One-Day Manager (2)
On the day of the performance, a van arrived in front of the HT Group Residence to pick up Jang Cheon and Lee Yeon.
When the two climbed in, Hwa-ran was already aboard.
"Huh? Is the celebrity heading to today's event you, unnie?"
Lee Yeon was startled. The two had become like sisters after their recent chicken soup gathering.
"Yep, it's me. I'm gonna dust off my old skills and sing one song. Disappointed? Bet you were hoping for someone else."
"Haha, no way. I'm thrilled it's you, unnie."
"Thanks, even if it's just words."
Park Gwang-cheol, however, hadn't come. He'd played it cool, saying it would look like he was just fishing for thanks, insisting that skipping it made him look effortlessly suave—no one cared anyway.
Hwa-ran greeted Jang Cheon.
"Hello. No sword today, I see."
"Today's my gig as Hwa-ran-ssi’s manager."
"Sounds perfect. Handsome manager and a pretty coordinator to boot."
Lee Yeon looked apologetic.
"But what do we do? I've never done styling before. Sorry."
"Why apologize, dongsaeng? We're not here for that. Don't worry—I've prepped everything the coordinator needs. Honestly, I'm having fun. Gets me a tour of the Murim Alliance too."
As they chatted, the van pulled up to the Murim Alliance headquarters.
The Korea Murim Alliance was located a bit outside the city center. It housed the nation's largest training grounds.
Flanking the main gate stood two massive statues of martial artists, their swords crossed diagonally at their sides, framing the entrance. The two women gasped at the cinematic grandeur.
"Whoa, it's incredible!"
"I've only seen it on TV, but up close? No joke."
"This is my first time at the Murim Alliance."
"Mine too."
"Really?"
"You think we'd get a chance otherwise? Unless we're participating in an event."
"True that."
There was a sword inspection at the gate.
Whether due to today's event or standard procedure, over twenty sword-bearing Murim folk stood guard.
They conducted checks with crisp efficiency. Murim artists weren't above modern tech—they deployed cutting-edge scanners on vehicles and people alike.
Lee Yeon had braced for a long wait, but they passed through surprisingly fast. The martial artists moved with razor-sharp precision.
Lee Yeon turned to Jang Cheon.
"Have you been to the Murim Alliance before, Jang Cheon-ssi?"
"A few times when I was young."
As the van headed to the parking lot, the Alliance's imposing buildings loomed, dominating the view.
The waiting room was chaotic.
Private rooms went to elder seniors and big stars; the rest crammed into a large shared one.
Even here, seats were assigned by popularity.
Hwa-ran had a corner vanity spot and didn't mind a bit.
Still, a flock of hot young idols swarmed over, greeting her politely before moving on. Their agencies drilled etiquette hard—it was second nature.
If there was a flaw, it was how rehearsed it felt, lacking sincerity.
After greeting Hwa-ran, they turned to Lee Yeon too—assuming she was a celebrity, whoever she was.
"Oh, no, I'm the coordinator. Coordinator!"
Her flustered clarification stunned them.
"You're so pretty, unnie."
A few young singers chimed in. Sure, some might've been jealous inside, but fact was, Lee Yeon held her own in beauty against that idol horde.
Hwa-ran grinned.
"Told you this'd happen."
"Not you too, unnie."
"Time to debut."
"Stop it!"
Hwa-ran resumed her makeup. Glancing in the mirror, she said,
"The real shocker? Our dongsaeng here isn't even wearing proper makeup."
"Oops, not done yet."
"And not in battle gear either."
Meaning no proper outfit or heels.
"Haha, my battle ends here. Today's fight's yours, unnie."
Hwa-ran smiled at her.
"Yeah. Singing after so long—I'm shaking."
"You'll kill it. Oh, our team leader was a huge fan back in your singing days."
"No kidding?"
"Sign something for him later? He'll faint."
"Gotta add a lipstick mark by the signature then."
"Might kill him."
"Then you take over as team leader. Gotta do it."
"Haha."
As they laughed and bantered, Lee Yeon glanced around—Jang Cheon was gone.
With a visitor's pass clipped to his chest, Jang Cheon wandered the Korea Murim Alliance grounds.
True to its status as the nation's premier hub, it was vast.
Training grounds dotted the spaces between buildings—some so massive their edges faded into the distance.
The Alliance divided into three main areas:
The outer sector, freely accessible to visitors except a few spots.
The inner sector, housing key organizations.
And deepest in, the Alliance Lord's hall.
Jang Cheon strolled the outer sector, checking his phone. Bishop had sent blueprints of the Alliance.
They were old, so he scanned for discrepancies. Mostly matches, but new buildings and cover structures for defense had popped up here and there.
Sword-bearing Alliance martial artists were everywhere.
