2013

 

“Are you being serious right now?” Yongsun’s voice was low and almost scary. Her brow furrowed in irritation as she stared at Hyejin, then at their front door, then at Hyejin again.

She dropped the grocery bags on the tiles of the landing, and started to massage her palms with erratic, aggravated movements. They looked painful, red and imprinted from having carried the heavy plastic bags.

“You can’t be serious. Now we have to wait for Byulyi, and it will be at least -” Yongsun took her notebook out of her back pocket, and flipped to the last page - “it will be at least a couple of hours before she’s back from Busan and can open the door.” She sighed, hard. She didn’t need to sigh that hard.

“That’s what happens when you nag people!” Hyejin exploded, snapping at her fellow trainee. Yongsun was only four years older, but she acted as if she was so superior. As if she was the only one who knew the meaning of hard work and responsibility. It drove Hyejin mad. “You nag and nag and nag me until I can’t hear myself think! That’s why I forget things!”

“You didn’t need to think. You just needed to listen to me for once when I literally told you ‘don’t forget the keys’.” Yongsun was trying her hardest to sound detached and disappointed, Hyejin could tell. “I thought you would at least listen better, now that you have short hair,” the older girl remarked sarcastically. ”Clearly, I was mistaken.”

 

The blood in Hyejin’s veins boiled. With all the fervor of her eighteen years of age, she kicked the front door of their rooftop apartment in uncontrollable vexation.

“Stop that right now!” Yongsun commanded. It made Hyejin want to kick the door even harder, but, no matter what Yongsun thought, Hyejin was not a child. So, she summoned a huge amount of willpower, and she stopped.

 

“Okay,” Yongsun sighed, running a hand through her unwashed hair, and still studying the notebook in her hand. “Okay. Let me think.”

Hyejin snapped again. “What’s there to think about? Do you keep notes on how to pick locks now?”. Since you’re little miss perfect and you know how to do everything, she almost added.

Yongsun glared at her. “I have to go to the company.”

“Like this?”, Hyejin eyed her from head to toe, not bothering to hide the trace of contempt at the older girl’s attire from her expression.

Yongsun glared harder. “I thought I could wash up and get changed,” she said dryly. “It didn’t occur to me that you would lock us out and that I would have to go straight to the company after the store.”

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t go get groceries in your pjs, if you want to be an idol.” Hyejin raised an eyebrow. “Maybe, you should make an effort.”

“Make an effort?!” Yongsun lost her cool. “Maybe, if you want to be an idol, you should listen to what your seniors say! If you won’t listen to me, at least listen to your CEO when he tells you not to do something!” She had lost her cool, and it was strangely satisfying for Hyejin to witness.

The younger girl shook her head, feeling the cold air on her nape. She felt grown up and cool, while this crazy girl yelled like a madwoman in her unwashed hair and sleep clothes. She wouldn’t give Yongsun the satisfaction.

She watched Yongsun clench her free hand into a fist, the muscles on the back of her hand so tense that her nails must be digging into her skin.

“I do what I want,” Hyejin said nonchalantly. “My hair is none of your business. I don’t care what people think.”

 

Yongsun sighed. “You just wait for Byulyi here, with the groceries,” she said coldly, her mask of composure back on. “I’ll just go to the company now. Bye, Hyejin-ah.”

Hyejin could only act cool as long as Yongsun didn’t.

It was a strange dance between the two of them, one they had been in ever since Sujeong left and Yongsun had been appointed leader of their little group, completely without merit if you asked Hyejin, only because she was, now, the oldest.

Oh, how Hyejin missed Sujeong.

Sujeong wouldn’t have made a big deal out of this. On the contrary, they would have made the best of it, together. It happens, she would have said. I forget stuff all the time.

Then, they would have had a picnic on the landing, fishing random stuff out of the grocery bags, and they would have talked, and they would have laughed at Yongsun’s stuck up face when she saw Hyejin’s new haircut.

Sujeong loved Hyejin’s new hair. When Hyejin emailed her a picture, earlier that day, Sujeong had replied immediately, fawning over it.

 

“Why do I have to wait?! Are you too important for that?!” Hyejin snapped again, angry words tumbling out of before she could stop them. “Is that the kind of leader you are? Just leave your members stranded, while you carry on with your day?!”

 

Yongsun didn’t answer. Instead, she just slipped her notebook back in her pocket, turning away from Hyejin to cross the landing and make her way down the stairs.

“That’s not fair!” Hyejin shouted after her. She felt ashamed of how she was yelling, and yet, she couldn’t stop. “I didn’t even want to come to the store!”

But Yongsun was long gone.

 

Hyejin sat down on the tiles, with her back to the front door of the rooftop apartment, grocery bags all around her. A chilly draft snuck its way down Hyejin’s bare neck, prompting a shiver.

