Plagiarism? No Way.
“What? No way.”
The idea that Kim Min-hyuk had plagiarized was something I'd never heard of in my first or second life. Or maybe I just didn't know about it?
“Where is it, hyung?”
“Huh?”
“Where'd you get that message from?”
My hands moved faster than my mouth. I grabbed the back of the chair Kim Min-hyuk was sitting in and leaned in close to the monitor.
“Here.”
Kim Min-hyuk moved the mouse cursor to point clearly at the company name.
Redberry Planning.
“Redberry Planning?”
It rang a bell. Who was it again? I pulled out my phone and searched right away. A small-to-mid-sized agency, only three years old—still a newbie.
Actually, no. They were too good to call small-to-mid. What other company had both a girl group and a boy group just three years after founding?
“Black Berry and Blue Stone. Which group are you handling, hyung?”
“These guys. Black Berry.”
Kim Min-hyuk pointed at my smartphone screen. I tapped the Black Berry link, and the members popped up one by one. One name caught my eye.
“……Cherry.”
Cherry. Black Berry. Black Berry Cherry. It sounded familiar.
I tapped Cherry without thinking. Her profile picture loaded, and memories came flooding back.
“Ah……”
Wait a second.
“What? You know her?”
“Yeah, I know her.”
Did I ever. The memories were surfacing now.
Black Berry. That's right. Especially their leader, Cherry, was at the center of a plagiarism scandal.
They'd gone all-in on a self-producing concept, claiming every member wrote and composed all tracks on their debut album. The media played it up big.
The idol scene paid attention for a hot minute. It boiled over like a pot ready to spill.
Why? Because every single track was ripped off from amateur composers online.
To the general public, Black Berry was just a bottom-tier group, so it fizzled out quick. But among composers, it was talked about for ages.
Of course. The great Bitboy wouldn't plagiarize.
“So this is it.”
“What? You heard rumors or something?”
The chicken was long forgotten—Kim Min-hyuk had lost his appetite. He stuck right to my side, making a fuss and urging me on.
“Hyung.”
I turned to Kim Min-hyuk and asked.
“Did you get paid for this? Any contract?”
It was ridiculous, but if he'd signed and taken money, even I couldn't do much.
“We did a contract, but no advance.”
“Nothing at all? Not even a deposit?”
“Yeah. Zero.”
I nodded.
“Then we're good.”
“Huh?”
“'We're good' what? What does that mean?”
No advance meant no money to return. Obvious.
They probably wouldn't pay out platform royalties either. Their CEO was a known gangster type, infamous for it.
Slave contracts like nobody's business. One member exposed it, but it went nowhere.
“Contract's just paper—we can void it.”
“Huh? We can do that?”
I tapped the monitor.
“They're the ones picking the fight. Weird if we couldn't.”
No advance, no ties. I shoved the half-eaten drumstick in my mouth and said,
“This is phishing.”
“Huh? Voice phishing?”
“Fishing. They probably spammed every obscure composer and newbie.”
And to confirm.
Redberry had sent comparison files. Bitboy's track versus theirs. Straight-up sampling blackmail.
Cast a wide net, hook some dumb composers.
Like hell.
Ah, maybe this was it?
I met Kim Min-hyuk's worried eyes.
Bitboy's hiatus? Totally plausible. Hard to talk about with others.
I turned to the computer.
“Don't worry. I'll handle it.”
“Whoa…… Seo Hyun-woo. Hanging around agencies while chasing idol dreams gave you some guts, huh? What, know a lawyer?”
I hit reply and typed, then turned.
“Nah.”
“Huh?”
“Don't have one.”
My firm answer didn't calm him. He grabbed my shoulder, voice shaky.
“No lawyer and you're gonna what? Hey, I tangled with GTX kids before. Real talk…… fighting a company means we bleed.”
“Hyung. GTX is a Big 4. These guys? Lunch.”
“Huh?”
“I can eat 'em.”
I smirked.
“More like, wanna reverse-fish 'em?”
“Huh?”
Buoyed by my confidence, Kim Min-hyuk gripped my shoulder tighter, half-doubting.
“What…… you got something up your sleeve?”
“Yep. Ah!”
I paused mid-reply and turned to him.
Time to settle accounts.
“Hyung, heads up—this ain't free.”
***
Redberry Planning.
