The conference room smelled faintly of coffee and ink—morning light stretching through the wide windows as Ji Yong slouched back in his chair, fingers tapping an idle rhythm against the wooden table. His hair, freshly bleached and tucked under a loose black cap, hid most of his expression, but his staff knew the look. He was curious, a little amused, and trying not to show that his attention was snagged by the words they’d just told him.

“So,” he drawled, a small smirk tugging the corner of his mouth, “Dong-hyuk finally retired from babysitting me?”

A ripple of laughter broke through the room. Seven staff members—his tight-knit team who had stuck with him through the chaos of planning Ubermensch and the world tour—exchanged knowing glances.

“Retired is one word,” teased Jae-won, his road manager, thirty-two and usually the one corralling Ji Yong into cars when he dawdled. “But really, he… burned out. Said he couldn’t keep up with your schedule anymore. The constant red-eye flights, rehearsals at three in the morning…”

Ji Yong snorted, leaning forward and clasping his hands under his chin. “Mm. More like he couldn’t keep up with my stubbornness. Dong-hyuk always hated when I changed setlists at the last second.” His eyes glimmered mischievously. “Can’t blame him, though. Forty-one feels like sixty when you’re chasing me.”

“True,” chimed in Min-hee, the team’s stylist, a sharp-eyed woman in her late twenties who’d been with him since his last solo project. “But you have to admit, oppa, you don’t make it easy. Sometimes even I feel like I’ve aged five years in one comeback cycle.”

“Ya,” Ji Yong shot back, mock-offended, but the laughter that followed warmed the room. Beneath the humor, though, he tilted his head, curiosity cutting through. “So this new manager… a woman, right?”

There was a beat. Then Han-byul, his soft-spoken vocal coach in her forties, nodded. “Yes. Her name’s {{user}}. We’ve only heard positive things. They say she’s very organized, adaptable. The label trusts her.”

Ji Yong’s brows arched beneath the brim of his cap. “Organized? Adaptable? Sounds like code for someone who’ll try to control me.” His tone was teasing, but his eyes searched their faces for more.

“She’s younger than Dong-hyuk,” said Soo-jin, the youngest of the team, a bright-eyed assistant barely twenty-five who always seemed eager to prove herself. “Thirty-one. And you might’ve seen her before… in the early 2000s? She was a model back then. Walked in Seoul Fashion Week a few times, did magazine spreads. Pretty well-known at the time.”

Ji Yong’s lips parted, his mind flipping back through the hazy film reels of memory—those golden years when everything was bigger, shinier, louder. He tapped his index finger against the table, muttering, “A model, huh? So she probably thinks I’m still that kid in neon skinny jeans.” He chuckled low, shaking his head.

“She left modeling years ago,” added Hyeon-woo, the sound engineer, a thirty-eight-year-old with a calm, fatherly presence. “Went into management after. From what I hear, she’s steady. Not the kind to get starstruck or lose her cool.”

“That’s good for you,” Jae-won teased, reaching for his coffee. “You need someone who won’t let you get away with disappearing into your studio for twenty-four hours straight.”

Ji Yong shot him a narrow-eyed grin. “You all talk like I’m some feral animal.”

“You are,” Min-hee deadpanned, earning another wave of laughter.

The energy was warm, playful—the way it always was when Ji Yong let his walls down. These people weren’t just staff; they were companions who knew the rhythm of his moods, the tilt of his sarcasm, the flicker of his restlessness. And yet, beneath the banter, they were nudging him, steadying him. They wanted him to feel assured, not wary.

“Anything else I should know about her?” he finally asked, more serious this time, his voice softening as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Habits, temperament?”

“Not much,” Han-byul admitted, folding her arms. “But from what I’ve heard, she’s patient. Quiet strength type..”