Work Text:
Don’t wait for a special miracle;
Our rough path in front of us might be an unknown future with obstacles’
But I won’t change;
We can’t give up.
- Girls’ Generation | Into the New World
- Sunny
Her uncle was a powerful man. A shrewd businessman who spotted opportunities where there shouldn’t be opportunities. A sly human being who had resources everywhere that he’d never hesitated to use as long as they benefited him.
Sunny knew it. Sunny hated it. Sunny also respected it.
Except she wasn’t quite sure how this resource would benefit him – how this information even came across his table all the way in New York. They were far away from South Korea, and she was trying to get away from the chaos that she grew up in.
Only to be summoned into his office on the floor that he’d rented in a random office building to rebuild his business. For now, there were still no proper prospects of how this new company would go, but at this point, she would rather do this than be used just because she was his niece.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, having heard this piece of seemingly unimportant but actually vital information that would undoubtedly shake things up again.
“Nothing.”
She could hardly fight a smirk from stretching across her face, because she really shouldn’t have expected anything else. Once upon a time, if it meant more zeros in the bank account, he probably wouldn’t have hesitated.
But now, they’d cut ties with that company, which meant there was no tangible value to be gained from this.
“You could sell this.”
“I could.”
“But you’re not.”
“No.”
“Why?”
He tilted his head forward slightly, staring at her over the rim of his glasses – it made her feel twelve years old and transparent. “This concerns you whether you want it to or not,” he said. “Consider this a bonus.”
She loved her uncle. But god, sometimes she couldn’t stand him.
She took the printout of the email and bid her goodbye before making her way back to her own office – it was small, but it was enough. At least this time around, she had privacy.
The paper felt heavier than it should – a formal request, clinical cold, buried under layers of legal jargon and representative names and long-standing grudge. To be frank, a huge part of her admired this act of bravery.
If she had been Jessica Jung, she wouldn’t even want to wade through so many years of suppressed trauma and hurt to reconnect with the very people who threw her aside. She wasn’t exactly sure what Jessica’s intention here was, but it could end either very well…or incredibly bad.
Worse than 2014.
This wasn’t just about Jessica – it never had been. It was about the brand. The songs that Jessica played a huge part in catapulting to the top. The shared ownership that had been both a blessing and a cage for nine women.
Gee. Genie. The Boys.
Into the New World.
It would be criminal to even doubt Jessica’s ability to pull this off. Sunny had been streaming Jessica’s new and old songs. She had been watching Jessica’s performance, be it in the highest of quality or from fans’ shaky recordings.
She knew damn well Jessica would be able to do them justice.
But knowing she could didn’t mean that she should. Knowing and accepting were two different beasts entirely. It wasn’t as if the last decade had been the best years, but things had only just begun to calm down.
Of course, Jessica wouldn’t be Jessica if she didn’t throw a stone in the pond every now and then to rock the building – more like a damn boulder this time around – and Sunny would be lying if she said she didn’t love her for it.
Sunny rubbed her temples and glanced at her phone. No notifications. No missed calls. SM was still quiet, which meant the real damage hadn’t started yet. Once the company made its move – approved, denied, or stalled—everyone would be pulled back into the same orbit they’d spent years carefully escaping.
SM would eventually say yes, because they knew damn well Jessica had the money and the rights – or they would have sued her already 11 years ago. Or they wouldn’t have made the rest of the remaining members sign NDAs so tight that she still couldn’t talk about it even after her departure.
And then they would have to call the members, and Sunny wouldn’t be the first. Fuck, she knew exactly who would be the first.
- Tiffany
She could only blink when she heard what Sunny had to say. And again. She blinked a third time before she started cursing.
She’d barely gotten Yuri to start talking to her after the whole Byun Yohan debacle. And now, there was this, and she knew damn well that Yuri – hell, everyone – still sort of held a grudge against her, Sooyoung, and Taeyeon for calling for the vote in the first place.
It was particularly directed at anyone, but most of it was definitely Jessica. Of all the times to do this, she had to do this now. It wasn’t as if she could blame the woman for wanting to sing her own songs, but now really wasn’t a good time.
