Chapter 7 - After Much Deliberation on Signing, Harin Ultimately Couldn't Tell Ian Anything
Harin Yoo ultimately couldn't bring herself to tell Seo Ian anything.
No one could say who she was trying to protect.
A few days later.
As she climbed the stairs at Gangnam Station Exit 11, June's sticky humidity clung to Harin's face. In her left hand, she clutched a clear plastic folder containing the draft contract. The documents Jung Sia had left behind three days ago.
She'd read it every night.
One clause at a time, searching legal terms on her phone. Highlighting sentences she didn't understand with a marker. Jotting questions in her notes app. Three nights passed like that—four highlights, five questions.
One in particular kept nagging at her mind.
'If I sign as Yoo Harin, where does Yoo Hajoon go?'
The crosswalk signal changed. Harin blended into the crowd and walked.
'Yoo Harin.'
When she'd first heard the name, it felt like someone else's. When Jung Sia said, "I'll create a legal identity with this name for you," Harin had rolled the three syllables around in her head. Yoo. Ha. Rin. She even tried sounding it out in her mouth. It shared the first syllable with Yoo Hajoon, just the last one different.
Whether that could be any comfort, she didn't know.
She'd lived 24 years as Yoo Hajoon. Not all of it good, but it was her time. Born with that name, gone to school with it, failed interviews with it, pulled all-nighters at the convenience store with it. She hated it. Hated her own name. But even that hatred belonged to Yoo Hajoon.
The face in the mirror now wasn't Yoo Hajoon's.
'Does signing this contract mean Yoo Hajoon disappears? Or does it mean Yoo Hajoon becomes Yoo Harin?'
No answer came. Not in three days. And yet her feet carried her toward this building. The reason was simple: she couldn't live as Yoo Hajoon anymore. Cards, ID, bank accounts—all tied to Yoo Hajoon, whose face no longer matched this body.
'To survive, I need a name.'
That much was certain.
Stepping into the lobby of the RASCA Entertainment building, air-conditioned air brushed her nape. The outdoor humidity lifted all at once.
Harin headed for the elevators.
7th floor. The doors opened to a straight corridor. On the left wall gleamed a silver "RASCA Entertainment" logo. Beyond the glass doors at the end, the office space loomed faintly. Fluorescent lights reflected off the glass, spilling into the hall.
Harin stopped before the glass doors.
She hugged the clear folder to her chest.
'If I sign as Yoo Harin, is that really the end of Yoo Hajoon?'
Her heart pounded—not quite fear, more like the moment before sealing a coffin on someone not yet gone.
Harin took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The receptionist's head snapped up.
"Hello, do you have an appointment?"
"...Yes. I have a ten o'clock with CEO Jung Sia."
"Your name?"
"Yoo Harin."
"Got it. Head to the end of the inner corridor, CEO's office."
"Thank you."
She bowed and walked the hall, folder pressed to her chest. She could almost feel her heartbeat vibrating through the plastic into her palm.
She knocked. "Come in," came a calm, clear voice from inside—the same tone as three days ago, across from her on the studio apartment couch.
Harin opened the door.
The CEO's office wasn't as spacious as she'd imagined.
Jung Sia stood by the window, thin jacket over her blouse, coffee mug in one hand.
"You're here."
Jung Sia set the mug on the desk edge and gestured to the opposite chair.
"Have a seat."
The smile was fixed on her face, same curve as before. Harin still couldn't tell if it was kindness or just default.
She sat, placing the folder on her lap. Jung Sia sat across, sliding a copy of the contract toward her.
"You reviewed it?"
"Yes."
"Any questions, ask now. Best to clear them before signing."
Harin opened the folder and pulled out the draft. Creases marked the highlighted pages—traces of nightly folding and unfolding.
"I have a question about Article 12."
"Yes, which part?"
"It says the affiliate's external contacts require prior company approval."
Harin pointed to the highlighted line.
"'External contacts' isn't clearly defined. Does it cover just media interviews or brand meetings? Or personal meetings too?"
"To be frank, standard industry contracts are far more sweeping. RASCA's is relatively narrow."
"Still, vagueness could lead to different interpretations later."
Harin's voice was soft, but her eyes stayed glued to the paper.
Beyond legal worries, this question carried more weight. Jung Sia had tracked the Everland incident to find her. Discovered her with Ian. That's why this contract existed. Harin had mulled that over for three days.
'If this includes personal meetings, do I need permission to see Ian?'
The thought sparked fierce resistance in her chest. Ian was the one person left after the change—the reason Yoo Hajoon could breathe through late-night chat exchanges.
She couldn't stake that person on one clause.
"Alright. Let's do this."
Jung Sia picked up a pen and wrote in the margin of Article 12.
'The scope of external contacts is limited to official media activities and brand-related interactions; personal friendships are excluded from this article.'
