Under the bitter night air of Seoul, the girl stared at Sol-woo. Curious about the combination of his features and the unusual color of his eyes, she decided to break the ice in English — testing him to confirm the theory forming in her head:
"How are you?"
Sol-woo looked at her calmly, allowed a faint smile, and answered in fluid English:
"I’m good, and you?"
She waited a second, expecting something more. After all, answering a greeting that basic was something anyone could manage. Intending to actually measure him, she shifted her speech pattern and began expressing herself with a marked Canadian accent — weaving her words together with a playful, puzzle-like rhythm, like someone throwing down a subtle challenge.
Sol-woo caught the move immediately. He found the gesture amusing, so he played along — matching her with the same ease and naturalness.
They were mid-exchange when the sound of a motor interrupted the scene. A classic car pulled up to the curb and the driver’s window came down. It was the manager.
Tae-shik took a quick look from his seat. Seeing the girl’s figure bundled in oversized sportswear, he recognized the unmistakable look of a trainee — though guessing which agency was impossible. But catching Sol-woo’s relaxed smile, his caution alarm went off immediately.
"Sol-woo-ssi, we need to go," Tae-shik said in a firm, hurried tone.
Sol-woo nodded without objecting. He turned to the girl and said goodbye with a courteous gesture.
She, still energized from the exchange, stepped forward and asked in English before he got into the car:
"Will you be back around here?"
Sol-woo didn’t answer the question. He simply gave her one last unreadable smile and got in. Tae-shik pressed the accelerator and the car pulled back into the avenue.
Already on their way, the manager was preparing to deliver a lecture about why Sol-woo should avoid that kind of encounter on the street — but Sol-woo got there first, calmly:
"I know — but we ran into each other by accident. I just helped her with her payment, nothing major. Besides... she’s just a kid."
Tae-shik considered it for a moment. He recalled the unmade, markedly young face of the girl he’d just seen through the window, and ended up nodding.
"True — but the way she was dressed, she’s definitely a trainee from one of the nearby agencies. For now it’s better to avoid those situations."
Sol-woo nodded in silence. He didn’t give it any more thought — to him, the incident hadn’t meant anything significant.
Back at his apartment, rather than going straight to bed, he chose to ride the momentum. He stood in front of the mirror and vocalized in Korean — working on his diction and the openness of his notes. This time, his voice didn’t sound stiff at all. The improvement was evident after the morning’s work. Tomorrow he would transcribe the corrected lyrics, and by Friday, without question, he would leave the Producer-nim genuinely surprised.
The following day, Sol-woo had just stepped out of the gym when his phone vibrated again. An unknown number blinked on the screen.
It was the third time it had rung that morning. He’d been ignoring it, but he decided to answer and put an end to the persistence. He brought the phone to his ear and heard the voice of a middle-aged man on the other end:
"Hello, hello. I’m Lee Jia, from the talent scouting team at JYP Entertainment. I’d like to schedule a meeting with you as soon as possible."
Sol-woo, without flinching or letting the weight of the agency’s name move him, answered dryly:
"I can’t right now. I’m sorry."
At that moment, Tae-shik stepped out of the gym adjusting his jacket. Noticing the brevity of the exchange and Sol-woo’s expression, he asked who it was.
Sol-woo didn’t hide anything:
"JYP has been calling since early this morning."
Tae-shik nodded with composure. For someone who knew how the industry worked, this was entirely predictable.
"That’s normal," the solidly built manager said. "Come on — let’s go tell the director. Most likely you’ll need to change your number today."
Sol-woo reacted quickly, frowning:
"No, no... what about my contacts?"
Tae-shik let out a deep laugh that echoed through the hallway, looking at Sol-woo with amusement.
"I’m not sure if I’m the old-fashioned one or you are, kid. Moving a contact list to a new number takes a couple of minutes."
Sol-woo brought a hand to the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. He’d responded on impulse, without thinking it through.
Both headed straight to the agency. Director Yoon was already waiting in his office and waved them in immediately. Sol-woo relayed what had happened — explaining that JYP’s contact attempts had begun first thing that morning.
The director let out a slow breath, leaning back in his leather chair:
"I expected this, honestly... but they moved faster than I thought. The most urgent thing in these cases is usually changing the phone number to cut off the trail. However, if we shut the door on them that abruptly, we risk creating an unnecessary rift with them down the line."
Sol-woo understood the point immediately. In the future, when he debuted, he would very likely have to cross paths or interact with artists and executives from that and other major agencies — he couldn’t afford to act rashly or immaturely.
"Whatever you decide, Director," he answered with respect.
Director Yoon studied him for a moment and nodded. But just as Sol-woo was about to step toward the door to head to his training, the executive stopped him:
"Sol-woo-ssi... what do you think?"
Sol-woo was caught off guard by the sudden question, but he structured his answer quickly with his characteristic maturity:
"I think I should keep this number and simply avoid the calls for a while. At least until we officially announce that I’ve already signed a contract with MNO."
The director nodded, pleased with the young man’s judgment. It was a sensible plan. He gestured for him to go.
The moment the door closed and Sol-woo’s footsteps faded down the hallway, the director’s expression shifted. He looked at the manager with a serious eye:
"Has anything else come up?"
Tae-shik, fulfilling his role as a loyal subordinate, reported everything with precision — the brief encounter the night before with the trainee outside the café, and how the strict routine of these past few days was clearly doing Sol-woo a world of good.
"Sol-woo-ssi is someone with a very firm character and an irreproachable work ethic," the manager added. "We should trust him."
Director Yoon nodded — though a faint trace of concern remained in his eyes.
"I trust him, Tae-shik... But I don’t trust those agencies. You know perfectly well that if they put their minds to it, they can offer him a contract that dwarfs ours entirely. And the termination clause we negotiated with him is practically pocket change for those giants."
Tae-shik sighed quietly. That was the constant risk of small or emerging agencies — they could only lean on the artist’s loyalty and judgment. But in the world of business there were always surprises, and that was exactly why signed contracts existed: to protect a given word with ink.