The Hit Song of This Life Is Revenge - Chapter 62

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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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The hit song of this lifetime is revenge.
Episode 62
[In accordance with this determination, the Production Team has decided to disqualify participant Baek Song-ha in order to maintain program fairness.]
The fatigue vanished instantly at those words.
Her mind cleared in a single moment, as if someone had poured ice water over her head.
There wasn’t a diffuser in sight, yet some inexplicable satisfaction brushed against the tip of her nose.
Son Hyun-joo fixed her eyes on the screen for a moment.
“Right. This is how it should be.”
The words fell from her lips like a stamp of approval.
It wasn’t surprising.
But the moment the decision was announced, the satisfaction felt different.
Son Hyun-joo threw herself onto the sofa as if there was nothing more to see.
Even yesterday, she’d disliked this sofa.
The deflated cushions had bothered her so much she’d wondered if she should buy a new one.
Now it fit her body with uncanny perfection.
As if it had been molded precisely to receive this outcome.
“Ah. Feels so good.”
Son Hyun-joo savored the satisfaction, her arm raised across her forehead.
Ding. Ding.
A familiar name appeared on her cell phone’s screen.
[Legal Team Team Leader]
Son Hyun-joo shot upright and composed her voice.
“Yes, Team Leader.”
– You picked up so fast—you’ve seen the announcement then? It’s not anything else, but I have a few questions. These are important, so I need you to be honest with me.
“Of course. Please go ahead.”
Son Hyun-joo listened intently to the questions coming through the receiver.
* * *
Lee Jae-i also confirmed the text displayed on her screen.
The phrase that shone most clearly among them all.
‘Disqualified.’
The breath she’d been holding in a tight knot released all at once.
Everything from the past had changed.
Was it even conceivable that Baek Song-ha would be disqualified?
Lee Jae-i had scrolled through the burning internet all night.
From the reason why the posts she’d clicked on suddenly disappeared to the viewers’ reactions.
The evaluations of her own performance.
└Not mass-produced, but like watching a masterpiece crafted by a true artisan who spent a hundred years perfecting their craft.
└Thought it was overkill at first, but I get it.
└OMG for real. The emotional depth itself is so incredibly profound.
└When the music faded, I felt like I was being sucked into the TV screen. So jealous of anyone who watched that live.
└Legendary footage by my standards.
Those unpolished words hit her chest with even more vivid impact.
Separate from whether she’d won, those reactions felt more meaningful.
It seemed the emotion she’d tried to convey on that stage had truly reached them.
Lee Jae-i steadied her breathing and set down her cell phone.
The director would be calling soon.
At that thought, her gaze naturally drifted toward the dining table.
A jacket draped over the back of a chair.
In that instant, the breath she’d been holding broke free like a dam bursting.
“Ah….”
Lee Jae-i squeezed her eyes shut.
She wept like a child inside his car.
And for a long time.
Once emotion began to pour out, it couldn’t be gathered back up so easily.
The director said nothing.
No words of comfort, no questions asking why.
He simply found tissues and handed them over quietly until her breathing settled.
‘It’s because of that jacket.’
It felt as though she’d wept in the shelter of his arms.
The warmth that had soaked through her body seemed to console her, telling her it would be all right.
Only after her tear-dampened cheeks began to burn did she start to tell him what she needed to say.
Everything from the plagiarism question to the circumstances of the broadcast incident.
He listened calmly, steadied his breathing, and said this:
‘I understand. From here on, it’s a matter for the company to handle, so you don’t need to worry.’
That was all.
She’d wondered if he might ask whether she herself had brought sheet music to use.
But the director had only one question.
‘I saw the broadcast—looked like you hurt your hand during the lodging shoot. You’re all right now, aren’t you?’
It had been a scene so brief that only she would have noticed it.
Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have reacted that way.
But her heart was so full that she felt an unexpected surge of emotion.
The director completely believed everything she’d said regarding the plagiarism.
The certainty of it was so reassuring.
