82 – Like Brother, Like Sister (6)
82 – Like Brother, Like Sister (6)
Star Kingdom’s broadcast ended in full.
Star Kingdom began with a 0.7% rating in Episode 1, climbed to 1.1% in Episode 2, and recorded 1.7% in Episode 3, the finale. Compared to the beginning, the ratings had more than doubled, but it still was not at the level of a massive hit. In the first place, even if both were “1%,” terrestrial television and cable had a significant difference in actual viewer numbers.
On top of that, the 1.7% figure was a peak rating recorded during a highlight scene, meaning the average rating was about 0.2 to 0.3 points lower. Even so, PD Jin Ilman reached the rating he had targeted. iTube performance was also solid.
On iTube, Closer and Yoon Hajun functioned as reliable moneymakers. Closer’s stage reached 800,000 views, while the scene where Yoon Hajun and Blue Aka connected surpassed 600,000 views. Those two videos ranked #2 and #5 on iTube’s real-time trending list. In contrast, the stage video edited to show only Blue Aka without Yoon Hajun did not even reach 100,000 views.
As a result, Yoon Hajun was included in Blue Aka’s other videos as well. Even when only Yoon Hajun appeared in the thumbnail, a baseline level of views was guaranteed, and the comment sections were generally positive. From the station’s perspective, the choice was obvious.
And as that continued, word began spreading through the industry.
What kind of word?
“It’s the buzz that an eighteen-year-old genius producer has appeared.”
As she said that, Seo Chaerim’s lips curved upward, as if she were delighted beyond measure. In truth, she felt like she could die happy.
[What is that supposed to mean.]
“No, it’s real. Ever since Episode 3 of Star Kingdom aired, people who figured out you signed with our company have been contacting us nonstop.”
[Contacting you about what?]
“What do you think? Composition inquiries, obviously.”
[Just because one episode aired?]
On the other end of the call, Yoon Hajun sounded genuinely incredulous. Seo Chaerim took a sip of cola before replying.
“No, no, no. It’s not just that. Do you remember the stage Jinssohyang did at last year’s practical music department concert?”
[‘Rough’?]
“Yeah. That one. The video passed eight million views on iTube and is about to hit nine million.”
[It had that many views?]
At Yoon Hajun’s surprised reaction, Seo Chaerim clicked her tongue. This kid truly only cared about making songs and producing. He never paid attention to the ripple effects his work created. Maybe that was exactly why he could make music like that.
“Yeah. With numbers like that, there isn’t a single Hwayangyeonhwa fan who doesn’t know the video. Some people even joined because of it.”
[But almost no one knows I did the arrangement, right?]
“Right. But this time, Star Kingdom’s iTube channel uploaded a video of Jinssohyang cheering you on.”
[Yeah. I ran into her at the station by chance and asked for a favor.]
“Mhm. Anyway, once that video went up, Hwayangyeonhwa fans started asking ROC Entertainment what your relationship with Sohyang was. ROC’s official SNS then revealed that you did the arrangement—and as a bonus, that you also worked on ‘Rough’ included on Hwayangyeonhwa’s album this time.”
Once ROC Entertainment made that public, the speculation around their relationship was cleared up. Entertainment reporters immediately seized the opportunity and ran with it.
That was when word spread among industry insiders as well, and composition outsourcing inquiries began pouring in.
“So, are you thinking of taking any jobs?”
[Wouldn’t that depend on who’s offering?]
“For now, there’s no one you’d call top-tier, but there are singers with decent name recognition.”
[From the way you’re talking, it sounds like you got quite a few.]
“Yeah. That’s right.”
Not just a few—a lot.
Most were nobodies, but the volume itself mattered.
“Hm.”
Seo Chaerim heard Yoon Hajun make a quiet sound over the phone. She brushed back her overgrown bangs as she listened. She did not think he would take outsourcing work. He would deny it, but in her eyes, Yoon Hajun was a hopeless little-sister fool—someone completely dysfunctional when it came to anything involving his younger sister.
Still, he did not need to be a genius about it. Just a little smarter would be enough.
At this point, he should not take outsourcing jobs. He needed to prepare the song his sister would sing at the first-year event, and he also had to work on Singer Star.
—I’ll do just one song.
See? I was right—
Huh?
“You’re doing it?”
[Yes. I can’t do multiple songs. Just one.]
Seo Chaerim froze.
Yoon Hajun, taking outsourcing work?
[Why? Do you not want me to?]
“No, of course not.”
From her standpoint, it was welcome news.
“But what about Singer Star? Your sister’s going on that, right? It won’t mess up your prep? You don’t have to force yourself just because of me.”
[It’s not because of you, sunbae. I have to work on the song I presented at the event anyway, so I thought I’d take one outsourcing job at the same time. It’ll be good experience.]