She’d only barely made up with Yuri after the whole Byun Yohan mess, and she could tell that there were still times when Yuri found it hard to believe her – as if the statement she’d released only days after lying to the world hadn’t been enough.
Plus, Tiffany knew damn well that Yuri – hell, everyone – still begrudged her, Sooyoung, and Taeyeon for calling for that vote in the first place
“You need to call Seohyun.”
“Is Seohyun really the priority right now?” Sunny hissed into her ear.
Tiffany slumped in the armchair, biting at her nails.
“Listen, I barely got my love life –”
“I hardly think your love life –”
“I love the group. I do, but I love Yuri more,” Tiffany rebutted as calmly as possible. “For now, I’ll call Yoona, you’ll call Seohyun.” She took a deep breath. “I know for a fact that Yoona’s in touch with Jessica. I’m pretty sure Seohyun is too.”
The idea of calling Hyoyeon passed by, but only momentarily. The woman had a sort of loyalty to Jessica that almost lost them another member in 2014. She was sure Hyoyeon would only laugh at them and hang up.
Calling Yoona would get something. A sliver of information. Even a sign of pretend ignorance would be good enough. She couldn’t remember the last time she spoke to Jessica – must have been one of the accidental run-ins at SM before Jessica made her departure.
Because Yoona had always been the bridge. The one who moved between people without making it feel like negotiation. The one Jessica never fully let go of, even when she let go of almost everyone else.
Seohyun – well, Jessica had always had a soft spot for the maknae.
Calling Taeyeon, on the other hand, would only be disastrous. It would be a mental breakdown. And she really didn’t want to be the one to pull Taeyeon’s head out of the toilet bowl again.
“I’m going to lose it if Yoona knows,” Tiffany bit out.
“She probably does. Probably has a good reason to not say anything too.”
“Yeah, because she’s still protecting Jessica.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Sunny sharply remanded. A heavy sigh escaped at the other end of the call. “Fany-ah, if I were one of the few left that she still trusts, I’m gonna be honest with you – I’d prioritize her over any of you.”
Before she could say anything else, Sunny hung up.
Tiffany stood up, pacing to the window. Seoul spread out below, all sunshine and shiny buildings. So close to training rooms and dorm arguments and nine voices crammed into a recording booth.
There was a time when she was more excited than anyone to have another American in the group, even though Jessica had been mindful of their distance. There were years in a row when they’d inadvertently find themselves watching the first snow together. There were almost unresolved misunderstandings between herself, Jessica, Yuri, and Taeyeon.
There were many good times and many bad times. Tiffany often wondered how they came to this stage.
She stared at her phone for a long moment after the call ended, the screen dimming in her hand like it was disappointed in her.
She hated how instinctive this had become – damage control, rerouting emotions, assigning people their roles in a crisis like they were still nine women in a practice room waiting for instructions. She hated that part of herself. Hated that it still worked.
Her finger hovered over Yoona’s name, her eyes traveling upwards to her best friend’s flickering in the mood lighting.
She could see it already.
The stage lights, the hair, the tilt of Jessica’s head as she hit those high notes – the ones she used to trade with Taeyeon like they were sharing oxygen. Jessica was always at her most beautiful on stage. In her element.
It would be out of this world. It would be a declaration of war. It would be a love letter written in a language they were no longer supposed to speak. It would open floodgates.
- Yoona
Yoona didn’t pick up right away.
Not because she hadn’t seen the calls – she had. Yoona saw Tiffany’s name flash across her screen and deliberately handed her phone over to her manager, ignoring his curious look. She didn’t have time for this – there was a new seasonal CF to shoot.
Plus, she wasn’t sure what she had to say that wouldn’t ignite the ire of her members, other than Hyoyeon, maybe.
She already knew. Of course she knew – Jessica had texted her two weeks ago asking if she had the original recordings of their old dance practices. A strange request wrapped in casual conversation, the kind Jessica was good at when she wanted something without asking directly.
