After the contract signing, Sol-woo was given two days of relative calm to rest and get his things in order. He had enough clothes and the essentials packed into a couple of suitcases, waiting only for the call that would mark the official start of his new Chapter.
During those two days, his mother didn’t stop bombarding him with questions about what had happened inside the office — and above all, about the strange haste with which lawyer Park had said his goodbyes without explanation. Sol-woo simply didn’t know what to tell her, because he didn’t understand the sudden disappearance either. What was clear was that he owed the man a thank-you call — Park Seung-won’s composure and professionalism at the negotiating table had been impeccable.
His uncle Min-ho, for his part, chose to get back to his regular work schedule as soon as his questions were answered. After that day they barely crossed paths — Min-ho also understood that the new manager had been categorical: the transport and custody of the young man would fall strictly under the agency’s responsibility.
Online, the initial wave was beginning to settle. The YouTube video climbed from 20,000 to 25,000 plays before its growth leveled off at that figure. A natural phenomenon — noticing that the account had gone quiet with no interaction from the author, the algorithm cooled its initial push, leaving the comments section filled with curious viewers waiting for some kind of movement.
Then came the afternoon of March 25th. The date stared back at him from his phone screen with complete indifference. The day before, Sol-woo had tried to call his father in the States to inform him of the legal details — but the call went straight to voicemail. Sol-woo put his phone away without dwelling on it. From the moment he’d made the decision to pursue music, he’d known that sooner or later he’d have to face that distance. Right now, his mind needed to be a hundred percent on his career.
Then his phone began to vibrate. He looked at the screen — Tae-shik. He answered immediately:
"Yes, Mr. Manager?"
On the other end, the manager’s low, measured voice was brief and to the point:
"Come down. I’m outside."
Sol-woo let out a short breath. He hadn’t even had time to straighten his clothes — but knowing how strict the manager was about punctuality, he didn’t give it another thought. He grabbed his two packed suitcases and headed downstairs.
Stepping out of the building, he found Kang Tae-shik standing beside the car. He was dressed casually, but his physical presence commanded the same respect as always.
"Sol-woo-ssi, do you have everything?" Tae-shik asked with a nod. "Your apartment is ready."
"Yes, all set," Sol-woo replied.
He hadn’t been able to say goodbye to his mother in person — she’d stepped out to run errands at that hour. It didn’t worry him too much. He wasn’t leaving Seoul, and he’d be able to visit whenever his schedule allowed. He understood perfectly well that moving into agency-assigned housing was standard industry protocol. Agencies preferred to keep their talent in strategic, controlled locations — to prevent media harassment, filter out social complications, and respond immediately to any situation that might arise. It was a rule he would follow without question.
Tae-shik opened the trunk to load the suitcases and Sol-woo headed toward the passenger seat. When he got a proper look at the car, he couldn’t help but be quietly impressed.
It was a first-generation Hyundai Sonata — a classic model from the late eighties and early nineties. Despite its age, the bodywork wore an immaculate coat of paint and the interior still carried the smell of perfectly maintained leather upholstery. It was immediately clear that the manager didn’t just use the car to get around — he was a genuine enthusiast and collector of classic Korean engineering.
The soft rumble of the Sonata’s engine accompanied them as they drove. Tae-shik kept his eyes on the road, but after a few minutes broke the silence with an unusual candor:
"Sol-woo-ssi... I know I may have left a poor impression with my personality and how direct I was during the meeting. But it was necessary."
His tone, though firm, carried a genuine note of something close to an apology. Sol-woo turned his head slightly toward him and answered without hesitation:
"You did nothing wrong, Mr. Manager. In your role, I fully accept your advice and your criticism. Ideally, we build a healthy and transparent working relationship between the two of us."
Tae-shik was quietly impressed by the young man’s maturity. It wasn’t common to find a nineteen-year-old with that kind of steadiness.
"Exactly," the manager agreed. "Moving on — we’ve already brought on the person who’ll handle the digital and social media side. She’s waiting for us at the agency, so we’ll head there first. After that, I’ll take you to your apartment."
Sol-woo nodded and took the opportunity to ask about one of his bigger concerns:
"And what about my protocol and etiquette instructor?"
For Sol-woo, correcting that as soon as possible was essential. As someone who wanted to connect with an audience, he understood that adapting to Korea’s strict social standards and customs was fundamental to not putting a foot wrong.
"For now, the social media manager will guide you through the basics while we bring on a specialist dedicated to that full time," Tae-shik explained.
Sol-woo nodded, satisfied, and the conversation stopped there. Tae-shik was a man who said exactly what needed to be said — once a point was made, he had no issue sitting in silence. For Sol-woo it was a relief: not being someone driven by the need to fill the air with empty talk, he found that quiet atmosphere perfectly comfortable.
He checked his phone briefly. No relevant notifications.
Then Tae-shik’s personal phone started ringing insistently from its mount on the dashboard. Director Yoon. Since the manager was focused on the busy avenue ahead, Sol-woo offered immediately:
"Would you like me to hold the phone so you can take it?"
Tae-shik gave a slight nod. Sol-woo answered the call and held the device on speaker toward the driver’s side.
On the other end, PD-nim Yoon’s voice came through loaded with excitement and a noticeable urgency:
"Tae-shik! Listen — the first rumors are starting to circulate on the Nate Pann forums. A thread about the mixed-background kid’s video is gaining real traction! Please tell Sol-woo-ssi not to post anything on his socials — leave all the management entirely to us. This is perfect for building a promotional roadmap ahead of announcing his official entry into the agency."
Tae-shik’s expression didn’t shift, but the faintest trace of satisfaction crossed his eyes as he replied:
"Understood. Sol-woo-ssi is right here beside me and heard you clearly. We’ll be at the office in a few minutes."
"Excellent — I’ll be waiting!" the director said before hanging up.
Back in the Cheongdam-dong office, Director Yoon set his phone down on the desk and let out a breath of pure adrenaline. Beside him, Shinsadong Tiger wore a wide smile, a cup of warm tea in hand. The two of them had been in the middle of a quiet break when the forum notification had lit up on the agency’s screens.