Chapter 42
Hyunseo: Oppa, did you fight a knife-wielding maniac this time?
Hyunseo: Last time it was someone with a hammer—why do you keep fighting maniacs? Are you okay?
I only found out after getting a private message from Hyunseo.
Apparently, a video of my fight with Park Bong-won had been uploaded to YouTube.
Maybe the uploader panicked over the attention, because the video was deleted quickly—but by then, the contents had already spread far and wide.
My family was in chaos. I can’t even begin to describe how much effort it took to calm down my mother and father.
And it wasn’t just my family who were panicking.
Mina: Oppa, are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?
Nari: Why are you doing the police’s jobㅠㅠ
Hayoung: Oppa, if something happens to you, our entire fortune-telling balance collapses. You really have to take care of yourself.
Dabin: We sent some self-defense gear to your address. Please wear it when you go out.
When I woke up, the NovaGirls group chat was on fire.
Unread messages: 300+.
I’m fine.
I replied belatedly after waking up.
The girls were currently in Paris, France—filming as the promotional models for Sekhmet MycoWorks’ mushroom handbags.
They must have been incredibly busy, yet as soon as I messaged, the replies poured in.
Mina: It’s oppaaa!!
Nari: Oppa, did you go to the hospital?
Hayoung: I saw that bastard Park Bong-won on the news. He deserves to have every bone in his body crushed!
Dabin: We’re flying back Saturday afternoon. Please meet us then!
…What?
The Sekhmet shoot was supposed to continue through Sunday. Why were they coming back Saturday?
When I asked, Hyungsik from the chat sent me a private message.
Hyungsik: The girls completely lost it after seeing the article. They said they wanted to come back right away. But since the team leader told them they must finish the project perfectly, they started filming three extra hours a day.
Hyungsik: The schedule was originally set to accommodate the models, right? The company actually liked the idea of wrapping up early, so they’ve been running themselves ragged the last few days.
“Oh no…”
They were only twenty-one on average—an age to have fun, not overwork themselves.
Even when they went to New York last time, they didn’t get a moment to enjoy the city. I told them not to worry about me, and to take it easy once they finished.
But their responses?
Dabin: Is sightseeing important right now?
Nari: Oppa, you idiot.
Hayoung: Stupid oppa!
Mina: Dummy!
“I really am fine, though…”
I ended the chat and headed out of the house.
But that wasn’t the end of it.
My phone rang—it was Lee Jua.
Jua: Hyunjae, are you going to the office today?
Me: Yeah.
Jua: When?
Me: I’m heading out now. Why?
Jua: Got it.
She hung up.
When I parked at the company, Jua was waiting in front of the underground elevator.
The first time I met her, she wasn’t at all like her reputation—she wasn’t prickly or sharp-tongued.
But right now, she looked exactly as I’d once mistakenly imagined her: face full of irritation, eyes blazing with fury.
Her heels clicked sharply as she walked straight up to me.
Normally, when two people talk face-to-face, about a step and a half apart feels natural, right?
But Jua was standing a full step closer than that—close enough that I could feel the heat rising from her flushed cheeks and see the anger flickering in her eyes.
“Hey. Yoo Hyunjae.”
“Yeah.”
“You know you’re really reckless, right?”
Reckless? I supposed that’s how it might look—after all, most people would think I’d risked my life.
But even without Yangpa’s help, would it really have been reckless?
It was something that held deep meaning for me.
But that wasn’t what she meant. Jua continued, her voice trembling slightly.
“If something bad had happened to you because of this, I would’ve hated Im Yujoo. I would’ve hated her for life—for real. I’d curse her forever. Honestly, I’m still furious right now. You get that? No, you don’t.”
“…”
“Next time, think. When you put yourself in danger, there are people whose hearts nearly explode from worry.”
Her shoulders shook faintly.
“I’ve got a terrible temper, you know. So if you ever get hurt while saving someone again—I’ll never forgive that person.”
“…Got it. Thanks.”
After saying that, she moved to stand beside me.
I glanced at her and said quietly,
“But what if that someone was you?”
Her eyes widened.
“You think… it could be me?”
I nodded.
Of course—it made perfect sense. Jua was also one of those chosen by Yangpa.
After thinking for a moment, she said softly,
“…Doesn’t matter. Even if it’s me, I still couldn’t forgive them.”
Then she lightly jabbed my chest with her fist.
“Hmm…”
Inside, I thought—
I’m safe.
Much safer than people think.
It’s practically like wearing an Iron Man suit 24/7—thanks to Yangpa’s power.
If only people understood that, they wouldn’t worry so much.
How could I explain it to them?
If everyone knew I was basically Iron Man, they wouldn’t freak out when I faced a bank robber, right?
Maybe I should demonstrate my overwhelming power sometime?
…Except Yang-saem doesn’t lend me his power just anytime.
We walked together in silence through the parking lot—then split up, Jua heading to the studio, me to the office.