Yoona had sent them without asking why. Some things didn’t need explanation between them.
The shoot took about four hours, and her manager didn’t forget to remind her that Sunny had been blowing up his phone upon realizing that she wasn’t picking up hers. Yoona sat in the dressing room, staring at the red icon on her home page.
Finally, she called Tiffany back.
“I had an idea,” she said without so much of a greeting.
“You vanish for half a day and now you have ideas?”
Yoona leaned back in the chair, makeup half removed and heels kicked somewhere behind her. The mirror reflected a version of herself that had lost all inkling of innocence the moment Jessica walked out the door with her luggage.
“Listen first,” Yoona said. “Then you decide if you wanna yell.”
A pause on the other end, breath pulled tight. “Go ahead.”
“SM will posture. They’ll drag it out and pretend they’re weighing options.” Tiffany hummed in agreement. “But here’s the thing: they don’t actually have a move.” Yoona opened her eyes to see an older, sharper, less forgiving version of herself. “The non-compete is expired. She’s no longer singing our songs. She’s singing her songs. You can’t legally sue someone for reclaiming what’s hers in the first place.”
The silence on the line was immediate and absolute. Tiffany broke it with an incredulous laugh. “You’ve been practicing that.”
“No, I’ve just been sitting on it for eleven years.”
“Yoona, do you have any idea what this could do?”
“Unnie, how did it feel to abstain your vote in that meeting room eleven years ago?” Tiffany’s silence spoke volumes. “I voted no. Seohyun voted no. We were –” Yoona closed her eyes. “I talk to her quite a lot, you know. I’m grateful that she still wants to talk to me. But I miss her.”
“So do we.” Tiffany clicked her tongue. “Look, I’m not blaming you. You’re right. She’s done her time. She shouldn’t even have been doing time. We all made mistakes –”
“No, you made mistakes. My voice and Seohyun’s voice just didn’t matter enough,” Yoona bit out.
“All I’m saying is that you could have warned us. Warned me or Sunny.”
“And do what?”
“Did you really think Taeyeon wouldn’t be the first person SM talks to once they finally see the dollar bills?” Tiffany pointed out.
The younger woman could only sigh, her chest tightening at the thought. She had tried her best to forgive and forget, just as Jessica had told her to. She supposed she wasn’t as big as person as Jessica was.
Of course, she loved her faux sisters – sisters from a lot of different mothers. These women had given her a sort of womanly affection that she had never felt at home, what with her actual sister busy with school and her father busy raising them.
And among them all, Jessica had been the one who had truly gone to lengths to take care of her, even comparing her to Krystal – and everyone knew how much she loved Krystal.
She remembered that they used to call Jessica and Taeyeon ‘mom’ and ‘dad’, because that was what they behaved like. They were like parents to seven very messy girls, while dealing with their own mess. It hadn’t been something Yoona was brave enough to delve into until she reestablished contact with Jessica in 2015.
She loved Taeyeon like that, but part of her – a petty part of her – wanted to Taeyeon to hurt like Jessica had.
“If she hadn’t known in the first place, when they call her, there won’t be a story attached. No agenda. Just facts. Sica-unnie requested permission. SM is considering it. End of sentence.”
“And you think that won’t destroy her?”
“I think pretending Jessica doesn’t exist already did.”
That landed.
Tiffany didn’t have much else to say after that. Yoona informed her of her plan, not forcing anyone to go along, which was to agree when SM inevitably called each of them. They hung up soon after. She opened up her text thread with Jessica.
Yoona (7:42 p.m.): Tiffany-unnie knows. Sunny-unnie too.
Jessica (7:52 p.m.): And? Are they coming at me with pitchforks?
Yoona (7:53 p.m.): Whatever happens, I’m on your side
Jessica (7:53 p.m.): You’re gonna get so much shit for this
Yoona (8:01 p.m.): Sing your heart out, unnie. And don’t hold back on the ad-libs.
- Seohyun
Seohyun let herself read the email three times before she allowed herself to react. It was formal request. Clear terms. No sentimentality.
