The Scandal-Proof Producer

The Aura Management office was quiet, the stillness of the dead of night a stark contrast to the chaotic battlefield in Han Yoo-jin's mind. He stood before his "war board," a large whiteboard covered in a messy web of notes, arrows, and profile pictures. Chairman Choi's smug face stared back at him, next to arrows pointing to "Project Nightingale." Sofia Kang's picture was linked to "Logistical Sabotage." Director Yoon's name was circled, with the words "Unstable Ally" next to it. Below that, a hastily scrawled note: "Kang M.H. - Psych Consult."

He felt trapped. Utterly and completely trapped in a game he was beginning to hate. Every victory felt like a step deeper into a moral swamp. He had saved Kang Min-hyuk's life by appealing to the man's worst instincts, an act of psychological manipulation that left him feeling grimy. He had bested Sofia Kang, but the victory was only a temporary reprieve in a war of attrition he couldn't afford. The constant, suffocating threat from Chairman Choi was a weight that was pressing down on all of them.

His gaze drifted from the war board to the soundproofed practice room, where he could see the faint glow of the light under the door. He knew Ahn Da-eun was in there, working on a new song. He thought of Lee Seo-yeon, diligently practicing her vocals, and Kevin Riley, quietly strumming his guitar in a corner, and the brilliant, strange girl Oh Min-ji, who was probably at home dismantling some complex system for fun.

He had started this company to nurture those people. To create a sanctuary where their art could flourish. But when was the last time he had truly focused on the art? His entire existence had become a series of reactive, defensive maneuvers. His days were consumed with analyzing threats, plugging leaks, and navigating corporate minefields. The joy of creation, the pure thrill of hearing a perfect demo for the first time, had been replaced by the grim, exhausting stress of warfare. He was playing their game, on their board, by their rules. And it was killing him.

A profound, soul-deep weariness washed over him. He had an SSS-rank ability, an eye that could see the hidden potential of the human heart, and he was using it to play corporate checkers against a pack of cynical, power-hungry old men. It was a colossal waste.

In a sudden, decisive moment of clarity, he walked to the board. He grabbed a cloth and, in a series of swift, angry swipes, erased it all. Chairman Choi's face vanished. Sofia Kang's name was wiped away. The entire web of threats, counter-moves, and psychological profiles was reduced to a smear of black and blue ink.

He stood back, breathing heavily, the clean, white surface a blank slate. A new beginning. The goal couldn't be just to survive. It couldn't be just to win a petty war for dominance in Seoul. That was thinking too small. That was letting his enemies define the scope of his ambition. True victory wasn't defeating them. It was making them irrelevant.

He uncapped a fresh black marker. At the very top of the board, in large, bold letters, he wrote a new objective.

PHASE 1: GLOBALIZATION

An hour later, he called an emergency meeting. Not with his lawyers or security consultants, but with his core creative team. Go Min-young, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and fatigue. Kang Ji-won, whose attitude towards Yoo-jin had thawed from icy hostility to a wary, cautious respect. And, via a secure video call, his new secret weapon, the analyst-in-waiting, Oh Min-ji.

They gathered in the conference room, staring at the strange, empty whiteboard with its two stark words.

"We've been fighting a defensive war on our home turf," Yoo-jin began, his voice imbued with a new, powerful sense of purpose that made them all sit up straighter. "We've been reacting to their moves, plugging holes in the dam, trying to survive. That ends now."

He pointed a finger at the board. "The Starlight Festival is no longer just a concert we have to survive. It is our international debut. It is our audition for the world. From this moment on, our goal is not just to have a good performance. Our goal is to create a moment so undeniable, so artistically powerful, that it transcends the Korean market and captures the attention of the entire global music industry."

He turned to his genius composer. "Ji-won. Your collaboration with the jazz pianist Kim Shin is no longer just a special stage for the fans here. It needs to be a masterpiece that will appeal to the jazz and experimental music scenes in Europe and North America. I want you to compose something that the curators at the Montreux Jazz Festival or the Newport Jazz Festival would kill to have on their main stage. Forget the Korean charts. I want you to write for the world's most discerning ears."

Kang Ji-won's eyes, which had been weary, lit up with a fire Yoo-jin hadn't seen since they first met. This wasn't just a job; it was a challenge worthy of his talent.

Yoo-jin then turned to his quiet, brilliant lyricist. "Min-young. I want you to start working closely with Kevin Riley. His next song will not be for the Korean market. I want a raw, acoustic, English-language ballad. Something intensely personal. Think Jeff Buckley. Think Bon Iver. I want a song that would feel at home on NPR's Tiny Desk Concerts or a COLORS show. We're not aiming for the K-pop fan channels; we're targeting the Western singer-songwriter tastemakers."

Min-young nodded, her mind already racing, the scope of her work suddenly expanding beyond their borders.

Finally, he looked at the screen where Oh Min-ji's face was displayed. "Min-ji. I need a full market analysis. Not of Seoul. Not of Busan. I need you to map the emerging global music markets. Southeast Asia. Latin America. India. I need to know which streaming platforms are dominant, what musical genres are trending, and most importantly, where the cultural gaps are that our artists can fill. I want data on everything from Spotify in Brazil to JioSaavn in India. Stop thinking like a K-pop trainee; start thinking like the Head of Global Strategy for our company."

Oh Min-ji's usually apathetic expression was replaced by one of intense focus. She gave a single, sharp nod.

Yoo-jin stood before them, a man transformed. He was no longer a besieged manager fighting for survival. He was a visionary CEO, outlining a campaign of conquest.

"We are going to stop playing their game," he said, his voice ringing with conviction. "Defeating Chairman Choi and Sofia Kang isn't about exposing scandals or winning logistical battles anymore. It's about becoming so successful on a global scale that their domestic power plays become meaningless. We're going to build an empire so large that from its heights, they will look like ants."

The team, initially stunned by the sheer audacity of the vision, was now buzzing with a new, profound sense of purpose. The fear and exhaustion of the past few weeks were washed away, replaced by a thrilling, terrifying excitement. They were no longer just trying to survive. They were going to try and conquer the world. Not with algorithms or marketing gimmicks, but with pure, unadulterated, authentic music. The war had changed because their definition of victory had changed.