Jihoon had come to Loen HQ today with a simple assumption: this was the day of the audition.
He thought he'd be holding Jieun's hand through the nerves, giving her last-minute advice, maybe even standing awkwardly in the back of a cold dance studio as she sang a short verse.
That was the plan. That was the expectation.
Reality, however, had other ideas, or let's just say Jieun have her own plan.
Because the moment they walked in, a staff member greeted Jieun like she was already part of the family.
Not as an applicant. But as a trainee. A signed one.
Jihoon blinked. "Wait… what?"
Jieun gave him a sheepish smile, biting her lower lip. "I… might've auditioned a while ago. And, um, passed."
"You what now?"
She bowed quickly, nervously. "I didn't want to say anything until I was sure…"
Turns out, while Jihoon had been busy making plans and mapping out her career path like a meticulous director plotting scenes, Jieun had quietly taken the first step on her own.
She'd auditioned for Loen days ago. Using the light training she'd received from SM Entertainment as a foundation—just a few months of vocal coaching and posture refinement—but it had clearly made a difference.
Her voice was soft yet stable and her presence?
Is exactly the type Loen was scouting for: youthful, sweet, effortlessly marketable.
Jihoon was speechless.
He wasn't mad. Not exactly. But still—he thought today was the beginning, not the middle of the story.
And now here he was, standing in the glossy lobby of Loen HQ with a lukewarm coffee in one hand and a swirling cocktail of confusion and reluctant acceptance in his chest.
Apparently, today's visit wasn't for the audition—it was for the paperwork.
Since Jieun was still a minor, the company required a legal guardian to come in and sign off on the trainee contract.
That's why Jihoon was summoned. Not as a manager. Not even as emotional support.
But as her guardian.
He exhaled deeply, letting go of his ego and the mental script he'd written for how this day was supposed to unfold.
Maybe it wasn't what he planned—but Jieun's spark was real. This choice was hers. And maybe—just maybe—fate was gently nudging her back onto the path she'd already walked once before.
Loen had been her beginning in that past life, after all.
So why fight it?
From what Jihoon remembered, Loen had trained her well and treated her decently.
Sure, there were a few hiccups along the way—but nothing she couldn't handle. And now, with him by her side, maybe they could smooth out those bumps entirely.
So, Jihoon chose to accept it. Swiftly, cleanly. Because if he didn't, who would pick up the pieces if Jieun got hurt chasing her dream?
The moment he let go of his own expectations, things started to make sense.
And right then, a tall, composed man approached them with a warm but professional smile.
"You must be Jieun's oppa, thank you for coming," he said. "I'm Cha Sungjae, head of the trainee program."
Jihoon straightened a bit, suddenly aware of the formality in the air.
Apparently, Loen didn't just throw a contract at any hopeful trainee and call it a day.
The company made it a point to meet the families, give them a tour of the facility, and reassure them that their children would be nurtured, not exploited.
It was rare, almost unheard of in the cutthroat world of Korean entertainment.
But Jieun wasn't just any trainee. She was already being flagged as one of their most promising prospects.
And when the company heard she'd be bringing a guardian today, they didn't send just anyone to handle it. They sent Cha Sungjae.
"Alright, to start things off, I'll give you two a tour of the company's training facilities and dormitories," Sungjae said cheerfully, extending a hand to lead the way.
Jihoon followed, but his brow furrowed the second the word dormitories registered.
"Wait—hold up." He glanced at Jieun, then back at Sungjae. "She has to stay in a dorm? Already?" His voice had the protective edge of a dad watching his kid head off to preschool for the first time.
Sungjae chuckled, clearly used to this kind of reaction. "Don't worry—at first, trainees can still go home. Dorm life doesn't start right away."
Jihoon relaxed a little, though not completely.
Sungjae smiled knowingly, continuing as they walked through the hallway. "But if a trainee's on track to debut, management usually recommends they move in full-time. It's better for their schedule, and…"
He paused, then added with a smile, "...also for safety and image control. This is the norms of the entertainment industry."
Jihoon nodded slowly. He did know. Taeyeon, Jessica, the whole SNSD crew—they'd all lived in dorms during their training and pre-debut days.
It made sense. Still, logic didn't do much to soften the pang in his chest. The idea of Jieun living away from him, even if just across town, stung more than he expected.
He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.
Jieun must've sensed it. Quietly, she moved closer and slipped her arm through his.
She didn't speak, but she held onto him tighter. Even though they'd only known each other for a few months, Jihoon had already become a fixture in her world—more than just a guardian.
He was her brother now. Her person.
Feeling her grip, Jihoon glanced down and gave her a warm smile.
He reached over and gently patted her head, the way an older brother might—affectionate, wordless reassurance.
They continued the tour. The training rooms were modern and well-equipped—mirrored walls, state-of-the-art sound systems, even a mini in-house recording booth.
