A Warm Invitation
The program titled 10,000 Won Happiness had been all about living modestly on ten thousand won a day, scraping by to make ends meet.
Jang Namhun, seventeen years old and still enjoying the comfort of a well-off life, had never truly developed a solid sense of money management.
“Kid, you’re gonna have a lot of fun tonight.”
Namhun, pushed onto the stage by the producers, was completely taken aback.
“Hyung, is this actually that expensive?”
“How are we supposed to survive on ten thousand won a day?”
Yet his reaction struck the staff as oddly out of place.
Ten thousand won in today’s prices was tight, but not shocking enough to warrant that kind of panic.
“Hey, this is gonna be a huge topic of conversation.”
The PD in charge of the show was obsessed with ratings.
Naturally, he would focus on Namhun’s reaction and edit it prominently into the broadcast.
Whether the public liked it or not.
After all, he was just a rookie.
Kang Seokho, a freelance cameraman at the time, found the PD’s plan to boost the show by setting up a rookie singer deeply disagreeable.
But as a mere hired cameraman, he had no say in how the program was run.
Still, the thought of a seventeen-year-old boy like Namhun being used as a broadcast prop left him uneasy.
During a break, he decided to give him a subtle warning.
“Excuse me, Mr. Elixer.”
“Oh, please call me by my name. I’m older than you.”
The broadcasting environment back then was far worse than today.
The permanent staff enjoyed absolute power, but contract cameramen like the young Kang Seokho were treated like slaves.
They were ordered around by PDs and celebrities alike.
“Hey, you bastard,” “over here,” “move it.”
These vague instructions were used in place of names.
Namhun’s polite demeanor therefore felt strangely refreshing.
“What’s your name, hyung?”
“…Seokho.”
“Oh, what a cool, masculine name. Mine’s Nam. Just call me Nam. Elixer is a bit… odd, isn’t it?”
“Ah… yes.”
“I really hated the name Elixer. My boss forced it on me…”
The seventeen-year-old Namhun embodied the image of someone who had been loved and raised without a care in the world.
Kang Seokho, without realizing it, fell into Namhun’s easygoing vibe and ended up chatting for far longer than he should have.
As the break was about to end.
“Wait.”
Namhun suddenly fell silent, realizing he had almost revealed too much.
“But seriously, this is too much. How are two people supposed to survive on ten thousand won a day?”
“…?”
“We’ll just have to make do with a single kimbap each today. Sorry, hyung. Today I promised myself I’d buy my younger sibling’s favorite snacks on the way home. I have to save that much…”
Kang Seokho felt an empty feeling settle in his chest.
He had been unnecessarily worried.
Namhun, who had thrown himself completely into training since childhood, had no idea what the program’s concept truly entailed.
He had only been told he would have to use ten thousand won.
Kang Seokho, who knew the PD’s personality well, allowed the situation to unfold naturally.
The popular program “10,000 Won Happiness: Elixer Special” aired, and the public’s initial reaction was lukewarm.
“But seriously, this is too much. How are two people supposed to survive on ten thousand won a day?”
“His stomach must be empty. Idols shouldn’t be like this.”
“Look at that pretty face. He must have been raised in luxury.”
The later part of that broadcast was cut.
“We’ll just have to make do with a single kimbap each today. Sorry, hyung. Today’s the day I’m heading home, and I promised myself I’d buy my sibling’s favorite snacks. I have to save that much… I’m really sorry!”
As expected, the PD had edited the footage to highlight the twist.
The moment he handed two lines of kimbap to the cameraman Kang Seokho with an apologetic face.
The reactions flipped completely.
“Seokho hyung, you worked really hard today!”
Especially the ending where he genuinely bought snacks, smiled brightly, and headed home.
That single scene captured the hearts of female viewers in an instant.
“Oh my… he’s so good.”
“He really bought his sibling’s snacks. How cute~!”
Kang Seokho’s perception of idols was completely overturned that day.
Afterward, Kang Seokho watched over Namhun with hope in his heart.
* * *
In his early twenties, Kang Seokho was seriously considering quitting camerawork due to brutal work-life balance and bullying.
But the Kang Seokho in his thirties, now a successful music video director, was so different it was almost unrecognizable.
Back then, he had no such ease or confidence.
Namhun once again felt the passage of time.
“…I never imagined Seokho hyung could be this Seokho hyung.”
“You never know. We only spent one day together during filming.”
When Namhun hesitated before calling him “hyung,” Kang Seokho gave a small smile.
Although they had changed a lot, some things remained unchanged.
“Here.”
Kang Seokho handed Namhun a fruit basket and then a thin envelope.
“This is a thank-you gift. I know it was a huge favor, thank you.”
“No, it’s fine. You didn’t have to. It’s between us.”
Between us? What kind of between?
‘We’ve only met once after ten years, and for a year we were teacher and student.’
