Smoke drifted into the sky from the small balcony.
Adding a bit more gray to the already hazy sky, I continued my train of thought.
“Taking a break?”
“…Soo-yeon.”
Seo Suyeon stepped onto the barely one-pyeong-sized balcony, pulled out an e-cigarette, and exhaled a puff like I did.
“Didn’t you quit?”
“I thought you might be bored smoking alone.”
“…Not really, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
With a faint, sweet scent of strawberries, Seo Soo-yeon asked.
“Something bothering you?”
“I live with worries all the time. Brooding’s sort of a habit of mine.”
“Is it about the girls?”
“…”
By now, it wasn’t something I needed to act coy about.
Looking at the cloudy sky with equally clouded eyes, I spoke calmly.
“I’ve come to terms with the reality that the time I have with the girls of Girl Revolution can’t go on forever.”
“Is it because their contract period is nearing its end?”
“Yes. I used to take it for granted that we’d re-sign, but now I realize that might not be what the girls want.”
Idols have short shelf lives. Even so, being active for seven years is more than enough to be considered long-lived.
But instead of accepting that fact, I kept looking only toward what came next.
Everything I did lately was for “the next thing.”
“Honestly, even putting so much effort into this concert was part of wanting to impress the girls. A way of saying, ‘Even if TwoBear isn’t big, we’re not a shabby agency.’ Just… sucking up, basically.”
“…”
“So, asking for a re-sign… no, begging them to think positively of it. Yes, it was begging.”
Seo Soo-yeon turned off her e-cig and looked up at the sky like I did.
Then she said,
“So that’s what motivated your recent risky decisions.”
“Risky decisions?”
“Savers, 2SE, PD Park Kangchan, actor Yeom Kyunggu, the variety show Girl Wars—those things.”
“…”
Each of them was a calculated move I made, knowing full well people might criticize them as immoral—because they were quests.
“I tried not to let anyone find out… and yet, it was all known.”
“Don’t be too discouraged. If I hadn’t heard it from President Cheon, I wouldn’t have known either.”
“Haha… oddly comforting.”
Watching me let out a weak laugh, Seo Soo-yeon spoke respectfully.
“All of it was effective. As the one managing our finances, I can say this with confidence—your decisions brought enormous benefits to Girl Revolution. However… I still don’t understand why you insist on shouldering so much risk and responsibility alone. Your achievements are already incredible. No one would ever deny that.”
“It was like… an obsession.”
“Obsession?”
“Yes. I thought—if I didn’t choose the absolute best option for the girls at every moment, then there’d be no reason for them to stay with TwoBear… or for me to stay as their manager.”
Yuri, Gaeul, Gyeoul, Yeoreum—they’re all incredibly talented.
They could go anywhere and succeed. They’re that professional.
Which is why what they truly needed… was TwoBear. No—me.
“So I always chose the best I could. What happened to me because of it didn’t matter. I believed that was the bare minimum to deserve standing next to Girl Revolution, the best idol group. But lately, I’ve started to wonder if that was all just my own selfishness.”
“…Why do you think that?”
“Because… the girls might want to quit being idols.”
Renewing contracts. Chasing repeat success.
An ever-growing fandom for Girl Revolution.
A model case of a long-running idol group.
It was what I wanted.
Not what they wanted—what I wanted.
“Assuming they’d continue performing might’ve been too much of a stretch. Living as Girl Revolution—constantly judged by the public—might have been closer to pain than pride. Malicious comments, scandals, strict scrutiny, controlled meals, love life, downtime… everything they should’ve taken for granted was monitored or forbidden. If that’s not suffering, what is?”
Even if TwoBear tried to be lenient and respected individual autonomy, an agency was still an agency.
From a typical perspective, we had been restrictive enough. Because “that’s what professionals do,” right?
“So saying, ‘let’s keep going together,’ might just be my one-sided, self-serving wish to stay on as their manager at TwoBear… no, to be precise, I’ve come to realize that it’s very likely that’s the case.”
