So When's It Coming Out? - 1

The day after the 3D showcase and platform transfer, ABCD finally went live with their 3D models.

With a soft swish, Aki-chan appeared in a yellow dancer’s outfit. Her yellow side tails swayed in time with her nods, and her hands moved up and down in cheerful little waves. She looked less like an idol and more like a country puppy wagging its tail as hard as it could.

Aki-chan greeted everyone with bright energy.

“Shining like a star in your heart! I’m the idol hopeful Aki-chan! Nice to see you, Ace fans—! Everybody, Hais!”

Aki-chan startled at the mention of Bigman. She had been so overwhelmed by the viewer count that she'd completely forgotten about prayer time. She glanced sideways, then murmured, “Food truck....”

The truth was that even the company couldn't officially say who had organized the free food-truck event. And yet, she had her suspicions.

There’s only one person who could do something like that without anyone else knowing.

But she couldn't thank him outright.

Even if everyone knew, it was the kind of thing she couldn't say unless he admitted it himself.

That was just how the distance between them worked.

Still, she could nudge him.

Aki-chan twisted her fingers together and said shyly, “Come to think of it, I heard that an anonymous fan called in an enormous food truck to promote our performance....”

She was hoping Bigman would say, “I did it,” so that she could thank him officially.

She wanted to be able to say, plainly and naturally, that she was grateful.

Isn't that a feeling a fan and an idol are allowed to share? If he said so himself, wouldn't that be only natural?

“Because of you, we succeeded.”

“Thank you for doing something that difficult.”

...She wanted to say that.

But Bigman remained silent. He kept the distance they had both agreed on with perfect precision, staying hidden behind anonymity and never stepping any closer.

Only the viewers kept cheering.

In the end, God gave no answer.

Aki-chan said in an awkward voice, “W-well, then... should we take a moment to pray?”

The old-timers shrugged as if to say, Hey, newbie. From here on out, you pray to God before you go any farther.

Big, man—.

A few newcomers recoiled, muttering that it felt like a cult, and left. But most of them found it strangely amusing to pray to the natural disaster that scattered money everywhere in silence.

Meanwhile, Aki-chan closed her eyes and prayed with complete seriousness.

“Thank you.”

If this was the distance you allowed for gratitude, then that was enough for her.

When she opened her eyes again, she lifted her chin naturally and smiled brightly. She pulled out the memo pad where she had written down the idle chatter she wanted to bring up today and opened the conversation.

“By the way, do you all have any questions, Ace fans? Oh! No idol-unworthy questions allowed—! I absolutely won’t answer them!”

Aki-chan gave a wry smile.

So they were full of weird questions after all....

And then, buried among all those disappointed sighs, one comment stood out.

When is the song from the performance coming out?

Aki-chan smiled awkwardly.

“Ahaha, the audio track? Hmm.... It’s still being worked on. But I should be able to let you hear it pretty soon!”

The conference room at Off Entertainment.

Representative Baek Su-cheol struck a pose of pure despair in the corner of the room.

“The studio we originally contracted with won’t take the job.... Now that we finally have money, all that’s left is the finishing work!”

...

...

...

The last step before the music release had come to a halt. They’d pulled off the showcase successfully, and now was the time to keep the momentum going with a follow-up strike. But the one thing they needed most had turned into a problem money alone couldn't solve.

Baek Su-cheol groaned miserably. “I never thought they'd outsource a mobile game OST. And it's booked through next year's first quarter....”

Clara, Choi Ye-seo, spoke up. Up until that day, she had been in the office editing the showcase footage into member-specific clips.

“Couldn't we contract with another company to finish it? We don't need the temporary showcase mix; we just need the final mastering for the release version. To get the format ready for platform registration, we'd need it out this week....”

“I've already looked into it, but everybody's booked solid. Apparently it's because all the studios are in their prep period for summer events.”

“What about Sound Hide? They handled our mastering.”

“They're swamped too, helping out with a game concert event. I checked other places as well, but one of them had already gone under and shut its doors.”

...

Choi Ye-seo fell silent, her expression darkening.

“...I guess there's nothing we can do.”

When the eldest member, who had also taken on editing and assistant-manager duties, fell quiet, the rest of the team grew uneasy. If even her—steady, diligent, and stubborn as she was—had given up, then there really was no other way.

...

...

...

Silence hung over the conference room.

The release had been delayed.

They were one shot away from being done, one step away from turning success into a springboard....

That frustration sat heavily in the air.

Baek Su-cheol muttered, “Man, I wonder if another subculture-specialized record studio won't suddenly show up to help us release our song.”

Aki sucked in a breath. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Somehow, the flow felt familiar.

...

Something. Something in my hand tingled.

