Mint
Champagne corks popped across Story Lab's office.
The exhaustion and worry that had been etched into CEO Jeong Min-ji's face—and into the faces of her staff—vanished without a trace, replaced by nothing but roaring laughter.
What they had waited and waited for had finally arrived: the simultaneous release of episodes one through eight of A Stage Without a Curtain Call.
And the results were explosive.
Before the drama even opened, the only metric they had for predicting performance was a forty-second OST teaser—and that teaser had closed out at five hundred thousand views.
Considering Story Lab's channel record sat at eight hundred thousand, that was a short-term high. Inside the company, people had muttered don't get your hopes up, don't get your hopes up while an almost thick expectation still hung over the studio. On the first day of the upload, with hearts in their throats, it detonated properly.
In a single day, episode one hit three hundred eighty thousand views; the finale, three hundred ten thousand. The projected numbers were climbing so viciously they looked set to blow past a million, and the series was lighting up every related community.
CEO Jeong Min-ji cried rivers.
Until now, Story Lab's views had been riding a downward curve. For this project she had invested with the single-minded resolve that it had to succeed. Instead of the usual newcomers and indie-film talent, she had brought in scene-stealing veterans—solid filmographies forged on the small screen, if not quite top-star caliber. The casting was a touch extravagant for a web drama, but they had gratefully accepted, and mercifully the numbers were something she could look those actors in the eye and say, you worked hard for this.
And then there was the OST—the number-one contributor to the early surge, independent of the drama's own quality.
In a single day, it had already matched the teaser.
Reaching out to Yeong-il was a complete success.
His mystique had drawn every kind of attention—and was the talent itself ambiguous? Not even close. The song was, needless to say, the best.
Wall-to-wall praise. The featured male part, especially, was getting an outsized share of the love.
When she'd first heard the unfinished demo, she had decided that not replacing that voice was a stroke of pure genius.
A-il.
All the information they had was that he was a singer under Muse Family, formerly an IG trainee. After the OST dropped, people had even started asking about him through acquaintances and company email.
Why are you asking us that?
Jeong Min-ji's private theory was that Muse Family had been stonewalling everyone, so the inquiries had spilled over here.
"I'd really like to show our gratitude to the singers and the composer."
Yeong-il, Yui, A-il—she couldn't meet any of the three, and it was driving her up the wall. Jeong Min-ji called Han So-yeong again. She insisted she at least wanted to treat them to one expensive meal.
"…is what she said."
I heard it all from Han So-yeong.
"The CEO over at Story Lab has been sending gratitude so thick it's almost uncomfortable. To the company, and to Yeong-il as well."
"I see."
"Apparently it's a fine-dining restaurant."
"……"
"You'll turn it down, I assume?"
"Yeah."
I had zero interest in eating in a room packed with strangers, and expensive food did nothing for me.
"Understood. She also wants to send a gift, though—you're not going to refuse that too, are you?"
"No, not that. I'll accept it gratefully."
"Good. If you'd turned that down too, I was genuinely afraid she'd show up at the office."
"Come on… no way."
"…Does that sound like a joke to you?"
It wasn't a joke?
I flinched at the frost in Han So-yeong's voice. I knew I looked bad sometimes—reject, reject, reject, anything that involved me—but still.
I mean… I just don't want to…!
"I'm kidding. She won't actually come. There's no point."
"Whew."
So she could joke. I finished the call with Han So-yeong and pulled up the same YouTube tab I'd been glued to all day yesterday.
Spotlight (A Stage Without a Curtain Call OST) MV.
I'd already binge-watched the entire drama in one sitting, and I'd rewatched the OST music video close to ten more times. I'd seen the video so often that by now I went straight to the comments.
"Ahem ahem."
Every comment I read tugged the corner of my mouth higher.
This was about me.
That was about me.
All of it was praise for me.
Kurogami Yui was the main vocal, so the praise for her overflowed too—but the comments my eyes locked onto were the ones about Yeong-il and A-il. Since A-il and Yeong-il were both me, the compliments counted double.
The flood of praise and attention wasn't as burdensome as I'd feared. Strange. There was a time when even the idea of people looking at me was pure terror. Maybe watching internet streams so often had acclimated me. Watching chat pour in day after day seemed to build a kind of immunity to the reactions of an anonymous crowd.
I was about to scroll further when my phone rang.
Kurogami Yui.
What the—this thing was endless. A mountain of rice piled to the ceiling.
The gist was that working together had been wonderful, that we were under the same label now so she hoped we could keep looking after each other going forward—plus one small proposal. The writing was so politely formal it made the recipient sit up straighter on instinct. Not the playful wolf from stream, but a serious working adult.
Probably because of the favor she'd tucked at the end of the message.
"Uuuum."
As someone who'd been watching Yui's streams, I could feel it. A Yui with ambition about streaming would want to choose the live stage format her viewers would love most. And the fact that she was sending it this carefully, this politely—
Meant she was at least somewhat aware of my people-avoidance tendencies.
I was about to refuse cleanly when my fingers stopped. The YouTube comments I'd been reading a moment ago drifted through my head.
