Jihoon stood in the middle of the studio, arms folded, brow furrowed in quiet concentration. He didn't speak.
He didn't blink.
The song played on loop in his ears, but his mind was running somewhere else entirely.
Everyone around him remained silent, watching.
To the casual eye, he might've looked like he was lost in thought.
But anyone who knew Jihoon—really knew him—could tell this was something more.
He was dissecting. Calculating.
Trying to solve a puzzle that no one else even saw.
In terms of vocals, there was nothing to criticize. Jieun had been training diligently at SM Entertainment for over a year.
Even Johan-hyung—one of the most exacting vocal instructors in the business—had praised her vocal tone and sensitivity, calling her "one of the rarest talents I've ever trained."
At just fourteen, her control and depth already rivaled those of seasoned idols.
Apart from Taeyeon and Jessica, Jihoon couldn't think of another young singer with comparable finesse.
And the song itself? Beautiful.
A graceful melody that glided softly, like a breeze brushing through spring leaves.
The lyrics were poetic, melancholy without being melodramatic.
Everything, on the surface, was polished.
But something didn't sit right.
Jihoon kept listening, again and again, trying to pinpoint it.
The melody was lovely.
Jieun's vocal tone? Captivating.
But the fusion of the two—there was a strange dissonance.
A kind of emotional gap. Like watching a child wear their mother's high heels; elegant, but off balance.
Beautiful, but mismatched.
Sungsoo had been watching him quietly the whole time, sensing something. He finally spoke up.
"Jihoon-ssi… is there a problem? Is it—plagiarism?"
His voice was low, careful.
The word itself felt taboo.
In the industry, plagiarism wasn't just a scandal—it was a career-ender.
Even the whiff of it could drag an artist through months of public backlash, press conferences, and lawsuits.
But Jihoon shook his head.
"No, it's not that," he said slowly, taking off his headphones and setting them down with a sigh.
"There's nothing wrong with the song itself. Structurally, melodically—it's solid. But…"
He looked up at Sungsoo, his voice lowering with a mixture of professional concern and personal weight.
"Hyung, did anyone stop to think about whether this is the right debut song for Jieun?"
Before Sungsoo could answer, the head of the music production team—clearly not recognizing Jihoon for who he was—jumped in with confidence.
"The song was written by Lee Jonghoon, a well-known composer industry."
"And Jieun's vocal delivery is strong enough to carry it."
"We've already done all the necessary market analysis. Based on the report, it seems that ballads like these are currently trending."
"Just look at the success of 'If'—which, by the way, was written by Lee Jihoon-ssi, one of the most well-known songwriters in the industry right now."
He said the name as if it were some revered figure from a distance—completely unaware that the real Lee Jihoon was standing right there, having just been analyzing their chosen track with a deeper insight than any algorithm could provide.
Jihoon gave a small smile but didn't interrupt. Instead, he turned to him gently.
"You're right," Jihoon said calmly. "Your research is solid. The data makes sense. On paper, this is a smart move."
Then his expression changed—sharpened.
"But you're seeing Jieun as just a product. A singer with a voice, not a person with a story."
He walked slowly toward the soundboard and gestured toward the monitor displaying the song's waveform.
"This track… it's like giving a university thesis to a middle-schooler and asking her to read it like she wrote it."
"The performance is clean, but it lacks soul—not because she isn't talented, but because she hasn't lived this song."
His eyes drifted toward the glass panel separating the recording booth from the control room.
"If Baek Jiyoung-sunbae or Lyn-sunbae sang this?"
"Sure. Their lives, their heartbreaks—they'd pour through the lyrics naturally."
"But Jieun is sixteen. She's never been in love. She's never had her heart broken. What is she supposed to draw from to make this song feel real?"
There was a pause. Heavy. Everyone in the room began to understand the angle he was coming from.
"It's like asking a child to give a parenting seminar to a room full of adults. No matter how well she memorizes the words, the room won't believe her."
He let the silence linger.
Then added softly, but firmly, "Her debut song shouldn't just be a market move. It should be hers. Something that lets her voice and her soul shine at the same time."
"That's what builds a real artist. That's what lasts."
Across from him, the head of the music department gave a small, skeptical shrug.
"I don't think being young means she can't understand the emotion in a ballad."
"I mean, didn't the public fall in love with Taeyeon-ssi's performance of 'If'?" he countered confidently.
"Besides, how do you know Jieun hasn't experienced something like this?"
"Artists don't always need to live through something to express it authentically. And who are you to say she hasn't felt that kind of heartbreak?"
"Just listening to her performance—you can hear it. The emotion is there."
Jihoon's lips twitched, the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth—one without amusement.
Only the trainee manager standing quietly to the side seemed to realize the deeper context.
Jihoon replied, his voice calm but laced with a sharper undertone.
"Taeyeon was already close to adulthood when she recorded If. And that was an OST—the song existed to serve the drama, not the singer."
"No one cared who was singing it as long as it evoked the right emotion in the context of the story."
He paused for a moment, then added with quiet emphasis:
"When If started playing, the audience naturally connected the melody to the storyline. The song and the drama complemented each other, blurring the line between soundtrack and narrative."
He took a small step forward, eyes narrowing with purpose.
"But this is a debut stage. This is IU."
"The spotlight will be on her—not just her voice, but her face, her presence, her story. No matter how technically mature her vocals are, she's still sixteen."
"You're asking her to convey heartbreak like she's lived it… but she hasn't."
The room went quiet. Jihoon dropped his gaze for a moment, his voice lowering.
"I know it. Because I've raised her for the past year."
That line hit like a stone thrown into still water.
The producer's confident expression faltered, realization dawning slowly across his face. He glanced at Sungsoo, silently questioning.
Sungsoo gave a sheepish chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Yeah… they're basically family. And he's the Lee Jihoon-ssi you were talking about."
The head of music blinked, his previous certainty wavering.
"Wait… so if that's the case—why didn't you just write her debut track from the beginning?"
The moment the question left his mouth, Jihoon's expression turned cold.
He didn't answer.
His jaw clenched slightly, and for a moment, it looked like he was about to explode.
Instead, he took a deep breath, calming himself before he said something he'd regret.
"If I'm being honest…" Jihoon muttered, "right now, I just want to drag Jieun home and give her a long lecture."
He glanced sideways at the girl who had been quietly standing near the door, head lowered like a child caught sneaking cookies before dinner.
Jihoon's frustration didn't come from ego—it came from guilt.
He had been so buried in his own schedules, meetings, and film sets that he hadn't noticed the preparations moving this far without him.
If he had been a little more present, this whole situation could've been avoided.
Sungsoo sighed, raising both hands. "Let's stop pointing fingers. It's on me too—I should've told you earlier. But what now? Do you have a solution?"
Jihoon nodded. "Postpone the debut. Give me a week—I'll write a song tailored for Jieun. With fast-tracked production and recording, we can have the final version within a month."
The music producer shook his head almost immediately, his face pinched with stress.
"It's too late. The PR campaign's already started."
"We've invested in media placements, print materials, teaser clips."
"The mini album's been mastered, packaged, printed—we're literally days away from launching it into the market."
A long silence fell over the room.
Jihoon exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair.
The solution wasn't going to be easy, and neither was the compromise. But one thing was certain in his heart:
Jieun deserved more than just a market-tested debut.
She deserved a beginning that belonged to her—not one that fit someone else's checklist.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, JiangXiu, Daoist098135 and Daoistadj for bestowing the power stone!]