“I can think of a few reasons,” Chairman Noh says, setting down the newspaper over the desk. “The paparazzi knew exactly what they were doing—manufacturing scandals when there were none. They either hold animosity towards you and Lee Kuro, or they were desperate enough to sell these photos and fabricated stories to media outlets for fast compensation. Possibly both, but this seems more on Lee Kuro’s end than anything, considering that the scandal has affected his public image more than yours.”

“This is character assassination,” Iseul says, because they can benefit so much from their image and lose everything to it too.

Chairman Noh crinkles the edges of the newsprint, running his fingers over Iseul’s name emblazoned in the headlines. “Interestingly enough, Meteor Entertainment has neither denied nor accepted the claims. What do you have to say about that?”

“I would appreciate it if you could believe me more than sensational headlines without substantial proof.”

His gaze softens into something more paternal. “I do, but the impact to our company is undeniable. We planned to release Nayeon’s album at the end of the month, but we’re rapidly losing support from the fans. Rumors are spreading that we’re using Lee Kuro’s name to promote ours—all of this noise marketing nonsense. We’ll have to delay her comeback to rectify the situation.” A heavy sigh escapes him, and he pinches the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache. “ She’s going to be upset at me.”

The framed photographs and posters of Noh Nayeon’s face all over the office remind Iseul that Chairman Noh sells a fantasy with his daughter rather than focusing on selling music—which is concerning when she is only sixteen years old. She doesn't write her own songs or, compose her own music, or choreograph her dances. She lip-syncs her stages and never remembers her choreography, but it doesn't matter to her father since she's supposed to be a refreshing, girl-next-door kind of idol who resonates with the hearts of the nation's youth.

Iseul doesn't resent her—far from it. He wishes that she would place more effort into her work and utilize her potential to develop her skills when she's getting opportunities at the cost of Iseul's absence. But he holds his tongue and doesn't make his thoughts known.

“You are no stranger to scandals,” Chairman Noh says but doesn't blame him outright. “You were in the news for a similar issue before—something about you enticing married men after you were seen speaking privately to one.”

Iseul can't suppress the disgust from showing on his face. “You mean when Yoon Hanbyul offered to sponsor me?”

“That,” Chairman Noh answers with a frown, “and a few other occasions.”

They don't speak of the times Iseul was approached by affluent businessmen, carrying offers of connections within the industry in exchange for more private favors. They propositioned him with roles on the big screen, which didn't interest him when he was a music artist first and foremost; endorsements from luxury brands when he was already content with the brands he was working with; and financial support to fuel a more extravagant lifestyle. When sponsors had power, and participants were willing, these relationships were so institutionalized in the industry—but Iseul became an outlier the moment he refused.

He wasn’t the respectful, complaisant newcomer he should have been, but he was good at not being so.

You are not desperate enough, they told him.

No, Iseul answered, sneering in their faces, because he was going to leave them breathless with awe without their support. The media spun the story in an entirely different direction, but mere speculation was not enough for his dedication to waver.

“There is some good that came out of this,” Chairman Noh reveals with a thoughtful tone, making him straighten with attention. “Someone is interested in sponsoring you, though not in the way we would expect.”

“We’ve established that sponsorship doesn’t interest me.”

“The CEO of Hwang Empire remarried several times—” At the very thought of the man, horror settles within his stomach because Chairman Noh couldn't possibly mean to sell him out. “We received a call from Lee Aera this morning, and she expressed her interest in meeting you.”

“The CEO’s wife?”

Chairman Noh nods in affirmation. “Last night’s events compelled her to reach out to us.” He retrieves a white envelope from his drawer and slides it across the polished wooden surface of his desk, but Iseul doesn’t take it. “I was asked to extend this invitation to her daughter’s first birthday celebration.”

Iseul laughs breathlessly. “I’ve caught the eye of married women now.”

