Top Idol — 3

"Then I'll leave her in your hands."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't mind her. You go on ahead."

It was honestly astonishing, the way she did things like that without even realizing it. Garam had been watching the two of us talk so easily, right on the verge of having her eyes opened to something new, when Jinwoo caught her hand and settled her down. It worked a little too well. Now she was completely beside herself.

"Hehe... Oppa's number. Hehehe..."

Was this what they meant in comics, when embarrassment sent steam pouring off someone's head? A moment later she threw her head back as if she might faint, then suddenly thrust her smartphone at Jinwoo, madness burning in her eyes.

"Th-then, to celebrate us getting closer... g-give me your number!"

Jinwoo, looking thoroughly spooked, actually gave it to her. In all my years in the entertainment industry, I had never seen anything like it.

"I've lived a long life. I've heard of people asking an idol for their number out on the street—I've even seen it. An idol asking someone else for theirs? That's a first."

"Hehe... now I can text you whenever I..."

"Don't! If a scandal starts, it'll be a pain. I don't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠understand why a girl who usually keeps an iron wall up acts like this only with him."

We went on like that, talking as if we were filming a comedy sketch, and by the time we reached the car the secretary who had been waiting opened the door.

"Ah, thanks."

I all but tossed Garam into the back seat and was just about to catch my breath when—

"Um... President."

"Hm? What is it?"

Hyerin—the secretary and driver who handled my work and followed me everywhere—was fidgeting in front of me, as if there were something she couldn't bring herself to say.

"What? You stop me and then you don't talk?"

"N-no, it's just... if I'm completely wrong, I'm sorry, but... President, have you perhaps decided to... date the Chairman?"

"What?"

What on earth was she saying? She had been right beside me, watching me shut down every other man's advances, and now—after I had met him only a handful of times—she thought we were dating?

"Why would you come up with something so absurd?"

"Well... when you set your schedule, and when you talk with him, you look genuinely happy. It's different from when you make plans with other men."

"I looked happy?"

"Yes... Normally you only give a business smile, but with him you smile so brightly. And when you were arranging the schedule, you didn't look tired at all. You were smiling as if you were looking forward to it... If I'm wrong, I'm truly sorry!"

The words were so far from anything I had expected that, for a moment, I felt as if my soul had left me. I had been like that?

"No. We simply understand each other well in business, so I was looking forward to the results that would come of it. There's nothing else. Don't misunderstand from now on."

"Yes. I'm sorry."

Right. It wasn't that. I had simply met a business partner I clicked with far better than expected, for the first time in a long while, and it made me look brighter. That was all.

Like him? As if. I only see him often because the situation calls for it. That's all it is.

The pointless talk had left my head a tangle. I shook it clear and climbed into the car in a hurry.

"How are the preparations coming?"

"Heh ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠heh heh. They're proceeding smoothly, so there's no need for you to worry."

In ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the president's office at High Defense, Park Namil sat with Jo Sangmin, rifling through documents.

"Worry? What are you saying? This is a show. Director, it's nothing more than a little amusement on my way to the chairmanship."

"Yes. Of course it is. As you say."

The papers Namil was going through were packed with profiles of people from the broadcasting world, reporters among them.

"And every one of these people is a supporting player, prepared for my show."

A knock came at the door.

"Yes, come in."

The one who opened the door, offered a bow, and stepped inside was Park Siyoung, her hair still red.

"So. How did it go?"

"Smoothly. Before the showcase, the reporters and the influencers will all start running pieces and broadcasts that back you and put you front and center."

"Yeah? So everyone can see plain as day who's going to make it."

He said it as if it were only natural, never once looking at Siyoung, flipping through the documents as he spoke.

"Just in case, I asked the entertainers signed to High Entertainment as well. As expected, every one of them refused."

"Tsk. Useless lot. The president's like that, so the fools under her don't know their place either."

Annoyed, Park Namil flung his pen. Director Jo Sangmin picked it up from where it had fallen, set it back on the desk, and spoke.

"Even so, thanks to what I said, things have gone rather smoothly, wouldn't you agree?"

"I followed your advice for now, Director, but I'm not sure it was the right move."

While the funeral was in full swing, the arrangement had been this: after entering with the Chief Justice, Park Namil would go in without a word and pay his respects, and Director Jo Sangmin would deliver Lee Jinwoo a warning that doubled as a threat. At first, of course, Namil had wanted to do it himself. Sangmin had held him back, and in the end they had divided the roles that way.

"And thanks to that, you caught the media's eye while still securing what actually matters, didn't you?"

Entering beside the Chief Justice and then leaving the new chairman without any visible clash—that was the image Park Namil had needed to show. If they had fought again on the spot, the press would have shoved the chairman's death aside and sprayed out worthless headlines: a family brawling over power, conduct no different from rejecting the will, and the rest of it.

"How fine it is. President Park Namil, grieving. President Park Namil, rushing home from abroad with tears in his eyes. Thanks to that filial-son image, your favor with the public rises right along with it, doesn't it?"

"If they're tears like those, I'll shed as many as you like."

As if he found meaning in even the smallest things, Park Namil smiled at Director Jo Sangmin and rose from his seat.

"Well then, shall we step out for a cup of tea?"

"Yes. Let's do that."

Namil had stood and was about to leave when he stared for a long while at Park Siyoung's red hair. He touched a lock of it and spoke in a tone thick with displeasure.

"Sis, your dye's growing out. Go get it done again."

"...All right."

Park Siyoung answered in that same voice, flat as if she had no feelings at all. Whatever he heard in it, Namil seemed pleased simply that things had gone the way he wanted. Smiling, he walked out.

"Haa..."

The sigh she let out after he was gone never reached his ears, of course. Her feelings had even less chance of reaching him.

Even after my meeting with Sieun, the work was still stacked like a mountain. Recognized or not, the seat was the seat, and the documents came pouring in without a moment to breathe.

"Isn't this something they should be handling on-site?"

"Well... it is. But the work's been dragging, so I think the report made it all the way up here."

High Group had reached into all kinds of fields, and there was just as much work to match. Electronics, especially, had to be handled by headquarters itself.

Even now, with a building going up, conflicts of every sort kept arising—and the moment they grew sharp enough, they climbed their way here. No doubt they were picking a fight on the excuse that the chairman had changed, so they needed permission all over again.

Which one would look better to people?

Why?

That was the shape of my days: handling the work with Makina's help, over and over.

"Hmm. That really is good. Next... huh? That's strange."

"What's wrong?"

Yura, who had been passing me the documents, was staring at her tablet as if something didn't add up.

"It's... it's not something you need to see yet, but documents from the companies partnered with our subcontractors should have come up by now. They haven't come up at all."

The secretarial office screened everything first, so some papers were never going to reach me anyway. But if that office itself thought it was strange, then something was definitely off.

"Just in case, call them and look into it."

"Yes. Understood."

Yura bowed and hurried out of the chairman's office. At last I had a moment to breathe, but the uneasy feeling wouldn't leave me.

"Makina, what do you think?"

"What?"

I hadn't so much as touched the remote, yet the television on the wall of the chairman's office turned itself on, cycled through the channels, and settled on the news. There, on a broadcast going out live, was Park Namil—smiling, shaking hands with a crowd of people.

"What in the world is this..."

"Chairman!"

Yura, who had only just left, threw the door open and rushed back in.

"The partner firms have sent official documents. They're saying they won't deal with headquarters anymore—they'll be dealing separately with President Park Namil!"