Bustling about their duties, they radiated pride in their affiliation.
Even passing the BST didn't guarantee entry—it was brutally competitive.
Only the most talented among passers joined the Alliance, military, government, or conglomerates. Exceptional skills could snag special hires.
Jang Cheon had ventured fairly deep—not sneaking, just avoiding notice.
Then something caught his eye: a small food delivery truck parked by a cafeteria building.
Geom-myeong Co., Ltd.
Sword Cry (elegant cursive Hanja below)
Jang Cheon tilted his head. First time seeing the name, yet it felt oddly familiar.
Then a voice from behind:
"What brings you here?"
Turning, he saw an elderly man approaching—none other than Murim Alliance elder Song Tae-geun, whom Park Gwang-cheol had once consulted about Jang Cheon.
"I'm a singer's manager for today's concert. First time at the Alliance, so I'm sightseeing."
Song Tae-geun treated him courteously, as a guest.
"Fine up to here, but don't cross beyond."
"Got it."
Song Tae-geun headed toward the inner sector and vanished. Even with his skills, he hadn't clocked Jang Cheon as a martial artist.
Once gone, Jang Cheon's gaze returned to the truck. Unloaded, it rumbled off elsewhere.
Song Tae-geun entered the Jae-dang Lord's office.
Lord Man Hak-jong jolted up in surprise.
"Elder Song?"
"How've you been?"
"No word you'd visit? Please, sit."
They sat across the table.
"Been ages since we caught up. Passed by, thought I'd drop in."
"Perfect timing. Got some fine tea as a gift—try it?"
"Mix coffee for me. Old age's got me craving sweet stuff."
"Take a pack when you go. Rare brew favored by China's elite."
"Must cost a fortune."
"So I'm told."
"Where'd you score such treasure?"
"Didn't I say? A gift."
"From whom, exactly?"
Man Hak-jong's face tightened slightly.
"Here to school me on something?"
He knew Song Tae-geun didn't visit idly. Picking at a gift screamed ulterior motives.
"As if this old fool could lecture a lord. Just one curiosity."
"What?"
"Stumbled on this year's Jae-dang budget. Noticed a new joint project with Geom-myeong."
Man Hak-jong stiffened at the name.
"Correct. Already approved by the Lord."
"Isn't that too generous to one firm? They've already got a hefty slice of Alliance business."
Of course, the Alliance Lord's backing played in. Song Tae-geun, a longtime insider, got the politics.
But Geom-myeong's perks crossed the line.
"They're capable, aren't they?"
"Plenty of capable firms besides Geom-myeong."
"What's your point?"
Despite Song Tae-geun's icy glare, Man Hak-jong didn't flinch.
What gives him such brazen confidence?
Song Tae-geun couldn't read him.
The new project was dubious, no doubt.
He'd expected excuses, not this boldness.
Song Tae-geun retreated.
"I get your stance. Forgive an old man's meddling."
"Nonsense—visit anytime for wisdom."
"See you next time."
"Take the tea."
"No need."
"Safe travels."
Song Tae-geun's face hardened as he left. Time to rally sympathetic elders for a council on this.
Alone, Man Hak-jong pulled a phone from his locked drawer and dialed.
"We have a problem."
The concert kicked off in the afternoon.
Folding chairs filled with martial artists packed the stage front. Far more attendees than expected—mostly young twenties, though some fortysomethings screamed for idol groups.
Soon, Hwa-ran's turn.
Unlike her earlier nerves about needing calming elixirs, she transformed onstage, unleashing her prime prowess.
Lee Yeon watched her nail idol-era dances and vocals seamlessly, thinking, Celebrities are celebrities for a reason.
Then a voice beside her:
"Hwa-ran-ssi’s killing it."
Startled, she turned—Jang Cheon had sidled up, watching the stage.
"When'd you get back?"
"Just now."
"How'd it go?"
"Toured the Alliance."
"Good work."
Their eyes drifted back to the stage.
"Unnie dances amazing."
She glanced at Jang Cheon.
"You seem way too into it."
He wore a rare smile.
"Not because of Hwa-ran-ssi."
"Then?"
"Confirmed my memory's still sharp."
"Huh?"
He said no more, eyes on a backstage placard.
Sponsor: Geom-myeong Co., Ltd.
Now he knew why the name nagged him. He'd glimpsed it on first seeing the stage setup.
Geom-myeong banners hung behind the seated martial artists too. Supplying Alliance cafeteria ingredients and sponsoring events.
That alone? Overlookable—a vendor sponsoring made sense.
But Jang Cheon had spotted it: in tiny cursive on the hems of the martial artists' uniforms.
"Interesting."
"Really?!"
Of course, their "interesting" meant different things right then.
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