Chirp Chirp Little Chick
As the photo zoomed in, a figure came into focus.
'Han Heedae Miscasting' had quietly slipped off the real-time trending list.
The slot it left behind was filled by 'Shaman Tutoring'.
And from morning, a storm of tears had swept through Han Heedae's fan cafe.
At that very moment, in the CEO's office at O2 Entertainment.
"This article — is it one of our PR team's works?"
"No, sir."
"Then the production company's?"
"Not them either."
Ju Gyeongseok, head of Management Division 1, took a slow breath before answering.
"It's Lee Mishin."
"······."
Cha Eunseong looked again at the media outlet's name at the top of his screen.
News Patch.
The outlet that had released Park Songhwa's casino photos to the world. That name — the one the entire company had been gnashing its teeth over — was now running a favorable piece about O2.
Don't tell me he saw even this coming?
"Where is this Chief right now?"
"They say he's in the 3rd-floor conference room, in a meeting for Songhwa's comeback music video."
"······What? What would he be doing there?"
"That, I'm not entirely sure······."
Unable to contain his curiosity, Cha Eunseong headed straight for the 3rd-floor conference room. When the door opened without a sound, the A&R team leader Wi Jiyeon and a PR staff member flinched and started to rise, but he waved them back down and quietly took a seat at the very back.
"······and so, you see."
Park Songhwa hadn't even noticed the CEO's arrival — she was completely absorbed in her presentation.
"I stayed up all night digging through references."
A moodboard scrolled across the screen: a beach shrouded in dawn mist, white curtains billowing in the wind, a European alley shot with film-camera sensibility.
"Something with this feeling — dreamy but tender······. And at the very end, I look back over my shoulder and that's the closing shot. What do you think?"
Park Songhwa swept the room with sparkling eyes.
Haha, what's with him. Someone's tired, I guess.
Mishin-nim had been staring into empty space, zoning out in the middle of the meeting. Between restarting his composing work and juggling his duties as chief manager, he had every right to be exhausted.
Park Songhwa was chuckling inwardly when Mishin-nim opened his mouth.
"It's pretty."
"Right?!"
"Let's go with a casino."
"······?"
The conference room fell silent.
Ha.
Cha Eunseong watched with evident interest. I wondered what he was doing in a meeting room, and now he's pitching music video concepts himself?
"The set is a casino. Chandelier, green felt table — all of it."
"Hey, Mishin-nim!"
"······Where is that even coming from."
Park Songhwa shot up, hands braced on the table.
"The song being 'All In' doesn't mean the set has to be a casino! Anyone can see this is just asking to be mocked!"
"That's exactly why we're doing it."
"······?"
Park Songhwa slid back into her chair as if in a trance.
"One question, if I may. The moment 'All In' drops, what's the very first thing people will make?"
Silence.
"A meme. A casino photoshopped onto a picture of Park Songhwa. With a title like that, it'd be strange if they didn't. And they'll all snicker to themselves about it."
"Go on······ keep going."
"It's a picture that's going to see the light of day either way, so we release the sharpest, best-shot original first. So that every meme they make becomes a screenshot from our own music video."
The PR team leader's eyes went wide.
······He's going to preempt the meme itself and charge straight through the front, so no one can sneer at us. Which means no mocking at all.
She couldn't help but be impressed. Lee Mishin had a certain instinct for it — an instinct for how to shape public sentiment.
Come to think of it, I heard the current buzz around Han Heedae was this Chief's handiwork too······.
The PR team owed Lee Mishin more favors than she could count on one hand, and now his reach was spreading octopus-like across the entire company. Glancing sideways, she saw that even Wi Jiyeon, who had managed Park Songhwa for years, was clicking her tongue in disbelief.
"Oho."
Even the director had perked his ears up. Only Park Songhwa remained alone in the camp of total opposition.
"Hey, why is everyone already nodding?! I told you, I'm never going near that table again!"
Lee Mishin asked.
"Have you quit?"
"Yes, of course I quit!"
"That's a relief."
"Yes, such a relie—"
Mid-sentence, she realized something had gone terribly wrong.
"N-no, wait! I only went once! Why are you treating me like some gambling addict?!"
Park Songhwa's face flushed crimson. What made it worse was that Lee Mishin's expression hadn't changed one degree the entire time.
She stretched her leg out under the table. Unfortunately, it met nothing but air.
"It's an interesting concept. And the logic is airtight."
