Han Seon-ho had never learned to play the piano.
However, as long as he knew which key produced which sound, he was confident that he could place the dots and connect them to create music.
After all, he had been doing it in his head for ten years.
By the time A.T’s song had played exactly twenty-five times, it was no longer A.T’s.
A.T’s song had completely disappeared. In its place, a piece with an entirely different feeling—one that belonged to Han Seon-ho—had been born.
The Killing Source layered over A.T’s uninspired track was so intense that it utterly erased the original composer’s presence.
The drum notes A.T had built to add solidity became the foundation of variation. The bass notes A.T had stacked for modulation turned into a firm bedrock.
Octaves leaped back and forth, and the sounds danced.
A series of bold choices unfolded, ones that most composers wouldn’t dare to attempt.
Yet, these choices were never so excessive that the music became inaccessible to listeners. The experimentation stayed within the bounds of what made for “pleasant sound,” the essence of music itself.
This was not an arrangement. It was a re-creation.
Jung Tae-myung was truly an unlucky man.
Had he showed just a little more patience and witnessed Han Seon-ho’s talent, he could have seized an incredible opportunity.
As of now, Han Seon-ho was a genius in the dark—a half-formed composer in need of support.
There was no doubt that the song he created today had an extraordinary sound, but there was no room for a singer’s voice.
The composition already had a fully realized flow; inserting lyrics would only be unnecessary.
Like a classical performance.
For Han Seon-ho’s song to become a commercial hit, he would absolutely need a track maker to assist with mixing, mastering, and arrangement.
It was the stroke of luck that Jung Tae-myung had missed.
‘A little disappointing.’
Yet, Han Seon-ho still failed to grasp the magnitude of his own potential.
He simply felt unsatisfied with the result.
Sure, it was a decent song. He even thought it sounded good.
But the track he truly aimed for only existed in his mind—the ideal song.
The sound he envisioned couldn’t be achieved with just the single grand piano VST (virtual instrument) that Jung Tae-myung had linked to the master keyboard.
‘It’s vague… Should I delete it?’
Entertaining a thought that would have horrified others, Han Seon-ho decided to save the project, reasoning that it was meaningful as his first composition.
However, he ran into an unexpected obstacle.
He didn’t have an ID card or a visitor access number to prove his affiliation with MOK.
“Hmm…”
He hesitated for a moment, but in the end, it didn’t matter.
No one was going to hear the song anyway.
Without much thought, Han Seon-ho entered his initials as the project title.
[Project Title: HSH]
And so, a trace of Han Seon-ho’s talent was left in MOK Entertainment.
“Director, I’ll have the intern employment documents ready within the week, so please approve them.”
“Well, Manager Park, I trust your judgment, but…”
Director Shin Ho-yoon made a hesitant expression.
“With all the losses we’re taking from Low Five, wouldn’t it be better to just pull someone from Team B to work as a road manager?”
“Director.”
“Honestly, this isn’t even a big deal. Hiring someone new seems wasteful.”
Park Cha-myung let out a sigh.
“A trainee reported the CEO’s son as a stalker. How is that not a big deal? And besides, Hye-mi is way too famous for a trainee.”
“Even so…”
“If Hye-mi’s career crashes, there’s no way responsibility won’t become an issue. In the end, an innocent road manager will take the fall, and I refuse to dump an unpredictable bomb on my team.”
Director Shin Ho-yoon sighed as well.
Since this matter involved the company’s CEO, handling it rationally was difficult.
After a brief moment of thought, he raised a hand.
“…Forget the intern. Let’s hire an 18-month contract worker instead. Salary at full-time staff level.”
“Eighteen months? But Hye-mi only has a year left.”
“Shouldn’t we at least leave a path open for that Han Seon-ho kid? If nothing else, we could try to persuade him to become a trainee later.”
“Thank you very much.”
“Oh, come on. You were planning this all along, weren’t you?”
At Shin Ho-yoon’s grumble, Park Cha-myung let out a small chuckle.
This was why Shin, strict and by-the-book, was so well respected.
“By the way, how did the reporters find out about Hye-mi’s report? The way the story got out, it seems like an internal leak.”
“My guess is one of the trainees.”
“Well, it definitely wasn’t Hye-mi…”
Shin shook his head.
Having secured what he wanted, Park Cha-myung gave a polite bow and left the office.
He glanced at his watch—it was already 7:30 PM.
He had told Han Seon-ho things would wrap up around six, yet somehow, an entire hour had flown by.
‘If I’d known, I would’ve scheduled the interview for tomorrow.’
In reality, the interview wasn’t even necessary.
Within just four hours—more precisely, from the moment the reporter had called—Han Seon-ho had become someone they absolutely had to hire.
It was almost a stroke of luck that he had appeared at the right time.
Come to think of it, it was strange.
He had stubbornly insisted on hiring him, and then suddenly, the position had opened up.
‘Does this mean he’s fated to be a manager after all?’
With that thought, Park Cha-myung entered the engineer’s room.
Han Seon-ho, who somehow looked even more handsome than he had a few hours ago, stood up to greet him.
“You’re here?”
“Sorry, I kept you waiting too long.”
“It’s fine.”
“What were you doing?”
“I talked with Composer Jung Tae-myung and learned how to use some of the equipment.”
“Tae-myung? Oh, he must’ve been here for the Low Five single. But he’s not in the composition department. He’s in engineering.”
“I’m not too familiar with those distinctions yet.”
“Well, it differs from company to company anyway.”
