Seon-ho had never intended to hand over the song titled HSH to MOK in the first place.
It was because MOK had been considering that song as a potential single for Low Five.
And the leader of Low Five, AT, was the very person who had caused Hye-mi so much suffering.
Seon-ho didn’t want to give his song to someone like that.
So he had been planning to include HSH on Hye-mi’s album instead.
It would require some revision, but he was confident he could make it into a song that suited her.
However, the situation had changed.
It changed when Seon-ho decided to give his all for Personal Color.
He could create a new song for Hye-mi, but the buzz surrounding HSH was at its peak right now.
Fans of Drake’s group, All-In-One, were wildly sharing Drake’s post.
On top of that, the top vocalist Jang Sang-won was constantly expressing his desire for HSH.
When Seon-ho contacted Yoo Ayeon, it was with the intention of leveraging that buzz as a bargaining chip.
Of course, during this process, it would inevitably be revealed that he was HSH.
But it wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t something he could hide forever anyway.
In fact, considering he could get on the same boat as Director Yoo Ayeon, it wasn’t a bad deal at all.
Behind Seon-ho’s words, such calculations were quietly at play.
“You’re saying… you’ll give me the song?”
“Yes.”
Director Yoo Ayeon held her tongue for a long moment before speaking.
“So that means you’re HSH, Mr. Han Seon-ho?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because I made that song.”
Yoo Ayeon shook her head.
“No, what I meant was, why did MOK present your song as if it belonged to an independent artist named HSH?”
“Oh, that was just a coincidence. After I made that song, I forgot about it. Honestly, I only found out that MOK was looking for HSH through social media.”
“HSH and Han Seon-ho… Even the names match so well that it’s suspicious.”
“I don’t have any reason to lie.”
Yoo Ayeon, staring into Seon-ho’s eyes, nodded.
There was no reason to lie about something that would be easily revealed with a bit of investigation.
At that moment, Yoo Ayeon suddenly thought of Prefer.
Stories about Prefer, who had created Autumn Leaf, were fairly well-known in the industry.
Prefer was said to be a shut-in who couldn’t even earn a living without Han Seon-ho’s help—Han Seon-ho’s friend.
Could Prefer actually be Han Seon-ho too?
It was only natural for her to wonder.
But after thinking it through, Yoo Ayeon could only shake her head.
It was impossible.
The music was too different.
If HSH’s music felt like classical pieces that entirely excluded the singer, Prefer’s songs were crafted from start to finish for the vocalist.
It simply wasn’t possible for one person to show that level of duality.
“Let’s organize things for a moment. You’re saying you’re HSH, MOK discovered HSH’s song by chance, and posted about it on social media. MOK still doesn’t know your real identity. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re offering the buzz surrounding HSH and the usage rights to the song as your side of the deal, in exchange for a chance to enter the music competition show?”
“Exactly.”
“This is a deal I really like. Actually, it feels like it’s much more advantageous for me.”
“You value HSH’s buzz more than I thought.”
“It’s not just the buzz. It’s that the promotion cost is zero. MOK is doing all the work stirring up the hype around HSH, aren’t they? I can just swoop in and claim all of it. Hehe.”
Yoo Ayeon let out a low chuckle and clapped her hands.
“Alright. I’ll carve out a spot for Personal Color in Idol War. But I have a proposal.”
“Please, go ahead.”
“First, I’d like you to keep your identity as HSH hidden for as long as possible.”
“What difference would that make for you, Director Yoo?”
“A lot. I’m planning to go independent within three years. I’ve even picked the name already—U&I Entertainment.”
Yoo Ayeon continued.
“I want you to become the head of the A&R department at U&I Entertainment.”
Seon-ho was quite surprised by her words.
“…That’s a pretty bold offer.”
“Is it? I thought from the moment I evaluated your rehearsal stage that you had an exceptional ear. And if someone like that is HSH? It’s game over.”
“Do I have to give you an answer right now?”
“No. If you had to, it wouldn’t be a proposal—it would be threat. Just know that I’m thinking about it. No pressure. That’s the best kind of connection in this industry.”
Seon-ho liked Yoo Ayeon’s attitude and found her offer very attractive.
“Understood. Thank you for your kindness.”
“Is there anything you want to ask of me?”
“Hmm, if you happen to know anything about Personal Color, could you tell me? In as much detail as possible.”
