The Daughter of a Conglomerate Family Has Debuted - Chapter 331

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com

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I had been so absorbed in dealing with the Unfortunate Idol’s affairs that when the Main Mission suddenly dropped, it felt as though it were punishing me for wasting my time.
Stop doing useless things and focus on your own work, it seemed to say.
It felt like a message telling me that my real job wasn’t that—it was to concentrate on my activities as Flora.
My mind felt completely cleared.
The thoughts about the Unfortunate Idol that I had repeatedly tried to push into a corner finally vanished.
‘Right, the concert is coming up soon.’
I couldn’t afford to be so consumed by the Unfortunate Idol’s affairs.
I needed to snap back to reality. While uncovering the Unfortunate Idol’s purpose was important, what mattered more was making Flora’s first concert a success.
“What? Ji-ye, were you just talking to me?”
“Huh?”
“Well, you’ve been making sounds for a while now, so I thought you were saying something to me.”
“Oh. No, I was just thinking about something to myself.”
It seemed my quiet exclamations and sighs had reached the Manager’s ears while she was driving.
The Studio Building came into view through the car window—we had arrived.
‘Music production work, and the concert.’
I resolved to set aside my concerns about the Unfortunate Idol for now and focus on what truly mattered.
***
“You worked hard today too.”
“Great effort!”
Today’s work session had ended.
The outline was sketched, the vibe was there. But since all of us working on it were people with high standards for our music, it seemed we’d continue refining it for a while longer.
“Still, we can’t get too obsessed with a single song. Let’s send it to the Company as is. Our A&R Team has a good ear and will give us solid feedback.”
“To the Company? Already?”
Jeon Ye-jin grabbed Han Da-min’s arm in alarm.
“Can we really send it like this? It feels like there’s still more work to be done….”
Both Han Da-min and I shook our heads at Jeon Ye-jin’s words.
“This is enough.”
“Exactly. We need feedback at this point. Otherwise, the song will become way too much.”
It was all experience talking.
Both Nana and Han Da-min—and myself—had more than once or twice touched and retouched songs that were already in the final stages, driven by the pressure to make the next album a success, only to have the A&R Team request we strip away so much that we barely managed to get it on the album.
The Staff were better judges than we were of whether something could succeed commercially.
“…Really? I guess friends who joined major Entertainment Companies do say similar things. But what if we send it and the Staff think Jeon Ye-jin’s sensibility isn’t quite what we expected? What then?”
Jeon Ye-jin’s face was genuinely anxious.
The song we had been working on together, saying this was good, that was good.
When we listened to it among ourselves during production, we were confident it felt great—but now that it was time for evaluation, it somehow seemed endlessly lacking.
Especially since, unlike us as Artists signed to the Company proposing songs for inclusion, Jeon Ye-jin was truly an external Composer receiving Day Entertainment’s cold, objective assessment.
“It’s fine. I really like this song. It’s my favorite out of everything we’ve worked on so far.”
“Right. If the Concept fits, I think they’ll include it?”
It was rare for us to create a song and speak with such confidence that it deserved to be included.
After all, we ourselves weren’t certain our songs were good.
But even trying to be as objective as possible, this time it’s genuinely good.
The Company will definitely recognize Jeon Ye-jin’s abilities, and they might frequently request music production work from her going forward.
“Don’t worry so much—think of it as a portfolio. I’m sure they’ll love it, right? If they reject it, it’s probably just because it doesn’t match the concept.”
“I suppose…”
“Trust me. Come on, we made it together! If you’re going to be this anxious, that means our skills are questionable too. Let’s have some confidence.”
I suppressed a laugh listening to Han Da-min’s words.
If Jeon Ye-jin hadn’t been there, I would’ve been the one trembling like that.
Han Da-min was always the type whose courage grew when she had a team.
Anyway, we sent the song to the Company.
Now that the concept was decided, all that remained was to wait for feedback tailored to our album tracks during the selection process.
***
After finishing the work, I had lunch with Jeon Ye-jin as a way to thank her for her effort.
Even after hearing Han Da-min’s encouragement, Jeon Ye-jin remained anxious and talked about the A&R Team throughout the meal.
What kind of songs the Staff usually preferred, what kind of evaluation our submitted song might receive, whether the evaluation would be harsh, and so on.
Since we made the song together, there’s no way they’d be that harsh about it.