It was so Jessica it almost hurt.
Seohyun closed her laptop gently, as if the document inside might bruise if handled too roughly. The apartment was quiet – too quiet.
No members arguing over dinner, no music leaking through walls, no one screaming in the bathroom while someone else inevitably barged in. Just her, a cup of tea gone cold, and a past she had never quite buried properly.
She had inkling, but she really thought it was a joke when Jessica brought it up some time ago, talking about reconsidering singing the songs they’d built to ceilings again.
Before anyone could ring her up, she dialed the number of a former SNSD manager who had been promoted to the copyrights department a few years ago. Better to get ahead than to get jumped by any clauses or whatever SM could come up with.
“Seohyun-ssi?”
“Oppa, I’m calling you because I want to make my position clear.” She took a deep breath. “Whatever Sica-unnie is up to, I support it. Wholeheartedly,” she added.
“She wants to sing your songs,” he said carefully.
She closed her eyes momentarily. Even hearing that disgusted her. Their songs – as if they had more rights to put voice to those songs than Jessica, when they made them together. It would be pointless to argue with this person, because he was just the messenger – or someone she trusted to get her message across.
“Please help me pass this message to the right people,” she said. “I voted no in 2014, and I’m voting yes now. You don’t have to call me in on purpose for a meeting. This is a yes from me. She can sing whatever she wants whenever she wants.”
“You’re saying you’d agree if a formal request comes through.”
“I’m saying I already do. And if you’re asking whether I’ll object publicly or privately – no. I won’t.”
She hung up without waiting for a goodbye. Her heart was racing, a physical manifestation of the adrenaline that came with finally breaking a rule in her ripe age of thirty-three.
For years, she’d been the model maknae. Keeping her thoughts to herself, even in times when it mattered. The only she’d even shown any sign of rebellion was when she hadn’t gone along with Taeyeon’s crazy idea of booting Jessica, but that hadn’t worked out too well.
Other than in front of the cameras, she hardly spoke to anyone the way she did with their former manager just now. But she had, and there was no turning back. The manual hadn’t taught her what to do when the woman who was close enough to be your sister turned into a pariah overnight – and it was all their fault.
A few hours later, as Seohyun was still struggling as to whether she should get in touch with Jessica, Sunny was calling.
“Seohyun-ah.” Sunny’s voice was breathless, the sound of someone who had been pacing. “I don’t know if you’ve heard –”
“I have, unnie.”
Sunny’s swallow was audible on the other end. “What do you think?”
“I already called SM and told them I’m fully supportive,” the younger woman admitted.
Sunny gasped. “You couldn’t even wait for a group discussion?”
“If I’d waited, we’d spend hours talking in circles until someone starts crying and Taeyeon-unnie hides in the staircase smoking.” Seohyun sighed. “I think that we have spent eleven years protecting Taeyeon-unnie from a ghost, hurting ourselves in the process. Jessica-unnie isn’t just a person who once worked with us. She lived with us. She was the only reason your uncle gave Girls’ Generation a chance in the first place. And now we just forget about her influence for the rest of our lives? I don’t think so.”
Seohyun thought about Taeyeon’s tears and guilt, about how she carried 2014 like a weight that never got lighter. About how much she genuinely cared for their leader, how much she always had.
“Maybe this way, Taeyeon-unnie will finally grow a pair and talk to Sica-unnie. Who knows?”
“Fat chance.”
“What about you?”
Sunny paused. “I think you’re right,” she finally said. “I’m just worried about the fallout.”
“There’s been fallout for eleven years, unnie. We just pretended there wasn’t because it was easier than dealing with it.”
“Hyoyeon’s probably going to back her too, if I know anything about that woman.”
“That makes three of us.” Sunny hummed questioningly. “Come on – you think Yoona-unnie’s position is going to be anything but a resounding yes?”
They hung up without Sunny actually revealing what she was going to tell SM, but Seohyun was choosing to trust her unnies this last time. Otherwise, she didn’t even know how to fathom the reality of the group being incapable of learning from their mistakes.
