[EMY]
The four exchanged looks like I had just told them the most absurd thing in the world.
GuHH! I forgot—they weren't popular yet. In this timeline, they were basically nobodies.
Lance snorted, crossing his long arms. "I don't know what world you live in, lady, but we're far from popular. We barely get paid in free drinks."
"Eheh . . ." My laugh cracked like broken glass.
Eric spared me and slid a folder across the table. "Actually, the reason we came here was because of this."
My heart stopped. It was my lyrics.
Well—technically not mine. Theirs. But mine. But theirs!
"Ren found it after bumping into you," Eric explained.
"We were hoping . . . you'd let us sing it."
My soul shot out of my body. My jaw dropped. My eyes filled with stars.
Fate.
It had to be fate.
I nodded so fast my messy hair almost created a tornado. "YES! You can! Please sing it! It's yours to begin with!"
They could've just taken the song and run with it, but no—they were so honest, so painfully decent, that they actually came all the way to ask my permission. Ah, I really did choose the right group to fangirl over.
Eric frowned, brows furrowing. ". . . Ours?"
I slapped my hand over my mouth. Oh crap. Suspicious! Too suspicious! "Uhm, I-I mean—I was planning on entering Star Entertainment as your songwriter! Yes! That's it!"
Kai chuckled. "Really? So . . . you're like our fan or something?"
I nodded proudly. "That's right! I'm your biggest fan."
Instead of cheering, the room suddenly got . . . tense. Their smiles dropped. They all looked worried. Even Ren's lethargic eyes sharpened for half a second.
"Uhm . . . is there a problem?" I asked, my voice shrinking.
Kai cleared his throat. "Actually . . . we don't really work with fans. Not on a professional level."
Lance nodded firmly. "It's our rule."
My stomach sank into the abyss. "R-really? But why not?! Look, there are so many benefits to having a fan as your songwriter!" I whipped out my phone and read aloud my beautifully prepared AI-generated essay.
"Benefit number one!" I raised a finger like a lawyer at trial. "A fan already knows your vibe, themes, strengths, weaknesses, the exact key each of you sounds best in, and which lighting makes your cheekbones pop. That helps her write songs that sound perfectly authentic."
Their faces were already twitching, but I bulldozed ahead.
"Benefit number two!" I slapped the table for emphasis. "A fan CARES. Which means she'll pour her entire heart, soul, kidney, and pancreas into the lyrics. Songs practically bleeding passion! BAM—instant Grammy material."
Kai's lips wobbled like he was holding back laughter.
"And benefit number three!" I leaned forward dramatically. "Fans know your struggles. Your dreams. Your personalities. Your little quirks. Like how Eric eats exactly three almonds before rehearsals, or how Ren always loses his way even with Google Maps, or how Lance once broke his pants split during a high kick, and how Kai hides emergency Pocky under his pillow—"
DEAD. SILENCE.
Four pairs of eyes turned into knives, stabbing into me.
". . . Did you . . . Google all that?" Lance asked slowly, like he was questioning if I was a serial killer.
I coughed into my fist, pulling my phone closer. "Eheh . . . I actually asked AI for that . . ."
Eric sighed heavily, pinching his nose like he was already regretting this visit. "It does have advantages, yes. But also big disadvantages." He leaned forward, listing them like a grim teacher.
"One. Too predictable. You'll just keep feeding us what you think we want, instead of challenging us with something fresh."
"Two. Over-idealization. You'll see us as perfect idols, not flawed humans. The best songs . . . come from truth. From the raw, messy parts you don't want to look at."
"Three . . ." His silver eyes locked onto mine. "Fans blur the line between personal and professional. If your songs start sounding too fangirl-y . . . with private details only a stalker would know . . ."
I gulped. My hands clutched the folder so tight it might've fused with my skin.
". . . people will start questioning your originality."
The weight of his words crashed down like an executioner's blade.
I forced a nervous laugh. "Heh . . . me? Fangirl-y? No way . . . I'm totally normal. Super normal. Like, I definitely didn't write a fifty-page thesis analyzing Eric's eyebrow angles. Pfft, ridiculous."
Their stares screamed: Suspicious.
Lance leaned closer to Eric and whispered, not very quietly, "I don't feel safe here for some reason."
Eric gave him a side-eye and sighed. "Anyway . . . we just want the lyrics. We're willing to pay you for it."
Pay me? For their own lyrics? My brain short-circuited for two full seconds before I managed to stutter, "You can have it."
All four of them froze and stared at me like I'd suddenly grown horns and started levitating.
"You'll just . . . give it to us?" Kai tilted his head, brows furrowing in disbelief.
I nodded firmly, keeping my face neutral even though internally I was rolling around like a fangirl at a concert.
"Yes. I don't want money. All I want is for you to acknowledge me as the songwriter."
Inside, I was screaming, Look at me being professional! Cool! Mature! Wife material!
The truth? I already knew this song would become a hit. And when it did, my career as a songwriter would catapult into the stars right alongside theirs. We'd all rise together. Teamwork! Synergy! Destiny!