Chapter 404: Standard Contract
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 404: Standard Contract
Looking at the item name 'Non-compliance with Deadline,' I would have thought it should have unlocked when I had a perfect attendance record.
But then again, this is the same system that gave me the 'Negative Emotion Perception Adjustment' function when my attendance was at its peak. There’s no point in trying to intuitively understand the system’s logic.
Let’s just focus on the fact that I can finally check the expiration date of this slave contract the system has been hiding all this time.
+
[SYSTEM] ‘Party B’ is notified of ‘Non-compliance with Deadline.’
▷ ‘Party B’ has the obligation to faithfully perform their duties in accordance with the deadline designated by ‘Party A.’
▷ The deadline is designated by ‘Party A’ based on the performance of ‘Party B,’ and ‘Party B’ cannot object to the determined deadline.
▷ Failure to comply with the deadline will result in the final KPI achievement being considered a failure.
+
Sentences that looked like they belonged in a textbook case of predatory clauses burned into my eyes. I’ve been worked to the bone without a single day of annual leave just because I’m the only employee, and now I don’t even get a say? What a filthy society.
‘Naturally, Party A should notify Party B of the deadline, right?’
As I waited with my arms crossed, the scheduler appeared. It had been a while since I’d used it—not since my trainee days.
True to form, the pages flipped rapidly before my eyes. It ended much sooner than I expected.
Once the scheduler settled on a page, the first thing I checked was the year.
Four years from now, February. The date was…
‘The debut date?’
The 19th. It was Spark’s 5th anniversary.
I’ll be twenty-six then. As I feared, the timeframe wasn't as generous as it had been before the regression.
Why exactly five years? Isn't the standard contract for idols usually seven years? Did it really not matter if I quit being an idol once I achieved the KPI?
Just as my head was about to fill with question marks, the system appeared.
+
[SYSTEM] A work order from the ‘Person in Charge’ has arrived.
▶ Assistant Manager Kim, you didn't check the contract period properly, did you? Huh? I didn't explain it to you? Did I? Sorry~ It’s not like it’s that important anyway. It’s fine, right?
+
What kind of bullshit is this? Do you want to get sued for contract nullification?
But then… did I sign a new contract when I debuted with Spark?
The trainee contract would have been signed before I regressed.
I remember all the blood, sweat, and tears I shed to debut, but I couldn't recall if I had actually signed a formal contract. Was it because things were so chaotic because of Yu Han-su?
A contract is the only thing a person can trust in life. I hurriedly rummaged through my carrier.
‘It should be in the folder I organized when preparing for the debut. UA isn't the kind of company to commit contract fraud.’
After flipping through various documents—including one titled ‘Opposing Winter Boy’—a document with a familiar layout appeared.
Article 3 (Contract Period, etc.)
① The contract period for this agreement shall be from February 19, 20XX to February 18, 20XX (5 years).
‘Huh?’
The contract period was five years. It was a significant departure from the seven-year contract Spark had signed in the past.
The standard contract and the seven-year regulation were created because of the industry practice of entertainment agencies trying to hold onto idols indefinitely. It had been a long time since the rules changed so that no company could keep an idol for more than seven years. Consequently, every company tried to keep their idols for as long as possible.
But the period had been shortened? By two years?
It was strange if I was the only one with a five-year contract because I was the last trainee to join, and it was equally strange if everyone had a five-year contract. Either way, it wasn't a typical case.
It wasn't that I didn't have any suspicions. There was one plausible hypothesis.
The clause stating that ‘Party A’ determines the deadline based on the performance of ‘Party B.’ And considering the past precedent where my debut date was moved up, resulting in a penalty…
‘It judged that giving me seven years would be unfair.’
That bastard wouldn't even give me a single byte of cache data if I squeezed it. How ruthless.
I read through the unfamiliar document again, where my name was clearly written in block letters. From start to finish, it was a proper, formal contract. I let out a hollow laugh as I stared at the five-year fixed-term document.
‘Including my trainee days, about half the time is left.’
It took one year from the time I returned to the past until my debut. By the end of this year, it will have been almost two years since I started promoting with Spark.
And there are, at most, three years and a few months left until the KPI deadline.
I wasn't sure if I should be happy that the end was closer than I thought. I reorganized the contract and put it away as I thought to myself.
The ‘personnel disadvantage’ the system threatened if I failed to achieve the final KPI definitely included being forced to re-enter Hanpyeong Industry.
I hadn't looked closely at that condition because I was thinking of my sister, but seeing how the system could even snatch up someone else's contract, it didn't seem entirely impossible.
