Life Is a Kaleidoscope
Muse Family label office.
Operations Manager Han So-yeong felt like quitting on the spot.
"T-two new people have joined us!"
"And they actually come into the office?"
"Ah, um…! One only comes in for recording sessions, and the other works remotely!"
"……"
Kim Hye-min beamed as she delivered nothing but the essentials, and Han So-yeong's spirit crumpled.
More work. Again.
Maintaining a company homepage the public barely knew existed, cleaning, tax filings, chasing distributors, every other scrap of admin, plus babysitting a useless junior composer—she was already juggling dozens of tasks.
She was paying the price for ignoring her college senior's advice: never take a job just because the salary looks fat.
This damned ghost company still raked in serious money. Their so-called representative kept selling bangers that actually charted.
But she couldn't exactly demand more staff. Muse Family's entire roster consisted of Kim Hye-min, Park Gi-dong, Han So-yeong, and the two who had just been added two days ago—Yu Nari and Kim Do-yoon.
A five-person hole-in-the-wall. No justification for another operations manager.
And three of those five never even showed up. The absurdly spacious building usually held exactly two lonely souls.
"Ugh."
Blaming the past wouldn't finish today's work. Han So-yeong sat down at her computer to tackle the new pile: artist profile registration, pre-registration of copyrights, drafting distribution contracts.
"Our company's first artist is a VTuber."
The glorious first entry on the carefully polished Muse Family site she had built herself… was a character image.
She supposed she should be grateful there was even a character image. Kim Hye-min's photo she had simply cropped from the IG homepage, but this new main producer "Yeong-il" had no photo at all.
Was this a company or a club?
If she was going to upload profiles, she at least needed to know what these people actually did. Han So-yeong searched for the artist Lunari.
A pirated clip popped up.
"View count……"
The number attached to a single video was larger than expected; she looked twice. It couldn't compare to major singers, but for a crude re-upload with the extra barrier of being a VTuber, it was impressively high.
Half-skeptical, she hit play.
The moment the pink-haired cat demi-human character began to sing, Han So-yeong's hand froze. She had been about to open another tab; instead she listened all the way through.
"……Okay, the singing is actually really good."
She gave credit where it was due. The view count hadn't been lying. That this voice now belonged to their label—something like anticipation flickered through her for the first time.
"Nuna, you seen the Yoplait that was in the fridge?"
The feeling lasted three seconds.
Junior composer Park Gi-dong materialised behind the already frayed Han So-yeong.
"Threw it out."
"Aww, whyyy? I was saving that for today!"
"Past the expiration date."
"A few days over doesn't kill you. Why'd you touch my stuff?"
"Ha……"
An entertainment company with zero eye-candy idols and nothing but a brat. Han So-yeong scraped her chair back, stomped over to the grumbling Gi-dong, and raised a fist at his back.
Thwack— thwack—!
"Aaaagh it hurts—! That hurts—!"
"Get the hell out of my face, you useless freeloader! At least go earn some money, or get a computer certification and help with the paperwork! You worthless—!"
"Aaaagh crazy—! Demon hag! Aagh!"
After a few solid hits Gi-dong fled to a corner of the office.
"Hoo…"
Stress relieved.
Once feeling returned to his back, Gi-dong spoke up sulkily.
"Hey Nuna. About that new main producer."
"Yeong-il? What about him."
"Guy's never released a single song. Zero track record."
"And?"
"Then why is he main producer? He has less experience than me. I graduated Korea National University of Arts and I've been grinding here, and suddenly a parachute drops in?"
Han So-yeong thought of the Lunari song she had just heard. If Yeong-il was the one who made it, the lack of credits still made sense.
"If Hye-min-nim hired him, there's a reason."
"Still though……"
"Write a song that makes money. Then I'll give you credit."
Gi-dong stamped his feet in frustration.
"Th-this time's different. Just watch. Hye-min-ssaem's finally starting to look out for me!"
"Hmm? Really? That is surprising."
"Ha! The vibe's completely different this time. Feedback's insane—inspiration's just pouring in. Get ready to apologise to me."
"Yeah yeah, if our Gi-dong brings home good grades, nuna will buy you something tasty."
"Kyaaaaah!"
Watching him howl in righteous fury, Han So-yeong snorted a laugh, then snapped her fingers as if remembering something.
"Oh right, Gi-dong. You're on recording support today. Be at the studio by ten."
"……What?"
"The representative messaged. New artist recording—someone has to be on-site."
"I-isn't that an engineer's job? Why me?"
"You've always been the avatar whenever the representative works remote. An outside engineer's coming too, but having someone familiar around is easier."
"Is this what a Korea National University of Arts graduate is supposed to do……"
"A Korea National University of Arts graduate whose main job is stealing company yogurt. Go. A jobless freeloader talking back?"
She lifted a fist again; Gi-dong moved fast. At the door he looked back.