On the way up, I got another call—this time from Jang Hyung-geon.
Jang: Team Leader Yoo! You should’ve told me something like this happened! Didn’t I say I’d be your loyal servant? How dare someone try to stab my benefactor—how am I supposed to live with that?!
Jang: If anyone ever harms you again, I’ll kill the bastard myself and go to prison! My wife agrees it’s only right!
That delicate, gentle woman said that? Truly, like husband, like wife.
“No, no, please don’t. You’re an actor—you have roles to play.”
Jang: Use me as a stone to be thrown, Team Leader. If you keep putting yourself at risk, I can’t promise what I’ll do!
It took me ages to calm him down.
Legend.
Right now, Yoo Hyunjae was nothing short of a legend at JM Entertainment.
Everywhere you went, you’d hear:
“Did you hear? That ‘Failmoon Gate’ incident—it was handled by Team 3’s Manager Yoo Hyunjae—”
Jealousy? Envy? There was no room for such things.
Those emotions only arise when you think you can compete with someone.
Who could possibly think they were on the same level as Yoo Hyunjae?
To people, he was practically a modern Hong Gil-dong or Jeon Woo-chi—a folk hero.
Now a department head, Jo Minsu looked around the office.
“‘Is that all you’ve got?’ How’s that? Sound similar?”
“Similar my ass. The team leader sounds like he could kill someone with just his tone.”
“Fine, again—‘Is that all you’ve got?’”
“Stop it. You’re ruining the perfect voice of the team leader in my head.”
Hyunjae had no idea there was a secret office trend called ‘Imitating Manager Yoo.’
But it wasn’t mockery—it was admiration, like quoting lines from a famous movie.
And it wasn’t just the younger staff doing it.
Last night, Minsu even caught the 1st and 2nd team leaders goofing around in the lounge.
“If you don’t like it, then forget it.” Damn, so cool. I’ll never get to say something that slick in my life.
“Look in the mirror, Woo-min. Even if you tried, you’d collapse right after saying it. Only Yoo Hyunjae could pull that off.”
“Maybe I should start working out. He does personal training, right? I should ask where.”
“Even if you had his build, you’d never have the guts. That guy’s got backing from gangsters, politicians, and CEOs. He’s a different species.”
A different species.
Minsu agreed completely.
Just look at the recruits Hyunjae brought in.
After La Doremi collapsed, two actors quickly terminated their contracts and joined Team 3.
One was Seo Yoon-woo, a 24-year-old handsome, delicate-featured rookie.
The other was Shin Woo-jin, also 24, who’d started acting at age eight in historical dramas and built an elite career since.
But both came with problems.
Yoon-woo had talent but weak mental stamina. He was overly sensitive to criticism, often losing confidence and spiraling into slumps.
Woo-jin, on the other hand, had the opposite issue—too much confidence. With years of experience and success, he’d become stubborn and refused to listen to managers.
Still, everyone believed Yoo Hyunjae could handle them and turn them into stars.
But a team leader can’t manage every celebrity personally. Matching the right managers was also part of the job.
Hyunjae didn’t even take five minutes to decide:
-
Shin Woo-jin → Ha Ji-seon
-
Seo Yoon-woo → Kim Seung-mok
At first glance, the choices didn’t make sense.
Ji-seon was the youngest and least experienced manager—soft-spoken, timid, easily swayed by her clients, and with the weakest performance record.
Normally, you’d assign a veteran to control someone as prideful as Woo-jin, right?
“Manger Ha Ji-seon, can you step into the meeting room?”
Minsu asked how things were going with Woo-jin.
“Great! Everything’s going really well!”
“Really? No problems at all?”
She wasn’t lying.
“He doesn’t snap at you or ignore you?”
“No, not at all! He even brings me snacks, listens when I suggest ideas—no issues at all! See? The juice CF shoot went smoothly too! I think La Doremi must’ve ruined his image before.”
She was genuinely cheerful.
But Minsu knew Woo-jin’s reputation—he’d seen him in action: constantly irritated, yelling at managers, storming off set when upset.
What the hell happened…?
Curious, Minsu called a lighting director he knew who’d worked on that CF.
Director: “Oh, the female manager? That was hilarious. Woo-jin would start to get mad, but when she looked like she was about to cry, he’d freeze up and couldn’t say a word. We almost died holding in our laughter. Seems like he can’t handle fragile women.”
“Think about it—he’s been acting nonstop since he was a kid. Probably never even dated. I bet he’s never had a girlfriend, so he doesn’t know how to deal with women like her.”
It made sense.
Still, who’d believe that a handsome guy like Shin Woo-jin was shy around women?
What about Seo Yoon-woo, then?
A fragile kid like Yoon-woo should’ve been paired with a calm, gentle manager—but Hyunjae had matched him with Kim Seung-mok, a guy who never shuts up.
“Seung-mok, you’re having lunch with Yoon-woo today, right?”
“Yes, sir!”
“I’ll join.”
