A pig-slaughter-like scream echoed in the rented room.
“Fang Zi, you bastard, are you trying to kill me?!” Liang Yun clutched his phone’s microphone tightly, cursing Fang Zi, then, after confirming it was real and not a dream, quickly put the phone back to his ear.
“Yes, yes, of course…”
Liang Yun hung up Director Kim Ji-yeon’s call, frozen in place.
His phone slipped onto the bed with a soft thud.
His mind buzzed, still feeling unreal.
One second he thought it was a scam call, the next it became the sound that would change the trajectory of his life.
Starship, that was Starship!
Although it couldn’t compare to the likes of YG, SM, JYP, or HYBE, it was still a major company!
How could a homebody like him, who could barely manage his own life, be noticed by such a big company?
It was simply unbelievable!
His heart pounded as if it would burst from his chest, his breathing became rapid, and the flush on his face lingered.
Fang Zi, seeing him disoriented, sidled over with a mischievous grin.
“What’s up? Got a scam call from Starship, and it turned out to be your fellow countryman?”
Liang Yun swallowed hard, his voice trembling slightly.
“No… it wasn’t a scam call.” He looked up, his gaze complex, at Fang Zi.
“It’s Starship. It’s the real Starship.”
Fang Zi burst out laughing, patting Liang Yun’s shoulder.
“You’re really something!
You even hung up on them several times!
I told you it was real, didn’t I?” He picked up the fried chicken takeout from the counter, took a bite of a drumstick, and mumbled, “Since it’s real, why aren’t you going already?
A big company like that won’t wait for you too long.”
“Go?” Liang Yun raised a hand to scratch his messy, bird’s nest-like hair, a hint of confusion in his eyes.
“Go where? To Starship?” He imagined himself in a T-shirt and shorts, flip-flops, and disheveled hair, appearing in Starship’s impressive building, and immediately shivered.
He felt his muscles stiffen, as if bound by invisible shackles.
“Ugh…”
“Nonsense! This is such a great opportunity, are you going to wait for them to visit you three times?” Fang Zi said, exasperated.
“This is Starship, after all! How many people are scrambling to get in!”
But Liang Yun wasn’t as excited.
He was a typical homebody, accustomed to life within his comfort zone.
Every day, he’d be in front of his computer, ordering takeout when hungry, sleeping when tired, living freely.
The thought of going to an unfamiliar place, facing unfamiliar people, and dealing with those glamorous celebrities…
just thinking about it made his scalp tingle.
“But… what can I do there? I’m not an idol, and I can’t dance or anything… I can only sing pretty well… And at my age, wouldn’t I be considered old for a trainee?” Liang Yun hesitated.
He had heard that even seventeen or eighteen-year-olds were considered old for trainees nowadays.
“Are you an idiot?! Didn’t they say they value your musical talent! You’re going to be a Producer! A lyricist and composer! Didn’t you always say your dream was to write timeless golden hits? Isn’t this your chance! And you say your singing is ‘pretty well’? Have you forgotten how you mesmerized a group of girls with your singing at that group blind date at KTV?” Fang Zi wished he could crack open Liang Yun’s head to see if it was filled with mush.
Liang Yun was somewhat swayed by Fang Zi’s words, but mostly he felt apprehensive.
He loved music and creation, but he had never imagined entering the entertainment industry in this way.
That dazzling and complex world was too distant and unfamiliar to him.
He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to adapt, afraid he wouldn’t fit in.
“Maybe… I should just forget about it,” he mumbled.
“You damn…” Fang Zi glared at him, then spoke earnestly like an old man, “Let me tell you, if you go now, even if you don’t succeed, at least you’ll have seen the world and gained experience, right? If you don’t go, you’ll definitely regret it later!”
Fang Zi’s words struck Liang Yun like a hammer to the heart.
Regret?
He was indeed afraid of regret.
Rather than regretting not doing something, he would rather regret doing it later.
At least he would have tried.
He watched the snowflakes falling outside the window, struggling for a long time.
Finally, he took a deep breath, as if making a monumental decision.
“Alright! Damn it, what’s the worst that can happen! I’ll go!”
Fang Zi rolled his eyes.
“Oh, please, if someone didn’t know you, they’d think you were going to be a martyr.”
The next morning, Liang Yun took the subway to the Starship Entertainment building, following the address sent by Director Kim Ji-yeon.
“Tsk… it feels a bit shabby, doesn’t it… I thought it would be grander…” Liang Yun muttered softly.
The building’s exterior was a glass curtain wall, gleaming in the winter sun.
