The Chairman's Invitation
“Are you sure you're okay with this? Se-hee, the CEO's on his way.”
“Tch.”
Cha Se-hee clicked her tongue.
“Why didn't you tell me something that important sooner?”
In the parking lot, Cha Se-hee climbed into the Carnival and waved impatiently at her still-dazed manager.
“Huh?”
What do I do? This guy's still not getting it.
Her hand, flailing in the air, landed on the manager's shoulder, tapping it rapidly like an SOS signal.
“What are you doing? Stop spacing out and get in already.”
The manager, unable to withstand her fiery glare despite his lingering confusion, finally slid into the driver's seat.
The stylist, who had been transferring luggage from the trunk, quickly hopped into the back seat as well.
Ready for departure. The manager closed the door and turned the key—perfect.
There was still plenty of time before the next schedule, but Cha Se-hee was the only one in a rush.
“What are you waiting for? Let's go already.”
He'd started the engine, but the manager was too busy glancing around nervously.
“Se-hee. Really... you're just gonna leave without seeing the CEO? He knows you're here.”
“Of course he does—he's the one who sent us. I've done my part playing nice with this face of mine. He'll show up, pat Black Label on the head, and ask what more I could possibly do while I'm right here.”
“S-Still, from an employee's perspective, just blowing past him when he's coming to see you feels a bit...”
“If the CEO's so insistent on showing up and making his employees uncomfortable, that's on his lack of tact. And I'm uncomfortable. I'll buy coffee, so head to that cafe near the set.”
The manager peeked at her through the rearview mirror.
“You're a contract worker who doesn't have to worry about that stuff, Se-hee. But I'm a full-time employee who has to lead by example because I can't handle the scrutiny.”
“Sounds nice. Stable full-timer... you could puke and still keep your job, huh?”
Cha Se-hee gestured toward the windshield.
“Hurry up and go. Drive already. If we run into him in the parking lot, it'll be total chaos. Oppa.”
Caught between the company and his assigned celebrity—both masters at throwing their weight around—the manager looked miserable.
After one more whine, he checked Cha Se-hee's increasingly icy expression and finally hit the accelerator.
The car moved. They pulled out of the parking lot.
Having eliminated the possibility she'd dreaded, Cha Se-hee felt a wave of relief.
A path to promotion that had already slipped away.
The manager licked his lips.
“Ah, seriously. That guy—who is he anyway? That idol kid, Jeong-hyun or whatever, said he's sticking around till the CEO shows. And here I am...”
“Oppa, it's fine. You'll outrank that guy's manager. Idols are always in groups anyway, right? They probably have a team of managers too.”
Cha Se-hee pulled a script from the back seat pocket.
“Don't worry, oppa. If I blow up in this drama, you'll get promoted before any of those idol kids' managers.”
“...Yeah, I hope so. Who knows.”
Flip.
Cha Se-hee's hand paused as she turned the script page.
“Huh? What do you mean 'who knows'?”
“About the promotion.”
The manager turned the wheel. Like a KartRider character, his head swiveled too.
“Black Label's manager—that guy. Ah, forgot his name. Idol division, rookie development Team 3. Won't he get the promotion? He saved a dying idol group.”
“Who knows. His opponent's Jung Pil-woon.”
“Ah! Fair point.”
Promotions weren't easy. The company rep wouldn't micromanage every manager bump-up.
But if Black Label's manager didn't get promoted this time, the difficulty would spike—that was a fact.
No chance. Promotion was off the table.
With the dangling carrot of advancement vanished, Cha Se-hee dove back into her script.
Today's shoot was emotionally crucial as it was. She needed every ounce of focus, but stray thoughts kept intruding.
“...Black Label.”
“What? Want an autograph?”
“No.”
“No?”
Not that.
“No, just don't talk back.”
The car fell quiet. The words on the page blurred.
The ink seeped into the paper, rising in 3D. Consonants and vowels detached, dancing in rhythm.
Not just dancing. It was choreography she'd never seen before.
This is... that familiar move from earlier.
The letters were performing Black Label's routine.
No radio on, yet the melody looped in her head. Black Label's stage kept flashing in her mind.
I want to see it.
She fiddled with her phone, typing “Black Label” into NewTube before stopping.
The song from today's live broadcast wouldn't be up yet.
“Nah, it should be out by now.”
They usually timed releases with broadcast dates.
“My stomach's growling.”
“Huh?”
She opened the music app, but Black Label's new track wasn't listed.
“Oppa.”
“Yeah?”