She thought she could dimly understand what a small child must feel when running into their mother’s arms.
Lee Jae-i gently suppressed the lingering emotion and picked up her cell phone again.
It was when she clicked on the community app.
[YU’s finger was hovering over the post button lol so fast. What is this?]
Lee Jae-i immediately clicked on the post.
An official statement displayed below the link.
As her finger moved, the screen filled with text.
Skipping past the boilerplate greeting, a sentence appeared that made her eyes narrow.
[Artist Baek Song-ha worked based on the direction proposed during the process of discussing ideas with other trainees in the program, and categorically states that she had no prior awareness or intentional use of similar works.]
“Ha. Seriously.”
A scoff escaped her first.
‘No intentional use?’
She could picture it without even looking.
Baek Song-ha’s sly grin, the moment she’d shaken Kim Cho-a like a puppet.
That cunning expression overlaid the text, making it seem distorted for an instant.
The audacity was beyond measure.
If Baek Song-ha were pushing this alone, YU wouldn’t have released an official statement like this.
What kind of perfect coordination did they have to defend her so openly?
At the thought of Yoo Young-jae’s face, even the air she’d inhaled felt tainted.
As she scrolled further, her bitter laugh grew louder.
[We respectfully request that the intentional conduct of a specific participant and the actual locus of responsibility be clearly determined.]
Nothing in what she’d read so far matched Baek Song-ha.
Especially the quick response—wasn’t that the strangest part?
Like an operation to unleash something they’d prepared.
At the end of her thoughts, Kim Cho-a’s face came to mind.
They were pushing Kim Cho-a forward and playing the victim themselves.
‘So careful with her own survival.’
She knew Baek Song-ha’s way of speaking better than anyone.
She’d chosen words carefully enough to avoid being direct, making sure Kim Cho-a would move.
“Hmm….”
A long breath escaped her.
Kim Cho-a’s agency was relatively small.
Being a small company, they’d feel awkward standing against major entertainment firms and broadcasters.
Plus, she was just a trainee, not even a debuted artist.
The ending was obvious without thinking long.
‘It’s much better to cut off the tail.’
It seemed like Kim Cho-a would be left as a scapegoat.
But she felt no sympathy at all.
She wasn’t an innocent sacrifice, after all.
Kim Cho-a was the one who’d given up her own song, the one who’d played puppet to Baek Song-ha.
She deserved to bear that responsibility.
At that moment, her cell phone vibrated, and as text scattered across the screen, Lee Jae-i brought it to her ear.
“Yes. Director.”
– If you’re up for it, could you come by the company?”
“I’ll head over right now.”
As the screen went dark, she set aside her thoughts about Baek Song-ha for the moment.
* * *
Star Entertainment CEO’s Office.
Lee Jae-i pushed open the translucent door and stepped inside.
Beneath the white lighting, the faint aroma of coffee drifted up.
The director, already seated, greeted her with his usual measured voice.
“You made it.”
The moment their eyes met, a quiet commotion stirred within her.
At the sight of the director’s neat, composed frame, her gaze faltered first.
It had been fine until she opened the door.
The scene she’d imagined in her head had matched reality perfectly.
The angle at which he tilted his head, the breath that lingered at the end of his words—all of it had been within her expectations.
‘But….’
Why did he look so different?
The moment that thought reached that point, unexpectedly, the moment they’d spent together in the car came back to her.
The quiet air that had flowed between them.
Brief as it was, the way his movements had hesitated toward her.
As that memory revived, Lee Jae-i blinked involuntarily.
“Lee Jae-i.”
His low, measured voice cut through the air.
The thought she’d been holding onto finally broke free with a soft snap.
“…Yes!”
“I know you have a lot on your mind. Let’s sit for now.”
Even at her somewhat flustered response, he continued speaking with composure.
This wasn’t the time for such memories to slip in.
‘It was just, in the car…’
Her emotions had been unusually turbulent then.
That’s what she needed to set aside.
Lee Jae-i clenched her fist once and moved toward the chair.

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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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