The fluorescent lights of the studio felt harsh, a sterile contrast to the soft glow of the monitors and the low thrum of the bass vibrating through the floor. Blackpink was, officially, still Blackpink. They had just wrapped a rehearsal for a festival that felt strangely detached from their daily lives now.
Jisoo, the CEO of BLISSOO, moved with a quiet, grounded energy. Her days were a tapestry of music meetings, acting rehearsals, and brand strategizing. Her phone, currently resting face down on the mixing desk, was a lifeline to her team—meticulous, focused, and centered solely on her own singular, evolving career. She was building a structure, a legacy of stability.
Jennie, the CEO of ODDATELIER, was a whirlwind of creative fire, draped in her own designs. Her solo work was raw, experimental, demanding. She carried the weight of her label like a couture jacket—sharp, dazzling, and sometimes burdensome. When she wasn't working, she was moving: high-profile fashion dinners, exclusive afterparties in Cheongdam, the kind of spaces Jisoo only appeared in when contractually obligated.
"Jisoo-ya, we need to run 'As If It's Your Last' one more time, just the second chorus," the choreographer called out.
Jisoo nodded, her professional mask firmly in place. As she repositioned herself, she caught Jennie's eye in the mirror. Jennie was already staring—not with animosity, but with an intense, proprietary gaze that felt heavy, like a velvet curtain draped over a window.
The tension wasn't professional; it was personal, sticky, and exhausting. Jennie was fiercely loyal, but that loyalty had curdled into something possessive and cold toward anyone outside their core four. As Jisoo's solo career thrived—the critically acclaimed drama, the meticulously crafted album—her circle necessarily grew. The jealousy followed that growth like a shadow.
After the rehearsal ended, Jisoo finally picked up her phone. "Miran unnie, the script changes for Episode 6 are—yes, I got them. I'll review them tonight, but I need to call the composer first about the bridge mix."
She walked toward the dressing room, already in work mode. Jennie trailed behind her, not speaking, but radiating a low, persistent hum of displeasure.
In the corridor, Jisoo's lead manager, a brilliant, high-energy woman named Yuna who oversaw BLISSOO's day-to-day operations, approached her.
"Jisoo-nim, the magazine accepted the concept! I told them you need the set cleared by 5 PM sharp for the OST recording. I also finalized the venue for the album listening party—it's very minimalist, exactly what you wanted." Yuna spoke fast, efficient, and clearly respected Jisoo's boundaries.
Jisoo smiled, genuinely. "Yuna-ya, you're a lifesaver. You handle so much. Go home and rest after you send me the contract drafts."
"I will, unnie."
A quiet but sharp cough cut through the air. Jennie was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, her eyes fixed on Yuna. The intensity of her stare was palpable.
Yuna's smile faltered. "Hello, Jennie-ssi. Good work today."
Jennie gave a minimal, almost invisible nod. When Yuna hurried away, clearly uncomfortable, Jennie finally spoke, her voice deceptively soft.
"She seems very... invested. The manager is usually supposed to be invisible, don't you think? Or is she training to be an actress too? Such good eye contact."
Jisoo felt the familiar knot tighten in her chest. "Jennie, stop it. Yuna is running my company. She's brilliant, and she's my colleague. Don't make it weird."
"I'm just commenting on the professionalism, Chu," Jennie replied, using the old nickname, but the effect was chilling rather than warm. "Just seems you have a lot of new best friends lately. Hope they stick around when the promotional cycle is over."
Jisoo said nothing, just pushing past her and into the room. The comment hung in the air—a calculated jab designed to undermine her new relationships and remind her of the perceived fleeting nature of her non-Blackpink life.
