“What did you say?”
Director Jung Young-do narrowed his eyes and stared at the employee.
“Well... When I contacted Shin Ji-young, she said she signed with BSK.”
“And Ellis went to BSK too?”
“Yes.”
Director Jung Young-do scratched his forehead, now far balder than in his youth.
The song composed by Yoo-in—the songwriter Shin Ji-young had taken under her wing—had caught his interest. If refined with Taein’s signature touch and given to ‘Ladies,’ the group Ellis had meticulously planned and debuted, it could reignite their fading popularity.
He’d assumed Shin Ji-young would eventually yield since Taein wanted it. But the song had been snatched away by BSK, a mere mid-tier company.
“Those arrogant fools... What do we do now?”
“......”
As the employee hesitated, Jung Young-do paused, then abruptly widened his eyes.
“Hey, call the casting team leader.”
Taein, a corporate giant, maintained a dedicated casting team. Originally formed for street scouting, it now specialized in poaching promising trainees from rival agencies.
“You needed me?”
The casting team leader hurried in, and Jung Young-do asked, “Any trainees BSK’s about to debut that we’ve targeted?”
“Yes. One refused us because their debut’s imminent.”
“Who?”
“This one here.”
Jung Young-do studied the trainee indicated by the team leader. “Sweeten the offer. Promise immediate placement in the debut lineup.”
“But... will that work?”
“Would anyone reject a major agency’s offer over some small company?”
“True.”
It was an irresistible proposition. However reputable BSK was, Taein remained Taein. While BSK boasted groups like Daydream, Taein’s subsidiaries housed multiple such acts. Even in decline, debuting under Taein’s name ensured reliable payouts.
“They’re guaranteed to debut there?”
“If they owe BSK debts for their debut, we’ll cover it. We’ll handle settlements cleanly. Would they still say no?”
“It’s solid, but... are we actually debuting them right away?”
“We have a debut team ready. Toss them in—no guarantees they’ll make the final cut. We’re only pledging a spot in the lineup, not a debut.”
Jung Young-do smirked coldly.
“They leave us and steal our song?”
He intended to demonstrate exactly what happens to those who cross him.
“They want a second single too?”
Ji-young twitched an eyebrow at Ellis’s request.
“Yes. To maintain momentum for six months post-debut, we need the next album prepped early.”
Ji-young grinned and poked Ellis’s side.
“So you’re committing to them long-term?”
Ellis smiled and slid a business card across.
“Oh? What’s this? You’re locking them down?”
“Just three digital singles and one full album. Nothing’s decided beyond that.”
Three digital singles and an album meant she’d guide the group until they stabilized—a risky move, but it secured her income. Most importantly, it let her mold a group entirely to her vision.
“Their talent’s exceptional. With proper nurturing, all that ‘Taein privilege’ nonsense will vanish.”
Ji-young nodded, then sobered.
“But be careful. Taein never lets anyone slip away quietly. You know that, right?”
“...How couldn’t I?”
Most who left Taein struggled for years to find footing. Many vanished entirely. The company crushed those who dared exit on bad terms.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll succeed regardless.”
Ji-young, a industry veteran, silently studied Ellis’s determined face.
Yes, she had the skill.
But Ellis, raised like a hothouse flower within Taein, knew exactly how the company dismantled talented defectors.
They’d suffocate her.
Broadcast bans.
Vanishing opportunities.
Closed doors at every pitch.
Shattered mental health.
Forced exits.
Ji-young had witnessed it endlessly.
She ached at the thought of Ellis’s confidence—and brilliance—being crushed to dust.
But talent that even those who endure through hardships and try to suppress cannot dare to touch will eventually shine.
“You’ll do well, I’m sure of it.”
At those words, Ellis grinned and said,
“If I’d started alone and Taein had meddled, I probably couldn’t have handled it.”
“Huh?”
“I have a mentor advising me, and there’s also the star composer. I’m certain I’ll succeed this time and crush Taein’s pride.”
Ah, so she had a secret card up her sleeve.
Though that card itself was a gamble.
Still, it held merit.
He was a genius composer who’d even resurrected the career of the late Kim Beom-shin.
“Anyway, I’ll talk to Yeonwoo. He might respond immediately. These days, he does nothing but compose except when going to daycare.”
“Daycare… haha.”