"Is that Yeong-il guy not coming?"
"Remote."
"……Am I the neighbourhood punching bag? They always dump everything on me."
"If it bothers you, write a charting song."
She watched his grumbling back disappear, then turned to the monitor again and replayed Lunari's clip. She had already listened once; she was listening again.
"……We should set up an official YouTube channel before the track drops."
For someone so full of complaints, Han So-yeong kept inventing extra work and executing it with terrifying competence.
"How am I supposed to upload a producer with no profile photo……"
She sank into deep thought over whether to just stick a character image there instead.
Muse Family label building. Outside Recording Studio B2.
Yu Nari took a deep breath.
Ever since third year of university she had lived in baggy clothes, but today was different. A dress, full makeup, hair with a soft curl. She had checked the mirror three times.
She rationalised it as "first meeting, so be polite," but the effort far exceeded mere manners. She fought to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching upward as she stepped into the appointed place.
"Ahem! Hello!"
She threw a bright greeting toward the presence she sensed inside.
One person who looked like an engineer. And one unfamiliar young man.
The engineer seemed older, so Nari's eyes locked on the stranger. A slightly sulky-looking guy fiddling with equipment turned around.
The moment their eyes met, instinct spoke.
Something's off……?
Even without knowing the face, the impression simply didn't match. She had never expected looks; she had only been going off a feeling. This stranger radiated a thoroughly prickly vibe. And when their eyes met he broke into a goofy grin, which somehow made it worse.
"Ah, hello! I'm Park Gi-dong, Hye-min-ssaem's disciple! I'll be supporting the recording today!"
Gi-dong's bright voice. Completely different from Do-yoon's low, careful tone—thin and chirpy.
Certainty settled. She ignored the Park Gi-dong who came scurrying over to greet her and scanned the studio interior. No one else, no matter how thoroughly she looked.
"Where's Engli—I mean Yeong-il-nim?"
Gi-dong pointed at the monitor beside the booth. A remote-connection program was already open on the screen.
"Ah, it's all set up over there~ Tech these days is amazing, right? Everything works non-face-to-face, scheduling's convenient, and ahem! In my case, as Hye-min-ssaem—I mean, as Representative Kim Hye-min's disciple—I often assist with the teacher's work, so this time too—"
"So he's not coming."
The cheerful voice from entry was gone without a trace. Gi-dong flinched at the sudden change in tone, wondering if he had imagined the earlier brightness.
"Huh? Ah, yes. No real need for him to come…?"
"I'll just use the restroom a moment."
She fled into the bathroom and braced herself as her legs threatened to give out. So it had been a misunderstanding. Why hadn't she even thought to confirm? Do-yoon would never casually walk out of a room, yet baseless expectation had blinded her.
Her eyes stung for a second; then rising irritation restored her cool.
You could've mentioned it yesterday while you were chatting away so happily.
She knew it was blaming someone else, but she needed the excuse.
"Ha…… There'll be another chance next time."
She would buy a can of beer on the way home. Do-yoon hadn't done anything wrong, yet today felt like a day that required alcohol.
While Nari was still calming herself down, Park Gi-dong stood in the studio feeling thoroughly rattled.
From the moment the door opened his eyes had gone round. The real person behind someone he knew only as a face-covering streamer had been nothing like expected.
Whoa…… She's a VTuber but she's pretty?
The way she had entered with that bright greeting was pure angel. Han So-yeong, whom he saw every day, was also in the pretty category, but constant exposure plus daily scoldings left no room for feelings.
It wasn't like he was going to try anything. Just that thing that happens—when a pretty woman is present, the voice automatically turns polite and a slightly oily smile gets installed.
Gi-dong had followed instinct, only for every expression to vanish from Nari's face the instant their eyes met.
A-am I that ugly? I'm not that bad, right?
He weathered the first emotional hit and offered a friendly greeting, only to receive a chill so cold he wondered if this was even the same person who had walked in. Must be a misunderstanding. No reason for that on a first meeting.
He waited for her to emerge from the bathroom. When she did, he cleared his throat and approached again.
"Haha, are you hungry at all? We've got snacks ready over here."
"Let's just start quickly."
After the restroom she had dropped another full degree colder.
"Yes…"
Every time he tried to explain the setup after that, only icy monosyllables drifted through the space: "Yes." "Got it." "Let's start."
He was being polite; the answers were pure frost. Gi-dong cried on the inside.
Awkward minutes ticked by until ten o'clock, when the remote connection opened.
"Nari-nim, can you hear me?"
"Yes, loud and clear."
Do-yoon noticed her voice was stiffer than usual, but chalked it up to pre-recording nerves.
Recording began. Track 1 "Delivery Food," track 2 "Broken Clock," track 3 "This Is All There Is of Me," in that order.
Do-yoon's directing was concise, and Nari already knew the songs cold, so progress was swift. Still, something niggled at his ear.
