Assistant Manager Kim Hates Idols-Chapter 179: Company Theme Song (2)

“Rejected.”
“Pardon?”
“I said it’s rejected.”
Ji Seongin’s hand lightly shook the file folder, his gaze still fixed on the monitor. It was a clear dismissal.
“May I ask why?”
Seon Guan didn’t take the file. Instead, she asked.
Only then did Ji Seongin’s gaze shift towards her.
“I should be the one asking.”
“…….”
“Is this the reason why we should change the constituents of a perfectly good product?”
Silence fell over the office.
Seon Guan was certain. The profitability of Yubyeong Corporation had almost reached its limit. Now was the time to switch to Bea, which was on the verge of a major breakthrough.
But there was no way to explain it. It was something only she could see.
“If you have nothing else to say, take this and go back to your desk.”
“…….”
“And stop wasting my time.”
In a data-driven asset management company, Team Leader Ji Seongin communicated solely through numbers. Seon Guan despaired for the first time, realizing she couldn’t overcome that wall with her foresight alone.
‘I can already see the warning signs for Yubyeong! What am I supposed to do?!’
Seon Guan sat down and ruffled her hair in frustration.
‘This is all because of Team Leader Ji.’
The previous team leader had been completely devoid of ambition.
It was easy to work under someone like that. Seon Guan always had a knack for making profitable choices, and that ability had allowed her to climb the corporate ladder quickly!
But everything changed after Team Leader Ji arrived. Her usual s, fabricated with convenient excuses, no longer worked.
She had to explain her intuitive insights with data. This was the reason for the constant clashes between Ji Seongin and Seon Guan.
‘So annoying, so frustrating. Just you wait until those Yubyeong go bankrupt and you regret everything.’
Muttering under her breath, Seon Guan got up from her seat. She was going to pick up the printouts she had ordered.
Her subordinate, Do Younghwan, was standing by the copier.
“Did you print these?”
“Uh, yeah.”
Do Younghwan neatly organized the printouts and handed them to Seon Guan.
More printouts continued to emerge.
Leaning against the wall next to the copier, Seon Guan asked,
“Come to think of it, Mr. Younghwan, you’ve never been chewed out by Team Leader Ji, have you?”
“To what extent do you consider being ‘chewed out’?”
“As much as I was today?”
“Not to that extent yet.”
“Lucky you, Mr. Younghwan.”
Seon Guan looked at Do Younghwan and asked, as if to herself.
“To communicate with Team Leader Ji, do you have to rely on data?”
Could there be a more foolish question in the financial industry? Seon Guan chuckled awkwardly.
“Are you frustrated?”
“A little.”
Seon Guan glanced at Ji Seongin through the glass partition. She could see the back of his neatly styled head held high.
‘Can I continue working with this person?’
Suppose she provided data exactly as Team Leader Ji wanted.
But what if that company was on the brink of delisting?
What if, despite meticulous document tampering, no one had yet caught on?
What if they decided to invest in that company?
Seon Guan’s eyes could discern the truth. But she couldn’t prove the fraud. Finding evidence and persuading others was her responsibility.
Beep, beep—.
A signal sounded from below. It was the copier.
“I don’t think you always have to communicate based on strengths.”
The noise stopped as Do Younghwan opened the paper tray.
Do Younghwan rolled up his sleeves, took out a stack of printed paper, unwrapped it, and refilled the copier. The copier started running again.
“If the perceptive Assistant Manager Seon creates the list and the meticulous Team Leader Ji approves it, wouldn’t the two of you be a good combination?”
“…….”
“You just need a bit more persuasion in your s; you don’t have to stress so much.”
The copier stopped. Do Younghwan took out the stack of printouts, neatly arranged them, and handed them to Seon Guan.
“Isn’t this what you printed? This data.”
“Our Mr. Younghwan is so smart, it’s sometimes scary.”
Seon Guan chuckled.
She turned to go back to her desk, then stopped and looked at Do Younghwan, who was still standing by the copier.
“What about you, Younghwan? Haven’t you ever been worried about me as your senior? The person teaching you just keeps going on and on about ‘gut feelings’.”
Do Younghwan, with an indifferent expression, stared at the emerging paper and replied,
“If I ever start worrying, I’ll find a way to escape and run.”
It was an oddly endearing display of trust. Seon Guan’s steps toward her desk were lighter. She wanted to shove the back in front of Team Leader Ji as soon as possible.
***
“Ha…”
I let out a sigh of relief as the directors reviewed the footage.
The other ad-libs were tough, but this one was insane.
And even worse, I was the one who started it!
‘Who would have thought the copier would run out of paper at that exact moment?’
This scene was crucial for showcasing the protagonist Seon Guan’s emotional shift.
It was the point where she felt the frustration of hitting a wall after successfully utilizing her talent, grappled with her professional responsibility, and ultimately decided how to approach her new team leader.
Moreover, the two lead actors had just finished filming an emotionally charged scene on the rooftop in the autumn wind and had even taken a break to warm up.
The weather was brutal, the emotional flow was disrupted, and exhaustion was creeping in, and yet they had to deliver a convincing performance for the viewers.