Harin read the revision. Slowly. Once more.
"...So, for example."
She hesitated. Mention Ian by name? Jung Sia already knew about them, even Everland. No point hiding.
"Meeting Ian personally wouldn't fall under this, right?"
Jung Sia's smile held as she met Harin's gaze.
"Ian's in the same agency. We encourage interactions between affiliates."
"...So it's fine?"
"Yes. Perfectly fine."
Tension drained from Harin's shoulders—she felt the release in the chair. Jung Sia noted it. The shift in Harin's voice at Ian's name.
"Any other questions?"
Harin moved to the next highlight.
"Article 17, activity period—penalty calculation for refusing renewal seems unclear."
Two more questions followed: one on portrait rights scope, one on schedule veto rights. Jung Sia offered revisions for all three. No rejections. Modest changes, but seeing her demands inked on paper mattered.
"You're thorough."
"...Just so many unknowns as I read."
"That's how it should be."
Jung Sia gathered the two revised copies side by side. Flipped to the last page.
The signature line was blank.
'Party B: Yoo Harin (Seal)'
Printed text beside an empty line. Pen placed before Harin.
Harin took it. Fingers tightened.
'Yoo Harin.'
Just before the nib touched paper, her hand froze.
'Does Yoo Hajoon just vanish, unknown to anyone?'
Her fingertips trembled.
Oddly, though, the tremor held more than sorrow. Twenty-four years as Yoo Hajoon had been loathsome. Avoiding mirrors, rejecting photos, hating those three letters in her resume as herself. Each day gnawed her away.
The face in the mirror now? At least she didn't hate looking.
Yoo Harin felt like someone else's name, but Yoo Hajoon hadn't felt like hers for a while. Even before the change.
The pen moved.
Yoo. Ha. Rin.
The strokes were crooked. First time writing it. The final stroke of "Rin" slipped, leaving a little tail.
She wrote it again on the second copy. Better, but still awkward handwriting.
Jung Sia took one copy, slid the other to Harin.
"Welcome, Ms. Harin."
The smile unchanged.
'Yoo Harin.'
It didn't feel like her name yet. But closer to this body, this face, than Yoo Hajoon.
As Harin slipped the contract into the folder, Jung Sia sipped her coffee and set it down.
"One more thing."
Harin paused mid-rise and sat back.
"About your residence."
"...My residence?"
"Where you're living now is under Yoo Hajoon's name."
That name from Jung Sia's lips tensed Harin's shoulders faintly. Jung Sia saw but said nothing.
"Creating a legal identity for Yoo Harin means overlapping addresses with the old name is a risk. Two names tied to one spot complicates admin explanations."
It made sense.
"We have an officetel for agency talent management. Fully furnished, close to the office. Moving there eases commuting and scheduling."
"Management...?"
"Schedules can mean irregular hours. If the manager tracks movements, vehicle assignments and adjustments are smoother."
Jung Sia slid a tablet across. Screen showed officetel interior photos: spacious one-room, big windows, new furniture. Worlds apart from her current studio.
"Think it over. No rush."
Harin glanced again. Clean. Livable.
"...I'll consider it."
"Take your time."
Jung Sia stood. Harin followed, hugging the folder. Jung Sia opened the door.
Just before leaving, Harin glanced back.
"Thanks for your hard work today."
The door closed.
The corridor was quiet.
After two or three steps, she crossed paths with someone coming the opposite way.
Files tucked under one arm, phone in hand, eyes on the screen. Neat ponytail. Blouse and slacks. Brisk, efficient stride.
Harin stopped first and bowed.
"Hello."
The woman looked up from her phone. Her gaze started at the silver hair, skimmed the face, dropped to the folder. The signed contract visible through the plastic.
A brief silence.
"...Hello."
Short, dry reply. She nodded lightly and passed.
Harin watched her back a moment, then turned for the elevator.
Yoon Chae-ah knocked on the CEO's door.
"Come in."
Opening it, she saw Jung Sia filing the contract.
"Ran into someone in the hall. Silver hair, carrying a folder."
"That was Ms. Harin. Signed today."
Chae-ah gripped her binder tighter.
"...The rookie contract from the report...?"
"Yes."
Jung Sia finished filing and leaned back. Her gaze on Chae-ah held the usual smile.
"Chae-ah, take Ms. Harin as your charge."
"...Me?"
"You're already Ian's manager. Rookies won't have heavy schedules at first. Handle her alongside, no conflict with Ian's."
Chae-ah opened her mouth, closed it. Questions swirled: why contract a woman of unclear background? Why assign the CEO's personal recruit to her? Does Ian know? But not the kind to voice here.
"...Understood."
"Thanks."
As Chae-ah turned, Jung Sia's voice followed.
"And call Ian."
Chae-ah's feet halted.
"There's something she needs to know."