That night, long after the city had gone quiet, Hajoon stood in the dim bowels of an underground parking garage.
It was just shy of 11 PM. The concrete structure was nearly deserted, save for a few scattered cars whose owners he didn't care to imagine. Fluorescent ceiling lights buzzed overhead, casting flickering shadows in every corner. His footsteps echoed on the cold hard floor, the sound dampened by the still, heavy air.
He tugged the hood of his black sweatshirt lower over his cap, hiding his face. No one here would recognize him—he hadn't debuted, wasn't famous—but old habits died hard. Better to be cautious, especially when creeping around for secret meetings.
In the far corner of the garage, a black sedan idled. Hajoon's pulse quickened. The windows were tinted and he couldn't see inside.
He swallowed hard and approached slowly.
The driver's door opened with a soft click.
A man stepped out, tall and composed. Despite the late hour, he wore a charcoal suit, the jacket unbuttoned but crisply pressed. Under the harsh lights, Hajoon caught the glint of a silver tie clip and matching silver cufflinks at the man's wrists. The man's face remained partly in shadow, but Hajoon recognized the confident stance immediately.
The Director.
That wasn't his official title, of course, but it was how Hajoon thought of him. The man gave him a name but Hajoon wasn't even sure if the name was real. The man was surely a high ranking at the company. Maybe he managed trainees. Or maybe he was a high-ranking board member who operated in the background.
From what he'd gathered, trainees scarcely knew of him, but Hajoon had come to know him very well in recent months. This was the person who had extended a secret hand to Hajoon, promising to help him achieve his long-awaited debut… for a price.
"Hajoon," the Director greeted, his voice low and smooth. It echoed in the cold parking ground walls. "You're on time. Good." He checked his watch briefly, the movement causing one of those silver cufflinks to catch the light.
Hajoon bowed his head in a quick, respectful greeting. "I came as soon as I could." His voice was still a little raw from the day's earlier stress, but he masked it as best he could.
The older man's eyes flicked over Hajoon, assessing. "Rough day?" he asked, noticing something in Hajoon's expression.
Hajoon straightened up, willing himself to appear composed. "It's nothing. Why did you want to meet?" He didn't want to discuss his family with this man. Hell, he didn't want to discuss it with anyone.
The Director didn't push. He cast a quick glance around the underground parking. Satisfied they were alone, he inclined his head toward the car's back seat. "Get in. We shouldn't linger out here."
Hajoon obeyed, moving around to slide into the back seat of the sedan. The leather seats were cool against his body. A faint scent of rich sandalwood hung in the air. The man followed him in, shutting the door. The two of them sat in the semi-darkness of the car's interior, the only light coming from the greenish glow of the dashboard and a distant parking garage lights filtering through the windows.
For a moment, the Director said nothing, simply studying Hajoon's face. His own features were finally visible in the dim light: sharply handsome in a severe way, with neatly combed hair just starting to show a touch of gray at the temples. His age was hard to pinpoint—maybe mid-forties. His eyes were shrewd and hard, the eyes of a man used to being in control.
Hajoon suppressed a shiver that tried to crawl up his spine. This man was truly... intimidating.
He had long stopped expecting any genuine warmth from this person. Their relationship was built on mutual benefit and necessity, nothing more. Still, the Director had always been straightforward and (thus far) kept his word. If he wanted a meeting, it was important.
"I'll get straight to the point," the Director said quietly. "We have a problem."
"Is it… about the CEO?"
The Director's lips curved in a faint, humorless smile. "Sharp as always. Yes. It's about the CEO—and the little situation we've been managing."
"What happened? I thought you said everything was under control."
The older man's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "It was under control. I covered your tracks thoroughly, or so I believed." He paused, steepling his fingers. "But it seems our esteemed CEO has grown suspicious. In fact, he's launched an internal investigation as of this week."
Hajoon's heart lurched.
Internal investigation.
The very words sent a cold bolt of fear through him.
He struggled to find his voice. "He… He knows?"
"He's sniffing around, asking questions that he shouldn't be."
"Questions about… me?"
"Indirectly, yes." The Director's eyes gleamed with irritation at the thought of it. "Specifically, he's looking into the medical reports from the last few years."
Hajoon shut his eyes, cursing silently.
There had been many times where he manipulated medical records. Being a 'Choi,' it was simple. Their family had influence in nearly all of the clinics and hospitals in Seoul.
He still remembered the first time he pulled something like this. It was a few years ago, back when a pre-debut lineup had just been finalized. One of the trainees—a powerful vocalist and Hajoon's biggest rival within their training team—suddenly lost their voice.
The official medical checkup found nothing serious. Nothing suspicious. But Hajoon knew better.
He had tampered with the medical report and pressured the doctor into silence. In the end, the trainee was forced to withdraw due to "health reasons." That opened up a spot in the debut lineup. But sadly, the debut was canceled.
At the time, it had felt like a necessary evil. And it had been frighteningly easy: a quiet word from his father's old colleague here, a forged signature there… All orchestrated by the man sitting next to him. The Director had assured him no one would ever find out. Hajoon had almost believed it—that it wasn't really wrong, that no one was seriously hurt. The trainee would recover. Maybe debut elsewhere. Life would go on.
And then came that green-eyed boy.
Another round of tampering. Another record altered.
He told himself it would be fine—again.
But now… Now it was unraveling.
Hajoon opened his eyes to find the Director watching him intently. "What exactly did the CEO say?"
The Director shook his head slowly. "Nothing. But I have eyes everywhere around the company. The atmosphere has shifted. And the CEO received a file recently..."
