A.N.

This was actually the very first chapter I ever wrote for the story. I wasn't going to publish it at all, wasn't going to go back writing fanfic at all, but then Evangelion 3.0+1.0 and WOLO happened. It's also dialogue-heavy, which personally isn't my preference when it comes to my reading material, and reads more like a commentary on the industry (and in particular on Mamamoo, RV, and Apink dynamics). Unbetaed and unedited, too, so take it as it is. Think of it as a belated celebration, I guess.

Thank you, readers. Most especially, thank you a thousand times to crowdfund sponsors who are still supporting my fanfics even when I'm no longer writing one. I really can only say thank you.

You folks take care and stay safe. I'll see you when I see you and #YeahWOLO.

-.-.-

Four: I am (Not) Disillusioned

On Tuesday, Eight Days a Swap sends Yongsun and Seungwan to KBS’ Jeong Eunji Music Plaza. It’s a viewable radio, Seungwan’s told. Talk about Red Velvet’s latest mini and the swap program and the upcoming collab work, she’s briefed. There’s going to be a list of questions and prompts Eunji will ask, which the Red Velvet, Mamamoo, and Eight Days managing teams have all approved. There’s going to be a lot of friendly banter, Yongsun tells her, having been more familiar with Eunji’s style of DJ-ing. “You’re going to like her, too,” Yongsun says. Seungwan wonders if there’s anything not to like about anyone she hasn’t known, really.

(“Everyone’s kind and good and all until that everyone’s turning against you or your loved ones. In that case, I’ll break whoever breaks you,” Sooyoung once told her.)

Their van is already equipped with cameras. Seungwan has long accepted it as part of her work, but even today she’s wondering what the fans will lose from not seeing her on their screen for twenty minutes when the oncoming viewable radio is going to be an hour long. I can’t even get one-third of that off-camera time, she thinks to herself, resigned.

“Can’t believe I’ll be sitting down with two of the Club Four Octaves members.”

“Club what?”

Yongsun grins at her. “You and Eunji, I mean. Chorong—Apink’s captain, a dear friend of mine—told me there’s an Extremely Exclusive Club with an Extremely Limited Membership in the industry.”

Seungwan laughs nervously. “You make it sound like a secret cabal or something.”

“Well, if the requirement of joining the club is winning God’s lottery at having four octaves voice, wouldn’t that make the club one? A cabal, I mean? You, Eunji, and Cho Kyuhyun.” Yongsun nods, leaning forward to wink at the camera. “Eight Days a Swap viewers, please anticipate some goodness from our schedule today, okay?”

“There is no goodness to be enjoyed,” Seungwan corrects her, her tone dry but amused still.

“A house party, then.”

“There is no party to be had either.”

Yongsun scrunches her nose. “Need I remind you you’re gonna be the youngest in the studio later?”

Flustered, Seungwan straightens up and waves her hands wildly. “I didn’t mean—that’s not what—eonnie! You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

Laughing, Yongsun pats her shoulder. “Save the energy til we’re on broadcast, you ‘94 young’un.”

-.-.-

Joohyun and Sooyoung are in a waiting room at KBS when Music Plaza airs. Same compound, different buildings, different schedules, Joohyun notices. Too far, she’s decided. Definitely too far.

“You’ll need to leave in twenty, okay, girls,” Manager Yoon tells the two of them.

Sooyoung raises her thumb at him but doesn’t take her eyes off of her phone, which is showing Music Plaza. Solar is seated to the right of Jeong Eunji, who has apparently prepared cold drinks for her two guests, and Seungwan’s on Solar’s left. Sooyoung and Joohyun have missed the first ten minutes of the broadcast, and judging from how already relaxed Seungwan is now it must have been some good ten minutes.

“We could’ve watched it on time if you hadn’t complained about your weave to our hairstylist,” Joohyun grumbles.

Sooyoung rolls her eyes. “Eonnie, it’s not like you can’t watch it on your own phone. Ooh wait—you’re too tech-challenged to do that.”

Joohyun punches her in the arm.

On the screen of Sooyoung’s phone, both Solar and Seungwan crack up at a joke Eunji makes and clap their hands, fittingly, in unison. “Right? Right? I feel like we’re many things at once. We signed up to be a main vocalist, but we ended up being our own backing vocal and dancer, too.”

“And in your case, Eunji-ssi, an actress, lyricist, composer, producer, and DJ,” Solar adds.

“You write your songs, too, Solar-ssi,” Eunji easily returns it.

“Only because my label is kind enough to allow me the privilege.”

“And at some point, we’re also expected to parent our peers. Imagine. Someone in her early twenties having to parent teenagers. Even my mother shuddered at the idea.”

Solar cracks up again. “Right, right. Chorong-ssi told me that you two are the parental figures in Apink.”

“We’re simply the slightly saner two in the group.” Eunji chuckles, turning to Seungwan then. “Aren’t you too, Wendy-ssi? One of the Red Velvet parental figures?”