“In that case, I’ll organize it all into a document for you before the first broadcast of Idol War.”
“Thank you.”
“Well then, let’s talk business. About how to use HSH.”
The story that Director Yoo Ayeon unfolded was enough to capture Seon-ho’s full attention.
Seon-ho had once told Team Leader Jung Chanyoung that he’d like to follow Hye-mi’s schedule if possible.
But just three days into managing Personal Color, he realized how ridiculous that thought had been.
The Personal Color management team was busy.
Extremely busy.
Their schedule for Personal Color’s comeback was hectic enough, but even more overwhelming was An Jia’s personal schedule.
Photo shoots, interviews, fan signings, drama pre-meetings, casting auditions.
It made Seon-ho wonder when An Jia even found time to sleep.
And all of An Jia’s personal activities also had to be handled by the Personal Color management team.
Normally, Director Kwon Hosan took care of personal schedules, but when he was too busy, Jung Jiwoon handled them.
And when even Jung Jiwoon couldn’t, the tasks fell to Seon-ho.
Just like today.
Today, for the first time, Seon-ho was handling An Jia’s personal schedule alone.
Today’s task was a script reading session for a drama.
High School in Melody.
A KBM network Wednesday-Thursday mini series about the love and friendship of art high school students dreaming of becoming musical actors.
When An Jia first said she wanted to audition for High School in Melody, MOK’s internal staff had all shaken their heads.
The story was childish, the cast was filled with idols, and the target audience was limited—it was clearly a B-tier drama.
But An Jia had insisted, and no one at MOK could refuse a rising actress’ persistence.
Apparently, she had fallen in love with the lead female role.
In the end, An Jia was cast as the heroine of High School in Melody.
And today was the first script reading session.
“Good thing. We’re not late.”
“Yes.”
They had almost been late because of the huge crowd at the department store fan signing, but An Jia showed no particular reaction.
Seon-ho thought she was remarkably calm.
No, she wasn’t just calm—she was detached.
“Let’s go in.”
Thus, Han Seon-ho and An Jia headed to the meeting room on the seventh floor of the KBM broadcasting station.
The seventh-floor meeting room was usually used for drama script readings and was quite spacious.
A large rectangular table that could probably seat forty people when packed tightly filled the room.
Inside, a little over thirty people were waiting, each holding a script.
Strictly speaking, they weren’t all actors.
Aside from seven or eight people cast as teachers and parents, most of the attendees were idols.
Some, like An Jia, had previous acting experience, but over half were acting for the first time.
Understandably, the nervous energy was noticeable.
“Hello.”
As An Jia entered and greeted the room, many welcomed her.
Soon after, a timid-looking staff member approached and handed her a name tag printed with “Song Woohee” in large letters—the name of her character.
“Please wear this around your neck before the reading starts.”
“Got it.”
An Jia immediately hung the tag around her neck.
However, even after she received her tag, the staff member hovered nervously nearby.
Seon-ho thought maybe he wanted An Jia’s autograph.
But that wasn’t the reason the staff member was restless.
“Um…”
“Huh?”
“I-I’m really sorry. I don’t know your name… Could you tell me what it is…?”
At the staff member’s sudden question, Seon-ho told them his name.
The staff’s face went even paler.
“I-I think there’s been some kind of mistake. Your name isn’t on the name tag…”
“My name?”
Only then did Seon-ho realize the misunderstanding.
“Oh, I don’t need a name tag. I’m not an actor, I’m a manager.”
“Ah, so you’re here as a coaching instructor. Got it.”
It seemed the staff had mistaken him for a training manager — basically an acting coach — but before he could correct the misunderstanding, the staff scurried off.
Just how much pressure must these actors be putting on the staff for them to look so beaten down?
As Seon-ho thought to himself, An Jia, who had been openly watching him, asked a question.
“Manager, why don’t you become an actor?”
“Huh?”
Without thinking, Seon-ho reflexively answered back, surprised that An Jia was asking him something for the first time.
“Why don’t I become an actor?”
“Yes. You’re leaving your talent unused.”
“Uh… I don’t think I have any talent for acting.”
“Well, you can learn. And maybe you’ll turn out to be really good at it.”
“I mean, that’s possible, but I actually like the job I have now.”