A dubious "headquarters"—a tiny villa building, floors 3 and 4 rented whole. Interior matched: peeling wallpaper, patched walls everywhere. Cobwebs in corners. Staff hunched over computers like soulless zombies staring at screens.
Among the under-ten employees, one burly guy screamed "boss"—shoulders like a mobster, obvious headquarters chief.
He flashed his ID and approached Zombie 1.
“Any bites?”
Spam-mail inbox. Many reads, no solid replies.
Chief peered over the partition at another staffer.
“Calls?”
The silent staffer nodded.
“Yes. No composers contacted yet.”
“……No way those losers hired lawyers. Scared shitless?”
F5 every five seconds. A staffer chimed in, pounding keys.
“Probably spamming Q&A sites instead. No real skills.”
“Kekekeke. Nice.”
Snap. Chief flicked his fingers, urging a portal site keyword search.
He kneaded the staffer's shoulders hard—face crumpling like tin foil. Staffer mashed words into search: nothing.
Chief smacked his lips.
“Not yet……”
Speak of the devil. Right after, a zombie mechanically refreshing screamed.
“Hit!”
“What?”
“It's here.”
“Lemme see.”
New mail. Unread. Chief checked sender—smirk on one side.
Of the producer list, a real catch bit first—not some nobody.
“Bitboy, right? The one Cherry raved about?”
“Yes.”
Zombie clicked. Body loaded.
Should be 'Sorry' or 'What plagiarism?' Two cases, manuals ready. Math problem—plug in formula.
“Wha…… what the hell is this?”
Chief stuttered, shocked. Checked attachment.
Title pissed him off already.
[Emergency!] Scammers, Behold!
Chief slammed the monitor.
“This…… this fucker who?”
“Shall we open it?”
“Yeah.”
Had to know what bullshit. Curiosity. End it.
As file opened, Chief's mind raced.
Just in case: “Bitboy loaded? Family money? Connections?”
“Huh? What……”
“Rich kid? Backup?”
“Uh…… dunno.”
If tough, wouldn't touch. List skipped even mildly connected reporters. No rich heirs there.
Zombie 1 shook head confidently.
“Bluffing. Got nothing.”
“Yeah? Then what's this?”
Word file opens. First line no statement—pure threat warning.
"Keep pulling this shit, and I'll blow the lid off every dirty secret and scandal I know about your company?!"
Pfft.
“Cute kid.”
First thought before scrolling: adorable.
“Says he'll expose our dirt—what now?”
Curious zombie reached for wheel—Chief blocked.
“Hold up. I'm getting a rush. Lemme savor.”
"Rush" made zombie eye him like a perv.
What's to get excited about?
Glare faded quick. Chief grinned, grabbed mouse.
“Wonder what bullshit he wrote. Can't wait.”
Thrilled to collar Bitboy if off, Chief scrolled big.
Redberry lol, you messed with the wrong guy, assholes!
Internet-post style, chatty. First up: Cherry profile pic captched and photoshopped collage.
“Wha, what.”
Thrill soured fast. Chest tightened instead. Sweat on hands, tension rising.
Chief's face beaded sweat.
Zombie worried: “You okay, Chief?”
“Fuck— what the hell is this guy? Who?!”
Not just Zombie 1—Chief's roar drew all zombies' eyes.
Under massive Cherry pic: school violence cases.
Mass plastic surgery, name change, debut year one—dodged snipers. How?
“H…… how'd he know?”
Cherry's past wash was just start. Redberry's roots in Busan gang Gangcheolpa—insider dirt only execs knew, listed.
Not just Cherry. Chief regressed to thug days.
Old habits die hard.
Chief scanned zombies.
“Sp…… spy here?!”
Absurd bullshit, but kept reading exposures. Learned new shit.
“Wha-what's this?”
“L-lie, right?”
Zombie who'd read first floated worry, but list credible. Even bluff mixed, reporters twist to truth.
Can't happen. Chairman can't know.
Chief swallowed hard.
“Contact this fucker.”
“But……”
Scroll mountain left. Zombie wanted thorough check—Chief had no time.
Dragged to bottom.
Long gap. Pages of white space, then red-highlighted last line. Chief slammed desk.
“Th-this fucker! What the fuck!!”
Many staff gawked at monitor, dazed. Chief hyped different now.
Prepare cash to seal my lips too. Nothing's free in this world, right?