She resigned herself to the long wait ahead.

 

 

2015

 

“Aaaaaaaand we’re back on air with the lovely ladies of Ma… ma… moo!”, the MC exclaimed with a little too much enthusiasm, as Hyejin and her members put their headsets back on after the commercial break.

Hyejin glanced at Wheein with the corner of her eye. They both did their best to suppress a small smile.

“So, ladies, we get messages from our listeners every day that they would give an arm and a leg to become trainees in a fantastic company like yours!”

Hyejin’s eyebrow sprung up on its own. She could practically feel Wheein dying inside right next to her, trying not to laugh, but, directly opposite Hyejin at the table, Yongsun was openly frowning at Hyejin’s expression as she scribbled something on her notebook.

 

Hyejin willed her face to go back to a neutral smile, and trained her attention back to the MC, who was now addressing Byulyi.

“Would you like to tell us a bit about your trainee life, Moonbyul-ssi?”

Byulyi gave the host a shy, but bright smile. “Well, yes, listeners should try to become trainees if that’s their dream, but they should also know that it’s not all fun and games. We worked very, very hard, and we were broke so we lived in a rooftop apartment that was too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter, and you can’t imagine how many bugs would come out at night…”

“And we were on a diet all the time,” Wheein interrupted. “It made us nervous and grumpy.”

“Especially Hyejin-ssi, I bet!,” the MC teased, laughing at his own joke.

 

Yongsun cleared . “We had our hardships, yes, but it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and we are very grateful. We want to work hard to become the best we can be, and always show good performances and new sides of Mamamoo.”

Hyejin wanted to roll her eyes, but Wheein kicked her in the shins before she could.

Byulyi was nodding gravely. “Unnie works the hardest,” she explained. “Plus, she’s the leader, so she’s responsible for us working hard too. If we mess up, she takes the fall.”

“It’s hard to believe that a group as talented as you would ever mess up!”, the MC’s eyes became unnaturally wide, faking incredulity to get a story out of Byulyi.

 

Byulyi was either too naive or too clever to disappoint, and so, she told the story of when their CEO told them not to cut their hair, and naturally, Hyejin went and got a pixie haircut, and Yongsun had to go to the company on their only day off in months, to talk the CEO down from kicking Hyejin out of the group.

Hyejin hated that story, but it always seemed to endear their audience to her, strengthening her image of a strong-willed, rebellious, but funny maknae, and to Mamamoo as a whole, their sisterly bond triumphing over any hardship idol life threw their way.

 

She remembered the way Yongsun had glared at her just a few minutes earlier, before the commercial break, when they were singing live on air and Hyejin had been flat on a couple of notes.

She hated when Yongsun glared at her like that during a song. She hated it even more when she took note of it in her damn notebook. It threw Hyejin off her mojo. Sisterly bond, my , she thought as the host said his final goodbyes to the audience, and they all took their headsets off again.

 

Yongsun didn’t even give her the time to recover a bit, as they all got out of the studio and into the car that would take them back to their dorm.

She opened her notebook and flipped to the last page. “You didn’t do your warm up again,” her words hit Hyejin like a ton of bricks. “You sang your line in the first verse flat, and you were off tempo during most of the second verse. You make way fewer mistakes when you prioritize warm ups. Make sure you do it when I tell you to.”

“I woke up late,” Hyejin murmured, her back to Yongsun and facing the car window. “I had to get ready.”

“Wake up earlier next time,” Yongsun insisted. “We can’t afford to make mistakes when we sing. Did you hear what the MC said at the start of the show?”

 

The tension in the car became so thick that even their manager glanced nervously at them through the rear mirror from her place at the wheel.

“Unnie…” Byulyi interjected. “Don’t go there.”

“Yes, I heard,” Hyejin ignored Byulyi, turning towards Yongsun violently, instead. “He said I’m ugly. So I have to sing flawlessly to make up for how ugly I am.” Her voice cracked. “We all have to sing flawlessly to make up for having me in the group.” Hyejin wanted to cry, badly, but she swallowed her tears, and didn’t lower her eyes.

“He didn’t say that, Jinnie,” Wheein sighed. “He said you have unusual looks for an idol.”

“Same difference,” Hyejin replied, fire burning in her teary eyes as she gave Yongsun the deadliest stare she could muster.

 

Yongsun was the first to look away, and Hyejin knew she was right. Right about the MC. Right about what Yongsun thought of her. Right about everything.

 

 

2016

 

It’s not that Hyejin wasn’t excited at the idea of doing a song with Byulyi.

She just happened to wake up late for work. She had been trying so hard to work on that, and yes, it did get a bit easier as the years went by, and the time blind part of her brain matured. Recently, she seemed to be doing a better job at not snoozing her alarm five times in a row.