“That’s what’s bothering you?”
“It’s not a dilemma—it’s regret. Because I already know the answer.”
“What answer have you come to?”
“To let them go.”
Maybe it’s time I stop calling myself their manager.
At some point, I stopped being a pillar they could lean on… and became a weight they couldn’t shake off.
Watching me lay my heart bare, Seo Soo-yeon responded calmly.
“The girls absolutely love being idols. As the one who’s known them the second longest after you, I promise you that. That hasn’t changed.”
“…”
“But if you still have doubts, then instead of taking risks that might make them resent you—do what you’re best at.”
“…And what exactly am I good at?”
All that came to mind were things like whining, putting on airs, pretending to be more than I am.
Seeing me like that, Seo Soo-yeon spoke like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Making people fall in love with being an idol.”
My chest clenched like my heart had skipped a beat.
“…You think I did that?”
“Yes. From the very beginning, until now, always.”
“That can’t be…”
“I told you I’m sure the girls love being idols, didn’t I? And that’s because of you, Manager Seon.”
The master of poker faces, Seo Soo-yeon, finally broke her usual expression and gave me a kind, gentle smile.
“You were the one who taught them how to love.”
There were too many things that could’ve brought down Girl Revolution—a team that always walked on a tightrope.
And yet, I simply continued to hope.
That I could keep spending my days with these girls—under the name Girl Revolution.
Seo Soo-yeon’s words were vague.
I couldn’t quite grasp what it meant, or how I had supposedly done it.
But thanks to her, what I needed to do now felt a little clearer.
It wasn’t something grand.
I would simply do my best—for the girls.
From the past, to the present, and into the future.
That was all.
And so, the day of Girl Revolution’s final concert before their contract renewal arrived.
“Whoa, it’s Team Leader Seon!”
“Dummy, he’s Director Seon now!”
“Same difference.”
“You seriously don’t get it. The salary gap says otherwise.”
“…My bad for talking back. Apologies, Director Seon.”
I herded the noisy kids who were excitedly chanting “Director Seon!” into the VIP seats.
“Um, Director Seon, where should we go?”
“Ah, I’ll get someone to guide you. Chanseong, can you take care of these guests?”
“Got it.”
After sending off the invited guests and getting back to work, someone approached me.
“Um… Director Seon?”
The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but definitely not one of my staff—so I turned around curiously.
A girl-crush style stage outfit, loosely layered with a military jacket, ash-toned hair, and sharp eyes that gave off a slightly fierce vibe.
The main vocalist of Alcest—Cheon Jonghoon’s masterpiece and Girl Revolution’s rival group.
And the one who had tormented Gyeoul the most: Yoon Jeong.
Suppressing the resentment bubbling up in my chest, I replied calmly.
“The green room is around the back—turn right and keep going. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
“No, it’s not that…”
Yoon Jeong looked hesitant, totally unlike her usual sharp, confident persona—as if she had something to say.
Thanks to Cheon Jonghoon’s goodwill, Alcest had agreed to guest despite tensions between fandoms. I should have shown appreciation. But because of what she did to Gyeoul, I couldn’t see her in a good light—and I didn’t wait for her to speak.
“If you’ve got nothing to say, I’ll be going.”
“I-I get why you’re uncomfortable, but please hear me out. This time—this guest appearance? Everyone but Seoa unnie said no at first. I convinced them.”
“…”
That… was unexpected.
Considering how I stormed into SS back in the day and threatened them, I figured Yoon Jeong would’ve been the first to refuse.
I still felt sick thinking of Gyeoul from seven years ago, but she was being surprisingly sincere—so I gave her a slight nod, signaling her to go on.
“So, I… um…”
After fumbling with her words, Yoon Jeong suddenly pulled out a signed fan and a plush doll—the one I remembered from that fan meeting—and declared,
“I’m a fan of yours, Director Seon!”
“…”
…The hell is this nonsense?