The Scandal-Proof Producer

Chae-rin's secret meetings with Ryu became her only anchor to a world that felt real. In the Aura office, she was a symbol, a story, a part of the triumphant "Aura Chimera." Her life was a whirlwind of scheduling meetings, costume fittings, and rehearsals for the upcoming K-Wave Music Festival. But at night, in the quiet, anonymous dark of the park, she was just a girl talking about music with a sad, handsome boy who didn't know her name.

He looked worse each time she saw him. The bruise on his cheek had faded, but the hunted look in his eyes had intensified. He was thinner, more ragged, the desperation clinging to him like the scent of stale cigarette smoke. This desperation, however, fueled his art. One night, he played her a new song, and it was a masterpiece.

It was a beautiful, heartbreaking melody, a lament of such raw, potent sadness that it made the hairs on Chae-rin's arms stand up. The lyrics were a dark, poetic tapestry of loss and defiance. It was the most promising, most commercially viable song he had ever played for her. It was a hit waiting to happen.

When he finished, he didn't look at her with pride, but with a profound, soul-crushing despair. "That's it," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "That's my last shot. The men… they said I have until the end of the month. After that…" He didn't need to finish the sentence.

He looked up at her, his sad, soulful eyes pleading. "If someone like him could just hear this one song. Someone who actually understands… someone like Han Yoo-jin. I know he could see the potential."

His plea was a spear of empathy aimed directly at Chae-rin's heart. She was deeply, profoundly conflicted. She knew, with absolute certainty, what the company policy was. Aura Management, like every other label in Seoul, did not accept unsolicited demos. The sheer volume would be impossible to manage, and the legal risks of plagiarism accusations were too high. She knew that Yoo-jin was already stretched to his absolute limit, juggling the festival preparations, the ongoing war with OmniCorp, and the fallout from Da-eun's family crisis. To bring him a random demo from a boy she met in a park was unprofessional, inappropriate, and a complete abuse of her position. A deep, sick feeling of guilt washed over her at the mere thought of it. It felt like a betrayal.

But then she looked at Ryu. She saw the raw talent being crushed by circumstance. She saw the desperation in his eyes, a mirror of the same desperation she had felt for seven long years, trapped in Stellar's basement. And she thought, Didn't I get my chance because someone took a risk on me? Didn't CEO-nim find me when I was a ghost no one else could see? How can I deny someone else that same miracle?

She began to rationalize it, to reframe it in her mind. This wasn't a betrayal. It was an act of compassion. It was her duty, as someone who had been rescued, to pay that grace forward. She was not breaking the rules; she was honoring the spirit of what Aura was supposed to be about—finding and nurturing hidden talent, no matter where it came from. The logic was flawed, born of emotion, but it was powerful enough to convince her.

She made a decision, a fateful choice forged in empathy and secrecy. "Okay," she said softly. "Prepare your best song. Just that one. Put it on a simple demo CD. No fancy packaging. Just the music."

Ryu's face, for the first time, was illuminated by a flash of pure, unadulterated hope. "Really? You'll give it to him?"

"I'll make sure he gets it," she promised, the words feeling both righteous and terrifying.

The next day at the office was a blur of organized chaos. The K-Wave Music Festival was only a week away, and Yoo-jin's desk was a mountain of logistical paperwork. Contracts for the lighting crew, schedules for the backup dancers, technical riders for the sound engineers, travel itineraries—a blizzard of documents that represented the unglamorous, administrative reality of a major performance.

Chae-rin saw her opportunity.

Yoo-jin was called into an urgent meeting with the legal team to review the final settlement documents for the New Dawn Financial case. He left his office door slightly ajar, expecting to be back in a few minutes.

Her heart pounded against her ribs like a trapped bird. This was it. She took the small, unmarked CD case from her bag. It was a simple, silver disc with the word "RYU" written on it in black marker. With a deep breath, her hands trembling, she slipped into Yoo-jin's empty office.

The room felt like a sacred space she was desecrating. She looked at the mountain of paperwork on his desk. She wouldn't just hand it to him; that would lead to questions she couldn't answer. Her plan was more subtle. She carefully lifted a thick stack of festival contracts, slid the thin CD case into the middle of the pile, and placed the contracts back down.

It was an act of hope, a message in a bottle tossed into the sea of his overwhelming workload. She reasoned that eventually, as he worked his way through the pile, he would come across the out-of-place disc. His curiosity as a producer, his instinct to uncover hidden gems, would get the better of him. He'd wonder what it was, pop it into his computer, and hear the music. And once he heard the music, he would understand. He would see the talent she saw, and he would thank her for bringing it to him.

She slipped out of his office, her heart still racing, a mixture of guilt and hopeful anticipation churning in her stomach.

Later that afternoon, Yoo-jin returned to his office, his mind preoccupied with legal clauses and the lingering, unpleasant residue of his meeting with the loan sharks. He sighed, looking at the mountain of documents he still had to get through. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling overwhelmed.

He closed his eyes for a moment, activating his Producer's Eye, doing a quick, habitual scan of his surroundings for anything amiss. He was looking for professional threats, for things that felt out of place in his strategic world. His gaze swept over the room—the secure server in the corner, the encrypted phone on his desk, the soundproofed walls. All clear. His gaze passed over the pile of papers on his desk. His ability registered the stack, but saw nothing of consequence. The plastic CD case, hidden in the middle, was just another object.

His power, an incredible tool designed to see scandals, betrayals, and hidden potentials in people and their art, was utterly blind to a simple, physical object. It registered the disc for what it was, a mundane piece of technology.

[Item: Data Storage Disc (CD-R)]

[Contents: Unknown Audio Data]

[Threat Level: None]

His system, so attuned to the complexities of human ambition and industry deceit, saw no danger in an ordinary object. He opened his eyes, sighed again, and pulled the first contract off the top of the pile, completely unaware that a Trojan horse, delivered by his most gentle and empathetic artist, was now sitting in the very heart of his fortress, waiting to be discovered.