The director finally spoke, his voice weighty.
"From the look of it, you already have some visuals in mind······ Could you walk us through it, even roughly?"
"Of course."
Lee Mishin walked to the whiteboard.
"Verse one. Park Songhwa sits at the table as a player."
A rectangle took shape on the board, and three cards were drawn on top of it.
"Every time the dealer flips a card, a different expression from Park Songhwa. Like photocard reveals. Crying face, blank face, smiling face."
"······!"
The music video director's head snapped up. He hadn't even conceived of that kind of detail.
······The cards are representing Park Songhwa's past.
"Then at the pre-chorus, the camera makes a 180-degree turn."
The marker crossed to the opposite side of the table.
"Park Songhwa is standing there — in dealer's clothes. Same person, same table, different seat."
"······."
"Yes. She goes from player to dealer."
A deep, impressed groan escaped the director's lips. Then a question flew in from the PR team.
"What about the broadcast review board? If we get flagged for glorifying gambling······."
"There's no gambling scene. The cards are only thrown, and no money is ever wagered. Above all, in the final round, Songhwa-ssi puts her cards down and stands up."
Wi Jiyeon blurted out without thinking.
"······Why?"
Lee Mishin snapped the cap back onto his marker.
"Because she never asked about the odds."
A chill ran through the conference room.
"······Th-that's the lyrics. That's literally the lyrics."
"The storyboard locks into the lyrics perfectly······."
"Unbelievable······."
The whispers from the A&R staff spread.
"He composes, he storyboards······ is there anything this man can't do?"
"You're the Chief, right······?"
"What do you think, Director?"
The director answered with soundless applause.
"It was more than enough to work from — no, it was almost too good an idea."
"Wow, even the Director······."
Meanwhile, Park Songhwa had been quiet for a while now.
"Well······ it's not bad. I'll admit what deserves admitting. But just one thing. The hand motion for pushing chips forward — I really, really don't want to do that······."
"Why? What, do you have personal experience that would make it more natural than most······"
"Now even you're teasing me, Team Leader?!"
Wi Jiyeon rubbed her shoulders as if to say it was all a joke, but Park Songhwa's ears had already gone bright red.
The finishing blow belonged to Lee Mishin.
"For the remaining details, feel free to consult Songhwa-ssi directly."
"······! Hey, you little—!"
The conference room erupted, and the mood settled into something warm and easy. Even Park Songhwa ended up grinning away like she'd achieved enlightenment.
"······."
Cha Eunseong had watched the entire scene from start to finish.
The whole room was revolving around a single axis. Ideas surfaced, objections crumbled, and the mouths that had been opposing were suddenly taking notes. That shaman, he thought, seemed to have an unexpected gift for steering people.
Which is to say — the makings of a leader.
"······."
With that thought, he quietly slipped out of his seat.
Youth Girls' self-directed band practice was just wrapping up.
Nam Green caught her breath and spoke.
"We're definitely back in form compared to last time. Right?"
"Yeah, my hands feel lighter lately."
"M-me too! My fills were landing perfectly yesterday!"
Then —
Knock, knock—
At the knock, the door opened and the long-haired manager stepped inside.
"Good day to you all!"
All four waists bowed reflexively. When Baek Iseo seemed to bow a shade too shallowly, Nam Green pressed down on her back to correct the angle by force.
"Do you have time?"
"Yes! We have time! We have SO much time!"
Having a lot of free time wasn't exactly something to brag about, but it was true, so there was nothing to be done about it.
"Oh — and what's······ all that?"
Hong Yena respectfully gestured with both hands at the load Lee Mishin was carrying. One box of unknown purpose, a tripod in the other hand, and a lighting stand tucked under his arm.
"······Huh? Isn't that filming equipment?"
"D-don't tell me — our own channel content?!"
"But what's the box?"
While the Youth Girls members looked on with rising hope, Lee Mishin set the equipment down at one side of the practice room.
"The plan I mentioned before."
The tripod legs snapped open with a clatter.
"It starts today."
All four swallowed at once. It had finally come — the 'moment' the shaman had spoken of.
"Wh-what do we have to do?!"
"We're filming a video."
"A m-music video?!"
"A drum video."
Every gaze converged on one spot.
"Yes. Bom-ssi's one-take performance."
"······!"
Hong Yena carefully cut in.
"But Chief-nim, Bom's drum video is already on the channel. Its, um, numbers were a bit······."
