Management Division Team 3, Rookie Manager (2)

Even at this hour, plenty of windows in the buildings still burned. Cars moved along the road, and people were out on the street, all of them hurrying through the dawn—whether they were on their way to work or on their way home, it was impossible to tell.

Someone sat on a convenience-store bench with a can of coffee. A loosely loosened tie. Tousled hair, a document bag on the seat beside him. To the man himself it was probably just another day, but to me, barely started in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠world, it looked oddly impressive.

I couldn't tell whether I was nervous or excited. Either way, I felt good. Student, soldier, part-timer, job-seeker—every half-formed occupation I'd passed through was behind me. I was a real working adult now. The kind who clocks in and clocks out, drinks a coffee on his break, and talks with coworkers about how the world is turning. A member of society. A man with a job.

Once I've saved some money, the car comes first.

Among buildings that all looked more or less the same, W&U's distinctive exterior stood out. I checked myself in front of the glass doors: the suit my brother had bought as a college graduation gift, the polka-dot tie and dress shoes from my mother. A neat, likable new-hire look, vetted by my sister-in-law and the kids.

The middle-aged version of me I'd glimpsed in the dream came back. Set beside him, I was clumsy. No way around it. The man in the dream had looked far more at ease, far more seasoned—a successful head of a management company. A capable man. That figure was my ideal, pure and simple. Well. It was a dream. Of course it was.

I had loved movies and dramas since I was small, and I had loved the actors living inside them. In middle school I filled my room with bromide prints and postcards of actors from home and abroad; in high school and college I filled my phone's gallery. Even in the army, actresses took over my locker in place of girl groups. I loved them, and I longed for their world.

The entertainment industry.

Jumping into that world had been inevitable for me. I'd aimed at manager rather than celebrity because of my temperament. Making someone worth watching interested me more than standing in front of the public and being watched myself. Even in a film or a drama, I empathized less with the hero out front than with the power behind the scenes—the character who stayed hidden, set the board, and moved the pieces.

With my own hands, I wanted to raise top stars recognized not just in Korea but out in the world. Stack real experience on W&U's management team and learn, then, when I was older, go independent with my actors and become the head of a management company. Become the man I had seen in the dream.

That was my ambition. Today, at last, I was taking the first step.

I drew a long breath, opened the door, and stepped into the lobby. No one was there. It was dark, even. The lights flicked on only in the direction I moved, then died again almost at once.

Which floor am I supposed to go to?

A woman's humming drifted in from somewhere just as I reached the elevators.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Damn it—that was my ringtone. The insert song from a horror movie that had gotten under my skin last summer. I hadn't known the thing was this terrifying. What mannerless jerk was calling at three-thirty in the morning?

I pulled out my phone. An unknown number.

My head had dipped on reflex. I caught the elevator in a hurry, and my face looked back at me from the mirror on the door—stiff with nerves. I needed a good first impression. Watching myself, I forced the corners of my mouth up. Nobody spits on a smiling face.

The moment I reached basement two, a horn blared. A man climbed out of the driver's seat of a black van, and a few traits jumped out at once. Thin, for one, and short—slight enough that from a distance you might take him for a student. His face, on the other hand, was prickly. Whether he'd shaved badly or not at all, his jaw was rough, and the dark circles ran all the way down to his chin. He looked like a veteran manager who had been through every kind of war, and yet…

I hadn't asked for a saint of a senior. Still, honestly, he looked mean.

While I was studying Kim Hyunjo, he swept his eyes over me in one long scan.

"You're Jung Sunwoo?"

"Yes. Please speak comfortably, Chief."

"This is more comfortable for now."

He doesn't look comfortable. And that for now landed strangely.

"You came in a suit? Nobody told you to dress comfortably? You're going straight out to the field."

"…No one did."

All I'd been given was a time and a place to report. I'd worried over what to wear and dressed up because it was the first day—and here was Kim Hyunjo in jeans and a thick sweatshirt, a cap on his head. We were polar opposites. I yanked the tie loose and crammed it into my bag.

Kim Hyunjo scratched hard at the back of his head.

"A suit and dress shoes… Once you're working with the kids, you'll be running around all day cleaning up after them, and plenty of nights you'll be stuck waiting in the car. You can't do the job in a suit. It's too uncomfortable. From tomorrow, dress comfortably. Oh—and if 'comfortably' means showing up in sweatpants with the knees stretched out, flip-flops slapping down the hall, I'll kill you."