“Ooh! Can we order something fancy then?”
“Just rice soup. I heard Yoon-woo likes that.”
“Aw, I was gonna order that anyway… can I at least get boiled pork on the side?”
See? With Seung-mok, conversations always veer off track.
At the restaurant, Minsu saw Yoon-woo—delicate, boyish, even at twenty-four he looked more like a beautiful boy than a young man.
“Um… in my last drama Son of the Dragon, my sword scenes were pretty bad, right? Watching it again yesterday, my sword swings looked so awkward.”
He was self-reflective—a good trait—but for someone like him, that only fed his anxiety.
The only right answer was, “No, you were great.” But even then, he probably wouldn’t believe it. What would Seung-mok say?
After ordering his mini pork platter, Seung-mok said,
“Really? Well, maybe it would’ve looked cooler if you’d held the sword reverse-grip like this. My favorite game character fights that way.”
He mimed slashing with his chopsticks.
“No way… It’s a Joseon-era drama. That kind of move doesn’t exist in Korean swordsmanship.”
“Then you did great! Would’ve been awesome if you used Igeo Sword Style, though.”
“What’s that?”
“You haven’t read martial arts novels? I’ll lend you some.”
“Would that help my acting?”
“Well, if you learn how to control inner energy, of course it would.”
“…What are you even talking about.”
That was Kim Seung-mok in a nutshell—his thoughtless chatter never hurt anyone, but it rarely had substance either.
Yet through the conversation, Minsu noticed something.
Yoon-woo just forgot what he was worrying about, didn’t he?
After that, he never mentioned swordsmanship again—too busy listening to Seung-mok ramble about wuxia novels.
When Seung-mok went to the restroom, Minsu asked,
“Doesn’t Kim talk too much? Doesn’t it get annoying?”
Yoon-woo smiled.
“Honestly, sometimes it does. But weirdly, I feel so much better afterward. When I talk to him, all my worries start to feel silly. Like… why was I even stressing?”
At that moment, Minsu fully understood Hyunjae’s personnel decisions.
Neither Ji-seon nor Seung-mok could adjust themselves to others—but with these specific actors, they were the perfect fit.
Hyunjae had read all four personalities perfectly and created the ideal synergy in under five minutes.
A perfect team leader.
Minsu felt ashamed of his own past as a manager.
A team leader isn’t someone who achieves results alone—they create results through people.
How could someone like Hyunjae not succeed?
He was itching with motivation now.
Being ranked above Hyunjae felt burdensome—he wanted to improve, for the company and for Hyunjae himself.
And then it hit him—the answer was simple.
“I’ll just learn from him.”
Hyunjae always does the right thing.
Watching him is like looking at an answer key—you just need to study how he got there.
He wasn’t performing magic; everything had logical foundations.
If Minsu could understand the reasoning behind his decisions, he could grow too.
Back at his desk, Minsu began documenting Hyunjae’s recent actions and judgments.
He might never reach that level of instant insight—but at least he could follow in his footsteps.
“If I were Yoo Hyunjae right now…”
Meanwhile, Heo Yoo-jin didn’t like Im Yujoo.
Never had.
But ever since Park Bong-won got kicked off and Yoo Hyunjae came in, she liked her even less.
So they’re going for publicity now, huh?
This show—The Singer is Still a Singer—was supposed to be for true artists: veterans who’d once defined an era.
Last year, Yujoo declined because she “wasn’t experienced enough.”
And now she joins? What changed—did she suddenly gain enough skill in a year? No.
She’d won a Platinum Disc last year and probably got bored.
Honestly, Yoo-jin couldn’t stand it.
To her, Yujoo didn’t seem desperate enough.
The “heroic manager” and “angelic top star” duo—probably planning to laugh, charm the audience, then bow out gracefully.
“Okay! Manager Yoo Hyunjae, please come up and draw the song!”
In the show, the managers drew song titles at random—from a box containing the other contestants’ songs.
“And the song assigned to the nation’s little sister, the spring fairy, singer-songwriter Im Yujoo is… Heo Yoo-jin’s ‘A Person Who Doesn’t Exist in This World!’”
“Tch.”
Yoo-jin clicked her tongue.
What a convenient excuse for Yujoo.
It was an old song—nothing like her usual emotional style.
Everyone would see that it didn’t suit her, and she could gracefully fail without losing face.
“Uh-oh, this song doesn’t really fit your style, does it?”
During a break, Yoo-jin asked, expecting the usual polite response—something like,
“It’s an honor to perform a senior’s song,”
or
“I’ll do my best to interpret it in my own way.”
But instead—
“No, sunbaenim. A masterpiece is a masterpiece—there’s no such thing as ‘not my style.’”
It was different.
She wasn’t the timid girl who used to tiptoe around anymore.
Her tone implied something deeper: Style doesn’t matter—what matters is what I need to do now.
Her eyes had changed too.
Polite, but utterly unconcerned with the hierarchy.
Like a hawk chasing prey through the
