The Scandal-Proof Producer

For Director Kang Min-hyuk, the world had become a pressure cooker. The fallout from the "Spotlight Confessional," as the media had dubbed Lee Seo-yeon's interview, was a daily, unending humiliation. The public, now firmly on Aura Management's side, had turned their collective outrage towards the established industry, and Stellar Entertainment, as a symbol of that establishment, was feeling the heat. Anonymous posts from former trainees about harsh conditions and unfair treatment, posts that would have been dismissed as sour grapes a month ago, were now gaining traction and being cited by mainstream news outlets. His superiors were demanding answers. His projects were being subjected to new levels of scrutiny. The Aura Management saga had made him look weak, incompetent, and foolish.

He had terminated his contract with Nam Gyu-ri in a fit of rage, furious at her failure. But her parting words on their final, terse phone call had echoed in his mind. "Your problem, Min-hyuk, is that you are trying to win a knife fight using public relations. Han Yoo-jin is playing a different game. You need to change the rules."

He had lost the media war. He had lost the battle for public opinion. His professional pride was in tatters. All that was left was a raw, wounded ego and a deep, festering well of personal hatred for Han Yoo-jin. He felt like a cornered animal, and a cornered animal abandons strategy for pure, vicious instinct. Subtlety was a luxury he could no longer afford and no longer desired.

One evening, he sat alone in his car in the sterile, echoing silence of an underground parking garage several levels beneath his luxury apartment building. The sleek, polished interior of his imported sedan felt like a cage. He dialed a number on a burner phone, a number he had hoped he would never have to use again. It connected after a single ring.

"It's me," Kang said, his voice a low, vicious snarl that was unrecognizable from his usual smooth, corporate tone. "I have a job for you."

The voice on the other end was rough, disinterested. "We're not in that line of work anymore, Mr. Kang. It's too risky."

"I'll pay you double your usual rate," Kang snapped, desperation clawing at him. "I don't care about subtlety anymore. The media games, the rumors… they aren't working. I need to send a message. A physical one."

He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. "I don't want him dead. Not yet. I just want him hurt. Enough to put the fear of God into him. An 'unfortunate accident.' A 'random mugging gone wrong.' A broken arm, a few cracked ribs. Something that takes him out of commission for a few weeks, something that makes him understand that he is playing in a league where there are real-world, physical consequences. I want him to be afraid to walk out of his own office."

There was a pause on the other end, then a sigh. "Double, you said? Wire half of it to the usual account. We'll take care of it tonight." The line went dead. Kang threw the burner phone onto the passenger seat, his heart pounding with a dark, thrilling rage. This felt right. This felt like taking back control.

Meanwhile, back at the newly upgraded Aura Management office, the mood was the polar opposite. It was a place of vibrant, hopeful energy. They had just concluded a celebratory dinner to officially welcome Lee Seo-yeon to the team. She and Da-eun, who should have been rivals, were bonding over a shared history of being underestimated, finding a surprising kinship. Kevin was showing Ji-won a complex guitar riff, and Ji-won was, for once, listening with an open mind. Their strange, eclectic family was growing.

Their next major goal was now a showcase, a small concert to officially launch Da-eun's mini-album and introduce Seo-yeon to the world. Their future looked brighter and more promising than ever. They felt invincible, as if they had overcome every possible obstacle the industry could throw at them.

Han Yoo-jin was the last to leave the office late that night. He was bone-tired, but it was the deep, satisfying exhaustion that comes from meaningful work. He locked the door, a proud smile on his face. As he walked down the quiet hallway towards the elevator, he was on the phone with Da-eun.

"Yes, I'm heading home now," he said, his voice warm. "No, I haven't eaten dinner yet, the celebration pizza doesn't count… Okay, okay, I'll pick something up on the way. Don't nag like my mother… Alright. Talk to you tomorrow."

He hung up, still smiling. His life was chaotic, stressful, and utterly all-consuming, but for the first time in a decade, it was full of purpose. He entered the elevator and descended to the building's underground parking garage.

The garage was mostly empty at this hour, the dim fluorescent lights casting long, distorted shadows on the cold concrete. As he walked towards his modest sedan, the rhythmic click of his own footsteps was the only sound. He clicked the key fob, and his car's lights flashed in welcome.

Then he heard it. A second set of footsteps behind him. Scuffing, heavy. Out of sync with his own.

He stopped, a prickle of unease running down his spine. This wasn't a place where people lingered. He turned.

Two large men were walking towards him, their pace steady and menacing. They were dressed in dark, nondescript clothes, their faces grim and set. They were not fans. They were not reporters. A primal instinct, an alarm bell he hadn't heard since a bad neighborhood in his youth, screamed in his mind.

He instinctively knew he was in trouble. His ability, which had become a part of his perception, flared to life, scanning the approaching figures.

[Name: Unknown Thug #1] -> [Key Strength: Brute Force. Professional Intimidation.], [Objective: Incapacitate Target. Cause moderate physical harm as a warning. Avoid vital areas.]

[Name: Unknown Thug #2] -> [Key Strength: Armed Melee. Subdual.], [Objective: Assist in incapacitation. Ensure target does not escape.]

Before his mind could even fully process the threat, they were on him. One man, a bull with a thick neck, lunged forward and grabbed him from behind in a crushing bear hug, lifting him slightly off his feet. At the same time, the second man stepped in and landed a vicious, professional punch to his stomach. The air exploded from Yoo-jin's lungs in a silent gasp. The world tilted, his vision greying at the edges as he fell to his knees, struggling for breath.

"This is a message from your old friends at Stellar," the first man grunted, his voice a rough, gravelly rasp. "They say you should learn to stay in your lane." He punctuated the sentence with a hard, brutal kick to Yoo-jin's ribs.

Yoo-jin cried out, a sharp, ragged sound of pure pain. He curled into a ball on the cold, oil-stained concrete, his side erupting in agony. Through his swimming vision, he saw a flash of dark steel. The second man had pulled a small, heavy pipe or club from his jacket, its surface glinting under the dim garage lights. This wasn't just a beating. They intended to break something.

The man with the pipe raised it, his shadow looming over Yoo-jin. He was preparing to bring it down, aiming for his arm or his leg—a message that would be impossible to ignore.

Suddenly, a high-pitched screech of tires echoed through the cavernous garage, a sound so violent it made all three of them flinch. A sleek, black Genesis G90 sedan that hadn't been there a moment before whipped around the concrete pillar at high speed and barreled towards them. Its powerful LED headlights flashed onto high beam, flooding the area with a blinding, disorienting white light.

The two thugs were startled, shielding their eyes, their assault momentarily forgotten. The car screeched to a halt just feet away, its engine a low, powerful growl. The passenger-side door swung open with electronic quietness.

"Get in!" a sharp, familiar voice commanded.

Stunned, disoriented, and in agony, Yoo-jin looked up. Leaning out of the opulent interior of the car was the last person in the entire world he ever expected to see in a situation like this. It was Executive Director Yoon Ji-seok, Chairman Choi's right-hand man, his face a grim, unreadable mask.

"Now, CEO Han!" Yoon shouted, his voice cutting through Yoo-jin's pain-filled haze.

The thugs were momentarily frozen, their brains trying to process the sudden arrival of a corporate heavyweight in a six-figure luxury car. This wasn't part of the plan. This small window of confusion was Yoo-jin's only chance. Fueled by a surge of pure adrenaline, he ignored the searing pain in his ribs and scrambled across the concrete, diving headfirst into the waiting car.