Haruka's Visit
“Si-yeon. Here! Say ah…!”
“…Unnie. I can eat it myself.”
I accepted the chocolate Yuina held out, taking it gently with my mouth. Being looked after by a child who looked exactly like the girl I’d practically raised as a little sister in my past life… wasn’t as unpleasant as I’d expected. A strange, guilty thrill lingered, and for a moment I wished the scene would stretch on forever. But I quickly snapped out of it and lifted my head from her lap.
“Hm?”
“Unnie. Do you know who’s coming today?”
“Uh, yeah. I know… I’m already shaking.”
No wonder she’d been acting unusually clingy. She was clearly nervous about the visitor scheduled to arrive later. Because I’d been so close to her past-life counterpart, I tended to keep a little distance from Yuina in this life. We’d even drawn blood once from being too close. ‘There won’t be any dating rumors this time, but…’ The trauma from the last life still lingered.
“I’m looking forward to meeting Haruka-sunbae.”
“She really is something. She’s not even in her mid-twenties yet, but she’s already pushing ten years in the industry. Japan’s a bit different from us in that regard.”
“…I’m pretty young too.”
“If you debut next year, you’ll be debuting a year later than Haruka did.”
Korean society had always been strict about idol ages, but Starlight’s Yoo In-young had smashed through the audition door at fourteen, so that standard was basically gone now. Even so, Yuina, who was turning fifteen, was still on the young side.
“When are the other unnies coming?”
“Ah, according to the group chat… everyone should be here within twenty minutes!”
Haruka’s requests hadn’t been impossible to meet. Lee Ha-jun had already handled most of the basic negotiations—the revenue split, the signing bonus, all the grown-up stuff. We’d also reached a general agreement on the concept and roadmap Si-yeon and Ha-jun had decided on together. She didn’t seem completely convinced, but she’d given her basic approval, so we could work on the details later.
If she were just another average trainee, I could have pushed my own way through, but she was currently one of the most recognized and skilled idols in the industry. Even as Korea’s top hitmaker, I couldn’t treat her carelessly.
Haruka had said she wanted to meet the final debut lineup before making her decision. Given her position, her caution made sense. Once she debuted with us, this would be her last run as an idol. She’d already earned plenty of money and fame in Japan, yet she’d come back to Korea because she still wanted to make her name known worldwide. Starlight’s activities had already gone a long way toward that goal, but she still seemed thirsty for more.
“…Billboard entry, huh.”
Billboard. America’s charts, the dream stage for every singer—and for composers too. In my past life, I’d barely brushed against it. The highest a song I’d produced as main producer had climbed was number 87 on the Hot 100. We’d basically just dipped a toe in and left. We’d done better on the Global 200, but the Hot 100—the chart that mattered most—had been underwhelming.
Haruka had told us her goal was the upper ranks of Billboard. Right now it sounded like a fantasy, but once the pandemic ended, K-pop sitting in that spot wouldn’t be strange at all. The Korean Wave would unfold much like it had before. Korea’s production capability had already reached a kind of singularity.
While Yuina and I snacked on chocolate, the office gradually filled with people. Lee Ha-nan, Choi Ha-kyung, and Lee Hye-na arrived one after another. Seeing them all wearing masks exactly as I’d asked made me oddly proud. We couldn’t afford any slip-ups at a time like this. If the gathering ban had been issued a little later, we would’ve had to do this remotely.
Blue Sky Entertainment was currently renting a four-story building on the outskirts of Seoul. The rent in the city center had been too steep, so we’d settled for a decent place farther out. The building itself was surprisingly comfortable.
While we chatted and I let them knead my cheeks—the company’s official stress ball—Haruka walked in.
“…She’s here.”
Lee Hye-na and I stepped forward first. Lee Ha-jun was unfortunately stuck in a meeting with a broadcasting station about Blooming, so he couldn’t join us. Since we were the only ones who’d met her before, we went to greet her.
Once inside the building, Haruka lowered her mask slightly and smiled softly at us.
“Unnie! It’s been a while. Hehe.”
“Haruka-unnie. You’re still as pretty as ever.”
She gave a small laugh. “You two too.”
Her gaze then shifted past us to the three trainees standing stiffly behind us. She stared at them for a moment before murmuring under her breath.
“…Pass. They’re ridiculously cute.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Si-yeon, how good are our trainees?”
“Hmm.”
I had to think for a second. For their age, Yuina, Lee Ha-nan, and Choi Ha-kyung were all quite skilled. Yuina had the same powerful vocal tone as her past-life counterpart, Choi Ha-kyung’s street-dance background gave her impressive moves, and Lee Ha-nan’s stats were well-balanced across the board. Lee Hye-na was a finished idol with perfect balance. But compared to Haruka’s level? Obviously not.
“They’re not at your level, but they meet my standards.”
“Really? Then that’s good enough.”
“Huh? That’s all you need?”
I couldn’t help feeling puzzled. She was saying she’d trust my judgment without even seeing them perform herself. When had we become close enough for that kind of trust? Our relationship was basically just internet friends who only knew each other through SNS. So where was this confidence coming from?
“Why are you so surprised? I’m trusting your eye for talent.”
“My eye for talent?”
“Yeah. Who was it that took Blooming, who nobody was paying attention to, and brought them this far? You’ve earned that trust.”
…When she put it that way, it made sense. I looked at her, a little moved.
“Still, with Blooming’s songs, our songs, and your solo activities… you’re going to be way too busy. I’m worried.”
“Ah, you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Hm?”
“I’m quitting my solo activities!”
“Ehh?”
* * *
After hearing my story, Haruka relaxed completely, sinking into a chair and letting out everything she’d been holding back.
“What? That’s it?”
“…What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?”
“I thought you were quitting everything for good.”
“You know how it is. Once you get a real taste of the stage, you can’t quit.”
Idols didn’t love concerts for no reason. Thousands of fans waving light sticks and singing along just for you—that sight was spectacular. Honestly, I was already impatient for the concerts we’d hold someday.
“Well, you’re not wrong. That feeling is hard to forget. That’s why we love being idols.”
Haruka had definitely experienced that stage high properly. She’d done dome tours back in her AKB days and stood on 50,000-seat stadium stages multiple times.
“If even I didn’t know… you really hid it thoroughly.”
“I had to.”
“So when are you announcing it?”
“I’m going to announce it during my acceptance speech at the Korean Music Awards. I already filmed the video!”
“Isn’t that today?”
I opened my calendar and checked the date. January 15th.
“Oh. You’re right.”
“……”
With everything else going on, I’d forgotten—but today was the day the Korean Music Awards winners would be announced. And the day I would tell the public that my solo activities were coming to an end.