They were eight as one, but they used to be resolute as nine, and Seohyun was tired of pretending that she didn’t know how to count.
- Sooyoung
“Okay.”
“Sooyoung-ssi, did you hear what I said?”
Sooyoung moved away from the souvenir shop, where Kyungho was buying stuff for his Hospital Playlist friends. She held the phone to her ear firmly, somehow not the least bit surprised by the information that had been passed to her.
“It’s about time,” she said.
On the other end of the line, the SM representative sounded flustered.
They were probably expecting a PR crisis, a demand for legal intervention, or at the very least, a request for a high-level meeting. They weren’t expecting the group’s most outspoken member to sound like she was checking an item off a grocery list.
The problem was that Sooyoung was not the most outspoken member of the group. At least, she wasn’t prior to 2014. There was someone else who was braver than her in speaking her mind, and she’d voted to kick the woman out from petty jealous and momentary blindness.
“Write this down: I’m not objecting. I won’t oppose it privately or publicly. Or even through some anonymous source on Koreaboo or whatever.” She watched as her boyfriend approached the cashier. “Send me an email. A contract, if you must. But don’t bother calling me for a meeting because my answer won’t change.”
She ended the call before they could sputter another word.
Kyungho caught her eyes through the shop window and raised his eyebrows in question. She gave him a small smile and a thumbs up, though her chest was tightened with something she couldn’t quite name.
Not regret. She’d lived with that since she found out Jessica had blocked her number – blocked everyone’s number but Hyoyeon’s. This was something else – something lighter.
Relief, maybe. Or the beginning of it.
She looked at Kyungho, who was patiently waiting for her by the exit, and she felt a sudden, fierce pang of envy for Jessica.
Jessica had been the first of them to choose herself. At the time, they had called it a betrayal. Standing here now, Sooyoung realized it was just a head start.
She thought of Jessica on stage again, under lights that belonged to her this time, singing without having to negotiate her existence. Not as a headline or a controversy, but as a woman reclaiming a part of herself everyone else had tried to freeze in amber. The image settled in her chest, warm and strange and right.
A small, genuine smile finally ghosted across her lips as she walked toward Kyungho. She found herself genuinely looking forward to the fancams.
- Yuri
Yuri found out the way she always did now – late, indirectly, through someone else’s mouth.
Thank god the gym was empty this late at night, but she really shouldn’t have agreed to let Tiffany join her. She should have known that something was up the moment Tiffany asked if she could join, because Tiffany hated working out with other people – people she knew.
Her arms buckled under the weight and she genuinely cried out until her girlfriend had to lift the thing off of her. She lay there on the bench to allow herself time to recuperate. And absorb the information that Tiffany had just unleashed on her.
She hadn’t checked her emails – it was her off day, for god’s sake – but she supposed there was already a request to meet sitting in her inbox. Probably not just hers. There were three other people still tied with SM, and one of them would inevitably be in a mental breakdown.
“I used to think I was in love with her, you know,” was the first thing Yuri said after catching her breath and sitting up on the bench. Tiffany sat on the bench opposite hers, blinking. “Please, you thought you were in love with Taeyeon. Taeyeon thought she had to choose. Jessica just thought she was better than everybody – and she’s right, actually.”
“What?”
“The four of us,” Yuri gestured vaguely in the air. “We were four people bleeding into each other without boundaries, until we made our choices. Taeyeon chose Jessica and vice versa. You and I – we took a little longer, but we got here.”
Tiffany’s expression went carefully blank, like she was trying very hard not to react to something.
She’d spent years curating the memory of their youth as something purely professional that turned tragic, but Yuri had always been the one to call it what it was: a high-stakes disaster.
“And now, Jessica is making her choice, acting like the person she’s always meant to be. The one who doesn’t ask for permission even when she acts like she does,” Yuri continued, picking up a towel to wipe sweat from her entire face.
“I don’t understand how you’re so calm. We have to stand together. This could break Taeyeon.”