If she relapsed today, it wasn’t because she didn’t like DAB DAB. Yes, she thought she should stop rapping on Mamamoo’s songs, and therefore, that the rapper line shouldn’t be a thing. It would be better for everyone. Byulyi was a way better rapper than Hyejin anyway, and didn’t get enough lines as it was, without Hyejin coming in to steal her spotlight. And, Hyejin’s vocal abilities shone brighter when she was given harder parts to sing, anyway.

 

It was the first time she and Yongsun ever agreed on anything. Anything of consequence, at least. It had been weird, to join forces with her leader to corner their CEO into endless conversations, both of them supporting each other and nodding at each other’s words, as they pushed hard for a change in attitude when it came to line distribution.

They silently agreed not to tell Byulyi about their agenda, for the time being, so that their sweet friend wouldn’t get her hopes up, or her heart broken, in case they failed.

Even that felt weird - the shared feeling that they wouldn’t fail, because Hyejin was as headstrong as Yongsun was, and Yongsun was as determined as Hyejin was, and it was the first time they ever agreed on anything, and now that they joined forces on this, they both knew that failure was unlikely.

Still, it had been very weird. Hyejin didn’t exactly trust Yongsun not to go back to antagonizing her left and right once their little project was over, but, for the time being, it felt nice to agree on something, just the two of them.

 

Hyejin looked at the time on her phone and winced as she scrambled to get ready. Byulyi and the producer, were they waiting for her to get started? She thought about texting Byulyi, then changed her mind.

Better not to waste any more time and just rush to the company.

She winced even harder at the part of her that hoped Yongsun wouldn’t find out about this.

 

In a recent development, the leader had started smiling at her every time she showed up on time for rehearsals. Hyejin hated herself a bit, for noticing how Yongsun’s smile started off small, on the first few weeks that Hyejin showed up on time without fail, and how it got a little bit bigger day by day, as Hyejin hit some mysterious milestone of responsibility in the leader’s mind.

Hyejin didn’t care what people thought, but a part of her didn’t want to start from scratch with Yongsun’s smile.

 

Today, though, it was going to be just her and Byulyi at the company, and Hyejin trusted her unnie not to rattle her out without reason. She would be okay. Yongsun wouldn’t know.

Except, why did she care so much anyway? I don’t care what people think, Hyejin had to remind herself as she breezed past the receptionist and waited for the elevator to take her to the studio where she, Byulyi and the producer were going to work on a demo of DAB DAB.

I don’t care what anyone thinks. The thought died in her mind as she pushed the door open, already apologizing, and found Yongsun sitting there, distractedly going through the pages of her notebook.

 

.

 

“Am - am I in the wrong room?”

Yongsun looked up at Hyejin, and sighed. “No, you’re good,” she said quietly. “Byulyi went to the bathroom.”

“Where’s Woosang oppa?”

Yongsun sighed again. “You’re an hour and a half late, Jin-ah. He had somewhere to be.”

Hyejin felt more than a hint of irritation at Yongsun’s tone, but most of all, she was mortified. Mortified, and curious.

“I know. I’m sorry,” she said, offering no excuse. “What are you doing here, though?”

Yongsun handed Hyejin the notebook. Hyejin saw the song lyrics, in Yongsun’s handwriting, interspersed with margin notes.

“I just came to say hi to Byulyi, but then I saw you hadn’t arrived yet, and oppa had to leave, so I just stayed,” Yongsun explained, her tone calm and almost resigned.

“I convinced him to give Byulyi all the raps in the verses, you know, like we said. And we altered this part slightly so you have more time to breathe between these two lines,” Yongsun continued, standing closer to Hyejin and pointing towards the bottom of the page. “Oh, and here, Hyejin-ah, it wants you to belt right before you get into the chorus, and then you have the ad-lib in falsetto right after. That requires some technique. You have to be careful. We recorded a demo with me doing your parts—I exaggerated my breathing in the recording so you can hear exactly how I prepare to sing it.”

 

Hyejin stared at Yongsun intently.

She looked tired.

The bags under Yongsun’s eyes and the fatigue lacing her voice irked Hyejin more than any scolding. If she was so tired—why did she have to do Hyejin’s work for her? Why didn’t she just stay home, when it wasn’t even her turn to record? Why did she have to always make sure the bar was so incredibly high? Why did she always meddle in Hyejin’s affairs, with all of her you do this, and you do that, and you, you, you?

 

The irritation kept growing on Hyejin’s skin as Yongsun talked and talked, condescendingly telling Hyejin how to do her damn job.

Hyejin felt it simmering in her veins again, just like when she was a hot headed trainee. It boiled over, until Hyejin felt close to exploding, like a pressure cooker with a faulty lid.

“Hyejin! Pay attention!”

