The Resolve

It’s January 3rd

You woke to sunlight streaming through your apartment window, the termination email still open on your phone.

For a moment, you’d forgotten. Then reality crashed back down.

Fired. Effective immediately.

You lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what came next.

Your mind started calculating. Automatically. Survival mode.

Savings: Maybe two months if you were extremely careful. Your parents had helped you get started in Seoul three years ago—you couldn’t ask them for more. Not after promising you’d make it work. Not after finally making them proud.

Company apartment: Two weeks to vacate. After that—what? A gosiwon? One of those tiny rooms barely big enough for a bed, shared bathroom down the hall, walls so thin you could hear your neighbor breathing? The thought made your stomach turn.

Student loans: Still paying off your university degree. The payments didn’t stop just because you lost your job. ₩300,000 every month, automatic withdrawal.

Phone bill. Health insurance—you’d have to get private coverage now, way more expensive than the company plan. Credit card debt from setting up your life in Seoul. The gym membership you’d forgotten to cancel. Subscriptions you’d signed up for when you had a salary and didn’t think twice about ₩10,000 here and there.

And your pride. God, your pride.

You’d told your family you were managing globally popular K-pop idols. Your mother bragged to her friends at church. Your father finally stopped asking when you’d get a “real job” and started telling his golf buddies about his son in the entertainment industry.

Now what? Call them and say you got fired? Move back to your hometown with your tail between your legs? At your age?

The numbers spiraled in your head. Two months of savings. Two weeks in the apartment. No prospects because who wanted to hire someone fired from a company embroiled in a massive idol lawsuit? Your name was probably flagged in every entertainment company database in Seoul.

You were genuinely fucked.

Actually, absolutely fucked.

And you couldn’t tell the members. Couldn’t burden them with this. They had their own legal battles, their own stress, their futures hanging in the balance. The last thing they needed was their former manager crying poverty.

The arrangement—would that even continue? Did they want you because you were their manager, or because you were you? Without the title, without the access, without the professional connection… were you just some guy they’d fucked a few times?

Your phone sat on the nightstand, silent. The group chat had been added to your notifications on January 2nd. You’d been watching the messages come through, seeing their lives continue while yours fell apart.

But nobody had messaged you directly. No “are you okay?” No “we miss you.” Just the group continuing without you.

Maybe they’d already moved on.

Maybe you were always just convenient to them, their stress toy, their plaything.

Your chest tightened. This wasn’t just about money. This was your entire life in Seoul. Your purpose. Your identity.

Manager. That’s who you’d been for months. And now?

Nobody.

You spent the day in a haze. Opened your laptop. Stared at job sites. Closed your laptop. Opened your banking app. Stared at the numbers. Closed the app. Made coffee. Forgot to drink it. Found it cold hours later.

The apartment felt different now. Company furniture. Company dishes. Company everything. In two weeks, you’d have to leave it all behind and start over with nothing.

Your phone buzzed occasionally. The group chat lighting up with everyday conversations.

Chuu

Anyone want to get dinner?

Heejin

I’m down

Hyeju

Can’t, practicing

You stared at the messages. Were you invited? Was it implied you were included? You couldn’t tell anymore. The dynamic had shifted. You weren’t their manager. You were just… there. In the chat. Existing.

Vivi

Oppa, you’ve been quiet. Everything okay?

Your finger hovered over the keyboard for a full minute before you typed:

You

Yeah, just busy. All good.

The lie tasted bitter.

You weren’t okay. You were watching your life disintegrate in real-time and couldn’t tell anyone.

By the time you fell asleep that night, you still hadn’t told them.

Now it’s January 4th

You woke up and immediately checked your bank account. Still the same disappointing number.

You’d started a spreadsheet the night before, unable to sleep. Income: ₩0. Expenses: Everything.

The severance package was insulting—two weeks’ pay. The company lawyer had smiled when he handed you the paperwork yesterday. “Generous, considering the circumstances.”

You hadn’t punched him. That felt like an accomplishment.

You made instant ramyeon for breakfast because it was cheap. Ate it standing at the counter because sitting at the table felt too formal, too much like pretending things were normal.

The company had sent an email overnight. You needed to return all company property by end of business today. Laptop, phone, ID badge, keys. Everything.