Yuri stopped. She slowly turned her head, her gaze dropping onto Tiffany with a stiffness that she hadn’t directed at the woman for a long time.
“You chose too,” she pointed out quietly. “You chose the group – or so you thought. You chose the optics. You chose what would hurt least in the long term. And you asked me to follow.” She stood, rolling her shoulders. “You didn’t force me, but you didn’t leave me room not to. You framed it like love, like a responsibility. And I voted yes because I love you, not because I agreed.”
“That’s not fair –”
“So don’t talk to me about standing together or being fair. Don’t you dare talk to me about what we owe Taeyeon, not tonight.”
Silence stretched between them, thick but familiar. This wasn’t new territory – they’d circled it before, carefully, never stepping too far in.
“I love you, Fany,” she whispered, moving to sit next to the woman she’d chosen for the rest of her life, despite the things Tiffany had put her through. “But when SM calls, I won’t fight it. I’m giving her my yes. And sure, if that means admitting that we were wrong, so be it, because we were.”
Tiffany was crying now, quiet tears streaking down her face. Yuri was sweaty, but she wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer anyway, tucking the woman’s head under her chin.
“She’s going to be incredible when she sings them, isn’t she?” Tiffany sobbed.
When, not if. Yuri let herself smile, because this could only mean one thing.
“Yeah, she is.”
“And when she gets to Into the New World –”
“I’m crying first. I call dibs.”
“You can’t call dibs on crying!”
“I just did.”
Tiffany groaned but buried herself deeper into Yuri’s embrace. “And The Boys. God, remember how she used to nail those tones?”
“She’s probably been practicing before sending in that request.” Yuri smiled despite herself. “She’s going to prove that she’s never needed us.”
They sat there for a long time, two-ninths of a legacy surrounded by cold steel and mirrors.
Yuri’s mind drifted back to the early years, to the way Jessica’s laughter used to cut through the tension of a sixteen-hour dance rehearsal. She remembered the specific, crystalline texture of Jessica’s voice during the bridge of Into the New World – a song that felt less like a debut and more like a prophecy they had eventually failed to fulfill.
By voting yes in 2014, Yuri had felt like she was amputating a part of her own history to save the rest of the body. Now, the limb was calling out, and she found she no longer had the heart to ignore the ghost.
When she finally pulled away, Tiffany’s eyes were red and swollen, but she nodded like she understood. Maybe she did. Maybe understanding was all they were ever going to get.
Later, as they left the gym together, the night air cool against her skin, Yuri felt lighter than she had in years. Someday soon, Jessica would step onto a stage and reclaim something that had always been hers.
And Yuri would be listening.
- Hyoyeon
Unlike the others, she received confirmation from the very source.
The loyalist tag she’d carried wasn’t a burden – it was an honor, because it meant she got to know things and hear things firsthand without having to scramble for scraps information in all directions.
She met Jessica three days ago after a gig at a speakeasy down Apgujeong. They made sure to get an isolated booth so no one could catch them.
“I’m doing it.”
“About fucking time.”
No preamble needed. No explanation required. They'd talked about this hypothetically for years – what it would feel like to hear those songs again, sung the way they were meant to be sung. Jessica had always deflected, saying it was too complicated, too risky, too much.
But Hyoyeon had seen the way Jessica's eyes lit up whenever old fans posted covers of their songs. Had watched her unconsciously harmonize with radio versions when they played in cafes. Had witnessed the careful way Jessica avoided certain playlists, certain memories, like they might burn her if she got too close.
“The girls are going to lose their minds,” Hyoyeon predicted.
And she was right.
She was laughing when she heard about the phone tag that had been going on with the rest of the members.
So now, as she was in the middle of a transition at a small, underground club in Hongdae, the notification on her phone didn’t stay on the screen for more than three seconds before she swiped it away. The bass was a physical force, rattling her teeth, a stark contrast to the clinical, silent emails sitting in her inbox.
Between tracks, as the crowd blurred into a sea of neon and movement, she pulled her phone out again. She didn't call Sunny for a strategy session. She didn't check in on Taeyeon's mental state.
