Kwon Hosan could feel Han Seon-ho’s gaze as he picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
—Ah, Chief Kwon. Is your schedule done?
There was a noticeable slur in Manager Choi’s voice on the other end of the line.
Judging by his mumbled words, he must have been seriously drunk.
Choi, who was notorious for drinking even seasoned journalists under the table, must have had an impressive amount tonight if he was this far gone.
“Yes. We’re almost at the lodging. What happened?”
—Ugh, that CP guy is stubborn as a mule. And the PD’s no better.
Kwon Hosan’s heart sank at Choi’s heavy sigh.
“It didn’t go well?”
—Huh? Oh, no. It did. Or wait—did it not?
Choi’s incomprehensible muttering was interrupted by a loud drunken cheer—Waaaah!—in the background, reeking of alcohol even through the phone.
Voices shouting “hyung!” and “bro!” followed. It sounded like people from the broadcasting station.
“It went well, but it didn’t?”
While Kwon Hosan waited nervously for an explanation, the Personal Color van arrived at the lodging.
Jung Jiwoon parked the van and gestured that he’d take the members up, but Kwon hesitated and raised his hand to stop him.
He wasn’t sure what was going to happen.
He wasn’t even sure if they had succeeded or not.
But whatever the result, Kwon Hosan had already decided to tell the Personal Color members everything.
Even if it hadn’t gone well, he wanted them to know there were people who believed in their potential.
While Jung Jiwoon and the members stood around, puzzled by the unexpected delay, Choi’s voice came through the phone again.
—Man, what did these people eat? Where are they getting all this energy?
“Team leader, the result?”
—Ah, yeah. They said no to the title.
“The title?”
—Yeah. They insisted on their own cheesy name. I swear, that CP is stuck in the Stone Age.
“So… does that mean we got the casting?”
At the word casting, the Personal Color members’ attention snapped to the conversation.
—Huh? Oh, didn’t I say? Yeah, the casting’s confirmed. But the show title is Ajuninsu. Ajuninsu! Idol War: Popularity Defense!
“Haha…”
—Aren’t they nuts?! Why come up with a great format and time slot, and then throw crap on it with that title?!
“Hahaha!”
—And why are you laughing?! I spent five hours drinking with those guys trying to change the title, and they didn’t budge!
From what Choi drunkenly rambled, it seemed the casting deal was sealed within the first 30 minutes.
Unbeknownst to Kwon Hosan, the CP of Ajuninsu owed a lot to Director Yoo Ayeon—and trusted her judgment above all.
After humoring Choi a bit more, Kwon hung up, figuring the real discussion could wait until the alcohol wore off.
His eyes swept over the Personal Color members and stopped on Han Seon-ho.
“It’s done.”
“It worked?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s great news.”
“That’s all? You just landed a major network variety show and that’s your reaction?”
It was Jung Jiwoon who interjected at Kwon’s comment.
“A variety show?”
“KMB, Wednesdays at 11 PM. An all-out music war between seven idol teams. And this rookie manager guy—no, this man—made it happen.”
“Ma-major network? As fixed guests?”
“Not guests—hosts. It’s an eight-episode pilot.”
Then Kwon added,
“Of course, you have to survive it to become official hosts.”
“Holy…”
Mumbling in disbelief, Jung Jiwoon finally erupted.
“Wow, amazing! What’s the format? Viewer voting? Panel judges? No wait—Seon-ho, how the hell did you pull this off?!”
“Yeah, I forgot to ask earlier. How did you do it? The CP said they chose Personal Color because of you.”
At Kwon’s question, Seon-ho smiled.
He remembered what Yoo Ayeon had told him.
“They’ll definitely ask how you know the CP and how you won him over. When they do, just say this—it’s the best answer.”
Seon-ho repeated her exact words.
“Just because.”
“What?”
“It just happened. I told the CP how great Personal Color is, and he listened.”
“Just because” was such an ambiguous answer.
It opened the door to endless speculation.
Some might think Seon-ho had incredible networking skills. Others might think he was close to the CP. Or maybe the CP was already interested in Personal Color, and Seon-ho simply seized the opportunity.