Knowing Namhun would refuse, Kang Seokho had prepared the reply.
“I’ve seen many singers, but today’s stage was the best.”
Touched by the sincere praise, Namhun had no words.
“On days like today, it feels like you beat Michael Jackson. You’ll see Yujin’s reaction—she was teary-eyed during your wedding song, but she hugged you crying during yours.”
Namhun was stunned by the comeback.
—Even if Michael Jackson were to return to life, the bride could not help but be moved by her husband’s song.
Hearing his own words thrown back at him, Namhun squeezed his eyes shut.
‘Why did I say that?’
He had only meant to encourage him, but it came out as self-congratulation.
“…Thank you, hyung.”
He would simply think of it as a successful hyung giving him pocket money.
Namhun stepped outside feeling oddly light.
Seong Yujin called out loudly from behind.
“I’ll call you for the housewarming party, oppa!”
Without turning back, Namhun gave a small nod.
The fruit basket and envelope were just ordinary items, yet they felt warm and full of care.
Thanks to that warmth, it seemed Namhun could now face his past as the eldest son without hesitation.
* * *
In the empty room after Kang Seokho left, Jo Wonhyeong and Seong Yujin were still talking.
Their expressions were quite serious.
“This plan was yours and the director’s, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“What were you thinking? Were you planning a showcase to bring someone back to the industry?”
It was a private wedding for only about three hundred invited guests.
Apart from family and close friends, every single guest was a powerful figure in the industry.
“That wasn’t my intention. I just wanted to confirm whether Nam would be able to sing in front of people again.”
“You were curious? That’s not exactly a small gamble. What if it fails?”
Jo Wonhyeong’s question met an unconcerned answer.
“There was no chance of failure.”
Seong Yujin believed that once Namhun had made up his mind, success was inevitable.
He would never perform on stage half-heartedly.
If there had been any risk of failure, he would have refused.
“Bringing in the director was reckless. It could have ruined the wedding.”
“If the director had refused, I wouldn’t have done it. After all, the director who watched Nam for a whole year is certain he will succeed, and he did.”
Exactly as Jo Wonhyeong had said.
The star music video director Kang Seokho succeeded in planning his own wedding perfectly.
The main topic of conversation among the guests was entirely about Namhun.
Thinking back to that stage, Jo Wonhyeong nodded.
“Nam… he really practiced a lot. His singing is much better than before.”
Jo Wonhyeong knew the young Namhun was naturally talented.
The other three members of Evil Spirits had felt a sense of despair watching their youngest.
Even back then, he had been singing classical music, giving him a strong bass.
Despite debuting without trainee experience, Nam started shining from the beginning.
The sheer amount of activities—Evil Spirits albums, his own solo album—would not have been possible without that foundation.
Yet there had been a time when people dismissed him as an unremarkable voice singer.
As Namhun himself had told Kang Seokho, he had not practiced at all during his singing career.
Between Evil Spirits and his solo days, there were only broadcasts and events.
On top of that, his voice breaking made everything worse.
If the idol industry had been as organized as it is today, it would have been different.
But back then, the entertainment world operated by rough methods.
“A genius who works hard will always rise again.”
To a songwriter like Jo Wonhyeong, the current Nam was even better than his Elixer peak or solo days.
After the voice break, his tone had lowered, but that softness and warmth had only grown more natural.
‘He must not have overdone vocal exercises.’
Over-focusing on technique inevitably strips away one’s unique sound.
One gains stability at the cost of individuality.
That might be fine for opera singers or musical actors, but not for mainstream pop artists.
Especially in the era when sound alone decided success.
It pleased Jo Wonhyeong that Namhun remembered and followed his old advice.
“So, what’s the plan now?”
“I don’t know. That’s up to Nam.”
“…Is that all? After something like this?”
“I just hoped Nam would forget his trauma. If I had to add one more wish, I’d want some wedding song offers.”
“A wedding song?”
“All the guests here are influential people. I’ve always thought ‘Forever Yours’ would suit a wedding song perfectly.”
Jo Wonhyeong, who had written the song himself, laughed.
“It does suit it. The lyrics were written thinking about when Yujin was born.”
Seong Yujin’s eyes widened.
“Really?”
“Yes. I kept pushing her to write about first love, and this is what I got. I was fooled too. Later, when I found out, I was speechless. Back then, the female idol I was dating had had more than one truck of lovers… and at least a couple must have been serious.”
Seong Yujin’s expression grew strange.
“Huh… I see.”
“You didn’t hear anything? You call yourself her closest friend, don’t you?”
“I guess not. I’ve never talked about that with Nam.”
“Well, you’re a girl too. He probably didn’t say anything.”
A small smile appeared on Seong Yujin’s face.
Calmer than before.
“Maybe. Anyway, you had something to ask me, didn’t you?”