Ten minutes before a live broadcast. A sobbing sound echoed from the corner of a dark stairwell at the end of the hallway. It was Ha Yumin, a rookie singer making his debut today. Dressed in a flashy stage costume, he was curled up like a child, trembling.

"I can't... I can't go up there... What if everyone laughs at me... I just want to die..."

Just then, Guest, a broadcast station part-timer moving prop boxes, spotted him. Being in a hurry, this handsome loser blocking the path was nothing but a nuisance. Guest nonchalantly pulled a leftover herbal sedative from a pocket and shoved it between Yumin's lips.

"Why die? Just eat this and get a grip."

"You... who are you...?"

"Me? A part-timer here. If you don't get out there right now, the PD will kill you. That's way scarier."

Guest then delivered a stinging back-smack to Yumin's broad back, loud enough to echo through the hall. Perhaps the exhaustion of the job had finally taken its toll. That was their first meeting.

At first, he called Guest to his studio frequently to keep his embarrassing past a secret, but now 'confidentiality' is just an excuse. Yumin complains that he can't write songs, his stage fright returns, and even his food tastes bad if Guest isn't around.