Jihoon found himself nodding in approval. Compared to the cramped practice rooms he'd seen at SM back in the day, this place felt like a breath of fresh air.
Not bad at all.
He was about to ask how many trainees were currently active when his phone suddenly buzzed.
Jihoon glanced at the screen—and his expression shifted immediately. His brows pinched. His lips pressed into a thin line.
Sungjae noticed and smiled. "It's okay, go ahead and take the call."
Jihoon gave a quick nod. "Yeah, just… give me a second." He stepped aside, already pulling out his phone.
Jihoon's phone buzzed again in his pocket. He glanced down at the screen, and his soul visibly left his body.
"Hyori noona…" he muttered under his breath, already bracing himself.
He picked up. "Noona! Don't tell me you're calling to rush me about the song again. We just met yesterday, remember? You can't expect me to work like a machine!"
He looked like he was about to cry, but had no tears left.
This noona had been bombing his phone with texts since early morning—voice notes, emojis, random ideas.
One even said, "Make it sexy but not too sexy. You know what I mean." He absolutely did not.
From the other end came Hyori's unmistakable bark. "YA! Is that how you talk to your noona?!"
Jihoon straightened up like a schoolboy. "Aigoo~ noona-ah, my beautiful, talented, forever-young noona… How may I serve you today?" he said with the exaggerated politeness of a loyal servant trying not to die.
Hyori sniffed triumphantly. "That's better! Now—where's my song? Progress update, now!"
Jihoon groaned. "Noona, it's literally been one day. How do you expect me to whip up a masterpiece overnight?"
"Eyyy... and yet you cranked out those iconic OSTs like popcorn. Didn't people start calling you 'the genius behind the curtain' or whatever? Tsk. Still got the nerve to call yourself talented?" she mocked playfully.
Jihoon rubbed his temple. "Nonna-ah, is not that I'm not working on it, is just that I'm at Loen Entertainment right now with my sister Jieun. She's about to sign up for their trainee program."
"Oh?" Hyori's tone shifted, intrigued. "Loen's not a bad choice. They used to be just a record label, but ever since SK Group bought them out, they've been making big moves in showbiz."
"Yup, I just finished touring their building. Honestly, it's pretty impressive. Clean, modern, solid trainee support too."
"Alright then," Hyori said casually. "I'll let you off the hook—for now. But don't forget my song. I want it to be sexy, powerful, and unforgettable. Like me."
"Okay, okay, I got it…" Jihoon rolled his eyes, grinning.
"Good boy~" she cooed in a sing-song tone, like she was talking to her pet dog, and promptly hung up.
Jihoon slipped his phone back in his pocket with a sigh.
Sungjae, who had been standing nearby, cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh… sorry to pry, but… if you don't mind me asking… who was that 'Hyori noona' you were just on the phone with?"
Jihoon blinked. "Lee Hyori."
Sungjae froze. "The Lee Hyori? Fin.K.L Lee Hyori? National fairy Lee Hyori?"
Jihoon gave him a confused look. "Yeah. That one. Why?"
"If that's the case… may I ask your name?" Sungjae asked respectfully, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
He had just overheard Jihoon casually chatting with Lee Hyori—the national fairy—and that alone was enough to raise eyebrows.
After all, not every celebrity earns the "national" title. It wasn't just some fan nickname—it was a mark of wide public recognition, almost like a cultural badge of honor bestowed by the entire country and only very few ever reached that level.
And if he was working with someone like Hyori, who's to say he wouldn't be behind more high-profile collaborations in the future?
"Lee Jihoon," he replied casually.
Sungjae's jaw dropped. "Lee Jihoon… JH's Lee Jihoon?!"
Jihoon scratched his head. "Uh… yeah?"
And then it all clicked for Sungjae—why Jihoon had looked vaguely familiar from the moment they met.
His name wasn't just floating around the music scene—it was everywhere.
From Taeyeon's emotional ballads to Jessica's catchy pop anthems to Boa's upcoming Japanese release… they all had one thing in common: Jihoon's name in the credits.
But it didn't stop there.
His rapid rise in the film industry was already making waves, and him being the real owner of JH Group was beginning to surface in high-level circles.
That wasn't just impressive—it was powerful. And in traditional Korean business culture, power carries a status that holds a different kind of weight.
A man like Jihoon—a company owner and one of the most promising filmmakers in the industry—would typically be greeted with formal ceremony and escorted by a director or executive on equal footing—not shown around by a mid-level staffer like himself.
And yet here Jihoon was—relaxed, humble, and completely uninterested in the game of status.
That, perhaps, was what surprised Sungjae the most. Jihoon carried the weight of status without needing to show it.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, JiangXiu and OS_PARCEIROS for bestowing the power stone!]