"I know. That's why we're filming it differently."
Baek Iseo raised her hand.
"Different how?"
"The song."
Nam Green's eyes lit up.
"A n-new song?! Don't tell me you wrote a song for us, Chief······!"
"No."
"Then a cover? Something charting these days······?"
"No."
Lee Mishin named the song.
"······."
"······."
"······."
"······."
Silence flowed through the room. And then —
"······WHAAAT?!"
"I heard that wrong, right?!"
"You heard correctly."
"Say I misheard it!"
"No."
"But why that— no, how do you even do anything with······."
"Chief-nim, we're a ROCK band?! Rock, I say, ROCK!"
Lee Mishin, without so much as a blink, kept adjusting the lighting angle.
"C-could we at least ask why······?"
"You'll understand when the time comes."
"The time again······."
"If the shaman says it's time, then it's time."
At Baek Iseo's words, Hong Yena jabbed her in the side.
At least pretend to push back.
"Trust. Don't keep your ego — just trust."
"······You've gotten weird, unnie. This wasn't your character before."
Having finished the setup, Lee Mishin straightened his back. Tall as he was, all four of them had to look up at him at once.
"Green-ssi will sing."
"······Me? That song?"
"However, you won't appear on screen. Voice only."
The camera atop the tripod aimed dead-center at the drum kit, and the lights came on. Lee Mishin lifted his head from the viewfinder and looked at Kim Bom.
Yeeek!
Catching his eye, Kim Bom was mid-robot-walk toward the drums when —
"By the way, it's not that drum."
"······Sorry?"
Lee Mishin opened the box at last.
An auto parts company. The purchasing team office.
The instant the lunch bell rang, Assistant Manager Jeong Hyunwoo reached for his phone.
······Well, we did gain two members from last month, at least.
He'd become a fan two winters ago. He came back to his one-room apartment after an 11 p.m. overtime shift, put a pot of ramen on the stove, and put on some random video to pass the time. Who knows what whim had seized the algorithm, but it served up the debut stage of an unknown rookie band.
Wow······ she's genuinely gorgeous. Honestly, at her level, why is she wasting her time here? She should just debut as an idol.
That had been his first impression upon seeing Baek Iseo. But the one who actually snagged him was someone else entirely.
"N-nice to meet you!"
The drummer, Kim Bom.
······Adorable!
He rewatched that stage, chopsticks still hanging from his mouth, over and over. And that was the beginning of his fan life.
He bought five copies of the album. One to listen to, one to keep sealed, one for the car, one left at his parents' house. The last one······ was reserved for the day he'd finally get an autograph.
The fansign had been held exactly once. The application cutoff was a single album, the competition was nonexistent, so every single applicant won — and in a signing hall with no waiting line, it was actually the members who seemed more nervous. Kim Bom's hand shook so badly her signature came out looking like an earthworm, and apologizing, she drew an extra little earthworm beside it.
"Ah, um, next time······ I'll draw it prettier for you!"
There was no next time. The fansign was never held again.
He'd made it onto the pre-recording attendance list for a music show once, too. The fan quota hadn't been filled, so anyone who applied got in. Among the handful of people holding lightsticks that day, Jeong Hyunwoo had been the loudest.
He visited the official channel every single day. Bom's fancam sat at roughly 1,200 views, of which he proudly claimed a share of about three hundred. Ever since learning that refreshes didn't count toward the view count, he'd gone so far as to use incognito windows in his devotion.
But lately, he'd been feeling uneasy. The schedule board had been blank for months now. Even a fan's instinct knew that in this industry, no news was never good news.
······Don't tell me they're disbanding?
So a few days earlier, he'd left this post on the fan cafe.
And then, that evening. Getting off the subway on his commute home, he stopped by a convenience store. He was ringing up a simple after-work snack when the phone in his pocket began to tremble.
A new video has been uploaded to the Youth Girls channel.
"······!"
The first notification in months.
"Sir? That'll be 12,800 won."
"Ah, yes! Sorry!"
Bag in hand, he sat down under the parasol outside the convenience store. He couldn't possibly wait until he got home — this had to be watched right here, right now.
"?"
But the video title was, well, unusual.
[Chirp Chirp Little Chick — by Youth Girls' Kim Bom]
In the thumbnail, Kim Bom sat before some kind of toy drum set······.
Wh-what is this?
With trembling fingers, he pressed play.