Background Check 1
A small announcement from one pharma company—one that no one even knew had made the morning headlines—sent all of Korea into a frenzy. To be precise, it lit a fire in the eyes of anyone who'd lost some or all of their hair. At first, people clicked the article figuring it was just the usual quarterly bullshit: "No effect on male pattern baldness," or "Fake Propecia knockoffs developed." But their eyes grew wider with every line. It was probably that final sentence that made their hearts pound: Take these pills for just one month—more than 100,000 won each—and watch new sprouts push through your barren soil.
By the time the skeptics started frantically googling to debunk it, I was already clutching a bottle of the stuff and heading to my father's company. As one of the top planning agencies in the country—not to mention owning its own cable channel—it was predictably massive.
"What brings you here?"
"I'm here to see the chairman."
It had been a while since my last visit, so the security gate was new, and the employee didn't recognize me. She held me at the entrance. I waited briefly while the desk staff contacted the chairman's secretarial office. In that short moment, leaning on a desk as tall as me, I watched managers, employees, and celebrities stream by.
"Lots of people outside the gate, huh?"
"Most of them aren't ours. Just fans and reporters gathered for various reasons."
"Ah."
Reporters hunting rumors, fans hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite idol. From the employees' perspective, they were awkward pests who also wielded real power in a weird symbiotic relationship—which is why they just let them linger.
"You're cleared. Shall I escort you to the chairman's office?"
"No, it's fine."
Showing up unannounced, I didn't want to drag anyone along—it was embarrassing enough. The stares from employees on the first floor were the same as ever: Does she have any value as a celebrity commodity? It always made me uncomfortable. Even riding the executive elevator for presidents and directors gave me a start.
"Dad, it's me."
I greeted the secretary outside and barged straight into the chairman's office. The wall was lined with TVs showing every angle of the company's celebrities in action.
"Yeah, you're here."
"Why do you leave all that crap on? You don't even watch it."
"Don't turn it off. I'm watching."
I knew the drill: Normally just a news channel or variety show, but when stress hit, the number of screens multiplied. So he was only pretending to ignore the remote.
"Dad, here. Mom asked me to bring this—it's hard to get, so take one a day."
"Vitamins?"
"Hair loss meds from the lab this time. They're pricing each at 100,000 won, but production's limited, so it'll probably cost a fortune."
"Oh ho..."
At "hair loss meds," his eyes snapped open. He killed all but one of the chaotic TVs. Clearly, the arrival of what he'd long desired had pushed everything else aside.
"They kept saying they were working on it, no news... then they pull off something huge."
His face lit with emotion, like he'd erased the family curse in this generation, as he caressed the pill bottle like a treasure. I flinched and took a step back. In that moment, my father looked exactly like Gollum fondling his ring in the movie.
"Mom said to pass it on: Don't stay cooped up at the office—come home early for once."
"Guess I'll head home early today. Heh heh..."
"I'll get going then. I was just running an errand."
"Do that. Oh, hey—is your detective agency slow these days?"
"Yeah. Just wrapped a big one, so things are quiet for now."
"Good. I've got a job for you, then."
I turned back from the door and grabbed the file he slid across the desk. Flipping it open revealed a fresh-faced girl. Small face relative to her shoulders, great proportions—not someone I knew, but total idol trainee vibe.
"She wants to be an idol, just joined us. Need to check for any dirt from her student days."
"Don't you have a department for that?"
"She's not even debut-level yet. No need to waste company resources."
"Got it."
Dad was probably worried my weird little agency wasn't getting work, so he was tossing me a bone. No real need, but I nodded—appreciating the paternal support. Handing over pocket money gets hit with taxes, but paying for "services" leaves proof for deductions. Sneaky, but smart.
"Just school bullying and parents' status?"
"That, plus any weird political views. Feminism or whatever—if that blows up, it's a headache."
Simpler than expected, so I accepted on the spot. As always, Dad stuffed the file with a fat "expense fee."
He must've felt bad that Mom cut off my allowance when I moved out. Whatever—I was still his precious daughter.
"I'll have results soon. Gotta show the company investigators I can hang. Then maybe more gigs."
"Yeah, work hard."
"Thanks, Dad."
I flashed a multi-million-won aegyo smile, barely containing my grin, and left the office. Money really does make you happier the more you have. Like a billionaire picking up a crumpled 10,000-won bill on the street and beaming.
Glancing back, he was still petting the bottle like a cat or dog, then tucking it away preciously.
As clinical trials wrapped and national certification hit, the world buzzed over the new hair loss drug.
No one shaves their head for fun and likes going bald. Especially entertainers worldwide, who lead the charge—followed by CEOs, politicians plastered on front pages by paparazzi. Their eyes lit up at the promise: Take it, and no matter your age, reclaim your peak hair.
While relatives' stocks skyrocketed amid the hype, I was home, biting into a homemade seafood-loaded pizza for lunch.
"Nguh..."
Pizza demands cola, I thought, cracking open Dad's file. He seemed to rate this new trainee highly. Solid skills, and that striking, fresh look perfect for ads and CFs.
Of course he'd polish a raw gem like her—but Dad's scarier than he looks, checking for flaws first.
"Digging into the parents too... basically, if there's trouble, handle it."
The sweet dad in my memories clashes with his yakuza meetings next door. Anyway, I scoured the internet using her personal info.
A detective agency's basics: Crack the resident number, trace movements. Then hunt court-admissible evidence.
True to her story of poverty—no computer outside school—zero SNS traces.
"Wonder if the boss lady's affair case is wrapped..."
Divorced parents ditched her; she lived with grandparents. Risky: Once she hits big bucks, they might resurface.
Better to loan out the ex-cop for that. Sipping ice-cold cola, I called him.
"Yes, President."
"Having a good vacation with the wife?"
"...Yes. Went to the amusement park with the family after ages. Resting easy. Work?"
"Nothing major. Entertainer company wants a check on a trainee's parents. You know, the type who abandons a kid, then leeches back when they make it big."
"Grandparent-raised kids? Happens all the time."
"Prevents image issues down the line."
"Hmm... If we find them living shady?"
"Nah, just investigate. Handling's their call, not ours."
"Easy enough. Deadline?"
"Week tops, plenty of time pre-debut."
"Enter companies are thorough these days. Send the file; we'll head out tomorrow."
"Thanks for the hard work."
"Oh, and thanks for the bonus."
Three-person agency, he does the heavy lifting—pays well for it. Way more than cop salary. Good rep spreads, talent comes knocking.
Shoved the last pizza bite in, forwarded the file. Somehow, Dad testing me meant I was testing staff too. That's why I pay people.