“You can’t just do what you like. You should do what you’re good at.”
Hearing such a grown-up comment from An Jia made Seon-ho suddenly laugh.
It was because a thought crossed his mind.
An Jia seemed to think, just by looking at his appearance, that acting was the path where he could succeed the most.
But that was a mistake.
What Han Seon-ho was best at — at least at this point in his life — wasn’t acting. It wasn’t composing music, either.
The thing he could do best right now was pickpocketing.
Seon-ho had been picking pockets since he was very young.
As a child, he hadn’t known right from wrong. As he got older, he made excuses — saying he had no choice, that he needed to help his friends at the orphanage.
And surprisingly, not once had he ever been caught.
Just by hearing someone’s breathing, he could tell whether they were on guard or lost in thought.
So An Jia was wrong.
If people were meant to do whatever they were best at, Seon-ho should still be picking pockets even now.
An Jia asked, hearing his laughter.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Nothing. I just suddenly had a random thought. Anyway, you asked why I don’t act, right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think someone can keep doing something just because they like it? Or keep doing something they don’t like but might be good at?”
When An Jia didn’t answer, Seon-ho continued.
“You’re saying I might be better at acting than at what I’m doing now, right?”
“Yes.”
“But that advantage might only be temporary. If you keep doing something you love with passion, maybe that’ll eventually become the thing you’re best at.”
An Jia fell deep into thought at Seon-ho’s words.
At that moment, a staff member’s voice rang out in the distance.
“We’re starting the script reading!”
“Hello. I’m Kang Mireu, playing the male lead, Baek Dongju.”
“Hello. I’m An Jia, playing the female lead, Song Woohee.”
After the two leads introduced themselves, a series of supporting actors followed with their greetings.
Seon-ho briefly tried to memorize the similar-looking faces of the supporting cast but quickly gave up.
So Kang Mireu’s the male lead, huh.
The moment he thought that, he felt like Kang Mireu’s gaze flickered toward him.
But maybe it was just his imagination, because Kang Mireu soon returned his eyes to the script.
Once the introductions were over and the writer and director gave a few short greetings, the script reading began in earnest.
They were filming it with an ENG camera to release footage during the production presentation.
Maybe to relax everyone, or maybe to raise the tension, the veteran actors went first with a few exchanges.
Soon, it was An Jia’s turn.
“No! I said no!”
“Woohee!”
“I don’t want to act! I want to do musicals!”
“You know musicals don’t make any money and just leave you exhausted, right? You think I sent you to acting classes since you were five for this?”
The middle-aged actress playing Woohee’s mother beat her chest dramatically as she spoke her lines.
“The teacher said if you become famous as an actor, you can land musical roles easily. Woohee, please, listen to your mom.”
“I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to! I want to sing!”
“Woohee!”
At that moment, the director’s voice called out, “Okay, good.”
Many people gasped in admiration at An Jia’s vivid performance, and a few, feeling competitive, gulped nervously.
But Seon-ho wasn’t paying attention to any of that.
An Jia hadn’t been acting just now.
The words she had shouted weren’t Song Woohee’s — they were An Jia’s.
Finally, Seon-ho understood the seemingly random question she had asked him before the reading.
She didn’t want to act. She wanted to sing.
But An Jia’s already a singer, isn’t she?
Was it that she wanted to go solo, not stay in a group?
Or maybe it was about how many lines she got?
Just then, Seon-ho’s smartphone buzzed.
[Didn’t really care before, but while digging a bit, I found some incidents involving Personal Color. The leader Baek Songyi’s cousin is actually a trainee at our company.]
A message from Yoo Ayeon.
It was information he had asked for a few days ago about Personal Color.
[Considering these incidents, it wouldn’t be surprising if there were tensions between them.]
Seon-ho carefully went over the file Yoo Ayeon had attached.
Just based on the surface facts, it did seem like Personal Color’s relationships might be strained.
But Seon-ho had observed them up close. He had tried to look beyond the surface.
And because of that, he could see the situation from a slightly different perspective.
“Ah.”
At that moment, Seon-ho realized exactly what his role was.
He needed to mix.
Mixing.
The art of adjusting and blending each instrument’s sound to create harmonious music.
In other words, his job now was to blend each of their “personal colors” into one complete song.
By drawing out the true feelings they had carefully hidden deep inside.
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