Rather, if the album concept matched, I had a feeling they’d want to include it even after multiple rounds of feedback.
But at times like this, saying things like “it’s fine” or “the Staff will view it positively” doesn’t actually ease the anxiety.
“That’s right, we went through the same thing. Even when the Staff said it was okay, we stayed anxious the whole time until the album track was confirmed, just in case.”
Han Da-min empathized earnestly by drawing on our experience.
Since I wasn’t particularly close with Jeon Ye-jin yet, I just nodded along enthusiastically.
After the meal, we headed to the Practice Room.
Concert Preparation was going smoothly, but since the Members had rested briefly for their condition after the United States promotions, we needed time to synchronize the Choreography again.
“Wow, this is a mess. This won’t do.”
It was the first practice session we’d all gathered for after the break.
The moment we finished the Revenge Choreography, Min Ha-young clicked her tongue with an exasperated expression.
“Anyone watching would think we’d been on break for a whole year. How did we get this out of sync from just a little rest?”
“I’m sorry…”
Seo Ra-eun spoke up immediately.
It wasn’t really Ra-eun’s fault to apologize for. It wasn’t just Ra-eun who was out of sync—we were all a mess collectively.
After the United States promotions, we’d forcibly stopped practice to recover from fatigue, and this was the result.
“Is this FLORA? Weren’t we the kind of people who’d start dancing the moment we heard a song, even in our sleep?”
“Let’s not do practice bans on days off going forward. It seems we can’t function without diligent practice.”
“Forget the regrets and resolutions for later—let’s start over right now. If we can’t get this down, I’ll be too anxious to sleep.”
Min Ha-young had completely shifted into strict teacher mode.
“Besides, if we can’t even get this synchronized, we probably won’t be able to sleep anyway from the anxiety, right? We’ve rested well and our condition is amazing. We need to nail Revenge. It’s our latest song.”
She was saying we’d have to pull an all-nighter to restore everything to normal.
“Are we destined to do all-night practice sessions forever?”
“Stop complaining. With this mess, that’s exactly what we deserve.”
“Ugh…”
We began practicing again without complaint.
Clearly, I’d need a lot of practice in this condition.
Since I’d rested so well, the prospect of pulling an all-nighter didn’t feel particularly daunting.
***
Quite a bit of time had passed since then.
For the Fans, a genuine FLORA hiatus was underway.
Focused entirely on concert preparation, I could barely manage the SNS uploads I used to post once a day, or at least every other day.
Communication with Fans through the app became sparse—I could only manage it briefly before bed at night.
Originally, I used to communicate with them all day long.
Fortunately, the Fans understood that I was busy preparing for the concert and were forgiving of the lack of communication.
We focused on concert preparation quietly, yet with our utmost effort.
While preparing for the concert, I truly didn’t think about the Unfortunate Idol.
I didn’t obsess over the Unfortunate Idol’s Memory, nor did I make plans for the future.
I didn’t exchange information with Cha Gyo-young either.
‘Though that was more a matter of not having time than anything else.’
By the time practice ended, it was already dawn, and I barely had time to check my Mobile Phone, so I hadn’t even confirmed whether Cha Gyo-young had sent me any additional Messages.
Practice, then Costume fittings and VCR filming after practice.
Rehearsals, then more practice.
Spending each day in such a blur, the concert day arrived before I knew it.
“Ryu Ji-ye. Are you excited? Nervous?”
In the Concert Waiting Room.
As I was checking my styled Hair and Makeup, Min Ha-young approached and thrust a camera in my face.
She really did have a consistent habit of holding the camera uncomfortably close.
I let out a small laugh and replied.
“I’m excited and nervous. Actually, no—today, I think the excitement is stronger.”
“Ooh, I can feel the composure. How does it feel to have our first concert?”
“We really prepared so hard for this. My goal is to enjoy it as much as we prepared for it. How about you, Ha-young?”
“Me? Well….”
Min Ha-young turned the camera toward herself and began chattering excitedly about her own anticipation.
“Give me the camera. I’ll film you.”
I took the camera and adjusted the angle so Min Ha-young would be captured better.
My mood before the concert was, truthfully, far more peaceful than I’d expected.
Perhaps it was because I knew the concert would only have Fans who came because they loved us.
Ryu Ji-ye’s Current Happiness Index: 87 points
This morning, as if waiting for this moment, my Happiness Index had floated into my vision at 87 points, far surpassing the 70-point passing condition set by the Main Mission.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com

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