Hajoon's blood ran cold. "Do you mean to say he has proof?"
The Director leaned back, exhaling sharply through his nose. "We're lucky the CEO hasn't gone public with this yet. He's trying to confirm if its real."
For a moment, the only sound was Hajoon's own breathing, growing faster and more shallow. If the CEO dug deep enough, if he confirms the evidence is true… it would be over. Not just his debut—his entire career, maybe even legal consequences. Tampering with medical records? That was criminal. And his family—if they discovered he'd used their name, their connections for something so underhanded—they would never forgive him. He could practically envision his father's enraged face, his mother's shame, his siblings' scornful sneers.
Hajoon ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling. "What… what do we do?"
"Don't worry," the Director interrupted firmly.
Hajoon looked at the man. Despite the dangerous situation, the Director's expression remained controlled, almost eerily calm. The absolute confidence in his voice was both reassuring and unsettling.
"But how can you stop him?" Hajoon asked, desperate for any lifeline. "If he's already looking…"
A flash of irritation crossed the older man's face. "The evidence has been dealt with"
Hajoon didn't ask what that meant. The cold finality in the Director's tone made it clear—it wasn't just deleted or hidden. Maybe files were destroyed. Maybe people were paid off. He didn't want to know. As long as it worked, he didn't care.
"The CEO," the man went on, adjusting his silver cufflink with precise fingers, "and that little fly that compiled the files… They're a different matter."
The small, practiced movement caught Hajoon's eye. He'd seen it before. It always meant the man was thinking—calculating. There was a gleam in the Director's eyes now. It was cold, focused, and predatory.
"He's too clever for his own good," he muttered. "We need him looking elsewhere. And as for the one who uncovered the evidence… I want to know how he found it."
Hajoon's pulse quickened. "Then… what do we do?"
The older man chuckled softly. "I have a plan for both of them, Hajoon. Let's leave it at that for now." He patted Hajoon's shoulder almost paternally, though there was an unmistakable steel in his grip. "What you need to do is simple: lay low. Keep your head down, act like everything is normal. No more… extraneous moves from you. Understood?"
Hajoon lowered his head. The Director was implying he'd been too careless lately, maybe drawing attention. Perhaps his eagerness to secure his debut had made him bolder, less cautious. If so, it had been a mistake.
"Yes, sir," he murmured. "I understand. I'll be careful. I won't do anything to draw attention, I promise."
"Good," the Director said, nodding once. He removed his hand from Hajoon's shoulder, appearing satisfied with Hajoon's compliance. "Remember, if you want that debut stage, you need to trust me and do as I say. Everything we've worked for could be ruined by one misstep."
He forced himself to meet the Director's gaze and asked the one question that had been gnawing at him for months.
"Director-nim… why are you really helping me?"
The man had approached him with an offer that sounded too good to be true: a guaranteed spot in the next debut group, in exchange for quiet cooperation on certain… internal matters. Back then, Hajoon hadn't cared why. He'd seen a lifeline and grabbed it. But with the stakes climbing ever higher, he needed reassurance. Was the man just using him for some larger scheme? Or did he truly plan to see Hajoon safely debut?
The Director's eyes sharpened. For a moment, the polish of his amicable facade cracked, revealing something colder underneath. Ambition. Greed.
"Let's just say our goals align," he said smoothly. "You want the stage. I want something from the company. And an idol in my debt—especially one from a family like yours—has value."
Hajoon's stomach tightened. An asset. He should've known. Being a Choi, even an estranged one, still meant something in certain circles. If he debuted, it would draw attention. And the man beside him would be holding the strings.
The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he kept his expression neutral. In the end, they were using each other. He could live with that—if it got him to the top.
"I understand," Hajoon said softly. "I won't let you down."
A thin smile touched the Director's lips. He leaned back in his seat, relaxed again—as if they'd just discussed the weather. "Good."
Without another word, he stepped out of the car. Hajoon watched in silence as the man shut the door and walked away, a sharp silhouette beneath the flickering garage lights. The engine rumbled to life. The black sedan rolled slowly out of the shadows, red taillights bleeding into the dark.
And just like that, he was gone.
When the sound of the car's departure had faded, Hajoon finally allowed himself to exhale. He realized he'd been holding his breath. His heart was still pounding with residual adrenaline.
Alone in the silent garage, the weight of the day's events pressed down on him. He walked over to a nearby concrete pillar and leaned against it, closing his eyes for a moment.
Family. The company. The Director. Debut. Scandal. It was all jumbled in his mind, a tangled mess of fear and yearning. Hajoon felt like he was standing on a tightrope, with failure yawning like a chasm on either side. One misstep—either at home or at the company—and everything could come crashing down.
He pulled his hoodie off for a second and wiped the sweat on his face with his forearm. The night air was hot and heavy even underground, but Hajoon shivered. A part of him couldn't help but think: what was he doing? Lying, scheming, sneaking around in the dark—all to become an idol. Was it worth it? Would it really make him happy, in the end?
Hajoon pushed off the pillar, standing up straighter.
Doubt flickered and died in his eyes, replaced by grim resolve.
Yes. It's worth it. It has to be.
He hadn't sacrificed so much and come this far just to back out now. Whatever the Director's mysterious plan was, Hajoon would play his part. He'd stay quiet, keep his nose clean, and let the man handle it.
And when he finally stepped on that stage as a debuted idol, all of this—the guilt, the fear, the compromises—would disappear.
At least, that's what he told himself.