Hanging off Sung Jiwon like a sloth, Jung Dajun shouted loudly,
“Eh?! Hoyun-hyung, you’re not coming back to the dorm?!”
“The company. I left my wallet there.”
“Ehh? Can’t you just get it tomorrow?!”
“I’ll be quick.”
A faint silence followed before Kim Sunghyun waved his hand and turned toward the entrance.
“...Come back soon.”
Curling my lips slightly, I closed the van door and leaned back into the seat.
There was no way I was really going to the company at this late hour just to find a wallet.
It was a pathetic lie, but the members still let me go.
They trusted that I wouldn’t do anything that could harm The Dawn.
The van entered the WH Entertainment building.
As soon as we parked, I thanked the manager for his work and got into the elevator. My fingers didn’t press the floor where the practice rooms were, but the one above—where the management team’s offices were located.
With a chime, the doors slid open to reveal a dimly lit hallway.
Walking straight ahead, I turned the corner and headed toward the faint light spilling from the management team’s office.
Knock, knock.
Holding the half-open door, I stepped inside. Passing a line of empty desks, I reached the only one still lit by a laptop screen. Cute decorations and a calendar with today’s date circled in red caught my eye.
Korean Music Awards!!
Scanning the desk, I pulled up a chair and sat down, lightly tapping the edge of the partition with my curled fingers.
“Do you have a minute to talk?”
The person sitting at the far end didn’t even look up from the monitor before answering.
“Seo Hoyun-ssi, isn’t it a little too late for a meeting?”
“It’s a good time for private conversations.”
At that, Jung Seonui finally sighed softly and raised her head, peering at me through her glasses. It had been a while since we met in person—she looked far more exhausted than before.
“Team Leader Jung, did you watch the Korean Music Awards?”
“I received the report.”
“Then you already know the result... or maybe you knew beforehand?”
Without changing expression, Jung Seonui slowly closed her laptop.
“If you came here to ask for the judges’ scores, you should leave. That’s not something I can give you.”
“I don’t care about the scores—”
It was a ceremony already over.
There was no point in checking what couldn’t be changed.
“—I want to know why The Dawn ended up blacklisted.”
That was the real problem now—to figure out what had caused today’s disaster.
Only then could I come up with a countermeasure.
It was clearly tipping in our favor.
Based on all my calculations, The Dawn had higher album sales. The only way the result could have flipped was if the judges’ scores had leaned heavily toward Hi-Five.
From smaller shows to the GMA (Green Music Awards), the Mango Music Awards, and now the Korean Music Awards—
At least one of them should have given us a grand prize. The fact that we’d been systematically excluded could only mean someone was blocking us from behind the scenes. And that someone was almost certainly WH Entertainment.
But why?
When Daepaseong was first acquired by WH Entertainment, The Dawn had been nothing more than the leftover baggage that came with Min Jiheon—a minor nuisance on Hi-Five’s path.
But now that we’d become a goose laying golden eggs, there was no logical reason to suppress us.
Jung Seonui removed her glasses, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose before asking sharply,
“What difference does it make? The result can’t be changed anyway.”
“Why not?”
I flipped through the calendar, muttering under my breath.
“There’s still the Seoul Music Record Awards.”
The Dawn was nominated there too, in one of the general categories—‘Song of the Year.’
Meaning, I still had one more chance at a grand prize.
Even if it was a tough award for idols to win, if I found out the reason behind today’s outcome, maybe I could still find a way to turn things.
Just then, Jung Seonui’s hand reached out and neatly turned the calendar back.
“Seo Hoyun-ssi.”
“......”
“Do you really believe that?”
At that moment, I realized something.
Up until now, I’d thought The Dawn was just being pushed around by company politics or maybe by Daepaseong’s CEO’s incompetence. But that wasn’t it.
“...Why?”
The faint traces of caution and hostility scattered in the air suddenly focused sharply on me.
“Why can’t I dream of it?”
I couldn’t understand.
Since joining WH Entertainment, I hadn’t done anything that could be held against me.
Jung Seonui met my gaze squarely, sighed, then tilted her head slightly.
“...Since there’s at least a bit of rapport between us, I’ll tell you one thing.”
Resting her chin on one hand, she began flatly, without emotion.
“A few months °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° ago, the management team at WH Entertainment received a rather unusual directive. It was about handling a certain person—someone who knows you quite well.”
My brow twitched.
Normally, issues like that got filtered through reception. Even family or personal trouble was handled at the manager level.