Stylishly dressed young people constantly moved in and out, each with a look of confidence and busyness on their faces.
Liang Yun felt out of place, like a sparrow that had wandered into a flock of peacocks.
He looked down at his down jacket, then touched his ordinary face, feeling even less confident.
“Damn it, what’s there to be afraid of? The worst that can happen is I go back as if nothing happened. It’s not like I’m going to die. How pathetic,” he cursed silently, making up his mind.
He steeled himself and walked into the building.
A mix of expensive perfume and a faint antiseptic smell wafted towards him, almost making Liang Yunsneeze.
He explained his purpose at the front desk.
The sweet-smiling receptionist quickly contacted Director Kim Ji-yeon.
Soon after, Kim Ji-yeonemerged from the elevator.
She wore a well-tailored business suit and delicate light makeup, appearing even more capable and beautiful than she sounded on the phone.
“Mr. Liang, hello,” Director Kim Ji-yeon said with a smile, extending her hand.
Liang Yun nervously shook her hand, feeling his palm a little damp.
Her hand was soft and warm, a stark contrast to his own somewhat rough fingertips.
Having rarely interacted with the opposite sex, his cheeks flushed uncontrollably once more.
“D-Director Kim, hello,” he stammered, his eyes instinctively avoiding Kim Ji-yeon’s gaze.
Kim Ji-yeon noticed his nervousness and her smile became even gentler.
“It’s alright, relax. Let’s go to the conference room to talk.”
The conference room was spacious and bright, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the Seoul cityscape.
Liang Yun sat on a soft chair, feeling as if he were dreaming.
Kim Ji-yeon poured him a cup of hot tea, then took out several documents.
“Mr. Liang, our company is very optimistic about your song ‘isolation’. This song not only has a beautiful melody but also profound lyrics, which perfectly resonate with people’s current state of mind,” Director Kim Ji-yeon said directly.
“We hope to sign an exclusive Producer/Lyricist and Composer contract with you and invite you to join Starship.”
Liang Yun listened to Director Kim Ji-yeon’s words, filled with both surprise and joy.
He picked up the contract on the table, a thick stack, with dense Korean characters that made his eyes swim.
He could only roughly make out the big words “Starship Entertainment” and “Exclusive Contract”; as for the other terms, he was completely in the dark.
“Uh… Director Kim, I… I don’t really understand these legal terms.” Liang Yun scratched his head, a little embarrassed.
Kim Ji-yeon smiled and patiently explained, “It’s alright, I’ll briefly explain it to you. This contract mainly establishes your identity as an exclusive Producer/Lyricist and Composer for Starship. The copyright of the songs you create will be jointly owned by the company and you, and the profits will be split according to a certain percentage. The company will provide you with a comprehensive creative environment and resource support, including a recording studio, professional mixers, arrangers, and so on. Of course, we will also arrange some artist collaboration projects for you.”
She explained the various clauses of the contract in detail, including the profit-sharing ratio, contract duration, termination clauses, and so on.
Liang Yunlistened, somewhat dazed, still a bit confused, but he understood the general meaning.
He could feel Director Kim Ji-yeon’s sincerity and Starship’s Pay attention to of him.
“Mr. Liang, do you have any questions?” Director Kim Ji-yeon asked.
Liang Yun thought for a moment.
His most pressing question was actually…
“Um… Director Kim, I’m usually… quite a homebody, I don’t really like going out, and I’m not very good at dealing with strangers,” he said, a little awkwardly.
“If I join the company, will I… have to go to the office every day?”
Director Kim Ji-yeon was taken aback, then let out a chuckle.
She hadn’t expected Liang Yun to ask such a question.
“You can arrange your schedule flexibly according to your creative habits. Of course, if you need to communicate with artists or attend meetings, you will still need to come to the company,” Director Kim Ji-yeon explained.
“Our company values creative freedom and won’t overly interfere with your personal habits.”
Hearing Director Kim Ji-yeon’s answer, Liang Yunbreathed a sigh of relief.
This way, he should still be able to maintain some of his “homebody” life.
He looked at the contract in his hand again, then at Director Kim Ji-yeon’s sincere smile.
He knew this was an opportunity, an opportunity he had never imagined.
To be on the safe side, he took the contract back and asked Fang Zi to find a law student senior to help him review it.
The senior’s reply was, “No major pitfalls, basically no problems.” Liang Yun breathed a sigh of relief.
He finally made up his mind and called Director Kim Ji-yeon.
“Director Kim, I’ve thought it over, I’ll sign!”
Director Kim Ji-yeon chuckled on the other end of the phone, “Welcome to Starship, Liang Yun.”