The Scandal-Proof Producer

In the midst of the international storm created by "Unheard Note," Han Yoo-jin turned his attention to a quieter, but no less critical, front. He had a debt to pay and a protégé to manage. He summoned Oh Min-ji and her father, Director Oh Seung-hwan, to his office for a formal follow-up meeting.

Director Oh arrived beaming, his face alight with a hopeful pride that was almost painful to watch. He had seen Aura Management's stunning success at the festival. He had read the international headlines. He was now more convinced than ever that Han Yoo-jin was a miracle worker, a kingmaker who could transform his quiet, sullen daughter into the shining star he had always dreamed she would be.

"CEO Han, simply brilliant!" Director Oh boomed, shaking Yoo-jin's hand with a vigor that bordered on desperate. "What you accomplished at the festival was legendary! Legendary! I am so excited to hear about Min-ji's progress under your guidance. Has she been practicing her vocals? I told her she needed to focus on her breath support!"

Yoo-jin looked from the father's eager, expectant face to the daughter standing silently beside him. Oh Min-ji was a ghost in the room, her expression as blank and apathetic as ever, her gaze fixed on a point on the floor somewhere to the left of her father's expensive shoes. Yoo-jin knew he couldn't continue the charade. It was cruel to both of them.

"Director Oh," Yoo-jin began, his voice calm but firm, cutting through the man's cheerful bluster. "Please, have a seat. We need to have an honest conversation."

The shift in his tone was enough to make Director Oh's smile falter. They sat on the couch opposite Yoo-jin's desk.

"Before we discuss the future," Yoo-jin said, looking directly at the older man, "I need to be transparent about the past two weeks. Your daughter, since beginning her 'mentorship' with me, has not sung a single note."

Director Oh's face fell, his expression morphing from hope to confusion, then to a flash of anger. "What? What have you been doing, then? This was a chance for her to learn from the best!"

"She has been learning," Yoo-jin countered smoothly. "Just not what you think." He turned his gaze to the silent girl. "Min-ji has been training. She has been honing her skills. And she has proven to me, beyond any doubt, that she is a genius."

This took Director Oh by surprise. "A genius? Of course! I've always said she had the potential…"

"No, Director," Yoo-jin interrupted, his voice sharp but not unkind. "You don't understand. Your daughter is a legitimate, S-Rank genius. But her genius is not in music. It is in logic. In systems. In strategy and pattern recognition." He leaned forward, his expression serious. "Forcing her to be an idol is like forcing a chess grandmaster to run a marathon because you think running is a more noble profession. You are trying to make a fish climb a tree. And in doing so," he said, his voice softening, "you are crushing the spirit of a truly brilliant young woman."

To prove his point, Yoo-jin turned his monitor around. On the screen was a clean, concise document. It was Oh Min-ji's flawless, step-by-step analysis of Sofia Kang's sabotage attempt at the festival, followed by the elegant, irrefutable counter-move she had devised.

"When our company was facing a critical logistical attack that would have ruined our festival performance," Yoo-jin explained, "it wasn't a musician or a manager who saved us. It was your daughter. She analyzed a seventy-page technical document in ten minutes, found the single, fatal flaw in our opponent's logic, and devised the strategy that won us the day." He pointed to the screen. "This is her art, Director Oh. This is her stage."

Director Oh stared at the screen, then at his quiet, unassuming daughter, his mind struggling to reconcile the two images. He saw the cold, brilliant logic on the screen, and for the first time, he seemed to be truly seeing the person sitting next to him.

Yoo-jin knew this was the critical moment. He turned his full attention to Min-ji, giving her the agency and respect that no one, especially not her well-meaning father, ever had.

"Min-ji," he said, his voice direct and serious. "My agreement with your father's associate is fulfilled. The debt is paid. Our mentorship contract is, therefore, concluded. You are free to go."

Min-ji's head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock.

"You can walk out of this office right now," Yoo-jin continued. "You never have to take another singing lesson. You never have to stand on another stage. You can go to university and study computer science or applied mathematics, as you've always wanted. The choice is entirely yours."

He let that offer of pure, untethered freedom sink in. Then he made his counter-offer.

"Or," he said, his voice lowering slightly, "you can stay. Not as a trainee. Not as an artist who has to sing or dance. I am offering you a job. A real one. I want to create a new position for you at this company: Head of Strategy & Analytics for Aura Management. I need your mind on my team. I need you to be my secret weapon, to analyze our competitors, to map our global strategy, to see the patterns that no one else can see."

He looked at her, his expression unwavering. "Your father wanted you to be a star. I am offering you the chance to be the one who builds them."

It was a powerful, life-altering moment. Oh Min-ji was being presented with two doors. Behind one was the quiet, solitary freedom she had always dreamed of. Behind the other was a new, unexpected, and terrifying path, but one where her unique, suppressed talent was not just acknowledged, but celebrated and desired.

Her father sat in stunned silence, a whirlwind of emotions on his face as he was forced to confront the truth: that his dream for his daughter had been her prison, and that this stranger understood her better in two weeks than he had in eighteen years.

Min-ji looked from her father's shocked face to Yoo-jin's expectant one. She was silent for a long, tense minute, her mind, for the first time, processing a future that she was in control of. A flicker of something new appeared in her eyes. It wasn't apathy. It wasn't resentment. It looked, for all the world, like her father's own fierce ambition, but refined, sharper, and aimed in a direction of her own choosing.

She looked at Yoo-jin, her expression now clear and focused.

"What's the salary?" she asked.

The question, so pragmatic, so unexpected, broke the tension in the room. Yoo-jin let out a short, surprised laugh. The unwilling weapon had just been formally recruited to his war council. And her first move was a negotiation.