The Scandal-Proof Producer

The days following the attack were a strange paradox. On the surface, the Aura Management office was a hub of positive, forward momentum. The team, galvanized by the physical threat against their leader, threw themselves into their work with a fierce, protective energy. The plans for Ahn Da-eun's debut mini-album were solidifying, and the initial creative sessions for Lee Seo-yeon's debut were already showing incredible promise. But underneath the productive hum, a river of fear ran deep and cold.

Han Yoo-jin saw it in the way Go Min-young would jump every time the office door opened unexpectedly. He saw it in the way Kevin Riley, their new American collaborator, always chose the chair furthest from the windows. He saw it in the way Ahn Da-eun insisted on walking him to the car service at the end of every night, her usual cynicism replaced by a grim, watchful silence. They were working, they were creating, but they were doing so with the constant, low-level anxiety of soldiers in a trench, waiting for the next artillery shell to fall.

Yoo-jin's bruised ribs were a constant, aching reminder of their vulnerability. The bodyguards and the new security system were a comfort, but he knew they were merely bandages on a wound that was still festering. Director Kang was still out there. A wounded, humiliated animal. And Yoo-jin knew, with an instinct that went deeper than his supernatural ability, that Kang would not stop. His pride would not allow it. As long as that threat existed, his team would never be truly safe, and their creativity would always be shadowed by fear.

He sat in his new, upgraded office late one night, long after the others had gone home. He looked at the whiteboard, at the hopeful song titles and release schedules, and a cold, hard resolve settled over him. He could not wait for Kang's next move. He could not live his life, or ask his team to live theirs, constantly looking over their shoulders. He had to end it. He had to take the offensive. He had to put the fear of God into Kang Min-hyuk.

He opened his laptop and navigated to the heavily encrypted external hard drive he now carried with him everywhere. He clicked open the folder titled "Insurance." It was time to make his first withdrawal.

He scrolled through the files he had meticulously collected on Director Kang, past the evidence of bribery and corporate malfeasance. Those were bombs, capable of ending Kang's career and sending him to prison. But they were too much. A nuclear option for a conventional threat. A bomb creates fallout, investigations, and unwanted attention. He didn't want to destroy Kang, not yet. He just wanted to put him on a leash. He needed a different kind of weapon. Not a bomb, but a sniper's bullet. Something precise, personal, and deeply terrifying.

He found the file he was looking for: the cheerful group photo from the Stellar Entertainment company retreat in Jeju Island five years ago. He opened it in an editing program and zoomed in, his movements precise and deliberate. He drew a single, clean red circle around two people standing in the back row: a smiling Director Kang, and a young, pretty junior marketing employee who was standing just a little too close to him, her own smile a little too bright.

He didn't add any text. He didn't write any threats. He didn't make any demands. The photo, and the circle, was the entire message. It was silent, ambiguous, and all the more terrifying for it. It was a perfectly crafted psychological weapon, designed to detonate inside Kang's own paranoid mind. It said, I know. I have proof. And this is just one of the things I know. Imagine what else I have.

He composed a new email from a freshly created, anonymous, and untraceable address. The subject line was simple, almost nostalgic: "A Reminder of Our Past." He attached the single, circled image. He took a deep breath, his finger hovering over the mouse. This was a line he had never crossed before. He was no longer just defending his company. He was actively using a man's personal life as a weapon. But then he thought of the fear in Min-young's eyes, of the pain still radiating from his own ribs, and his resolve hardened. He clicked "Send."

The scene shifted. In his luxurious Gangnam apartment, Kang Min-hyuk was pacing his study like a caged wolf. The public humiliation and his subsequent demotion—officially a 'temporary reassignment'—had eaten away at him. He was on the phone, berating one of his few remaining loyal underlings at Stellar. "What do you mean the broadcast schedule is full? Use your influence! I want that rookie girl group's debut pushed back! Find a reason!"

As he barked his orders, a notification popped up on his personal laptop. A new email in his private account, the one he didn't use for business. His brow furrowed in annoyance. He opened it.

He saw the subject line: "A Reminder of Our Past." He saw the attachment. He clicked on it.

The photo filled his screen. The cheerful, sun-drenched day in Jeju. And the red circle.

The blood drained from Kang Min-hyuk's face. He dropped his phone, the clatter of it hitting the hardwood floor unnervingly loud in the silent room. He stared at the image, his mind reeling in pure, unadulterated panic. His hands began to tremble. How? Who? Who could possibly know about that? It was a secret he had buried five years ago, a brief, stupid indiscretion he had been so careful to conceal. Only two other people in the world knew the truth.

His mind immediately went to the thugs he had hired. Had one of them been caught? Had they talked? Had Han Yoo-jin somehow gotten to them? The paranoia began to spiral, twisting and turning in on itself. He felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. This photo could destroy everything. His career. His reputation. His marriage to the wealthy heiress whose family connections had been so instrumental in his rise.

He felt like a man who had thought he was in a fistfight, only to look down and see the tip of a poison-laced dagger pressed against his heart.

Yoo-jin waited exactly one hour. He let the psychological poison do its work. Then, he picked up the burner phone he had bought for himself—not the one from Director Yoon—and dialed Kang Min-hyuk's personal cell number.

Kang snatched his fallen phone from the floor, his hands still shaking as he answered. "Kang Min-hyuk," he said, his voice a hoarse, strained whisper.

"Hello, Director," Yoo-jin said. His voice was calm, cool, and as smooth as polished steel. "It's Han Yoo-jin."

A strangled, choked sound came from the other end of the line. Kang was stunned into absolute silence. In that moment, he knew. He knew who had sent the email.

"I trust you've been well," Yoo-jin continued, his tone a perfect imitation of professional courtesy. "I was just calling because my team and I are very busy preparing for our upcoming showcase. It's a very important time for my young artists. It would be a real shame if any… unfortunate accidents… were to disrupt our preparations. For anyone involved."

He let the words hang in the air, each one a carefully weighted threat. "I'm sure you understand how important it is for everyone in our industry to be able to work in a safe and professional environment. Don't you agree?"

It was a masterfully worded declaration of power, veiled as a polite inquiry. Kang, whose entire career was built on intimidation and bluster, was now on the receiving end of a far more sophisticated form of it. He understood perfectly. Yoo-jin had evidence that could utterly destroy him, and the calm, cold tone in his voice made it clear he would not hesitate to use it. The balance of power had not just shifted; it had been completely and irrevocably shattered.

"I…" Kang stammered, his voice the sound of a defeated man. "I understand."

"Good," Yoo-jin said, his voice devoid of any triumph. "I'm glad we had this chat."

He hung up.

He walked out of his private office and back into the main workspace. The team looked up at him, sensing a subtle change in his demeanor, a new, cold confidence in the way he held himself.

"Is everything okay, CEO Han?" Min-young asked, her voice tinged with the worry that had been her constant companion for days.

Yoo-jin looked at the faces of his team, his family. He gave them a small, reassuring smile. "Everything is fine," he said, and for the first time in a long time, he knew it was the truth. "I don't think we'll be having any more problems with Director Kang."

He had successfully neutralized his most immediate enemy. He had fired his first warning shot from the shadows, and in doing so, had proven that he was no longer just a target. He was a threat.