So he was saying he would take outsourcing work for a school assignment.
“…You really go beyond what I imagine.”
[Me?]
His reply was pure and innocent, as if he did not even understand what he had said. Seo Chaerim let out a deep sigh. Seriously—what a weirdo.
“Then come to the company next weekend. I’ll tell the CEO in advance. And Suyeon going on Singer Star—that’s confirmed, right?”
[Yes. It’s confirmed.]
“Good.”
That settled it. Yoon Hajun and Yoon Suyeon would appear on Singer Star. What remained was getting Yoon Suyeon signed before the show and figuring out how to lure Han Goyo.
Seo Chaerim twirled a strand of hair around her finger and lightly bit her lip. No matter how she looked at it, she would have to use Yoon Hajun to draw Han Goyo in—but that could damage her relationship with him.
While she was thinking, someone brushed a finger over her shoulder.
“Hiyahhhk!”
Seo Chaerim screamed and whipped around.
“Unni!”
“Let’s eat tteokbokki.”
Her older sister spoke as casually as ever, unfazed by Seo Chaerim’s reaction. Those drooping eyes reminded her of Yoon Hajun.
No—no.
If she compared that to Hajun, he would curse her out. That was not sleepiness. That was laziness.
[Is something wrong?]
“Something startled me. Anyway, come to the company next weekend.”
[Okay.]
Seo Chaerim ended the call and snapped at her sister.
“I told you not to bother me when I’m working.”
“Rose tteokbokki, or just spicy today?”
“…Rose. We had spicy last time.”
Her sister would not listen anyway—and Seo Chaerim was hungry too.
“Add Chinese glass noodles and bacon. And Vienna sausages.”
With the same careful expression she used at work, Seo Chaerim finalized her order.
§ § §
“You got famous, you know?”
“What kind of famous?”
Taeyoung’s comment made me blink.
“Star Kingdom famous.”
“Is that something to be famous for?”
“Whenever a new program comes out, rumors spread among trainees.”
That much was true. Chewing my school lunch, I nodded.
“So what kind of rumor?”
“It’s about you, and you don’t even know?”
“The person involved usually doesn’t.”
“Well… half good, half bad.”
“So?”
When I pressed him, Kim Taeyoung sighed.
“The good ones say you’re an eighteen-year-old producer, the youngest ever, a genius, a monster.”
“Monster?”
“I don’t know. Ask Kang Seonghun. He’s the one spreading it.”
Kang Seonghun. I had barely spoken to him. A strange guy.
“And the bad ones?”
“The usual. It’s staged. It’s editing. It’s a bubble. Untalented people pretending to be critics and venting their inferiority complexes.”
“That’s harsh.”
“That’s what the trainees at my company say. They don’t know I’m friends with you.”
“What did they say?”
“That your uncle’s a PD and deliberately pushed Blue Aka down to prop you up.”
That was not entirely wrong. The exaggeration, however, was severe.
“Just ignore it,” I said. “It’s not a big deal.”
Kim Taeyoung clicked his tongue, clearly displeased.
§
“Did you watch Star Kingdom?”
“I missed the live broadcast, but I watched it on iTube.”
“That producer Yoon Hajun from Blue Aka—he’s our school’s sunbae?”
“Really?”
“Yeah. A second-year sunbae. Apparently he’s famous at school too.”
As her classmates buzzed excitedly, Yoon Suyeon covered her mouth. Im Yeonji sighed.
“You’re that happy?”
“What?”
“How are you and your brother so close?”
Im Yeonji could not understand it. To her, older brothers were natural enemies.
But Suyeon was different.
If someone praised Yoon Hajun, Suyeon looked proud, like the praise was directed at her.
“Isn’t this normal?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
Yoon Suyeon lowered her hand, revealing a shy, childlike smile.
“I think it’s because my brother is a good person.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Before Suyeon could continue, Im Yeonji heard a voice that should not have been heard.
“Of course it’s broadcast directing. Like that makes sense? They’re just propping up Yoon Hajun.”
Jeong Jinhoo stood there—the top-ranked first-year and class representative—speaking to the students who followed him.
“Those shows are staged. Won Seongmin made most of the song. At best, Hajun did the arrangement. Even the instrument recordings were Won Seongmin’s.”
“But he handled the vocal recording, didn’t he?”
Jeong Jinhoo scoffed.
“It’s just performance. A show. You’re telling me it makes sense to hear one line and immediately demand a retake? Producers see that stuff and start abusing singers. Scam artists.”
This is bad.
Im Yeonji looked at Yoon Suyeon.
Yoon Suyeon’s expression was nothing like usual—something Im Yeonji had never seen before.