Meeting at IG Entertainment

IG Entertainment. Yoo Na-ri pulled out her phone on the subway to double-check the headquarters address. Me, heading to IG's main building? For a practical music student at an obscure college like her, this massive agency was nothing short of a holy site—an impregnable fortress she could never dream of approaching. If her classmates found out she was here for a one-on-one meeting with IG Entertainment, they might foam at the mouth and pass out. Even if it was as VTuber Luna-ri, not singer Yoo Na-ri.

That doesn't mean I'm gonna grovel, though. Na-ri clenched her fist tight. This entire opportunity had come solely thanks to one person: Do-yoon. Her one and only goal for this meeting was clear—steer things toward a win-win for both her and Do-yoon, no matter what. The Kim Do-yoon she knew was shockingly oblivious to his own worth. No matter how much she gushed, "Young-il oppa, you're a genius! This song's gonna blow up!" he'd just brush it off with a nonchalant, "Eh, you're just saying that 'cause you know me."

Does he never check the internet? All those reactions in community clips and reposted YouTube videos... Was he just uninterested, or too scared to look? Na-ri had a strong hunch it was the latter. That reclusive back he'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠show, holing up in his room and avoiding people—it screamed of a past battered by the world, full of wounds. For Na-ri, who'd listened to every song Do-yoon had ever made, it wasn't hard to guess. This time, she vowed, I'll be the one watching over him.

"Excuse me, miss?" Lost in thought as she paced the lobby, Na-ri was approached by a uniformed security guard. "Here for trainee evaluations? Audition room's up on the third floor that way..."

"Ah, no! I'm here for a meeting. With A&R Team Manager Kim Hee-dong."

Na-ri waved her hands in a fluster, and the guard's eyes went wide. Her pale, doll-like face and sharp features screamed idol center poised for debut—who could blame him for the mix-up?

"Oh dear, my apologies. You just stand out so strikingly pretty, I figured you for a trainee."

"Ahaha... thank you."

Getting called pretty by an entertainment agency guard? Na-ri's confidence got a nice little boost.

About five minutes later, a man came rushing out to greet her.

"Hello. I'm Kim Hee-dong, manager at IG Entertainment's A&R team."

"Luna-ri—or, Yoo Na-ri!"

"Whoa, you'd pass for an aspiring celeb no problem. Hard to believe you'd go VTuber."

Years of VTubing had her bristling at the clueless civilian remark. So, what—VTubers all gotta be ugly, fat, and whatever else?! What kinda tone-deaf nonsense is that?!Huh, I've gone full VTuber now. Lines like that just pop into my head automatically. She nodded proudly to herself—oblivious to how suspiciously he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was eyeing her.

They didn't dive straight into the meeting. Instead, Kim Hee-dong gave her a casual tour of the IG building. Fitting for a celeb agency, everything gleamed with flashy designs—fun to check out. That's when they ran into a familiar face near the cafeteria.

Kim Hee-dong greeted her first. "Hey, Se-young. Lunch a bit late today?"

"Yeah, a little... And who's this?"

Shin Se-young turned toward Na-ri, her expression casual for a greeting.

"Hi! I'm Luna-ri!"

"...Pardon?"

"Runner-up in Virtual Voice Fight. Nice to meet you, judge."

Shin Se-young's tray tilted slightly, her eyes slowly widening.

"L-Luna-ri?"

"Yep."

"Ah, h-hello..."

She responded, but her face was off—some vague in-between of blank and shocked.

"Se-young? You okay?"

"Oh, no, it's not that. Just... kinda like red pill..."

"Pardon?"

Shin Se-young shook her head. She couldn't exactly say she'd been floored by force-fed red pill truth serum. VTuber with zero VTuber sensitivity... Na-ri just muttered that under her breath.

"Haha, Se-young, we'll head off for our meeting. Na-ri, this way."

"Yep, nice meeting you! I'm a huge fan!"

"Th-thanks."

Na-ri watched Shin Se-young trudge away. No trace of the charismatic, sharp stage presence—just kinda dopey. Something about her... rubs me the wrong way. A day of mutual mild disappointments.

The conference room they entered next was crisp and professional—colder, more work-oriented than the tour spots.

"First off, mind if I ask about Young-il?"

The expected question. Figured they'd be more interested in him than me.

"What do you wanna know?"

"Info's so scarce, anything works. Age range? Prior activity history?"

Na-ri thought for a sec. "Not sure on age. Voice sounds mid-to-late teens? Maybe thirties. He doesn't say."