Rumors were like snowballs in winter, they grew the more they rolled.
No one knew how Seon-ho’s “just because” would spread through the industry.
But the important thing was, no matter how big the rumor became—he hadn’t lied.
He had simply said, “Just because.”
And that, as Yoo Ayeon had said, was the best move.
After a moment of thought, Kwon Hosan turned to the group.
“How do you all feel about this?”
“Are we really going to be on a major network variety show?”
“Yup.”
“But the contracts aren’t signed yet, right?”
“Right.”
A flicker of anxiety crossed Baek Songyi’s face at that.
Having been in the industry for a while, she knew that no matter how many verbal promises were made, nothing mattered without a contract.
That’s when Kwon said,
“We’re going to the legal team tomorrow morning to sign. Bring your stamps.”
“W-wait, really?”
“What part of ‘it’s confirmed’ didn’t you understand? KMB’s Wednesday variety show. The title is Idol War… Let’s stop there. The title might change.”
At that, Woochan asked,
“What’s the title now?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s Ajuninsu.”
“Ajuninsu?”
Kwon kindly explained what the phrase stood for, and the members were at a loss for words.
Still, it was all part of the celebration.
Who cared if it was Ajuninsu or Dad-joke?
What mattered was—they had gotten the opportunity.
Baek Songyi, Riha, Woochan, Teiji.
And An Jia.
A warm smile spread across everyone’s face.
Looking at them, Seon-ho felt certain.
The members of Personal Color truly loved their team. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be this happy.
That’s when An Jia turned to Seon-ho.
“Thank you.”
“Huh?”
“You’re the one who made it happen.”
“I just told them what kind of team Personal Color is.”
“But that’s what matters. That you said it.”
Hearing her words, the rest of the stunned members finally chimed in.
“Thank you!”
“Thank you!”
“Thanks so much!”
Five heartfelt voices echoed inside the cramped van.
When Yoo Ayeon told him to take credit, Seon-ho had understood why—but he hadn’t felt it necessary.
Taking credit always came with strings attached.
It implied, I did this, so be grateful.
But Seon-ho wanted to be a producer who built mutual trust—not one who bartered for praise.
If he’d helped Hye-mi back at Bay Studio just to gain credit, would he have gained her trust?
Of course not.
So, he hadn’t really wanted to take credit for the casting of Ajuninsu this time.
It had just happened—things had flowed this way because of Kwon Hosan.
But now, his thoughts had changed a little.
If the warm words of thanks filling the van were the return, then maybe it wasn’t so bad to take a little credit for once.
Just then, Kwon Hosan nudged Seon-ho in the side.
“Huh?”
“Let them hear it.”
“Ah… right now?”
“This is the perfect time. The mood’s great, isn’t it?”
At Kwon Hosan’s suggestion, Seon-ho gave a brief explanation about Vivid.
Since Autumn Leaf had already made waves within MOK, everyone was familiar with Prefer.
“What kind of rookie manager is this? Landing a network variety show and even bringing in a song.”
The eldest, Woochan—who was the same age as Seon-ho—joked, and the atmosphere grew even warmer.
“Nice. Let’s hear it.”
“It’s not the final version. There are no lyrics yet.”
As soon as Seon-ho finished speaking, the cheerful rhythm of Vivid filled the van.
There were no lyrics yet. No chorus either.
But the members of Personal Color could feel their place within it.
This song—was made for them.
As they listened to Vivid, the members of Personal Color suddenly recalled the waiting room from two days ago.
They’d felt something strange back then.
It had seemed odd—just how much trust and affection Cha Hye-mi, Jung Su-rim, and Oh Hanbit had shown to Han Seon-ho.
And now…
Today felt strange too.
Just moments ago, they had been a group rushing toward the end. But now, they felt like they could do anything.
It was strange—truly strange.
After his shower, Seon-ho checked his phone and saw a message from Hye-mi.
There were two things in the text.
One was a message congratulating him on the rumor that Personal Color had landed a variety show today.
The other was the final audio file of the Tomorrow K-Star competition song scheduled for tomorrow.
Instead of replying, Seon-ho opened the audio file Hye-mi sent.