Park Tae-myung liked how Han Seon-ho was honest about what he didn’t know.
Not just that he didn’t know, but that he didn’t know yet.
“By the way, earlier, I was speaking formally, wasn’t I?”
“It’s fine. Speak comfortably.”
“Alright. You were an outsider earlier, but now that you’re an insider, I’m dropping the formalities.”
“You mean…?”
“I need to ask for your understanding about something, so I’ll be straightforward with you.”
Park Cha-myung turned off the air conditioner and continued speaking.
“The interview will proceed. I need to know what kind of life my subordinate has lived and why you didn’t even graduate elementary school. But as long as there’s no issue with your character, you’ll be hired.”
“Thank you.”
“So, can I take that as you being confident in your character?”
At Park Cha-myung’s joke, Han Seon-ho gave the brightest smile he had since they met.
Seeing that, Park Cha-myung smacked his lips.
“You really have no interest in celebrities at all… No, never mind. Let’s go. You hungry?”
“A little.”
As they walked out of the engineer’s room together, Park Cha-myung suddenly asked.
“By the way, you said you wanted to be a producer, right?”
“Yes.”
“In this industry, the term ‘producer’ gets thrown around everywhere—programs, albums, stage production, design… Even managers at the team leader level and above are sometimes called producers. Since a producer is fundamentally someone who creates something, it’s not strange.”
“I see.”
“Which specific field of producing do you want to be in?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Han Seon-ho answered.
“Someone who creates happiness through music.”
“Happiness?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that a composer?”
But Han Seon-ho shook his head.
“I will create music, but my goal isn’t just to make music. My goal is to create happiness through music.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A composer makes music, but they don’t usually concern themselves with where, how, or by whom that music is used, do they?”
“Usually not. As long as they get paid for the song, that’s all that matters.”
“That means they’ve made music, but I don’t believe that means they’ve created happiness through music.”
At Han Seon-ho’s words, Park Cha-myung’s expression turned intrigued.
“So, you want to control every aspect of how music is made and delivered? Who sings it, where it’s sung, how it’s presented?”
“Yes.”
“Composition, matching, managing, directing, promotion… You’re saying you’ll do everything related to music?”
At first glance, Park Cha-myung’s words might have sounded sarcastic.
But his expression wasn’t.
He was genuinely entertained.
And even if he had been mocking him, Han Seon-ho wouldn’t have cared.
He had spent enough of his life being pushed around by others. Now, he wanted to live on his own terms.
He wanted to establish a ‘Killing Source’ in his life.
“It’s been over ten years since the entertainment industry became fully systematized. Now, composers just compose, A&R teams handle matching, managers only take care of artists, and promotions are handled by the PR team.”
“Yes.”
“But… there is someone who does everything you just mentioned.”
“Who?”
At Han Seon-ho’s question, Park Cha-myung smirked.
“Entertainment company CEOs.”
He gave Han Seon-ho a light pat on the shoulder.
“Nine out of ten rookie managers have the same goal—becoming the ‘CEO.’”
“I guess my goal was a bit too cliché.”
“It was cliché. But it was also honest.”
As they reached the company’s front entrance, Park Cha-myung pushed the door open and asked.
“But what would you have done if I had rejected your application? I’ll explain over lunch, but this is a rather unusual situation. Normally, hiring doesn’t happen like this.”
At that, Han Seon-ho smirked and pulled out his wallet—a wallet so stuffed it looked ready to burst.
“Bribery?”
“Of course not. Open it.”
With a puzzled look, Park Cha-myung opened Han Seon-ho’s wallet.
Then he burst into laughter.
“You weren’t the only one who tried to scout me, Team Leader Park.”
Inside the wallet, there was a thick stack of business cards—easily over fifty.
Session 2. One Team
September 21, 2017.
Aside from the crisp scent of autumn in the air, it was an ordinary Thursday, no different from any other.
But for Han Seon-ho, today was special.
Perhaps the most special day in his entire 25 years of life.
Today marked the beginning of his first official duties as a manager under MOK Entertainment.
The reason he hadn’t started working immediately after joining a week ago was simple—he didn’t have a driver’s license.
For a road manager, whose job begins and ends with driving, not having a license was unacceptable.
So, with company support, he had obtained a Class 1 standard license in just six days.
It was an fast process through a special academy designed for actors who needed a license urgently, allowing him to get it in the shortest time possible without waiting.
“You said you already knew how to drive, right?”
“Yes. I just didn’t have a license.”
“Still, just use the GPS and drive safely. Hye-mi doesn’t have any urgent schedules anyway.”
Recalling Park Cha-myung’s advice, Han Seon-ho headed to Bundang, where Cha Hye-mi’s apartment was located.
Technically, it wasn’t her apartment but a small studio the company had arranged for her on short notice.
As with all rookie employees, senior mentorship was crucial—especially for new managers.
The entertainment industry was a battlefield, and taking care of an assigned celebrity required attention to countless details.
No matter how talented a rookie was, they couldn’t handle everything alone.
Yet, despite being on his first assignment, Han Seon-ho had no senior mentor.
Because Cha Hye-mi had fallen out of the CEO’s favour.
And if the CEO didn’t like her, there was no need to put effort into managing her properly.
“It’s a complicated situation.”
Lost in thought, he pressed the accelerator, and before he knew it, the GPS announced his arrival.
Checking the time, he realized he had arrived much earlier than expected.
Turning off the engine, he took out his phone and called Cha Hye-mi.
After a few rings, a soft female voice answered.
“Hello?”
Her voice was sweet.
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