I never expected the copier to malfunction at such a critical moment. For a second, my vision went white, like a blank A4 sheet.
So, before they yelled cut, I just ad-libbed. I even diligently refilled the paper tray so it wouldn’t make any more noise. Even as I was refilling it, I immediately regretted it.
The good news was that the filming wasn’t interrupted. Ha Seomyeong also managed to connect well with the ad-lib.
The bad news was…
“Mr. Iwol, let’s do one more close-up and one more mid-shot of Do Younghwan!”
They added extra shots for my part.
Damn it, I just hoped Jeong Seongbin’s OST came out soon.
***
Despite the time commitment, filming the drama definitely had its benefits.
It made me think about how to present myself well on camera from various angles.
For idols, looking directly at the camera was crucial, but as an actor, I had to be unaware of it.  Since I couldn’t convey immersion through eye contact, I had to pay attention to every movement, making sure it appeared natural. This led me to practice not just facial expressions, but also body language—making rehearsed gestures appear completely natural.
On stage, my goal as an idol was to make sure my dance lines looked smooth even if the details weren’t perfect.
However, as an actor, unless there was a specific directorial choice, medium shots were the norm. This meant my face was constantly on screen unless they were focusing on my hands or shoes for dramatic effect.
In this situation, even the shadow cast by my bangs on my eyes made a big difference.
‘It bothers me when these things aren’t consistent.’
So, I kept my bangs down all day, even at the dorm.
Some of the guys asked if I was feeling down, but thanks to this, I could now act with the dead-eyed look regardless of the lighting.
Meanwhile, there was one guy whose eyes were lifeless regardless of his bangs.
Lee Cheonghyeon was in the kitchen, wearing a headset and tapping away at his laptop. It was the headset I bought him recently, worried that he’d damage his ears from using earphones too much.
I lightly tapped the table, and he looked up at me with deep, shadowy eyes—tired, but beautiful in a way that felt like staring into an abyss.
“Hyung, you’re back? What’s up?”
“You’re working on the OST?”
A music composition program titled ‘InMyOffice_2ndEnding_Ver.5’ was open on Lee Cheonghyeon’s laptop.
“Yeah, somehow it ended up that way.”
“Are you guys having meetings without me these days?”
“Well, should we drag you into video calls when you leave in the morning and come back at night? Be grateful that your dongsaengs are growing into independent adults.”
“You really don’t hold back anymore.”
“Of course not. Next year, I’m not even going to call you hyung.”
Despite his flippant jokes, Lee Cheonghyeon’s hands didn’t stop moving. The tracks were densely packed, as if he was trying to mix numerous instruments.
“Want to listen?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Lee Cheonghyeon handed me the headset. His expression wasn’t particularly bright.
Was it because it was his first time composing a ballad? He wasn’t the type to struggle with different genres.
As soon as I hit play, a melancholic melody filled my ears.
It was lyrical and emotional, the perfect sentiment for a scene where lovers faced a crisis or a breakup.
The instrumental crescendo in the latter half was also classic.
However…
“You don’t like it, do you?”
“How did you know?”
Lee Cheonghyeon asked, his eyes wide like a squirrel’s.
“It’s not your style.”
“What’s my style then?”
“Could you refrain from asking ‘what’s my style?’ or ‘what am I like?’ It makes me think too hard about how to answer.”
Despite my request, Lee Cheonghyeon continued to hold my arms.
“I don’t like it! There’s nothing technically wrong with the harmony or melody.”
“Yes, yes.”
“But it needs something catchy, a high point, something memorable. This has nothing. It’s bland.  If you were to turn Jeho hyung lying on the sofa into a song, it would sound like this.”
“Why am I getting dragged into this?”
Choi Jeho, sprawled on the sofa, called out from afar. Since neither of us had actually meant for him to hear, and he wasn’t expecting a response, the conversation ended there.
“I can tell that you used famous OSTs as references. I see that it’s ballad-based. I also like that you’re thinking of Seongbin’s voice for the vocals. With a guide track, it’ll sound much better. But the issue is—it doesn’t have an identity.”
“You mean it doesn’t remind you of the drama itself?”
“It’s an OST that ‘wouldn’t feel out of place in any drama’.”
At my words, Lee Cheonghyeon started to frown but stopped himself, diligently smoothing his brow with his thumb.
“Still, it’s impressive. How did you even think of taking on the OST?”
I hadn’t intended to give the OST to Lee Cheonghyeon, thinking he needed a break from composing.
I didn’t expect him to volunteer for it.
“Spark might make a comeback with a ballad someday.”
“That’s a surprisingly thoughtful reason.”
“I’ve always been thoughtful. You don’t often find a dongsaeng like me, so treat me well.”
Lee Cheonghyeon then typed my comments into a notepad.
He was writing things like ‘something that evokes the drama’, ‘specific to ‘In My Office’ and so on… but then his hands stopped.
“But hyung,”
“What?”
“What’s the life of an office worker usually like?”
Oh. So that’s where we’re starting.
No choice then. I’ll invite you to a UA planning meeting (special feature: 3 days before the deadline).