The Walls of a Small Agency

After wrapping up their radio schedule, Pentagram stopped by the offices of Star Entertainment. The theme for their upcoming “self-produced content”—often called Ja-kun—was centered around their agency.

As hinted by its somewhat dated name, Star Entertainment was a company with a relatively long history in the industry. However, considering it had survived over a decade in the cutthroat entertainment world and had produced a hit group like Pentagram, the scale of the company was surprisingly meager.

The office occupied three floors of a worn-out, five-story building that was mostly vacant, and the facilities were dilapidated in many ways. It was almost hard to believe that all the members had trained and practiced here until Pentagram’s success allowed them to rent external practice rooms.

The soundproofing in the practice rooms was so poor they couldn’t even play music after sunset. The equipment in the in-house studio was old and prone to frequent breakdowns. For the staff in the offices below, enduring the constant thumping from above was just a part of their workday. Since there was no budget for interior design, visitors often questioned if the place was actually an entertainment agency.

The core of this content was to show the passionate idols who achieved success despite such a harsh environment, while also highlighting the members’ close-knit relationship with the staff.

Ha-un, excited to show off his status as a temporary music show MC, vibrantly introduced various parts of the office. A PR staff member followed behind him with a camera.

“And here is the ‘Mistress of the Inner Quarters’ of our company, Team Leader Lee Yu-jin!”

There was no need to manufacture fake intimacy for the camera. Being a small company, there were few employees, and most of them had been with the group since before Pentagram was even formed—close enough to speak casually to the idols.

“Lee Ha-un, do you even know what ‘Mistress of the Inner Quarters’ means?”

“Se-han Hyung, what do you take me for? Uh, well, it means…”

“First of all, can you correct the ‘Mistress’ part? I’m still a single woman who hasn’t married yet.”

Yu-jin, the leader of the Content Business Team, cooperated with Ha-un’s banter despite looking a bit stiff in front of the camera. In the free-spirited atmosphere of Star Entertainment, where boundaries between celebrities and staff often blurred, she set aside her usual strictness.

Encouraged by this new side of the normally terrifying team leader, Ha-un continued to chatter excitedly.

“Wait, is ‘Mistress’ an insult? Then Team Leader, you have to scold Yong-ha Hyung! He’s the one who gave you that nickname.”

“It’s a good thing, you punk. Did you think I’d talk bad about the Team Leader behind her back?”

“Team Leader Lee, I hope you don’t address the boys like that outside? Even if you’re the manager, you shouldn’t treat them so carelessly.”

“It… it was a slip of the tongue. Ahem, don’t forget to cut that out during editing.”

Seeing even Yong-ha, a fellow team leader, walking on eggshells around Yu-jin, it seemed the “Mistress” nickname wasn’t entirely off the mark.

And just like that nickname implied, Yu-jin knew the members of Pentagram inside and out after watching them for so long. There was no way she would fail to notice a member who was uncharacteristically silent throughout the filming.

Especially when that member wasn’t Noah, who was usually prickly and sensitive, or Go-un, who was silent to a fault, but Ji-ho—the one who always tried his hardest.

Since they were scheduled to move straight into a birthday live stream for Go-un after the short shoot, everyone was moving without rest. The members headed to the empty practice room floor, and most of the office staff cleared out.

Seeing Ji-ho remaining behind alone until the end, Yu-jin approached him.

“Ji-ho, are you feeling sick anywhere?”

“Huh? Me? No. I’m perfectly fine. Why? Did I look pale on camera?”

“Not quite that, but I’m glad you’re okay. Must have been my imagination.”

Ji-ho’s naturally fair skin was indeed looking quite pale, but it was hard to tell if it was just the broadcast makeup or a genuine health issue.

A flicker of concern crossed the face of the team leader, who was known for her cold personality. As someone who knew exactly how grueling the schedule was for an idol during promotions, she seemed genuinely worried about the Pentagram members.

Ji-ho forced a smile for her. The thought that someone at the company still cared about him made the smile he had been faking all day feel a little more natural.

Then, a thought he had been dwelling on surfaced automatically.

‘Should I ask Team Leader about Kim Jun-o?’

Even though he knew Jae-in’s words lacked reality, the lingering unease wouldn’t disappear. He wanted to ask right then and there why the company would be in contact with Jun-o, the trainee who had been ousted.

