"People are still curious about you, Y/N - it's the perfect time," Seyeon announces as she walks up to you.
"The perfect time for a new album?" you chuckle. Dribbling the basketball a few times, you land a smooth basket. It's been a week since you performed at the Asia Song Festival, and today, both of you are having an informal meeting in the indoor basketball court at HYBE.
"We can release it early next year. But we should make some content meanwhile - put you out there."
You nod. "What do you have in mind?"
"Your YouTube channel. We should bring it back."
You squeal. "OOOH YEAH. It's been so long!"
"Nostalgic, isn't it? We could do vlogs. Day outs, behind the scenes - we could do one on Prakriti -"
"-not Prakriti," you stop dribbling to face her. "I mentioned it pretty explicitly while we were signing, Seyeon. We don't talk about it publicly."
She makes a disapproving noise before saying, "But it's become huge, Y/N. You invested not just your money but your energy in this as well. Very few artists - no, people - are able to set up a charitable foundation that makes a difference - and you did it without using your influence as an artist. Doesn't it bother you - that no one knows that it's your baby? Imagine the difference you could make if you actually become Prakriti's face!"
You flinch at her words.
"Let's not pretend that this is about me making a bigger difference. It's a PR op you're after - you can set me up with any other campaign and I will give my best to make it a success - you know I can. But I can't give you the foundation."
You're firm but you sense that Seyeon is not convinced.
The 3 pointer you shoot next misses the basket completely.
Seyeon sighs. "You're sitting on a gold mine, Y/N..."
You silently retrieve the ball. A few days ago, Prakriti secured CSR funding from two of the world's largest conglomerates for its energy-efficient city models. You were a silent member of the board and represented in the meetings by someone else. You wouldn't even have disclosed your relationship to it with HYBE had legal obligations not made it necessary to do so.
"At least tell me why does it have to be a secret?"
You hold the ball in your hand and gaze at Seyeon. She looks like an annoyed owl in her white pantsuit and thinly rimmed glasses.
"If I could tell you, I would. But I can't. You've got to let this one go, Seyeon."
You're nearing the end of your patience with her. She purses her lips and nods.
"Fine," she replies, "have it your way - but I still think you have nothing to lose and everything to gain from it."
You don't know that, you think.
"Ah," she adds, "don't forget to email me those new demos we spoke of earlier. I've got some awesome people lined up to work on them."
You miss another basket, this time from well within the semi-circle.
"Can't wait to finish this album," you reply curtly.
The moment Seyeon leaves, you flop down on the floor, head in your hands. You have no demos. You wrote one song the night you had performed at the festival, but you don't like it anymore. And you haven't been able to write anything else since.
You are busy dispelling work stress from your brain so you don't notice Suga pass by the door. Nor do you know that he spends about 240 seconds debating whether to come in or not while you debate out aloud if you should run away from everything and live on a mountain or something. You resign to the sinking feeling and close your eyes. There's no way to solve your problems in a mood like this.