There we go, Hyejin thought. She had spaced out, and Yongsun had lost her patience.

“If you can’t get here on time, can you at least listen to what I am saying?”

 

Yongsun’s tone grated on her nerves. The pressure inside Hyejin became unbearable. Too unbearable to last much longer. Hyejin felt that it was about to break, and got ready for a torrent of venomous words to escape in spite of herself, the way it used to happen way back.

 

But then, the pressure broke, and the bang didn’t come. Instead, a whimper.

 

“Unnie, do you hate me?”

 

She forced herself to meet Yongsun’s eyes, just in time to watch them go wide. Her leader opened , then closed her, then opened it again. The pressure inside was back, this time, pushing behind Hyejin’s eyes.

“I know I’m not perfect,” Hyejin said in a tiny voice. Her words were just as uncontrollable as she had expected, and yet, instead of venom, she found herself spitting out pain. “But I’m trying, unnie, I swear I’m trying.”

 

Yongsun just stood there, frozen.

 

Hyejin needed a hug, badly, but knew better than to seek it from her, and the longer Yongsun stayed still, the more Hyejin’s body compelled her to fight instead, her heart perforated by yet another sharp pang of rejection with every passing second of silence.

There was nothing left for Hyejin to do, but take that sharp pain out of her own heart, and use it to hurt Yongsun back.

 

But maybe, for once, Yongsun understood. Before Hyejin could speak again, she grabbed her hand.

 

It felt foreign, almost uncanny.

Their chemistry onstage had always been undeniable, touches flowing freely between them, enhancing any choreography they were given. Now, though, the leader’s skin felt cool to the touch, almost plasticky, and Hyejin realized how rarely they touched when they were not performing.

As foreign and uncanny as it felt, though, it was enough for the angry fog in Hyejin’s heart to dissipate.

 

“I want you to be perfect,” Yongsun squeezed her hand uncomfortably, “because they’re going to eat you alive otherwise. You were born to go places, Hyejin-ah, and if you don’t do that, I will never forgive myself.”

 

Hyejin didn’t know what to say to that. A million thoughts rushed into her mind, and it was like she was truly seeing Yongsun for the first time. But she had a million questions, too, and the most pressing one—why do you have to be like this, though?— would have certainly lead them down the wrong path.

Byulyi’s footsteps in the corridor spared her. Maybe, they spared them both.

Yongsun squeezed Hyejin’s hand one more time. Then, she let it go.

By the time Byulyi opened the door, both Hyejin and Yongsun had submitted every single muscle of their faces to their unwavering willpower.

When Hyejin asked Yongsun to stay and help with the song, though, she was rewarded with the leader’s biggest smile yet.

 

 

2019

 

Everyone is your friend when you are on top of the world.

It’s easy to convince people of your worth when your worth is already being recognized right there, in the charts, with a solid number to confirm what everyone, apparently, already knew all along: you are number one.

Maybe that’s why Hyejin felt a little uneasy when, soon after the news came, her phone exploded with texts, and the room erupted with cheers. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, suddenly feeling out of place and exposed in the company offices.

People kept congratulating her, telling her what she already knew. That her song was number one. That it was special. That she was special, right now, in this moment in time, with her solo song topping the charts.

But what did it all mean? Sure, Twit had been a labor of love. So was every other single song she ever worked on, alone or with her members.

Why the fuss now?

 

Some of the people who had hugged her, Hyejin barely knew. Why were they suddenly acting like she was their best friend? Why was she receiving elated texts from numbers that weren’t even saved as contacts on her phone?

When people congratulated her, when people told her she was amazing, were they really trying to tell her what they thought of her? Or were they trying to convey a message about themselves? You are number one, and I am close to you, therefore, I am number one, too. I am happy for you. I am happy. I am. I, I, I.

 

She had nothing against them. She was okay with them riding in her coattails. If people were happy basking in reflected glory, she would not make them feel bad about it. But, she couldn’t help but wonder. How soon would they all jump ship?

 

Hyejin’s thumb scrolled down the long list of unopened texts on KaTalk. A part of her wanted to delete them all. Still, she was grateful: she went through the list, mentally taking note of the people who had been more instrumental than others in this victory, the ones that she needed to send a gift of a thank you card to.

 

She smiled when she saw Byulyi’s and Wheein’s names, opening their messages with a warm heart. Long walls of text from both of them. Both talking about the past, and the future, and not much about the present moment.

Hyejin felt relieved, and so deeply understood that she thought there was no need to reply, at first. Then, she changed her mind, and replied to both texts with the same simple, apparently incoherent words:

Mamamoo’s Hwasa. Your Jinnie.

They would understand what she meant.

 

She scrolled a bit longer through the hundreds of unopened text, not even fully conscious of what she was looking for, when she found Sujeong’s name.