I'm screwed. Just how bad is this first impression?

"Comfortable, but not sloppy. You understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, I underst—"

"That guy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠over there came dressed right."

Kim Hyunjo looked past me and gestured. I turned. A man who looked about my age was stepping off the elevator and coming ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠over at a quick walk—the kind of kind face that would give you directions if you asked, a face that seemed to be smiling even when it wasn't. Dimples, too. Damn it.

A thick shirt under a cardigan. Jeans. Damn it. Damn it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Choi Geon-young."

"Jung Sunwoo. Hello."

"Good to meet you."

Kim Hyunjo, having shaken hands, looked from one of us to the other.

"I heard one of you has experience. That's you, Geon-young?"

Choi Geon-young nodded.

"Please just call me by my name, Chief. It's a little embarrassing to call it experience. I part-timed for three months under a manager hyung on Blackout. Drove in his place, ran errands, kept people outside from taking pictures. That sort of thing."

"That's more than enough. Oh—then you know Ho-jun hyung too? Chief Lee Ho-jun."

"I've met him a few times."

Kim Hyunjo's manner turned warm.

Blackout. The name came to me the instant I heard it. W&U's golden boy group, the idols who had every schoolkid in the country under their thumb. So that was Blackout. The company where he'd part-timed for three months was this place.

Damn it. From the starting line, the whole thing was already creaking. The outfit I'd agonized over was getting mocked, and the same-day colleague I'd obviously be measured against at every turn had three months of experience. One slip, and he'd be the quick, sensible rookie while I got stamped as the clueless one with no sense for the room.

"Both of you, get in for now. We have to pick the kids up, stop by the salon, and be at music-show rehearsal by seven, so we'll talk details on the way."

I was too scrambled to catch, right then, what was strange about those words.

Kim Hyunjo took the driver's seat, of course, and Choi Geon-young the passenger seat. The moment I climbed into the back, I moved fast—jacket off and stuffed into the bag, shirt buttons undone, sleeves rolled below the elbow. Only then did the clothes feel even slightly more comfortable.

As the van pulled onto the road, Kim Hyunjo started in on the details. The kind that snapped my ears wide open.

"The ones you and Sunwoo will be handling from today are Neptune. A four-member girl group that debuted early last year. Ever heard of them?"

"Yes. I listened to the single they put out not long ago." Choi Geon-young answered at once. "The response didn't seem bad."

"Didn't seem bad? They dropped straight off the charts. You can't even find them."

"Their visuals are good, so they get mentioned now and then on a community I visit a lot."

"Do they? The kids are pretty, I'll give you that. We used to handle only actors, so even when we planned a girl group we cast them for actors' faces. Not that their skills fall short. Most of them spent a long time as trainees at other companies. We built them with the overseas market in mind, so their languages are fluent, too. The fundamentals are there. Land one big hit and they could run for a long time—but that hit still hasn't come, two years on. Whether it's bad luck, or our planning falling short…"

I couldn't slip a single word into the conversation up front. My head was a blank.

A second-year girl group, Neptune. The artists I would be handling weren't actors. They were a girl group.

What I had heard in the dream was happening, here, exactly as it had. How could that be? Was this the prophetic dream people only ever talked about?

"What about you, Sunwoo. First time hearing of them?"

Our eyes met in the rearview mirror.

"Ah… yes."

When the answer came a beat late, Kim Hyunjo clicked his tongue.

"There's an index binder back there. Dig through it and you'll find their profiles. Take a copy. It's about fifteen minutes to the dorm, so skim them on the way. Or look them up online. You ought to know the kids' names and faces before you meet them."

"Yes. Understood."

I opened the binder. Several thick profiles sat inside, and I pulled one out. I was still dazed, but my hands moved on their own.

"Geon-young, what's your family like?"

"I've got an older brother, and a younger brother under me. I'm the middle child."

"Ah, I'm a second child too. Second kids tend to be better at looking after themselves, and quicker to read a room. Those are the two things you need most in this job. Spending all day glued to four young women is no small thing. Sunwoo, you have siblings?"

"Yes. One older brother."

"You're the youngest? Figures."

Figures?

My mind snapped clear. What was I doing? Prophetic dream or not, this was no time to be hung up on a dream. Kim Hyunjo was looking at me more and more ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like a useless object. If I didn't correct this first impression right now, I had a feeling the days ahead would be rough.

An uneasy premonition—that being marked from the very first day would throw the gates of hardship wide open.