She simply tapped out a reply to the legal department’s inquiry with the same bluntness she used for everything else in her life.
I don't have a problem with it. It’s her voice. Let her sing. Also, tell her she better not mess up the I Got a Boy bridge or I’ll revoke my agreement.
- Taeyeon
She dreamed about them all the time. The two of them or the nine of them – there was no in-between. She dreamed about the laughter and the tears and everything in between. Mostly, she dreamed about Jessica’s voice, all crystalline and light, like an angel waiting to bless her.
This morning, she woke up from a similar dream. She couldn’t quite recall what it was about, but she could hear the echoes of Jessica’s whispers caressing her skin.
It had felt weird since the moment she opened her eyes. Something about the way her foot was only partially covered by the blanket, or the way Zero wasn’t next to her, or just the way the sun shone through the blinds. She couldn’t quite put a finger on whether things felt right or wrong, but they were just askew.
The legal department – and artist management, surprisingly – had called her in for a meeting today. She assumed it was about her contract. Part of her envied Boa, but it had taken the older woman twenty-five years to cut ties – maybe Taeyeon needed that long too.
Everything was automatic. Brushing her teeth. Putting on makeup. Getting into the van. Making her way up the building to the floor that was almost exclusively Girls’ Generation’s.
Only for things to turn abruptly manual once they’d hit her with a bomb.
The bomb wasn’t a metaphor. It was a single line in an email: Ms. Jessica Jung has requested permission to perform the SNSD catalogue in her upcoming concert in Malaysia, dated January 11th, 2026.
Taeyeon didn't blink. The name felt like a physical weight in the room, a ghost finally materializing after eleven years of haunting the hallways.
She felt the automatic defenses rise – the instinct to protect the group, to safeguard the remaining eight, to secure the brand she had been the face of for nearly two decades. But beneath that, there was the dream. The crystalline voice. The angel.
Taeyeon almost laughed. Like Jessica was a natural disaster they needed to prepare for, rather than a person who had every right to sing songs she'd helped create.
“The other members?” she asked quietly.
“No one has expressed objections.”
Seven women who supposedly stood with her, and not one of them had thought to warn her. Not one had considered that maybe, just maybe, she deserved to hear this from someone who cared about her rather than a corporate suit in a conference room.
“Your contract is almost up. We thought it prudent to address this as soon as possible.”
There it was. An implicit threat wrapped in corporate politeness.
She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “I need a moment.”
She walked out before they could respond, pretty much bouldering her way into an empty practice room and collapsing onto the laminated floors, letting the darkness envelope her.
She could almost hear the echoes of their voices harmonizing, the way Jessica's tone would weave through hers like silk through cotton. They used to practice their duets here – not the official ones, but the impromptu harmonies they'd create during late-night sessions when everyone else had gone home.
It was never just singing. It was a conversation. In the early days, they didn’t even need to look at each other to know when to breathe, when to hold a note a second longer, when to let their voices bleed into one another until they weren't two girls anymore, but a single, resonant chord.
It was never just two girls who were good at complementing each other. It was them being the mom and dad of a chaotic household, the pillars that held up the sky for seven others. Taeyeon closed her eyes and could still feel the heat of the stage lights and the specific, floral scent of Jessica’s hairspray as they leaned into each other for support.
It had been eleven years since they had last been like that, and yet it all felt immediate. Fresh. A ghost she could almost touch. A woman she used to be able to pull in for a kiss…just like that.
The conference room door felt heavier when she pushed it open again.
“Give her the rights, or I won’t sign,” she said, her voice cutting through their murmured conversations. “Everything she’s asking for. Full rights, no royalties, no limitations,” she demanded as she sat down.
“Now, that’s no way to do business.”
“Sure, we can talk business. You’ve already lost Boa-sunbaenim. Can you afford to lose Kim Taeyeon?”