"Prior history?"

"Dunno that either."

"Not an established composer?"

She shrugged. "Dunno. I just got the tracks and sang 'em."

As planned from the start, Na-ri spilled zero personal deets on Do-yoon—no number, not even his Discord ID. Nothing he hadn't okayed.

Kim Hee-dong jotted a quick note and nodded. No info was expected—no surprise. But one thing was clear from her vibe: Thick trust between these two. Good and tricky.

"Now, the main points. First, we'll handle your digital release, obviously. Second, for VTuber business—check this out while I explain."

The slim booklet outlined IG's VTuber vision: directions, content guidelines, image management, schedule coordination. More like grooming idols than streamers.

Not what I'm after. Grandiose and restrictive. VTuber avatar, face hidden for freedom. The joy that brought. If hiding your face still meant no freedom, what was the point? And that wasn't all.

"Ahem, Na-ri, you'll join the VTuber new biz team. Young-il composer will naturally sign exclusive with IG Entertainment."

"That doesn't keep us together, does it?"

"No no, that's the contract. But Young-il will be assigned as Luna-ri's dedicated composer. You're a package deal."

No lie in Kim Hee-dong's beaming smile. Is it? Doesn't feel like a lie, but why this nagging... Na-ri's unease wasn't baseless. He wasn't lying. Early on, Young-il would be her dedicated. But he omitted one key fact: Business-wise, an exclusive in-house composer writing solely for one VTuber streamer? Inefficient. Once his talent proved out, the company would spread it to other artists. Luna-ri becomes one of many clients. Getting deprioritized? Just a matter of time. Did he need to bring that up now? Kim Hee-dong judged no—foolish to add needless variables pre-contract.

"Frankly, composers like Young-il are rare, so we're treading carefully. With his talent, partnering with IG means massive growth."

True. IG's infrastructure was a dream for an unknown composer: studios, sessions, mastering, distribution, promo. No false bait—he wove truth to whisper, don't tie down his talent.

"Proper setup means way better results than now. Na-ri supports from the side, we all push together?"

Na-ri's expression wavered. He caught it. CEO Kang Sung-min okayed slotting Young-il into VTuber new biz. But that was roadmap—the frontlines ran ops, and team comp was Kim Hee-dong's call. He favored splitting their contracts. If she succeeded, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠they'd stick naturally. If flop, preserve Young-il asset, cut losses. Their trust could spark great chemistry—or backlash from one could lose both. Risk management first. Not sleazy, just smart business. At least that's what he believed.

Na-ri looked pale; he added, "We're not neglecting you, Na-ri. But opening bigger stages for Young-il composer is our role too. His growth benefits you ultimately, right?"

Not wrong. Nothing wrong. Yet admitting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it stung her chest. She knew it was rational from the company's view. But Na-ri instinctively sensed how "together" was slipping from that rationale.

After fidgeting her toes in her shoes forever—

Ding-a-ling— A familiar alert jolted her. Checking her phone, color returned to her face.

"Mind if I step out? Important call."

"Oh, sure."

Na-ri bolted out, ducking into a hallway corner to answer. Was this guy a psychic? Showing up right when she needed it most. Hitting her with a first-message-ever at this perfect chaotic timing. She hit call immediately.

She'd gone in vowing win-win. Now? Seemed impossible. Was her "protecting" him actually holding him back? Even suspecting the manager said it to sway her.

Short silence.

Na-ri burst out laughing. Absurd, but hilarious. All this worry for you, and...

"Sigh."

[...?]

"Forget it. You're impossible, oppa."

[What?]

"Nothing. Got it."

Couldn't just toss this naive guy to the wolves. I need to stay by his side. Decision made.

"Manager, I'll be going."

Kim Hee-dong stood, masking panic at her abrupt exit. "Ah, let's talk a bit more. Terms are negotiable."

"I decide fast. Thanks."

Na-ri left the materials on the table and rose. He broke into sweaty send-off persuasion, but she ignored it. Elevator down, out the building—suddenly light as air. Sights she'd missed inbound now popped, sunlight felt warm. Heading to the subway—

"Luna-ri?"

She turned to the voice behind. Unknown woman, mid-thirties-ish. Neat outfit, sharp eyes striking.

"Ahem, you don't know me? I'm IG Entertainment's chief producer, K-Kim Hye-min."

Na-ri flinched at the intro. Chief producer.

"Got something personal to say."

Kim Hye-min smiled. "I'll handle your digital release. Got time, yoooot?"