"Hmm……"
On "Delivery Food" her usual bounce was slightly muted; "This Is All There Is of Me" likewise lacked its bright edge. The band track "Broken Clock," though, was perfect. The sharp emotion rode straight through her voice—different power altogether. Do-yoon, who had no idea it came from pure rage, found himself quietly impressed while monitoring.
The other tracks just felt a fraction different from her contest performances. Strictly speaking they matched his original demos accurately enough. But these were Lunari's songs. Too dark wouldn't work.
"Nari-nim, is something going on? Maybe it's the remote, but you seem a little different from usual."
"……Nothing's wrong."
"Then shall we try lifting the tone? Hold the last note an extra half-beat."
The kindness in Do-yoon's voice made something inside her want to melt; she shoved the feeling down and let out a small sigh.
"Hoo……"
Coming all the way to a recording session just to act childish.
"……Y-Yeong-il-nim didn't do anything wrong, so…"
"Sorry?"
"Nothing! I'll go again!"
She steadied her breathing inside the booth, stepped back to the mic, and once she locked her heart down the rest of the session flew by.
"Great work."
"Y-Yeong-il-nim too!"
Calling him Yeong-il still felt awkward, but she refused to say "Engli-nim" out loud in front of others.
"I'll message you when I get home. This was my first real recording—it was a new experience."
"Yeah. The mic really is better—everything comes through clearer."
Then, just as Nari finished chatting lightly and started to leave the booth—
"……Ah!"
Something came through from Do-yoon's side. A tiny sound. At first she thought it was ambient noise. The Do-yoon she knew would never have human voices bleeding through his mic.
But the familiar reverb brushed her ear again. A girl's voice, streamer-style echo. Then one line rang out crystal clear.
"No, I'm telling you! Yui already said it! Uwaaah"
Do-yoon's earphones had come unplugged. The moment they disconnected, the speakers kicked in and Kurogami Yui's stream poured straight through the mic into the studio.
He noticed almost immediately.
"Ah, sorry. One second."
The noise vanished.
"Earphones fell out."
A calm apology. To Do-yoon it was a minor slip. Leaving a stream running while he worked was normal, and he hadn't been watching during the actual takes.
But Nari froze halfway out of the studio.
During my recording.
While I was singing.
He was watching Yui's stream?
"Glad we wrapped cleanly. I'll do a quick mix myself this time so we can finish fast."
The casual wrap-up flipped a switch somewhere inside her.
"You barely even watch my streams……"
"Huh?"
"You didn't even tell me you weren't coming today."
"……?"
"Ah, right, I'm a boring human so there's no fun~ cheap character~ can't even play games~ right?"
"U-uh, Nari-nim?"
She began to spiral. Right there in the studio.
"You're just sick of me. Makes sense—the songs are meh~ and you've heard them so many times, how could you not get tired."
"N-Nari-nim?"
"Heh heh hehh."
Now she was muttering half to herself, half audible.
"Heh. Did I message too often? Is that the problem? Well, you didn't like talking at first. When it was just us it seemed fine, but maybe it was actually annoying?"
The last part never reached the mic, so Do-yoon still had no idea what was happening and could only watch warily. On the other side of the glass, Park Gi-dong's face was rotting in real time.
Holy crap, what is going on.
Cold. Freezing. The air conditioning must be cranked way too high.
He rolled his eyes around nervously; before he knew it Nari had marched right up to the studio door where he stood.
"Move. I'm leaving."
Unable to meet the frost in her eyes, Gi-dong politely pointed the way.
"Ah, yes, exit's that way—go right and up the stairs. Take care, noona."
I miss So-yeong nuna……
Getting smacked around was better than this. Celebrities—no, VTubers, whatever, people who sing for a living all have weird personalities—Gi-dong cried on the inside once more.
After Nari stormed out, the Do-yoon left behind felt wronged. Was she angry because she thought he hadn't focused on the recording? But he genuinely hadn't watched during the takes. He had just habitually opened Link, seen a thumbnail so unhinged he couldn't ignore it, and clicked after they finished. A Japanese VTuber doing a fermented skate mukbang—how was anyone supposed to resist that?
But she gets that mad just because I don't watch her streams much?
He couldn't easily understand why she was so furious, yet he decided he would apologise once she got home. Even someone whose social skills had been thoroughly wrecked knew that much. If a friend's mood had soured because of him, reaching out first was the right move.
She said the trip home takes about an hour, so I'll contact her around then.
Do-yoon waited for Yu Nari to arrive home.
Meanwhile Nari stopped in front of the convenience store near her place. One beer for stress relief—one of her routines whenever something left her down. But tonight the bottle her hand chose was soju.
Exactly thirty minutes after she stepped inside, a stream with a half-hearted title and a black screen went live. The streamer's first words were:
"Life is fuuuuuuck."
All of this happened a single day after Lunari and Yeong-il were officially registered under the IG sub-label.