The executive across from her, a man who had spent the better part of a decade profiting off her silence, straightened his tie. “Taeyeon-ssi, you’re being emotional.” She scoffed. “We’re talking about intellectual property. The catalogue is the bedrock of this company’s history. To hand it over for free to a – to a third party who left under such... contentious circumstances –”
“We kicked her out,” Taeyeon interrupted. “You,” she pointed at them, “and me,” she pointed at herself. “The other seven have already said yes,” Taeyeon continued. “They didn't tell me because they knew I’d be the one who had to stand here and bleed for it. So here I am.”
She stood up, ignoring the way the lawyers shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
“If January 11th comes and she is blocked, if you send her a cease and desist, or if you even try to negotiate a single won out of her for those songs, I am done. I won’t just refuse to re-sign. I’ll make sure the world knows that the Girls’ Generation you’ve been selling them for the last decade was a curated lie built on the back of a woman you tried to erase.”
“You’re threatening us,” the artist management head stammered.
“I’m giving you a price. My price.”
She walked out without waiting for a reply, the heavy doors thudding shut behind her.
The hallway felt longer than usual, the walls lined with framed accolades and photos of a younger, nine-member group that felt like a different lifetime. She made it all the way to the van before her legs finally felt weak. She climbed into the back, sliding the door shut and leaning her head against the cool leather.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
It was a notification from the Kakao thread.
Hyoyeon (12:24 p.m.): Legal just sent out a memo. They’re folding.
Yoona (12:24 p.m.): No royalties? That’s generous.
Sunny (12:26 p.m.): Taeyeon, what did you do?
Taeyeon didn't reply to the group. Instead, she opened a private contact – one she’d stolen from Yoona’s phone years ago.
No name, just a saved number she had stared at a thousand times over the last eleven years.
Taeyeon (12:27 p.m.): It’s done. They’re giving you everything. Sing my parts too, Sooyeon-ah.
Bonus: Jessica
The heat in Malaysia was stifling, but inside the arena, the air was electric. Jessica stood behind the curtain, her heart hammering against her ribs in a rhythm she hadn't felt in a lifetime.
The crowd was loud outside, and this was perhaps the most nervous she’d been before a performance, bar their debut.
Her assistant handed over her phone.
Hyoyeon (7:40 p.m.): I’ve collected the following for your reference.
Hyoyeon (7:40 p.m.): Yoona says to break a leg, but not literally. Seohyun says hwaiting. Yuri and Tiffany have tissues ready. Sunny wants you to better hit high notes. Sooyoung says Kyungho-oppa is terrified because she’s already crying.
Hyoyeon (7:42 p.m.): I say that if your leg flick isn’t the correct degree, don’t come back to Seoul.
Jessica could only laugh, but only for a moment, because there was one more person she’d been waiting for. Maybe she’d been wishing for too much.
She stood up, ready to be sharp on time, only to be interrupted by her assistant with the phone again. She was prepared to reject it before her eyes landed on the string of numbers that shouldn’t be familiar but were, because she’d taken her time memorizing them unwittingly.
She hit accept and pressed the phone to her ear. She didn't say anything. She couldn't.
“Sooyeon-ah.” The voice was thin, slightly raspy, sounding like it was coming from a place of exhaustion and immense relief.
“Taeyeon”
Taeyeon chuckled and Jessica closed her eyes at the noise. “It’s okay. I just wanted to hear your voice to make sure this is real.”
Jessica moved away, ignoring the way her parents were staring at her. “I – thank you, Taeyeon.”
“I’m sorry it took me this long.” Taeyeon let out a soft and wet laugh.
Her mother called her name. Jessica gave her a glance before catching herself in the mirror – reflecting a strength that she hadn’t felt since 2014.
“I have to go,” she whispered.
“Go get them,” Taeyeon whispered. “And we should talk when you’re ready.”
“Okay.’
Backstage, she took a deep breath, centering herself. She could almost hear the echoes of Taeyeon’s harmonies blending with hers, just as they used to, guiding her through the first note. Her hands steadied on the mic stand.
She could do this. She had done it before, but now it was hers completely – hers to own, hers to give, hers to live.
The curtain lifted.
Into the new world. Into her world. Into the music she had never truly left behind.