Congrats, sweetheart. You are perfect. Always have been. I love you.

I love you too, Hyejin typed, and she was sincere.

She couldn’t help but wonder, though.

In a different timeline—one where they had debuted as five—would she even be here, right now?

Probably, yes.

But then again, maybe not.

Hyejin would have still been made well aware that she was not, in fact, perfect. Not then, not now. But if Yongsun’s leadership wouldn’t have forced her to listen, would she have listened?

 

Suddenly, Hyejin became acutely aware of why she was still scrolling through the unopened texts. How subtly her heart ached, as she failed to find what she was looking for.

 

Unnie, she thought, in spite of herself. She focused hard, willing a text from Yongsun to appear in her KaTalk app. She kept staring at the screen, disappointed at each new text from yet another industry acquaintance. Unnie, please.

 

Hyejin stared at her phone so long that, when she finally raised her head and saw Yongsun, all bundled up in her winter coat and walking through the office and towards her with the determination of a masked bulldozer, she thought she was imagining things.

Soon enough, though, reality crashed into her, along with Yongsun’s body, and suddenly, inside the firm frame of her leader’s arms, Hyejin could feel everything.

Happiness, and disbelief, and pride overwhelmed her. She held Yongsun back, because she wanted her to know.

Yongsun held her tighter, not uttering a single word, but laughing at how puffy their coats were, at how hard they made it to hug, at Hyejin’s happiness, at her own.

They tried to let each other go, and couldn’t. Several times, they tried, and several times, they failed, laughter echoing in each other’s ears.

Yongsun’s dark eyes were shining with a promise, and Hyejin looked at her own reflection inside them, until she was absolutely sure Yongsun knew that she would trust her with her life.

Yongsun left soon, but Hyejin didn’t mind.

She didn’t look at her phone or at the charts again.

Instead, she went back to work.

 

 

2020

 

Hyejin and Wheein’s friendship had always been slightly more complicated than they would let on in front of the cameras.

Their true highs and lows went largely unshared. Their real intimacy ran too deep, and it was too unconventional to reveal to an audience that had little to no context about Jeonju, their families, their first few years together in Seoul, their love lives, and the true nature of the industry.

Their periods of disconnection were just as inevitable, as anyone who’s in anything for life will know, and just as impossible to simplify for an audience, not without damaging the ever heartwarming Mamamoo lore.

Still, when it came to the two of them, Hyejin had never been afraid. There was nothing that could tear them apart.

 

Until Covid-19 hit, and for a while there, Hyejin had to come to terms with many truths, including how bad of a texter she truly was, and how far away from her Wheein had trulyslipped while they were too busy with work to truly talk about it.

 

Technically, she was still too busy. Wheein, however, had not been, and when she answered Hyejin’s video call, her face was puffy in a way that Hyejin struggled to recognize, and her voice sounded distant, projected into a future that had no place for Hyejin in it.

Hyejin got scared, but she didn’t know what else to do, and she just needed her friend right now, so she still told Wheein everything about the comeback preparations, and how badly she had hurt her back during dance practice.

 

Doing this alone was a burden on all fronts, Hyejin had already learned that with Twit. It made every part of her tired: her body, her vocal cords, her brain, but more than anything, her soul. Producing solo music was hard on the spirit, with no one to share the struggle with on equal terms, no one that would just go crazy with you when you are too tired to do anything but laugh hysterically, and, in doing so, give you the strength to go on. As a team.

She called Wheein because she longed for that camraderie and wanted it back. Even just a digital ghost of it would have been better than nothing, but she had been naive, and underestimated the situation, and now Wheein was talking nonsense, and Hyejin just felt worse.

 

“It’s serious, Hyejin-ah—you have to take care of yourself, you can’t always let them win,” Wheein said with so much zeal that Hyejin felt besieged.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, just—I don’t know, delay the comeback? No one dies if you just stop the circus for a while. Don’t you want to rest? Don’t you want to recover?”

“Wheenie,” Hyejin sighed. “I already canceled at KCON. You know I can’t do that for the whole comeback. It’s all set up already. You know how much work that is. You can’t do that, unless it’s a matter of life and death.”

“It is your life,” Wheein spat out the words as if they left a bad taste on her tongue.

“Yeah,” Hyejin said softly. “And this is what I want to do. Just because you’re not into it that much anymore,” she added in a whisper, “doesn’t mean I feel the same.”

 

There was silence on the line.

 

“Fine,” Wheein said, her voice sounding more distant than ever. “You do you. I hope it goes well. Text me later to let me know how you’re doing, Jinnie. Please.”

“I will,” Hyejin replied, and they both knew she wouldn’t. “See you on Thursday at the shooting?”

“Yep,” Wheein said. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Hyejin blew a kiss into the phone mic, but Wheein had already hung up.