“Ah no, not really. Not like that. Irene-eonnie’s the one. I’m only helping her when I can.”

“Whenever you can,” Solar offers.

“That’s admirable.” Eunji gives them a gentle smile. “Now that you think of it, solo work like this would feel like you’re carrying the whole group with no member around to watch your back, no?”

“For real.” Seungwan shakes her head. “I like meeting and collaborating with Solar-eonnie, but if I can I’ll transfer the—uhh—pressure.” She hurriedly adds, “But it’s a good pressure, I mean. Like motivation, a drive, an objective. Solar-eonnie is always giving her 110% in every single thing she does, so I have to make sure I don’t fall behind too far.”

“Wendy-ssi is too kind.” Yongsun pats her on the shoulder. “I’m not saying this just because we’re on a broadcast. My kids—I mean, other Mamamoo members said so, too. Wheein said you made sure to match her pitch when the two of you were singing Two of Us yesterday even when you’d never practiced the song before.”

“So Wendy-ssi has good ears,” Eunji concludes.

“Very good ears indeed,” Solar agrees. “Wheein is the best vocal technician in Mamamoo. Like, I took vocal lessons way later compared to Wheein, and she said Wendy-ssi’s really, really good. Who am I to disagree?”

“I see, I see. Talent recognizes talent, no?” Eunji says. Smiling, she refocuses on Seungwan, whose ears are red to their tips. Joohyun, as always, finds it cute. “Then, Wendy-ssi, is there any talented artist that you’d like to have a collaboration with? Maybe we can start with the Korean ones first.”

Gathering her bearing, Seungwan gestures at both she and Solar. “The two of you.”

Solar chuckles. “Then I’ll be the odd one among you, Club Four Octaves members.”

“Club Four wha—oh. Oooh. Oh my, oh my.” Eunji joins the laughing Solar. “My god, I didn’t even realize. How witless of me.”

“Solar-eonnie can definitely be an honorary member,” Seungwan offers.

“Oh we’re admitting new members now, eh, Wendy-ssi? Should we set a membership fee?”

“I’ll leave it to you, Eunji-sunbaenim.”

“So aside from being a singer, actress, and DJ, I’m a manager too?”

“There’s no better person to feature in Wendy-ssi’s solo debut, I believe.”

At the information, Eunji’s eyes widen. She hasn’t? She mouths to Solar, which Joohyun catches. And it irks her. Can people stop asking Seungwan that question? Granted, she’s in her seventh year as an idol. Granted, she’s more than capable as a vocalist. Granted, people are bloody curious. Still, the solo will be there when it is.

She hasn’t, Solar mouths back, and it irks Joohyun even more.

Thankfully, Wendy has the grace to get the ball in her court. “I’m still lacking at many things—”

“Oh my. If you’re lacking, what does that make us two here, really?” Solar jokes.

“—for real, eonnie. I mean, I can’t think of a better partner than Eunji-sunbaenim when I debut as a soloist. Really, it’d be a great honor for me to sing with you.”

“Joohyun, Sooyoung, five minutes!” Manager Yoon sticks her head into the waiting room and bellows.

Sooyoung closes her browser and switches off her phone—to Joohyun’s complaint. She raises an eyebrow, as if challenging Joohyun to say anything, but Joohyun merely glares at her and makes a stand to leave the waiting room.

At the entrance to the studio set, Joohyun lets out a sigh, eyes on the set. “She looks like she belongs there,” she murmurs.

Sooyoung takes a step to stand beside her. They will make an entrance together, after all. “With other great vocalists? I agree.” She clears and puts a hand on the small of Joohyun’s back. “Just as much we do on this stage, showered with bright lights.”

“No, I mean she looks so—she’s—”

“At work,” Sooyoung interjects gently. “Seungwan-eonnie’s working, and so are we.”

Joohyun squares her shoulders. “Right,” she says, more to herself than to Sooyoung. “Work first.”

-.-.-

Broadcast commercial break, Jeong Eunji thinks, is either an awkward or relaxing period. There’s no in-between. Ten years into surviving the industry, she’s seen and heard enough to know the difference between hosts who are only tolerating their guests, especially when the guests are idols, and those who genuinely welcome them. The former will only speak to their guests when the mic is on; the latter will try to engage their guests no matter what even if it’s only to ask them how they’ve found the broadcast so far, or if the AC isn’t too cold, or if their coffee is to their liking. People won’t forget what you make them feel, Eunji-ya, Chorong once told her. A little courtesy goes a long way.

Judging from how Wendy has finished more than half of her coffee, she seems to find it more than agreeable to her palate.

“Good?”

Wendy looks up from the sheets of paper in front of her—approved questions, manageable prompts, and promotion stuff—and looks at Eunji. “Oh,” she says, a bit startled. “Yes. Very delicious. Thank you again for the coffee, sunbaenim.”

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