If I asked myself whether I could do it or not, my hand went up for not. A live performance with thousands of people watching?
But if I just treated it like a recording session. If I could pretend those thousands of people didn't exist and just sing…
Greed nipped at my ear, but I shook my head a second later. What if I screwed up and wrecked Yui's stream? A broadcasting accident might not stay my problem alone.
Ugh.
Useless body.
After some agonizing, I sent a reply.
We might end up singing together someday, after all.
In the end I couldn't fully shake the greed, sent a halfhearted refusal, and flipped my phone face-down.
Pathetic. Just pathetic.
To reset my sour mood, I got up from my seat. I had to go out anyway—perfect timing. Today was the day of the convenience-store new-product purchasing project I'd promised Yu Nari.
Me, going outside for a refresh. The world really was a mystery you could never fully figure out.
By now I could daydream my way there and still arrive at the convenience store with practiced ease.
This snack was Wasabi Chocolate Cookies.
Yu Nari had said, "This one's sweet! Don't worry!"—but that eye-searing green was extremely concerning. Did her tastes just run green-green? First mint, now wasabi?
I couldn't tell whether the world had gone mad or whether people actually liked this stuff, but it was a mission, so I had to buy it. I picked up the green monster and, same as last time, grabbed a peach pudding too. Insurance.
I set them on the counter and was staring down the card reader when—
"Um, e-excuse me!"
The usual part-timer spoke to me. My heart slammed against my ribs at the unexpected event. Before my brain could blank out with what is this, the clerk continued.
"Y-you come in pretty often, so… do you have a points card?"
Not personal. Business.
"Uh, no."
A little embarrassed, I answered quickly.
"Shall I make one for you? If you collect points you get discounts later, and you can get notified about all kinds of events—"
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Ah, okay…"
Competent part-timer, pitching points cards to customers and everything. Sales tactics, pure sales tactics. No thank you. Not interested. I shook off the clerk's clutches with dignity and headed home feeling proud of myself.
Then I tore open the wasabi chocolate cookies and took a bite.
Crunch.
"Eughhh… my nose."
My nose was gone. The chocolate's sweetness lingered on my tongue for a heartbeat before wasabi cracked me over the back of the head and demolished my sinuses.
I immediately messaged Yu Nari.
This fraud.
Sold out?
There were actually people other than Yu Nari who bought and ate this? Was she lying because she didn't want to eat it herself?
I was suspicious, but I couldn't exactly interrogate her. I just sniffled and spooned up peach pudding.
When she'd asked what fruit I liked and I'd answered peach, she'd come back with the idea that next time we should try something normal.
I didn't trust the word normal. She liked toothpaste, after all. Yu Nari.
Maybe this was what it meant to be a proper member of society.
While getting ready to go out, I soaked up the morning sunlight for a moment. Today was the day I'd booked the company's recording studio. Thanks to all the recent outings, I turned the doorknob of my room with confidence and headed for the front door.
Hmph. Easy. I was about to put on my shoes when—
"Huh? Oppa?"
I turned toward a voice that should not have existed and locked eyes with my little sister, sprawled on the living room sofa.
"Oppa, where are you going?"
Why was a high-school senior home at this hour? I'd assumed the house was empty, obviously. She hadn't seen that confident look on my face, had she? That would be mortifying. Ah—right, I was wearing a mask.
My brain spun for two full beats before my mouth finally opened.
"Ah, uh. Why are you home…?"
"It's Saturday today?"
"Ah."
It was Saturday. Inside my room, Monday and Sunday felt the same, so my sense of the calendar had vanished a long time ago.
"So where are you going?"
Explaining it properly would take forever, and it was a little embarrassing besides. How exactly was I supposed to tell her that her six-year hikikomori older brother was actually a charting composer heading to a company studio to work?
"Just stepping out for a bit."
It looked insanely suspicious, but I muddled through it anyway.
"……?"
I fled, leaving my sister's suspicious stare behind me.
Future me can clean this up.
I called a taxi and arrived at the company. So-yeong and Gidong were both out supporting Yui and Lunari's joint stream at the motion-capture studio. Hiring was underway, but no one had been onboarded yet, so once again I had the building to myself.
Same as last time, I punched in the door code and went inside.
The basement studio. When I opened the door, a familiar space welcomed me. Comforting.
I sat down and was about to power on the equipment when something that hadn't been there before caught my eye.
A small box beside the monitor. Snacks of various kinds were packed inside, and a note was written on a slip of paper:
Recording room emergency snacks! Help yourself! (◠‿◠)
This hadn't been here before. It was right next to the monitor—no way I would have missed it.
I peered into the box.
Mint candy.
Mint chocolate wafers.
Mint chocolate caramel.
Somehow it was nothing but mint-related products. Fortunately, peach mint candies made up the majority, so I picked one of those up. Maybe Yu Nari wasn't the weird one—maybe mint was just popular with the public?
I unwrapped it and popped it in my mouth.
Nom.
"Mmm."
The candy was fine. Because of the peach, maybe? A soft mint fragrance spread with peach flavor, and I liked it.
Rolling the candy slowly around my mouth, I settled into the chair.