 

It didn’t take long for Hyejin to figure out what to do next. Her fingers trembled as she searched for her leader’s contact.

 

“Hyejin-ah?” Yongsun picked up on the first ring. “Why are you calling? Are you okay?,” she asked, her voice laced with worry because of how infrequent Hyejin’s calls were.

“No,” Hyejin said unceremoniously. “Unnie,” she started, tears spilling as soon as she uttered the word, “I got hurt, and I’m losing Wheenie.”

“Oh god,” Yongsun sighed. “Start from the beginning.”

“She’s not with me anymore, unnie, she never tells me what’s on her mind, and doesn’t understand what’s on mine, and-“

“Hyejin-ah, the injury! What happened?”

“I sprained my back at dance practice. But Wheenie-”

“How bad?” Yongsun cut her off.

“Bad, I… I had to go to the emergency room. Couldn’t even fart on the first day,” Hyejin sniffled.

“Oh god,” Yongsun repeated, the situation dire enough that she didn’t even get phased by potty humor, for once. “And now? What are you taking?”

“The strong stuff,” Hyejin admitted, knowing Yongsun was comparing this to the vast repertoire of injuries she helped her members through.

“Are you eating enough?,” Yongsun asked with suspicion, already anticipating Hyejin’s answer.

“It’s almost comeback time, unnie,” Hyejin whispered in a quasi-apology.

“Hyejin!” Yongsun snapped, frustrated. “You’ll up your stomach too! You can’t just drug your way out of this on an empty stomach-“

“But—“

“No buts—do you have enough heat packs? You need to change it every hour.”

“Unnie, they last two to three—“

“No, they don’t. They’re only hot hot for the first hour, and then they start cooling down after. You know that. I’m putting in an order for a delivery right now. Food, too.”

“Unnie—“

“No, Hyejin, please, no complaints. Please, listen to me.” Yongsun sounded like she was begging, but, Hyejin knew, she was ready to fight.

Hyejin, however, didn’t want to fight. “I’ll listen,” she said, quietly. “Unnie, do you think I should delay the comeback?”

 

The question stunned Yongsun for a few short seconds. Then, she sighed. “I wish you could.”

 

Hyejin’s heart grew peaceful. “Yeah, me too.”

 

“I wish we were doing this together, so you could take a break,” Yongsun sighed. “I’ll back you up at the company if you decide to do it, though. It won’t account for much, but I will do it.”

 

Hyejin found herself silently agreeing. They were not trainees anymore. The problems they faced at work had grown with them, and there was only so much Yongsun could do to protect Hyejin, these days.

She thought of a much younger Yongsun, always up against forces much larger than herself, fighting for their lives in this ruthless industry.

She made a quick calculation in her head. Yongsun was—oh, she was so young when they started. So unassuming. So hard for both Hyejin and any higher ups around them to take seriously.

Yet, even then, she was a force to be reckoned with. Always had been.

And she had always been Hyejin’s ally, no matter how clumsily she showed it.

Even now, as Hyejin found herself dealing with everything on her own more and more often, and, for the first time, recognized the limits of Yongsun’s influence on her life, she had a blinding realization about how lucky she had been.

 

“Thank you, unnie,” she said, and it was all she could say, but she tried to say it as sweetly as she could.

 

“I love you,” Yongsun said awkwardly, still trying out that level of self expression out for size. Hyejin chuckled, endeared. “And so does Wheein,” Yongsun continued. “Never doubt that.”

 

That Thursday, a sore, grumpy Hyejin wasn’t fully surprised to see Yongsun walk into her dressing room a full half hour earlier than required for the Maria MV shooting.

“I came to see how you’re doing,” Yongsun said nonchalantly, popping down on the couch next to Hyejin. She tapped Hyejin’s back lightly. “Show me.”

Hyejin raised her top a bit and talked to her unnie about her injury.

 

Although physical touch had been mostly demystified between the two of them over the past couple of years, Hyejin was still used to being the initiator in most cases. Still, she relaxed quickly when Yongsun started massaging her back, with the expert hands of someone who has seen her fair share of strains and sprains.

 

When Byulyi arrived, she found the two of them like that, and smiled.

When Wheein came in, however, Yongsun had left the spot next to Hyejin empty. Wheein greeted the unnies with a quick hug, but Yongsun and Byulyi were too busy bickering about how much time the rapper spent playing games on her phone these days to really pay attention to her.

So, Wheein took her place next to Hyejin, and, with a small smile, without even saying hi, she rested her head on Hyejin’s shoulder.

 

 

2023

 

It’s fine, Hyejin told herself for the umpteenth time. Everything’s fine.

