The Contract

January 25th

The apartment Haseul had arranged still felt strange to wake up in. Too clean. Too empty. Too quiet.

You’d been living here for twelve days now, adjusting to your new role. Not manager anymore. Coordinator. Assistant. Representative for four freed idols trying to navigate an uncertain future.

And stress relief for twelve. That part hadn’t changed.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. Work group chat—the professional one with the four freed members.

OEC + 🐰

Kim Lip

Meeting with the new company today at 2 PM. The one with our old creative director.

Heejin

Finally. Someone who actually knows us.

Jinsoul

Still need to be careful. Just because we know him doesn’t mean the contract will be fair.

Choerry

But it’s exciting! A fresh start! 🎉

Kim Lip

Oppa, you and Attorney Park will be there, right?

You

Yes. Both of us. We’ll review everything carefully.

You stared at that last message for a moment before getting out of bed.

Attorney Park had been invaluable these past two weeks. The girls’ legal team had connected you with him—a contract specialist who actually understood entertainment law. You handled the personal advocacy and coordination, he handled the legal technicalities.

But you’d been doing more than that behind the scenes.

Three weeks ago, you’d reached out to the CEO building this new company. You’d worked with him briefly before, back when you were new at the old company. He knew the girls, understood their potential.

You’d been feeding him updates. Their situation, their hopes, what they were looking for. Painting a picture of what they needed—not just financially, but creatively, structurally, emotionally after everything they’d been through.

And you’d been clear: Don’t fuck this up. They deserve better than what they had. If you lowball them or try to control them, I’ll make sure they walk.

He’d taken it well. Better than well. He’d seemed genuinely excited about building something different.

But the girls couldn’t know you’d been involved. This had to be their choice, made with full information but without feeling influenced by your behind-the-scenes work.

You’d find out today if he’d listened.

New Company Offices - 2 PM

The CEO greeted them warmly, and the creative director—someone who’d worked with them before—was genuinely excited to see them again.

“I’m not interested in making you into something you’re not,” the CEO said, sitting across the conference table. “We want to build around who you already are. Give you the creative freedom to explore, to grow, to actually be artists.”

The preliminary contract terms were laid out. You and Attorney Park reviewed them while the four members listened.

Fair payment structures. Actual profit sharing with transparent accounting. Creative input written into the contract, not just promised verbally. Reasonable schedules with mandatory rest periods. Health insurance. Mental health support.

And something unexpected.

“Cryptocurrency options?” Attorney Park raised an eyebrow.

“We’re building this company to be tech-forward,” the CEO explained. “Blockchain-based fan engagement, NFT projects, virtual concerts, AI-assisted production tools. We want to be at the cutting edge of where entertainment is going.” He gestured to the contract. “Standard payment is cash, of course. But artists can choose to take a portion of their compensation in cryptocurrency—Bitcoin, Ethereum, whatever they prefer. It’s an investment opportunity if they want it.”

“That’s… unique,” Heejin said.

“It’s the future. We’re not just another entertainment company doing the same old thing. We’re building something completely different—tech-integrated, artist-focused, fan-centric.” The CEO looked at each of them. “Full creative control, fair compensation, cutting-edge technology, and the freedom to actually be yourselves. That’s what we’re offering.”

You glanced at the CEO briefly. He caught your eye, gave the slightest nod.

He’d listened.

The meeting continued for another hour. Questions, clarifications, discussions about creative direction and comeback timelines.

“Of course, this is just the preliminary offer,” the CEO said. “We have plenty of time to negotiate specific terms—vacation schedules, creative approval processes, any concerns you have. No need to rush. Take the time you need to make sure this is right for you.”

“How long do we have?” Kim Lip asked.

“As long as you need. We’re not going anywhere.” He smiled. “But ideally, we’d love to have everything finalized by mid-March so we can start planning your comeback properly.”

By the end, the energy in the room was different than any previous meeting—hope mixed with genuine excitement.

“This is the best meeting we’ve had,” Kim Lip said in the lobby afterward. “They actually want to pay us fairly. And all that tech stuff—it’s really innovative.”

“Real compensation for our work,” Heejin added. “Not scraps. And the creative freedom—remember that other company last week? The one that wanted to completely rebrand us as ‘sexy mature idols’?” She scoffed. “Like we’re going to let some company dictate our image like that.”

She moved closer to you, linked her arm through yours with a mischievous grin. “I’ll only be sexy for Oppa anyway. Right?” She winked, clearly half-joking but also not entirely joking.

You caught Choerry’s expression in your peripheral vision. She was looking at you—at Heejin’s arm linked with yours—with something in her eyes. A yearning, maybe. Something that lingered for just a moment before she looked away quickly, her usual cheerful expression returning but not quite reaching her eyes.

“We still need to review every clause thoroughly,” Jinsoul said, clutching the contract folder. Her voice was tight, stressed. “There’s a lot to negotiate still. Vacation time, approval processes, scheduling details. I want to make sure we understand everything.”

“We have time,” Choerry said quietly, her voice a little softer than usual. “They said no rush.”