I couldn't explain it, not in any rational way, but my mouth suddenly twitched upward. I had to cover the smile that was trying to form with my hand. Even so, my chest thudded hard.

It felt like I could hear him coming closer.

When you truly want something, God shows his face.

Could it be?

Then a contract fell onto the desk in the office of a subculture record company that was on the brink of collapse.

Plop.

The staff members stared at the contract with desperate intensity. It contained the terms for repaying the debt that had been breathing down their necks. And when they checked the details, they were stunned.

“!”

“!”

“!”

I spoke to them without mercy. At that moment, I had to become the kind of cold-blooded bastard whom even the Merchant of Venice would have called a devil.

“The conditions are simple. For the next year, please make the work for Aurora Prism Entertainment your top priority. No matter what happens, I want those projects handled first.”

“Th-that’s....”

The president couldn't get the words out, his voice shaking.

I hardened my heart.

This is the price of a 600 million won debt.

I’ll squeeze it down to the bone.

All of this is for the promise.

The president finally spoke again, cautiously. “Th-that seems like... far too generous a proposal for us....”

...

When I looked over at him, the president jumped in place and blurted, “A-ah?! No, no! Sorry! I just meant from our side, it feels like a very generous offer!”

...

Honestly, I knew this contract was favorable to them. I just wanted to play the villain until the very end.

It basically amounts to paying off someone else's debt and saying, ‘Just take care of our kids for a year.’

Maybe he picked up on that feeling of mine, because the president scratched his head and rushed to explain.

“We usually do a lot of work in rhythm games and anime soundtracks. This project is the same kind of thing for us, really. It’s basically just being folded into our usual production line, but debt repayment, keeping our equity, and even 200 million won in operating funds up front...? It’s such a good deal that I’m actually worried.”

...

“Are you really sure this is okay? Ah! O-of course, we fully intend to carry out the contract!”

...

The expression on his face looked less like gratitude and more like fear in the face of a wave of kindness crashing down on him.

“Then let's sign it as is.”

I decided there was no need for any more conversation. The president’s vivid anxiety and confusion were a little amusing, but for now I was in work mode as Bigman.

I invested 600 million won for the debt, plus another 200 million won in operating funds, for a total of 800 million won.

The president and I stamped the 800 million won contract right there. The eyes of the president and the staff lit up bright as lanterns.

We’re saved....

I considered tossing in 10 million won for the staff dinner as well, but that felt like one step too far, so I decided to stop there.

I stood up.

“Congratulations. Your debt is gone.”

“Thank you.”

“Then please proceed with the work. The payment will be transferred in a lump sum to your corporate account. Do you need us to handle the tax side separately?”

“No! We can take care of it ourselves. Should we tell the Aurora side your name, sir?”

“No, don't reveal it. Just move forward at the company level. Then I'll be going.”

Every last employee at Fly Note stood up and saw me out with booming voices. Now that the massive funds had come in, they were practically vibrating with energy.

...

It was a strange sense of unity. Maybe all that shared suffering had turned them into comrades.

And Representative Seonwoo Taek, huh....

I’m planning to establish a corporation soon anyway, so in a way, it isn't wrong.

If I wanted to move money on a large scale, setting up a corporation came first.

Doing deals within the system as an individual was one thing. That's why I planned to get a consultation from a specialist lawyer and build the corporation first.

...

Even so, that title felt unfamiliar to me, someone who still moved alone.

Rustle.

And the warm feel of the ten-thousand-won bill in my pocket felt unfamiliar too.

It was unfamiliar to be called warmly by someone else, as well.

“Manager!”

...

Rolling that unfamiliar feeling around in my mouth, I stepped out of the company building.

Ding!

I looked at my phone.

The transfer I had scheduled had gone through and been withdrawn. But the money that had dropped was restored again almost immediately.

Ding!

As if a wound were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠healing.

The funds I had set aside for investment moved into place and filled the gap left by the contract payment. Money of a certain scale moved almost like a living thing.

In the blink of an eye, I was back to 10 billion won.

The waves of scale erased all trace of human handwork.

That was why, if you wanted to tear through the rules, you needed 10 billion won. This was the blade that could change the world surrounding A-yeong.

It couldn't make the stars shine, but it could cut through the wall that blocked their light.

“...And now I need to make a corporation too.”

If you're going to swing a sword, you need a proper hilt.

It wouldn't be enough to buy a company or two the way I had been doing. I needed to establish a corporation that could coordinate distribution and collaboration, so I could become the Bigman who supported everything from behind the scenes.

...

With that thought in mind, I picked up my phone and called the lawyer who specialized in corporate formation—the one I had remembered from a previous loop.

“Yes, it's me. I'm calling this time about setting up the corporation.”