Yoo Sanghyeon's Recruitment Proposal
Yoo Sanghyeon. Father of Yoo Seolha and president of Yuseong Semiconductor, a mid-tier Korean semiconductor equipment company.
I had no idea if a company like this existed in my previous life's Korea, but anyway, Seolha's family company, Yuseong Semiconductor, was a super ultra-mega powerhouse with a market cap exceeding 100 trillion won.
Strictly speaking, it wasn't mid-tier—it was a full-fledged conglomerate—but since it was a standalone group without affiliates, people oddly treated it like mid-tier for some reason.
"I've heard a lot about you."
"Haha...! Has Seolha unnie talked about me a ton?"
"Every time we talk, it's nothing but stories about you, Siyeon."
In my previous life, I'd met plenty of high-ranking people.
Not just the heads of the Big 3 entertainment companies, but even execs from heavier hitters, multiple times.
But I'd never dealt with a conglomerate chairman before.
Yoo Sanghyeon had simply inherited his father's semiconductor equipment company and turned it into a global giant. A true self-made titan.
A man with clear conglomerate-chairman-level assets and skills.
His spiritual pressure feels anything but ordinary.
Anyway, the reason a guy like him had descended on this backwater orphanage was simple.
"How do you like the new dorms?"
"Of course... I love them. Love them a lot."
The new annex had solved Evergreen Sky Nursery's housing crisis overnight—kids had been crammed four or five to a room in the perpetually full facility.
And the money to build those dorms? Yoo Sanghyeon had footed the entire bill himself.
Chump change for him, maybe, but unreal money from the orphanage's perspective.
So from my standpoint, the motive behind his investment was obvious.
"It's a recruitment pitch, right? Doesn't feel like pure goodwill."
"Sharp as ever. If not for your musical talent, I'd want to sponsor your education on the company level."
"It's not smarts—it's just maturing faster than most."
Even at thirty in my past life, I had some childish sides and wasn't exactly the picture of maturity.
Probably the same this life—my brain's limit would be middle school curriculum at best.
"Well, straight to the point: yes. You seem to know your own value well."
"...I don't think my value is high enough to warrant the chairman coming here personally."
"Geniuses like you are special in any field. The time spent recruiting them is never wasted—especially with competition in the mix."
We'd sized each other up enough.
Now that a prize like me had hit the free agent market, every company would come knocking.
The total opposite of when the PC bang companies had all rejected me.
The bosses who turned me down now obsessing over me? That'd make a whole web novel.
So my value was higher now than ever.
Which meant I could push back hard on recruiters like Yoo Sanghyeon.
"First off, no interference in my activities whatsoever. No dragging in big-name producers to boost the company's prestige or anything."
"Guaranteed."
"And if possible, I'd like producing rights for Blooming unnies and future idols we debut."
"Guaranteed."
"...What about artist recruitment rights too?"
"Guaranteed."
My face twisted at that.
What the hell. Is this guy even negotiating?
Fine, the first one made sense. But two and three? Insane.
What company hands producing and recruitment to a nine-year-old? Those are the alpha and omega of an entertainment firm.
"Any issues?"
"...Isn't it ridiculous for someone my age to hold producing and recruitment rights? That'd make me basically the president."
"Well, it's not like we'd pour in make-or-break funds... A little experiment wouldn't hurt."
"......"
"Sure, by entertainment standards, it'd be decent investment. But call it an investment in my daughter, and it's plenty. Personally, I just want to see how far a child genius can go."
I'd forgotten who I was dealing with for a second.
Entertainment isn't as profitable as it looks, and investments aren't massive either.
I remember being shocked in my past life—even at K-pop's peak, its funding was a drop compared to K-gaming.
And if even games got that treatment... compared to the profits and scale of the semiconductor business this guy ran?
To him, funding a mid-tier entertainment company—especially one with barely any staff—is pocket lint.
That's why he could casually offer to hand everything to a kid like me.
"But limit producing rights to music, and leave the rest to CEO Lee Hajun. Otherwise, the workload would be insane."
"I trust Lee Hajun on that front."
"We'll give recruitment rights, but consult Lee Hajun unless it's urgent."
"That's already huge authority."
"Good. We'll leave it there for now... If the nursery's an issue, we could handle adoption under a suitable person on our end."
"...That's a bit much. And not something to rush."
Of course, accepting would free me from orphanage life, giving more freedom in actions and such. But as a minor, I'd be tied to Yuseong Semiconductor. Like swallowing a poisoned apple.
If a dispute arose with HQ, or I clashed with Blooming? That poison could activate anytime.
It was a high-stakes, sensitive matter—needed careful thought.
"Fair enough. Think it over and get back to me."
"Wait, why do you guys have phones now?"
"Huh? Starting this break, all elementary kids got smartphones."
"Obviously thanks to you, Siyeon."
So all my desperate begging to Park Hansu for a phone was for nothing?
And their phones were even newer models than mine.
Soon as the prize money and royalties settle, time for a phone upgrade.
I passed the first-floor computer room and headed up to the third floor.
For reference, that computer room now had fifteen high-spec rigs running Battlegrounds.
Compared to scraping by on three ancient PCs in the main building's living room before? Leaps and bounds.
And the main building's living room now sported a massive smart TV. Another one on the annex first floor too.
The raw power of money, on full display.
But the biggest change of all?
"Single room. Feels so damn comfy..."
Me getting my own room.
It was sized for two, but they gave it to me as special treatment.
No one complained, naturally.
It was all because I'd caught Yoo Sanghyeon's eye—anyone daring to gripe would be biting the hand that fed them.
"Argh. This laptop's starting to crap out too."
Even with Singer Star over and freedom regained, a chill life was impossible.
Tomorrow, back to school.
It'd started ages ago; I'd been excused for field trip experiential learning till now. Time to stamp that attendance again.
"So, what now."
I flopped on the bed, mindlessly scrolling YouTube.
Past life, I'd kill time with Reels or Shorts. Or webtoons.
But this worldline didn't have them yet. TikTok existed, so Shorts probably next year?
"Oh yeah. Maybe make an Insta account."
Earlier the better—suck up the hype while it's hot, rack up followers for all-around benefits.
I created one on the spot.
Username?
"Wanna make it girlier."
But only lame ideas like "lovely" or "kawai" came to mind, so I went safe: s.siyeon.
Super simple process—I had an account in seconds.
As fresh as it was, zero followers, zero following.
Post something anyway.
One hand camera, one hand V-sign: selfie snapped.
"Kinda cute."
Face is such a cheat code—even a trash photo turns out decent.
Uploaded it as my first post.
"Hmm. Add caption."
The box below, probably.
Just my honest feelings, then.
"I really, really hate going to school... That work?"
Posted. No comments, obviously—empty account.
"Tell Seolha."
Messaged her about the new Insta, mutual follow.
Rolled with it: mutuals with all Blooming members, then DMs to Hye-na and Park Hansu.
Finally crashed, mind at ease.
Naturally, morning brought hundreds of notifications.