“Lee Aera means well,” Chairman Noh says. “She made it clear that this is a business negotiation—she doesn’t desire your companionship or anything physical. Instead, she’s willing to support your return to the industry if it means that she can contribute to your music. I could have declined on your behalf, but I would like for you to take the offer.”

“Why?” Iseul’s eyes narrow at the white card on the desk. “What’s in it for you?”

“Not much for me,” Chairman Noh says, and his words only give rise to skepticism. Financial incentives should appeal to him when their company has experienced significant losses from increasing expenses towards Nayeon’s music, only to acquire fewer and fewer sales. “But a great deal for you. We don’t have the capacity to promote you as an artist right now, but this is a good opportunity for you to grow. If someone from a company as renowned as Hwang Empire is invested in your comeback, don’t you think you should accept?”

“I—” Iseul swallows the refusal at the edge of his tongue, thinking back to what he told Kuro. This is a different matter—remaining at his company and returning to the limelight at the expense of deferring to someone he has never met. His future should be in his company’s hands, not anyone else’s.

Chairman Noh folds his hands together on the surface of his desk, the gesture he does when he’s making an investment or closing out on a deal, a perfect picture of the businessman he happens to be. “Will you meet her before you decide?”

Iseul has already decided, though.

“Alright,” Iseul says, “but don’t expect anything to come out of it.”

* * *

Iseul doesn’t wear shoes to dance, but in the back of his closet, he keeps a collection of clean canvas sneakers and polished dress shoes for occasions like these. He slides into a pair of black oxfords and they fit the way they should, molding to his feet, but they’re not as comfortable as he would like.

His body wants to be freed from the facade of his suit, when all it knows are t-shirts and sweatpants that hang loose on his frame. Uneasiness looks back at him in the reflection of the full mirror, because there’s more worth in his wardrobe than what he has in savings. He can thank all of his fashion pictorials for that.

He looks decent, even if something seems wrong. He no longer has a stylist to tend to his sartorial needs, so he takes care of himself. His bangs have been swept behind his ears, revealing the glint of his crimson diamond earring. His shoulders are all lean lines from the tailored fit of his blazer, lending strength to his frame. The knot in his tie is flawless, but he spends too much time affixing a clip to the length of the tie, adjusting it so the silver dolphin insignia points perpendicular to the edge.

“You look good!” Leo calls out to him from where he’s splayed out on his bed. When Iseul said he could make himself comfortable, that didn’t include messing up his neat bedsheets. “Seriously, you’ll be late if you keep this up.”

“If you say so,” Iseul mumbles.

“I mean it—I might’ve even snapped a few photos when you weren’t looking.” Leo ends his confession with a cough when Iseul throws him a pointed look. “Are you sure you don’t want me there?”

“I think I’ll be fine.” Iseul touches his tie clip one more time for good measure. “I don’t want to get you involved with unnecessary attention.”

Leo shakes his head regretfully. “I guess people will expect you to go with your boyfriend instead of your manager.”

Even if it’s a joke, his heart clenches without warning.

“Will you stop that?” Iseul glares, but he’s met with a knowing grin. “It’s bad enough that you added fuel to the fire.”

Leo gives him a careless shrug, as if he didn’t make a trending Instagram post and was affectionately declared president of their new fanclub overnight. “I’m surprised that Chairman Noh didn’t capitalize on this more. Actually have you pretend to date him and all that. Any kind of publicity is good publicity.”

“You’ve been watching way too many dramas. I’d rather people know me for myself than Kuro’s alleged—” Iseul breathes out a deep sigh. “Boyfriend.”

Iseul has plans for the future, and those plans don't involve being known as Lee Kuro's lover for the rest of his life.

“Sorry! I was just teasing you.” Leo beams at him. “I’ll drop you off and pick you up later tonight. Is there anything you want me to do in the meantime?”

“I do, actually,” Iseul says, and Leo perks up at that. He doesn’t make a habit of asking much of him, but how the rumors spread has been bothering him of late. “Can you look into something for me?”