And it was, until she tripped on a cable she never expected to find on the floor of a recording booth, her hands smashing against the glass in an attempt to keep her balance. That feat resulted in not one, not two, but three broken nails, as an equal number of people watched her in amazement, as if she was an animal in a zoo.

Hyejin realized she was even wearing leopard print, and bursted out in a hearty laugh, even as her cheeks burned in shame.

Her new coworkers kept watching her in disbelief from the other side of the glass.

 

That’s when it hit her.

The people at P NATION expected Hwasa to join their team.

It’s not fine, because they expected Hwasa, and I’m just Hyejin.

And Hyejin is, in many ways, the opposite of Hwasa. Shy, where Hwasa is confident. Hot headed, where Hwasa is collected. Chill, where Hwasa is fiery. Most of all, Hyejin is human, where Hwasa is a goddess.

Who the hell did we sign?, Hyejin read in their eyes. And she genuinely empathized with their confusion, even though she didn’t appreciate their judgement.

 

But there is one thing that Hyejin and Hwasa have in common. They’re both ing good at singing. And they both take the job very, very seriously.

Hyejin was okay with her new team believing she’s a klutz, okay with them believing she’s dumb, but she wouldn’t let them believe that she’s untalented. That she’s not hardworking. That she auto-tuned her way to success.

 

That’s why she could laugh at herself and at their reaction when she tripped over a stupid cable at the start of her day in the recording studio, but at the end of it, when finally got home and opened KaTalk to check if the producer responded to the rough recording she sent, she read his messages, and her cheeks started burning again.

This time, in outrage.

 

This needs work and improvement, he texted.
I want you in the studio tomorrow at 10am
I hope you don’t think you’re done already
That’s not how we work at P NATION

 

Hyejin’s fingers trembled as she typed her reply.

I know we’re not done and we wont be until it’s perfect. The file I sent you is a guide, not my idea of a finished recording. I’m used to receiving feedback after I record the guide and reiterate with the producer until we’re both satisfied. Looking forward to your feedback tomorrow.

 

He left her on read, which made her cheeks burn even harder.

 

By the way, I am your senior in the industry and your tone is very unprofessional, er, she typed. A deep breath compelled her to delete the whole thing.

But no—she typed the message again, leaving the last word out.

She hit send, and regretted it immediately. It was nothing but bait for a confrontation, and she knew he wouldn’t take it.

She squeezed her phone in her hand, almost as if she wanted to crush it, trying to discharge some nervous energy.

 

, , . She drew the only two nails left into her other palm, until it hurt just enough to calm her down.

 

She glanced at the clock on her phone. It was probably too late, but at least she could try.

 

“Hello,” Yongsun answered almost immediately, voice thick with sleep. “Are you okay?”

Hyejin heard Byulyi’s voice on the other end of the line, asking Yongsun what was going on. Yongsun whispered a rushed “I don’t know” before she addressed Hyejin again. “Hyejin-ah?”

“I woke you up,” Hyejin murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Yongsun replied, and Hyejin knew she wasn’t lying. “What’s up?”

What Hyejin said next relieved Yongsun’s worry, to the point that her unnie burst out laughing instead.

“Scold me.”

“What?” Yongsun said, amused. “I’m not going to scold you—Jinnie, are you drunk?”

Hyejin knew Yongsun couldn’t scold her. She knew she was on her own, now. She knew there was no way to go back to how things were, to a time when she didn’t really need to look out for herself, because someone else was looking out for her.

But if Yongsun couldn’t scold her, maybe she could comfort her. “Unnie, I messed up.”

Yongsun sobered up. “What happened?”

And so Hyejin told her everything. About all the little mishaps at the new company, about how different things were from what she was used to in RBW. About how the team and the staff looked at her, about how they expected Hwasa, and got Hyejin instead. About the incident with the producer and the recording. About how out of place she felt. How lonely.

“I don’t like being on my own, unnie,” she teared up. “I just…” the truth came tumbling out. “I just miss you.”

Yongsun stayed silent for a bit, and maybe she was just letting Hyejin cry, but Hyejin still felt a pang of guilt, because who gave her the right to leave for something better, only to come back and complain, to the very person she abandoned, at the first sign that things weren’t as idyllic as she thought?

“Ahn Hyejin, listen to me,” Yongsun said, taking Hyejin out of her thoughts. Her tone was sharp, without an ounce of tact to it. The kind of tone that would have annoyed Hyejin right off the bat, years ago, without even knowing what Yongsun had to say.

Now, it comforted her, because she knew what would follow—love. Tough love, but love nonetheless. “What happened to doing things your own way, huh, Ahn Hyejin?! What happened to not caring about what other people think?!”

“Are you scolding me, unnie?,” Hyejin smiled through sniffles.

“It’s not my fault you are so damn scoldable sometimes,” Yongsun scoffed, and Hyejin heard Byulyi’s laughter echoing somewhere in the room.