But Ji-ho couldn’t bring himself to mention Jun-o’s name. Instead, he recalled the advice he’d heard from the designer at the salon earlier that morning.

‘Ji-ho, you have to demand things strongly from the company. In this industry, being “kind” is synonymous with being “incapable.”’

Following the group’s concept was important, and the current album was performing well as a result. However, with promotions coming to an end, Ji-ho wondered if he could afford to be a little selfish.

“If I feel unwell, I’ll let you know right away, so don’t worry. But Team Leader, about the… Summer Special Stage on SBC. You said one member from our group would be selected for it. Has it been decided who will do it?”

“Hmm? It’s unusual for you to ask me a question like that, Ji-ho. The station hasn’t confirmed it yet. We need them to give us the details soon so we can start preparing.”

“Could I… possibly be the one to do that stage?”

“What?”

Yu-jin stared at Ji-ho with wide eyes, genuinely shocked.

Seeing her reaction, Ji-ho immediately felt a pang of regret. His brain told him he had made a mistake. No matter how much Star Entertainment prided itself on the closeness between staff and artists, the woman in front of him was still a high-ranking executive leading a team.

His worry was justified. The voice that had softened with concern for Ji-ho was suddenly replaced by her usual professional coldness.

“First, I have to point one thing out. Ji-ho, did you ask the other members for their opinion on this? Or talk to the management team?”

“…No.”

“You realize this is a different matter from requesting a schedule change due to health issues, right? Having spent so much time as a trainee, you should have been trained on what kind of problems arise when a member makes a personal request to the company without consulting the team.”

No matter how unified a group was, there was no stopping the difference in popularity between members, and the resulting friction was a common issue for idol groups. Yu-jin was pointing out that one member’s greed for the spotlight could easily lead to discord within the team.

Her icy warning was logically flawless. Ji-ho wanted to tell her that this wasn’t just about a simple desire for more screen time—that it was becoming too hard for him to keep promoting while his very self was being denied—but strangely, the words wouldn’t come out.

“……”

“Why do you think Team Leader Jin doesn’t ask other teams for help and pulls all-nighters on the road himself, even when management is short-staffed? The system where artist requests must go through the management team to the company doesn’t exist for no reason.”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly. Yong-ha Hyung has seemed so exhausted lately… I thought sharing my concerns with him would be a burden, so I made a mistake with you, Team Leader.”

“Right. I’m sure you only spoke up because you were troubled. I’m not saying your opinion is wrong. You understand what I mean, right?”

“Yes. Thank you for listening to me.”

As Ji-ho obediently admitted his fault, Yu-jin’s stiff expression softened again. However, the shadow that had settled in Ji-ho’s eyes did not lift so easily.

The will he had harbored for so long had been dismissed the moment he put it into action. He couldn’t tell if it was because his method was wrong, or if what he had wished for was simply wrong from the start.

***************************************

‘OurVerse’ was the most famous platform for communication between idols and their fans. Unlike YouTube, which was for the general public, it was a system where paid fans could watch daily live streams of their idols.

Because of this, hosting a live broadcast on OurVerse was practically mandatory on a member’s birthday.

“Happy birthday to you—”

One wall of the practice room was already decorated with party supplies, and candles were lit on a cake on a small table. The birthday live began with Go-un sitting in the center while the members standing behind him sang the birthday song.

[Go-un, thank you for being born ♥♥♥]

[happy birthdayyyyyyyyy!!!!]

[Choi Go-un, the most precious person, you are a light just by existing. I love you.]

[We love u]

[♥♥♥]

[Noah, don’t leave the screen :(]

[It’s so good to see them all gathered for a birthday.]

[Server please stay up]

[HAPPY GOWOON DAY]

Even though it was midday when most would be busy with their lives, the chat speed continued to accelerate. While there were occasional strange comments, most were celebratory messages for Go-un. The members could read the chat through an additional phone set up alongside the filming camera.

Even though Go-un was the star, leaving the stoic man alone would have resulted in dead air throughout the broadcast. While his solo fans might enjoy his silence, they couldn’t just let it stay that way.

Unlike content that could be edited after filming, a live broadcast carried the risk of slips of the tongue. Therefore, Se-han took the lead in hosting instead of Ha-un. After the birthday boy blew out the candles with his usual expressionless face, Se-han selected appropriate questions from the slow-mode chat and read them aloud.