah…”
Hye-mi burst into laughter at Han Seon-ho’s foolish expression.
“The manager who provided the arrangement direction and source material is amazing, and the composer who made this is seriously incredible! Who made this song? What’s the composer’s name?”
At the question about the composer, Seon-ho flinched. However, thankfully, a name flashed in his mind.
“Uh, it’s… Prefer…”
“Do you mean the method of preference?”
“No, no. In English.”
“I’m not that good at English… What’s the spelling?”
Prefer. To prefer.
That child had given him that stage name after seeing the ‘English Word of the Day’ in the newspaper.
Thinking about it now, it was kind of funny. Back then, they didn’t know the meaning of the word seonho, and they had simply thought it was the same as Han Seon-ho’s name.
“If you use this name, it sounds like you did it! Ugh, why isn’t there anything with my name on it?”
Lost in memories tied to that unexpected stage name, Seon-ho snapped back to reality.
“Wait, that’s not the point. Do you really like it?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“I really like it. I want to let Su-rim hear it soon and try singing it too.”
Hye-mi said this with a bright smile, then added a single word.
“Oppa.”
“…Oppa?”
“If you bring me good songs, you’re automatically an oppa.”
Seon-ho finally understood why Hye-mi’s profile described her as cheerful and affectionate.
This was her true personality. Up until now, she had simply been acting cold and distant.
Now, she had completely opened her heart.
“Can I listen to it one more time?”
“You can listen to it on the way.”
“…Huh?”
“I said, you can listen to it on the way.”
Hye-mi, her eyes round in surprise, smiled and nodded.
Seon-ho smiled back at her.
It wasn’t just Hye-mi who had opened up.
A moment later, the car that had been parked started moving.
Carrying a single song and a single team.
That was how they became one team.
Session 3. Prefer
MOK Entertainment was often called a “one-man agency” by industry insiders.
There was even a joke that if the “one man” of MOK left to establish a copycat company called NOK, a few years later, MOK would become the copy.
To outsiders unfamiliar with the entertainment industry, this might sound like MOK was a company sustained by a single top star.
But MOK was home to massively popular idol groups like Black List and July Girls.
It also boasted a super lineup of top actors like Cha Han-kyung, Yoo Yeon-seong, and Seo Mi-yu.
The “one man” of MOK wasn’t an actor or a singer.
He was the CEO of MOK Entertainment—Kim Dong-han.
Kim Dong-han was a star in his own right.
Not only had he dominated the Korean music industry in the ’90s, but since the late 2000s, he had made a name for himself on numerous audition programs, earning the nickname “Korea’s Simon Cowell.”
However, his true power wasn’t in his fame.
It was in his influence.
MOK’s super lineup—each of them a walking conglomerate.
The reason they all remained with MOK.
It was because of Kim Dong-han.
That was why he wielded absolute power within the company, to the extent that even shareholders had to yield to his opinions.
But even Kim Dong-han had a weakness.
Something completely unexpected—his only son, the one his late wife had left behind.
Ever since his immature son started running wild in the company, saying he wanted to be a singer, innocent victims had started to appear.
And the biggest victim among them was Hye-mi.
“Hey, I heard you pulled off something big yesterday.”
It was the first thing Park Cha-myung said when they ran into each other on the way to work after lunch at Seon-ho’s rental room.
“What do you mean?”
“What else? The thing at Bay Studio.”
“Oh.”
It had only been a day, yet rumors had spread fast. No, technically, it hadn’t even been a full 24 hours.
Seeing Seon-ho’s reaction, Cha-myung smirked.
“This industry is like that. There are too many secrets that people have to keep, so they turn into chatterboxes about things they don’t have to keep secret.”
“Secrets?”
“What else? Celebrities private lives.”
Cha-myung changed the subject.
“By the way, have you eaten?”
“Yes, I ate before coming in.”
Sensing the conversation might drag on, the female employees who had been walking with Cha-myung excused themselves and went inside.
But even as they left, they kept sneaking glances at Seon-ho.
Watching this, Cha-myung chuckled. The moment the women were out of earshot, he spoke up again.
“I heard something funny while eating. Do you know what your nickname is?”
“My nickname?”
“Yeah, your nickname.”
“I have a nickname? No idea.”
Still snickering, Cha-myung revealed it.
“Sukwang Jeoha.” *It means ‘Your majesty’.
“…Sukwang?”
Seon-ho frowned in confusion.
As far as he knew, there was a King Sukjong, but no King Sukwang.
Seeing his puzzled face, Cha-myung grinned as if he had just delivered the funniest joke.
“Sukwang. Prince of the night-duty room.”
“…Night-duty room? Where did that come from?”
“You stayed in the night-duty room for a few days while looking for a rental, remember?”
“Oh. Yeah, I did.”
Finally understanding, Seon-ho watched as Cha-myung burst into laughter.
“But I actually had a similar nickname before.”
“What was it?”
“Reading Room Tae-won.”
“…Tae-won? You mean that Tae-won? Hallyu star Tae-won?”
“Yep.”
“…Damn.”
Watching Cha-myung shake his head in disbelief, Seon-ho laughed this time.
As they joked around, Cha-myung suddenly noticed a subtle change in Seon-ho’s demeanor.
It wasn’t anything major, but there was a faint sense of confidence. A slight ease.
It had only been three days since he started managing Hye-mi.
Yet in that short time, something had shifted.
Cha-myung knew where this kind of ease came from.
It was the kind of confidence a manager gained when they started feeling affection for their artist.
When they became certain they could turn them into a top star.
It was a feeling that came from that conviction.
Cha Hye-mi and Han Seon-ho…
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