Soon, through his phone, a track titled Red Day by Hye-mi and Su-rim began to play.
On calendars, red days usually meant public holidays.
Hye-mi and Su-rim’s Red Day was a song about how every moment spent with you should be a holiday—a personal celebration.
The song was good.
The lyrics were lovely, and the vocals were solid.
But Seon-ho listened with a slightly heavy expression and took out his monitoring headset.
Then, listening to the song again, he counted the number of split takes used in the recording.
Eight takes.
As it was a Tomorrow K-Star stage focused on Su-rim, Hye-mi’s parts weren’t that many.
Even so, the number of split takes was far too high.
What was more troubling was that the song hadn’t been split into takes for perfection—but because it couldn’t be sung in one go.
The song’s difficulty level was just that high.
After a few more listens, Seon-ho finally picked up his phone.
“Hye-mi.”
—Oh, oppa. Did you just see my text?
“Yeah. I was in the shower.”
It was their first phone call in days.
If you had to pick the busiest person at MOK lately, everyone would say Cha Hye-mi. She’d been running non-stop.
“This song…”
—It’s way too hard, right?
“Yeah. Can you sing it?”
—Yes.
“Really?”
—Of course.
But Seon-ho still felt uneasy.
MOK had been backing Hye-mi hard lately, but when he heard this song, doubts crept in.
Was this all a setup?
Did they give such a difficult song to someone who needed careful handling?
Red Day had changed drastically from the guide version he’d heard not long ago—it was several times more difficult now.
What’s worse, the intersection sections—where Hye-mi and Su-rim’s vocals crossed—put way too much pressure on Hye-mi.
In those parts, even a single wrong note could throw off the whole song, and there were no clear pitch references.
It was like trying to navigate an open sea without a compass.
Seon-ho considered a few options.
Even if he didn’t touch the song itself, he could insert a few guide melodies into Hye-mi’s AR to give her a “compass.”
Then she could sing while listening to that AR.
That’s when Hye-mi spoke.
—Oppa. My dad served in the military for 26 years and still didn’t get a star.
“Stars aren’t that easy to earn.”
—Right? But I’m trying to earn a star right now.
Seon-ho understood what she was saying.
“The higher your rank, the more orders you give. And when you become a top star, your rank symbol turns into a star.”
—Of course it’s hard. It’d be weird if it wasn’t.
Her voice continued.
—Trust me. Just like I trust you, you need to trust me too. Trust isn’t one-sided, you know?
Seon-ho was slightly stunned by her words.
He’d been the one to say that trust goes both ways. But somehow, he’d ended up trying to teach her instead of trusting her.
He’d had a few wins lately, sure—but Hye-mi had gone through far more trials to get where she was.
“…Alright. I’ll look forward to it.”
—Make sure to watch on TV, okay?
“Hm? I have to?”
—Of course! Why? Do you have something scheduled?
“No, tomorrow’s my day off. I was thinking of asking Team Leader Jung Chanyoung if I could tag along. But if I have to watch on TV, then I guess I have no choice.”
Seon-ho said that with a quiet laugh as he pulled the phone slightly away from his ear.
Sure enough, a second later, Hye-mi’s shout came bursting through—“You have to come!”
He burst out laughing.
“Got it. See you tomorrow.”
—Yep. I should go to bed early for my skin.
“Shouldn’t you worry about your throat first?”
—I’ll think about it.
The call ended, and silence returned to the small room.
But within that silence, Seon-ho could still hear a few voices.
The chorus of “Thank you” from Personal Color, and Hye-mi’s passionate “You have to come!”
The weekend came and went again in a flash.
Even though most people took the weekend off, the showbiz world didn’t stop.
The Japanese controversy surrounding Blacklist took over the main page of portal sites, followed soon by a scandal about the male and female hosts of the hit variety show Chicken Race having an affair.
After that, articles started flooding in—disguised as news but really promoting the follow-up show Ajuninsu.
Mixed in were guesses about the seven teams expected to appear on Ajuninsu.
Of course, these weren’t all true speculations—some were more like test balloons to see public opinion.
And meanwhile…
At the top of the music chart stood firm: Red Day by Cha Hye-mi and Jung Su-rim.
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