"Call everyone," Foca said with a tired sigh. "Might as well let them know what's going on."
"I'll inform the vampire squad," Hyouka said immediately, already turning toward the door.
Tuesday paused, concern flashing across her face. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked gently. "They haven't even released a single song yet. This kind of shit can mess with their heads. They're still fragile, y'know?"
"I know," Foca replied, voice low. "But this is the industry they're stepping into. This is the world as it is. I don't want them walking in blind." He exhaled slowly. "I just hope it helps them grow… and doesn't break them."
"Let's take this one step at a time," Luca said, trying—really trying—to sound optimistic. "We'll deal with things as they come."
Tuesday and Foca both turned to him.
"…Since when are you optimistic?" Tuesday asked flatly.
"First of all," Luca said, offended, "that hurts. I've always been optimistic. Thank you very much."
Tuesday squinted at him, then leaned closer to Foca and whispered dramatically, "Is somethin' wrong with him? Should I call an ambulance or somethin'?"
"Bitch," Luca deadpanned, "I can hear you."
"Good," Tuesday smirked. "I wanted you to hear every last word that came outta my beautiful mouth." She punctuated it with a loud tongue pop.
That did it.
Foca let out a quiet chuckle—the tension in his shoulders finally easing just a little.
Tuesday and Luca exchanged a glance and smiled softly.
They both knew it.
Foca had been carrying far too much on his own.
If they couldn't lighten the load, then they'd at least stand beside him while he carried it.
"But Luca do be right though," Tuesday said, tone gentler now. "Let's take it one step at a time, okay boo boo?"
"…Thanks, guys," Foca murmured, nodding.
And somewhere down the hall, phones were already buzzing.
Because once everyone was called in—
Nothing would ever be the same again.
****
And so, in one of the hotel's conference rooms, every Bread Music artist gathered—along with the entirety of the vampire squad.
This marked the first official meeting everyone would have together since arriving in New York.
The room buzzed with overlapping conversations, theories flying left and right about what the meeting could possibly be about. Some joked. Some speculated. Some quietly worried.
The noise gradually died down when Foca, Luca, Tuesday, and Hyouka entered the room.
Almost instinctively, everyone stood.
Foca blinked in surprise, his brows lifting slightly. He never cared much for hierarchy or formalities—but he wasn't about to lie.
It felt… good.
Not forced. Not performative. Just genuine respect.
"Hello, everybody," Foca said, smiling softly. "Please, take your seats."
Once everyone settled, Hyouka immediately went into overdrive.
Dragging along her two obscenely large bags—Pan and Dora—she began pulling things out like a blue anime cat with a pocket dimension for a stomach.
First stop: the executives.
Foca received his favorite herbal tea and four-cheese garlic focaccia.
Tuesday got a Dubai chocolate matcha latte—causing Luca to visibly recoil.
"Why does everything have to be 'Dubai' now?" Luca muttered as he accepted his cappuccino and pistachio cream croissant like a sane person.
All three thanked her sincerely.
Hyouka waved it off like it was nothing—despite the very obvious blush creeping up her cheeks.
Then she turned to the artists.
"Banoffee pie for Kang Ian!"
"T-thanks…" Kang Ian said, genuinely stunned. Not many people knew that was his favorite.
"Ube halaya for Monarch—please enjoy, lodi cakes!"
Monarch burst out laughing. "What the hell—Filipino kanal slang?!"
"Salamat, lods," he added, grinning.
Hyouka responded with a two-finger salute and a wink. "Happy to serve!"
Jordan laughed too—he definitely caught the reference.
"For our favorite gaming addict," Hyouka continued, "bolo de amendoim."
Leo froze.
"…Is that real?" he asked slowly.
"Yup. Made it myself. I tried to stick as close as possible to an authentic recipe."
That was the only time Leo willingly put a device down.
"T-thanks," he muttered, already digging in.
Once everyone had been served, Hyouka returned to stand behind Foca, looking ridiculously proud of herself.
"Everyone," Foca said, gesturing toward her, "you might remember her from the live audience during LEAVEN. She's officially joined Bread Music as my personal assistant and secretary. Please give Hyouka a warm welcome."
"That's why you looked familiar!" Mika snapped his fingers. "You had that banner of me, Kang Ian—and a massive one of sir Foca."
"That's me!" Hyouka posed cheerfully.
"So," Eli smirked, "you were just a Kang Ian and Mika stan?"
"At first," Hyouka admitted. "Then I became a LEAVEN stan. But most importantly—sir Foca's number one stan and side bitch."
"…Oh wow," Eli said, blinking.
That was when Foca raised his hand.
The room went quiet.
"Everyone," he began, voice calm but serious, "I've called you here today because we've uncovered significant information regarding Bread Music—and its artists."
As he spoke, Hyouka distributed folders to each person. Thick. Organized. Color-coded. With a table of contents.
No one missed that detail.
"And from this point forward," Foca continued, "things are going to change."
The room held its breath.
And thus—
The meeting began.
****
The moment folders were opened, a few faces visibly tightened.
Brows furrowed. Jaws clenched. Spines stiffened.
One name sat there—black ink on white paper—like a trigger pulled without warning.
Kang Seo-yul.
For some, it was just a name.
For others… it was a fucking scar.
August's fingers froze against the page. Kang Ian's jaw set so hard it ached. Silas' shoulders went rigid. Ahn Jae didn't even blink—his expression went eerily blank.
That alone told Foca everything he needed to know.
"Some of you may recognize that name," Foca said calmly, his voice steady but deliberate. "And some of you have had… direct encounters with him."
Luca picked up smoothly. "Kang Seo-yul is best known for his appearance on The Genesis Project. Four of our artists were on that show as well."
A few nods around the room.
"The show was riddled with controversy," Luca continued. "Allegations of favoritism, manipulation, intimidation. The finale alone trended globally and reached far beyond the idol sphere."
He paused.
"Turns out—most of those allegations were true."
The room subtly shifted.
People sat straighter. Knees uncrossed. Attention sharpened.
"And what the public saw," Luca added, "was only the surface."
A chill crept through the space.
"Bread Music has also been targeted recently," Luca went on, tone reassuring. "Slander, hate campaigns, fabricated narratives. Legal action is already underway—this is being handled."
A collective breath released. Not panic. Not yet.
"But," Luca said, eyes narrowing slightly, "those attacks weren't random."
Tuesday leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Alright, so who the hell is this Kang Seo-yul guy, and why are we talking about him like he's some final boss?"
She scoffed. "Because from where I'm sittin', he just sounds like another rich asshole with too much screen time."
Luca smiled humorlessly.
"Oh, he's definitely a rich asshole," Tuesday continued, lips curling. "But that mothafucka is also a big shot."
The word mothafucka landed hard.
No one laughed.
If anything, it made everyone instinctively dislike Kang Seo-yul—without even knowing why yet.
And that was the cruel irony.
Because whatever image they had of him right now?
It wasn't even close.
Not even in the same universe.
The truth hadn't been said yet.
But it was coming.
And when it did—
No one in that room would be able to unsee it.