The days that followed felt like a blur, a strange limbo between past and future. Min Hee-jin spent most of her time in her apartment, trying to process everything that had happened. The world outside continued to spin, the media still buzzing with the fallout from her resignation. But for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could breathe, like the weight of the world had finally been lifted from her shoulders.

She spent her mornings answering emails, messages from friends and colleagues who had reached out after the press conference. Some offered words of encouragement, others wanted to know what she planned to do next. But there was one question that kept coming up, over and over again, from people who truly cared about her:

“What now?”

It was a question she didn’t have an answer to, not yet. She had spent so long fighting, so long trying to hold on to ADOR and NewJeans, that she hadn’t thought about what came next. Now, with the battle behind her, she was faced with a blank canvas, a future she hadn’t planned for.

She knew she couldn’t stay in this limbo forever. She needed to do something, to find a new purpose, a new direction. But every time she tried to think about what that might be, her mind came up blank. So, she did the only thing she could think of: she started reaching out to people, reconnecting with old friends and colleagues, asking for their advice, their support.

The responses were overwhelming. People she hadn’t spoken to in years came out of the woodwork, offering their help, their ideas. Some suggested she start a new company, a new label. Others thought she should take some time off, travel, write a book. But one idea stuck out, one suggestion that seemed to resonate with something deep inside her.

“Why don’t you teach?”

The idea came from an old friend who had left the industry years ago to become a professor. They had reconnected over a long phone call, reminiscing about the old days, about the passion and excitement they had felt when they were just starting out.

“Think about it,” he had said, his voice warm and encouraging. “You have so much knowledge, so much experience. There are so many young people out there who could benefit from what you’ve learned, from what you’ve been through. You could inspire them, help them find their own path.”

The idea had taken root in her mind, a tiny seed of possibility. She had never thought of herself as a teacher, had never imagined standing in front of a classroom, sharing her story. But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense.

She had spent her entire career building something, nurturing talent, guiding artists. Maybe this was just another way of doing that, of helping the next generation find their voice, their place in the world.

The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. It would be a completely new chapter, a way to turn her pain and her experiences into something positive, something meaningful.

She had no idea where to start, what the first step would be. But for the first time since she had left ADOR, she felt a flicker of excitement, a sense of purpose.

She decided to start small, reaching out to a few universities and music schools, inquiring about guest lectures or workshops. To her surprise, the response was immediate and enthusiastic. Within a week, she had several invitations to speak, to share her story and her insights with students who were eager to learn from her.

Her first lecture was scheduled at a small, private university in Seoul. She spent days preparing, crafting her presentation, carefully choosing her words. She wanted to be honest, to share not just her successes but her failures as well, the lessons she had learned the hard way.

The day of the lecture arrived, and she found herself standing in front of a classroom full of young faces, their eyes wide with anticipation. She took a deep breath, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves in her stomach, and began to speak.

She told them about her journey, about the highs and lows, the triumphs and the betrayals. She spoke about the importance of staying true to oneself, of fighting for what you believe in, even when the odds are stacked against you. She shared stories from her time at SM Entertainment, the challenges she faced at ADOR, and yes, even the shaman, the strange and painful journey that had led her to that moment.

The room was silent as she spoke, the students hanging on her every word. When she finished, there was a moment of stunned silence, and then the room erupted in applause. Min felt a surge of emotion, a sense of validation and gratitude that was almost overwhelming.

After the lecture, students crowded around her, asking questions, sharing their own dreams and fears. She listened, offering advice where she could, but mostly just listening, letting them know that their voices mattered, that their stories were important.

As she left the university that day, she felt lighter than she had in months. She had found something, a new direction, a new purpose. It wasn’t the life she had planned, but maybe it was the one she needed.

She still didn’t know what the future held. There were still so many questions, so many uncertainties. But for the first time, she felt hopeful, excited even, about the possibilities that lay ahead.

She pulled out her phone and sent a quick message to the group chat she had with NewJeans.

“I did it. I gave my first lecture. It went really well. I miss you all.”

Almost immediately, the responses came flooding in, words of congratulations and encouragement, emojis and heart emojis.

“We’re so proud of you!” “You’re amazing!” “Can’t wait to hear all about it!”

Min smiled, feeling the warmth of their support wash over her. She had lost so much, but she still had them, still had this connection, this bond.

As she walked down the street, the sun setting behind the buildings, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, she felt a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in a long time.

The future was uncertain, and the past still lingered like a shadow. But she was moving forward, one step at a time, planting new seeds, watching them grow.

And she knew, deep down, that she would be okay.

Because she was Min Hee-jin, and she was not done yet.