“Yes, he adores it so much… Oh, look. Our Yeonwoo.”
Jiyeong extended her phone, displaying Yeonwoo in his daycare uniform standing at strict attention.
“Oh my, he’s adorable!”
“Right? In moments like these, he’s pure innocence. But when music’s involved…”
“What happens?”
“He lectures me relentlessly about my shortcomings.”
“Even to his aunt?”
“No exceptions with music. He definitely inherited that from his grandmother.”
As their laughter filled the room during Jiyeong’s family stories, the doorbell chimed.
Ding-dong—
Both women turned toward the intercom.
“Who’s visiting at this hour?”
It was that ambiguous time before dinner.
Even for night-owl artists, this was an inconvenient time for unannounced visits.
“Is that Dahyun?”
“Huh?”
Ellis sprang from her seat.
“Why would she come?”
Seventeen-year-old Dahyun, a high school sophomore, typically went straight from class to practice.
By this hour, she should be rehearsing or dining with debut team members.
“Dahyun, what’s wrong?”
“Teacher…”
“What happened?”
The troubled girl pulled something from her pocket.
“A business card?”
Ellis examined the card.
“…Taein?”
Watching Ellis stiffen, Jiyeong thought: It begins.
“This Taein card – you met them?”
“Yes. They asked me to transfer…”
Dahyun continued cautiously, gauging Ellis’ reaction.
“They offered to pay my penalty fee and place me in Taein’s debut team.”
Ellis’ voice tightened.
“You’re telling me this because you refused, right?”
“My recordings are done. Why would I leave? I’m the main vocalist.”
Dahyun saw no logic in joining Taein’s uncertain debut team when her own debut loomed.
Five years at BSK created loyalty, but more importantly – Ellis’ Taein success story, company support, and quality tracks outweighed any temptation.
“Smart move. Classic Taein tactics – hijacking rivals’ talents without guaranteed debuts. Their ‘debut team’ has more members than trucks.”
When industry veteran Jiyeong confirmed this, Dahyun exhaled in relief.
But Ellis’ face darkened, having nearly lost her protege.
“How vile… That casting director bastard…”
As she reached for her phone, a KakaoTalk alert froze her hand.
Her expression curdled further.
“What 's wrong?”
“Release… says they can’t handle our choreography.”
Release – Korea’s top choreography team, personally connected to Ellis – had flourished through their collaboration. They’d promised full album choreography.
“They’re ignoring my calls…”
Seeing Ellis’ despair, Jiyeong muttered bitterly:
“Taein’s machinations.”
“But Release wouldn’t normally…”
“No team withstands a major agency’s pressure.”
“What now? Contact Daydream’s choreographers from BSK’s recommendation?”
“If even Release is acting like that, do you think they didn’t have a hand in it? Taein’s people are meticulous when it comes to these underhanded things.”
“Ah… Then what should we do?”
Ellis, experiencing something like this for the first time in her life, looked utterly flustered and lost.
To be fair, at her former agency and even at Taein, she’d been treated like a greenhouse flower—expected only to let her talent bloom. She’d never been taught how to handle messy situations like this.
When you thought about it, the role of a producer was truly brutal.
It wasn’t a place where talent alone could carry you through.
“Should we call CEO Kim Beom-shin?”
“…That man’s practically clueless about the idol industry. It’d be better to talk to Director Park Sang-cheol. Not that a choreography team will materialize overnight, but we can at least prepare elsewhere.”
“The urgent problem is the choreography team. The recording’s done—all that’s left is the choreography.”
“True, but…”
Jiyoung trailed off, hesitating.
‘Should I step in?’
There might be no obligation to help, but Ellis’s talent was undeniable.
Building a favor with her wouldn’t hurt.
Besides, BSK was the company that had debuted her in this industry.
And this album included songs by Yeonwoo, her beloved niece.
If it failed, it would be Yeonwoo’s failure too.
A six-year-old’s first failure—how cruel would that be?
Thinking of Yeonwoo, Jiyoung steeled herself.
“Ah… I was saving this for my own production, but…”
“…What?”
“The choreography team… If you’re okay with it, I might be able to help.”
“You, sunbaenim?”
“I’ll introduce you to a team even Taein can’t interfere with—one that outperforms Release.”
Ellis’s eyes immediately sparkled, bright with hope.
