Goblin's Lair 2
By idol standards, she'd long passed the age where she could strut around proudly showing off her face and figure. Most of them dieted and exercised like crazy until the high-definition cameras started revealing wrinkles, staying active only then. Once the flab started creeping in, they rebranded as "veteran artists," switching from upbeat dances to ballads and singer-songwriter vibes for a comeback—or pivoting to acting or variety shows. Very rarely, someone with real talent and brains would step up to manage others, just like the woman standing in front of me now.
"Unni, what brings you out here? It's super rare to spot you in a place like this."
"I just got put in charge of a new team. Even though I'm no idol anymore, I figured it's time to show my face again."
"For real? You're gonna be swamped from now on."
I approached her warmly, genuinely thinking of her as an older sister, but she still kept her distance—probably because she was the daughter of the company's top brass. Outside, we played the close-friend unni-dongsaeng game, but inside the office, she drew a line to avoid slip-ups. She knew I'd bolted from company life because I hated it, though, so that wall had come down quite a bit.
"Unni, is this about launching a new idol team?"
"Tsk... It's being announced today, so spilling it now would be a leak."
"No one's gonna care anyway. It's not like it'd matter if you told me."
Idols had their heyday back in the day, but now kids even younger than her were popping up like weeds. Still, I couldn't bring myself to say any of them were prettier than her. Even freshly into her thirties, she held her own against anyone.
She must get endless nagging from everyone to find a guy, yet she'd stayed scandal-free all these years—impressive, really. Unni slipped her arm lightly through mine and steered us out of the line of sight. I could feel the nearby idols sneaking glances at us. Did rumors start that I'm the water girl or something?
"Lately, celebrities have been running their own personal YouTube channels. We're setting up a team to handle that."
"Every other company's doing it. I heard you're even hiring a separate editing crew—big fuss about that."
"YouTube's just the surface level. What I'm really aiming for is scouting idols who aren't making it and turning them into influencers. You know how tons of them cosplay as idols on VTuber streams these days?"
"Ah, VTubers?"
"Yeah. They don't need idol-level management or skills. As long as they've got decent popularity, they can make a living."
She'd seen so many idols burn bright through their youth only to fade away on the winds of change. Once they left the company, options were slim. The prettier ones might do influencer cam dances—that was the best case. Half ended up as call girls for cash; the other half opened coffee shops or restaurants. They all had the basics down, but half of rising or falling in the public eye came down to landing the right agency, and the other half to raw luck. That's what bugged her most—no proper support to let their talents shine.
"We can't expect idol-level revenue, but at least we can give them a way to make ends meet."
"Deep thinking there. Hope it works out big time."
"It has to. That way, our kids can focus purely on dancing and singing without worries."
Unni's gaze drifted to the elevator, where trainees bowed nonstop. Most shareholders barely noticed them—their greetings drowned in the chatter and laughter. Dad knew that too, which was why he'd greenlit the new team without hesitation.
"Office gonna be inside the company building?"
"Nah, planning to set it up outside. We need space for video editing, filming, and a 3D studio—this place doesn't have enough room."
Plus, she'd be taking on enough staff to present to shareholders, so branching out was inevitable. They used new cable PD hires for training or as test cases to sift the wheat from the chaff.
"Announcing today, then hunting for a building. Tough finding the right one."
"Don't you have the budget?"
"Money's not the issue. Hard to find a spot with room for offices and a studio. Has to be in the Seoul area, too."
Usually, they went for warehouses or basements turned studios, but good luck in cramped Seoul. Dropping big cash might snag a shuttered small entertainment company's building, but for a brand-new tiny team? Tongues would wag—accusations of the chairman embezzling or her trading favors for funds.
"Ah, time's up. Gotta do a final check. Catch you later."
"Yeah. Knock 'em dead on the presentation."
She'd put on a little weight since leaving the spotlight, but it suited her—gave her a healthy glow. She wasn't ready to ditch the maintenance habits yet, though. What a shame. If not for that damn divine prank landing me in this woman's body...
I'd planned to peek at Dad's face, but our chat ran long—the shareholders' meeting had already kicked off. Plenty of time, so an hour's fine, I thought, sinking into the sofa with my name on it. I half-dozed through it, figuring I'd spot Dad and bounce, but... I got lightly snagged.
Unni beamed, buzzing from the positive vibes post-presentation, while Dad kept his poker face. I eyed them both.
"They wrapped your presentation on a high note—cool. But why grab me? I've got stuff to do at home."
"Don't play. I know you're just rolling around the house."
"How'd you know?"
"Think I don't know my own kid?"
Maybe her smarts, looks, and ambition were her downfall. After breezing into Korea's top university, she'd gone full wild child. Dad's gaze on his eldest held a hidden well of affection. If only his curse-not-curse about having a kid just like you had worked.
"What the hell have you been up to, catching the eye of some old gambler in a back alley?"
"...Huh?"
"Folks from over there asked if you'd do a gut ritual for them. When did you secretly get possessed and become a shaman?"
"Shaman? That's ridiculous."
I pulled a full-on annoyed face, but then it hit me—the YouTube vids I'd posted, the rumors floating around lately. So many people thought I was Grandma Shaman's apprentice, huh?
"Something's up with you, alright."
"Tell them to ask Grandma for guts. I'm not even remotely connected to shamans."
"Living on your own's fine, but no shamans."
"Ugh, I'm not into it either."
I'd played up the shaman vibe once for convenience, so yeah, easy mix-up. To dodge more requests, I'd lay low till the rumors died.
"That's one thing, but I called you for a favor."
"Shoot."
"Leased a building recently. Price is suspiciously low compared to neighbors. Go check it out with Team Leader Im—see what's up."
"Easy enough."
"Team Leader Im, just verify today and head home. You worked hard prepping the announcement."
"Yes, sir."
Unni bowed and slipped out—special orders to clock out early and hang with me.
"Team Leader Im."
"Ugh, don't call me that—too awkward."
She had a real name, but her idol stage name felt more natural to us both. The day she stopped hearing "Hani," it'd hit hard.
"What kinda building needs me tagging along?"
"Tenants turn over fast. Owner's in flux too—no meet. Last one said the building's straight-up haunted."
"Ghosts in the building? In Gangnam real estate? Ghosts are outpacing us these days."
"But she said it so dead serious—kinda hard to brush off."
"Ghosts in this day and age? Come on."
Celebs, always in the public eye, were supposedly closer to ghosts than normals. More ghost stories about them, too—fans or haters blurring into the supernatural. Unni had dealt with plenty during her idol days: sasaeng fans or rabid antis pulling creepy stunts you couldn't tell from haunts.
"Hop in my car. I'll drop you home—been ages."
"No drinks tonight?"
"We can at your place. Got a boyfriend shacked up?"
"Boyfriend? Like a decent guy's just gonna appear? Thinking about alimony slicing assets in half kills any urge to hold hands."
"Same here. Tell my dad that subtly—he's been on me about dating lately. Nothing more annoying."
"...You could probably pull it off."
"Did Dad put you up to it?"
"Eh, similar nagging all the time."
Weird how women allergic to marriage always tried convincing each other first. Kinship hate?
And so, we drove to the building in question.