“We received a tip that someone operating between legality and illegality has been helping Seo Hoyun-ssi both financially and personally.”
Hearing that, I remembered how Jung Seonui had started avoiding me outright around that time. I’d brushed it off then.
But now, a sticky unease crept up from my toes, clinging like tar.
Right—since joining WH Entertainment, I hadn’t made any major mistakes.
“But the attached files didn’t look fake enough to dismiss as nonsense. The informant demanded a favor—said if we didn’t want those materials to leak, we should show sincerity. It was unprecedented, and we were all shocked. After all—”
But if this had been before I joined WH Entertainment—
“—what kind of idol keeps contact with a paparazzo and trades information?”
A dry laugh escaped my lips.
I rubbed my forehead with my palm.
“...So the company held an emergency meeting, right? To evaluate whether I was suitable as an idol.”
She didn’t need to answer. I already knew.
“We concluded that you were a liability. So, to answer your question about whether The Dawn was originally meant to win the grand prize...”
Creeeeak—
Jung Seonui released her chin and leaned slowly against the chair, as if letting the silence simmer.
“Well, let’s just say I don’t have enough loyalty to tell you that much. Think whatever you like.”
But her eyes and expression said enough.
It had been ours.
When she’d asked whether I really thought the result could be overturned, the answer was already implicit.
“...So that’s it.”
Even long after she finished speaking, I couldn’t stop laughing quietly, like an idiot.
“All this... happened because of that?”
Because my background got exposed.
From the sound of it, Kim Jaeyeon hadn’t handed the information over directly.
Of course not—he had his own dirt with the chaebol scandal I’d blackmailed him with. He wouldn’t dare. Which meant someone else had stepped in.
Jung Seonui looked straight at me, her tone calm.
“Only a handful of people know this. The legal affairs head, myself, the executive director, vice president, and president. We decided to bury the case and give you one more chance. So don’t expect The Dawn’s last year’s albums to earn anything. And no—this decision won’t change at the Seoul Music Record Awards either.”
Her words pierced like a blade. I closed my eyes.
Ha...
Could I still turn this around?
Could we win at Seoul Music Record Awards?
It wasn’t impossible—but the methods I had in mind were all illegal.
If it were only me, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d already have done it.
But now, I had members whose careers depended on staying clean.
I was stupid.
As irritation rose, I remembered what Joo Woosung had once told me.
“Our company’s terrifying, man. It runs purely on profit. No such thing as ‘precious artists.’ People are just numbers—one flaw, and they toss you out.”
He’d been right.
“If I’d done something more serious than dating—something truly damaging—they’d have replaced me in a heartbeat.”
Jung Seonui said they gave me one more chance.
Meaning, WH Entertainment had decided I was still profitable—for now.
A corporation that coldly calculated every move probably planned to sit on the scandal for now and reopen opportunities later.
“...Can I ask one thing?”
Without waiting for her response, I continued.
“If I were famous enough—if my influence outweighed the scandal—could I have still won?”
“...Hah.”
She let out a dry, incredulous laugh, her tone mocking.
“You really are something, Seo Hoyun-ssi. I never imagined I’d get that kind of question. Though... I suppose such a thing might happen.”
“......”
“And still, I can only give you the same answer. I don’t think our relationship warrants that kind of disclosure.”
She must’ve been worn out too, having to handle the aftermath of all this.
Staying longer wouldn’t get me anything new. I stood up.
“I apologize for coming so late. I’ll take my leave.”
As I pushed the chair back to its original spot and started to walk away—
“Seo Hoyun-ssi.”
She hesitated for a moment, then spoke quietly.
“May I ask you something too?”
When I turned, her gaze was steady on me. Still uneasy, but firm. I nodded.
“Yes, go ahead.”
“Do you regret it?”
Regret what?
“Colluding with the paparazzi. Using him to screw others over.”
Her voice stayed dry.
“And selling out your own past to win.”
“Would my answer change anything about this situation?”
“No. I don’t have that kind of power.”
“Then I have neither obligation nor reason to answer.”
I turned toward the door.
What a joke.
Regret?
There was no such useless word in my life. I’d always believed there was nothing more meaningless than wasting time on an unchangeable past.
But this time was different.
Because it involved Seo Hojin—
I had no choice but to acknowledge my mistake.
“Of course...”
Gripping the doorknob, I answered.
“I regret it.”
That I hadn’t hidden it better.