“What was Black Label's song this time?”
“Dunno. 'Star' or something?”
“That song was good.”
“Right? I knew idols could sing well, but not that well.”
“What do you think?”
“I said it was good.”
Cha Se-hee let out a deep sigh.
“No, not that. Our drama OST this time. How about recommending them?”
“Not a bad idea. With Black Label's buzz right now, it'd generate hype. Ah, but... same company and all... what if someone kicks up a fuss?”
Cha Se-hee looked up.
What is this guy saying?
“What same company? The composer's not with us.”
***
The camera rolled in.
Everyone else was packing up to leave, but the winners' lounge—holding the trophy high—was still basking in victory.
The afterglow lingered; even Black Label's members couldn't shake off their emotions easily.
Their ragged breaths were finally settling.
It was inevitable. An unexpected VIP guest had crashed the party.
The cameras might still be rolling to capture this family reunion full of joy and tears.
“My, my, the atmosphere here... is it okay for me to be here?”
Jung Pil-woon's entrance was scripted perfection, like gears slotting into place—contrasting his tentative words.
A seat was already cleared for him.
Team 3 Leader fawned over Chairman Jung Pil-woon, gauging his mood.
Everyone knew his clout in the company and industry, so Black Label's parents naturally excused themselves.
The touching moments had all played out.
Jo Young-soo orchestrated the scene himself for the cameras.
Jung Pil-woon casually adjusted his glasses and chuckled.
“PD Jo. Do we really have to film it like this? I just came as the company rep to hand out reward cards to hardworking Black Label.”
Jo Young-soo poked his head forward.
“Yes, we'll capture a bit of that. Black Label's been through a lot, haven't they? They've probably bottled up some resentment along the way. Our Black Label kids deserve a moment to savor this.”
“Haha, you're too much. So sly. People might think I'm mistreating my own agency's artists.”
That's exactly the image he wanted sometimes. It was Jung Pil-woon's go-to ploy.
G&X Entertainment. Diversifying, sure, but idols were still the core push.
A money pit for some, a goldmine for others.
Kids dreamed of G&X, and Jung Pil-woon needed the next Black Label.
These appearances spiked audition apps that month—mostly fakes, but gems hid among them.
Auditioners all parroted the same line: “I didn't know the chairman was so kind. Now I get why he's always at award shows.”
Trained lines, of course. Kids were savvy these days, but one prejudice-shattering quip and they bought it hook, line, and sinker.
Or maybe no kid, no matter how sharp, could outfox this old fox fleecing them.
The plausible theory: the latter.
PD Jo Young-soo never did anything just for himself.
The old fox, grinning like a politician pre-election, exchanged pleasantries and well-wishes with each Black Label member.
Then that repulsive hand reached for me.
“I heard you're the one who brought Black Label this far. Thank you.”
Jung Pil-woon extended his hand.
It wasn't easy. My mind whispered: Play nice, smile, get through today. It's just the beginning.
But my face burned red against my will.
“Are you feeling unwell? Your face looks flushed...”
Jung Pil-woon eyed my reddening cheeks. Sycophantic guesses flew from around the room.
“Chairman, did you know? Idols aside, tons of composers want to work with G&X kids these days.”
Jung Pil-woon feigned ignorance, projecting to the cameras and mics.
“With G&X? Why?”
Why else? Money. As K-idol groups went global, royalties zeroed out bank balances.
Even a single credit on a co-composition team meant massive cuts.
Money.
The division head couldn't say it outright. He dressed it up.
“Overseas fans sing along to idol songs these days, right? Great chance to expose your tracks abroad, and... more people enjoy them.”
“So... our producer here's a success story? That's why you're tense? Hahaha.”
Jung Pil-woon didn't back off. He kept reaching for my hand, and people caught on.
“Hey, don't wear out the chairman's arm.”
I gripped Jung Pil-woon's hand.
Part of me wants to flip him over with this grip.
“I've been too excited to calm down since earlier. Took time to compose myself. Sorry.”
“Happens. On my way here, I listened to your tracks back-to-back... All yours?”
I turned my head.
“Ji-min helped a lot, and so did the Black Label kids.”
“Of course, our kids pitched in. Anyway.”
Jung Pil-woon turned too, following my gaze—but not to Black Label.
He glanced at PD Jo Young-soo, tilted his head, and smirked bitterly.
“It'll air fine anyway.”
“Pardon?”
Jo Young-soo asked, but Jung Pil-woon addressed me.
“I had something important to discuss with you, composer. How about joining our company?”