“Work hard and wait it out,” Yongsun spoke again, softly this time. “Once people get to know you, they will love you, because it’s impossible not to. You just need to be yourself. You know how to do that better than anyone. You’ve done it before—you’ve got this, Jinnie.”

“I had you by my side, though,” Hyejin said quietly.

“And you still do.”

“Show them who’s boss, kid!” Byulyi roared from the other end of the line, barely audible and still clear enough for Hyejin to laugh along, all the frustration and sadness and fear dissipating from her heart.

Yongsun joined in, and when Hyejin went to bed a while later, she fell asleep with the sound of her unnies’ laughter still echoing in her ears.

.

Hyejin sat on a fake leather chair outside Psy’s office, waiting to be called in.

“He’ll see you shortly,” the receptionist said, her gentle smile contrasting with how harshly their CEO was yelling on the other side of the wall. No matter how hard Hyejin tried, she couldn’t figure out who was in there with him. The other person didn’t speak a word, and the CEO’s shouted platitudes were generic enough. He went on and on, ranting about team spirit, and respect for others, and adherence to deadlines and guidelines, until Hyejin started to wonder if maybe she should just come back at another time.

Just as she was about to leave, the door to the CEO’s office opened.

Hyejin was stunned to see two young girls walk out. Fourteen, fifteen years old at most. Even after receiving the lecture of their lives, they looked fresh, unbroken.

“Are we clear?”, Jaesang said, and now that she could look at him, Hyejin saw that his tone was harsh, but there was no bite in his eyes.

“Yes, hwejangnim,” the two girls said in unison, faces contrived in repentance. Yet, as soon as their CEO turned around to face her, the two young girls glared at each other. The shorter girl stuck her tongue out, and Hyejin couldn’t help but smile as she watched the taller girl’s face flush with rage.

When they both noticed her, though, they acted in unison, with a single mind, running away as if they had just seen a ghost.

Hyejin met her boss’s eyes, and they both burst out laughing.

“Hey, chief,” she said, taking a seat in his office when their laughter had died down.

“Hyejin-ah. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Hyejin cleared . “I won’t beat around the bush. I’m having a bit of a hard time adjusting.”

“So I’ve heard,” Jaesang smiled.

“Really?” Hyejin raised her eyebrow in irritation. “They came to complain to you? That’s low. Who was it?”

Jaesang’s smile grew wider. “More than one person, I’m afraid. You made quite the impression. Your reputation precedes you, and people talk.”

“People talk?! And what do you tell them?”

“That I trust you,” he responded simply, and shrugged. “That you’re a more seasoned professional than almost anyone in this company, and that they should keep that in mind.” His words stunned Hyejin into silence, and reminded her of why she was there in the first place. “Now, Hyejin-ah, how can I help you?”

“I…” Hyejin swallowed hard. “I have questions. About how people work here, and why things are done a certain way and not another. I’m used to something different, but I want to learn.”

She took a notebook out of her bag, and flipped to the last page, full of her own messy handwriting.

“Now we’re talking.” Jaesang put his feet up on his desk, and then, with immense satisfaction, started talking to Hyejin about P NATION.

It took Hyejin almost two hours before she exhausted her list of questions, but, by the end of it, the CEO had a question of his own.

“Say, can I ask you for advice now?”, he said conspiratorially. “You are a woman, maybe you’ll know what to do.”

Hyejin rolled her eyes at her boss, only half playfully. “Let’s hear it.”

“What would you do with two trainees who hate each other’s guts?”

Hyejin chuckled. “I assume we’re talking about the two young ladies who were here before me?”

When Jaesang nodded gravely, she continued. “Why do they hate each other?”

“Ah, I don’t even know. Personality clash, they say. Maybe that’s right, but I think they’re alike in many ways, too. Anyway, they’re fighting constantly. It’s disrupting the work.”

“Are they good?”

He sighed. “See, Hyejin-ah, that’s the issue. I would have kicked them out already, both of them, if they weren’t among my best.”

“Easy, then,” Hyejin concluded. “Have them debut together.”

“Have you lost your mind?,” he asked her, amused.

“I mean it. Debut them together, possibly with a couple other calmer, balancing members so that they don’t bite each other’s head off before they can learn to work together.”

“Damn, you almost make it sound like you’re speaking from experience. I thought you were all, like, best friends in Mamamoo?”

Hyejin smiled mysteriously. “We are. That’s what I’m saying.”

Jaesang eyed her with curiosity. “Say, would you by any chance want to mentor them? Just half an hour per week or something. Check in on them. You seem to know how to handle this way more than I do.”

Hyejin put the notebook back in her bag. She extended her hand for her new CEO to shake as she got up and ready to leave. “Happy to, chief.”