‘It’s correct to understand that if I don't achieve the final KPI by the contract expiration date, my life as Spark will end, and I’ll be forced back to Hanpyeong Industry.’
That’s why the restriction on changing jobs exists.
If that happens, I’ll naturally be ousted from Spark. Spark will go back to being five members like in the past, and Kim I-wol will join a company as a new employee at a similar age as before. Only this time, having lost his sister.
The system is undoubtedly a perfectionist. It hated things deviating from the original timeline so much that even after resetting a third of a person's life, it had prepared a way to restore everything to its original state.
I’ll have to think more about why the synchronization and KPI progress don't move together, though. If the KPI is the main quest, maybe synchronization is just side content.
‘Well, at least it won't kill me.’
Given the system's personality, if I failed the mission due to an unexpected accident or event, it would probably drag my half-dead body to Hanpyeong Industry rather than letting me die cleanly without a penalty.
Since things have turned out this way, couldn't it lower the synchronization rate a bit? I still have a long time left on my contract; how am I supposed to live with the anxiety of being at 25%?
But at least my task was clear. As it always had been.
‘Fine, let’s see how many KPIs are left.’
I hope you know that even contract workers are entitled to severance pay. You’d better have six years' worth of severance pay ready.
“Kaisuit’s nephew filmed another commercial.”
“He’s appearing everywhere lately. Didn't he just film something else recently?”
Conversations drifted around as the lecture was about to start.
The ‘Kaisuit’s nephew’ mentioned was Lee Cheong-hyeon. Lee Su-hun surmised that the nickname stuck because, while Cheong-hyeon wasn't a student there himself, his family was.
Ironically, Lee Su-hun saw other people's commercials more often than his own brother's. After opening a link a senior had sent him to ask which clothes looked better, he encountered an exotic-looking man every time he opened an internet article for a while.
The most recent one he saw was an advertisement for the top-ranked adult English education company.
The person he had met on the day of the festival.
The man, who was about a head taller than him, still had that same pale face. His large, dark eyes were the same as well. Only his hair color had changed.
The cold aura he had exuded in person was nowhere to be found. There was a sense of dissonance seeing him smiling brightly on the monitor.
‘Is he good at English?’
Among his peers, Lee Cheong-hyeon was the best at ‘academic’ English. Knowing that, Lee Su-hun found it a bit strange that the pale-faced man was filming an advertisement for an English academy.
Regardless, the important thing was that Lee Cheong-hyeon’s commercials rarely caught Lee Su-hun’s eye. The things Lee Cheong-hyeon promoted all had unfamiliar names. Those strange brands didn't stay in Lee Su-hun’s mind for long. For the first time, Lee Su-hun felt like he might not be very bright.
“There’s really no face like Lee Cheong-hyeon’s.”
“How much do you think he makes filming that many commercials?”
“I heard he writes songs, too. Wouldn't he be raking in the money?”
Are celebrity advertisement fees really that high?
The equipment in the lab where students worked cost anywhere from tens of millions to hundreds of millions of won. The research funds invested in various studies were also significant. He didn't think the amount would be large enough to surprise his classmates.
‘Unless it’s a pop song that’s a global hit, how much could the royalties be for a song that comes and goes in an instant?’
Seeing how they came all the way to Daejeon just to sing a few songs at a festival, it was clear they weren't at a level to be making that much money.
Nevertheless, they seemed to be growing; the news of the ‘nephew’ that he used to hear once a week was becoming more frequent. From once every five days to once every three days.
And that led to today.
“Did you hear Spark’s new song?”
“Is their company broke? Why are they working the kids like cattle?”
“Who knows. I heard they had five comebacks last year.”
“Is 『speaker』 the title track? That one did well.”
“I think it’s a B-side?”
“They must have a lot of songs. The supply never runs out.”
Lee Su-hun became a little uneasy. He knew that companies cut spending when they lacked funds, so how broke was that company that they were releasing new songs even while bearing the investment costs? It was an incomprehensible move.
After finishing all his lectures and completing his assignments at the lab, Lee Su-hun closed his notebook. He then picked up his phone, which he had set to airplane mode for his bedtime.
‘Sp… ark….’
When he searched the three syllables of the group's name, a four-minute video appeared at the top. It had been uploaded eight hours ago.
To realize that this video was the music video for the new song, Lee Su-hun had to go through three previous music videos, one highlight medley, and two strange news clips with AI voices.
≫ [spArk/스파크] Hideout Official MV
On a background photo of a concrete wall covered in various drawings and scribbles with one block missing in the middle, the word ‘Hideout’ was written in white.