The Scandal-Proof Producer

The backstage area of the live hall was a whirlwind of euphoric chaos. The moment the team stepped off the stage after their final bow, they were engulfed in a wave of pure, unadulterated joy. Go Min-young was openly weeping, a messy, happy cry as she hugged Lee Seo-yeon, who was also crying. Ahn Da-eun was laughing, a sound so rare and genuine that it made everyone turn and stare for a second before breaking into wider smiles. Kang Ji-won was mobbed by the venue's sound engineers, who were peppering him with technical questions about his live mix, and for the first time, he seemed to be enjoying the attention. Kevin Riley was on his phone, excitedly telling his family back in Texas that he had just performed for a sold-out crowd in Seoul.

Han Yoo-jin stood back, watching his team, his family, a profound sense of pride swelling in his chest. It was a perfect, triumphant moment. They had done it. They had faced down every obstacle, every threat, every doubter, and had delivered a flawless victory.

It was in this moment of unguarded celebration that a silent figure seemed to materialize at his side. It was Executive Director Yoon Ji-seok, his face as impassive and unreadable as ever. He moved with a quiet efficiency that was unnerving, a ghost in a tailored suit.

"CEO Han," Yoon said, his voice a low, calm murmur that cut through the happy noise. "The Chairman was very impressed with the performance. He would like to have a word with you before he departs." His tone was polite, but it was not a request. It was a summons.

Yoo-jin's heart gave a slight, heavy thud. The real world, with its high-stakes games and shadowy politics, was already intruding on their celebration. He gave his team a reassuring nod, telling them he'd be right back, and followed Director Yoon away from the joyful chaos.

Yoon led him not to a crowded backstage room, but up a private staircase to the now-empty VIP lounge overlooking the hall. The room was quiet, the distant sounds of the crowd leaving the venue a faint murmur below. Chairman Choi Tae-hwan stood by the large window, looking down at the street, a lit cigar in his hand. He turned as Yoo-jin entered, a slow, appreciative smile on his face.

"A coronation," Chairman Choi said, his voice a smooth, deep rumble. He applauded slowly, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet room. "That wasn't a showcase, CEO Han. That was a coronation. You have crowned two new queens tonight. And you even managed to make an American ghost into a prince. My sincere congratulations. It was a masterful piece of production."

He gestured to the deep leather armchair opposite his own. "Please, sit. A drink?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Chairman," Yoo-jin said, his senses on high alert.

"A shame," Choi mused, sinking into his own chair. "Victory should always be toasted." He took a long puff from his cigar. "I received your message earlier this evening. A polite, but very firm, refusal of my… informal proposition. I confess, I am disappointed. An alliance between my resources and your unique skills could have been formidable. But," he added with a slight chuckle, "I am not surprised."

Yoo-jin remained silent, waiting. This was not a man who wasted time on pleasantries.

"Let me be clear about our new relationship, CEO Han, so there are no misunderstandings," the Chairman said, his charming, grandfatherly facade completely gone. His eyes were now sharp and pragmatic, the eyes of a man who builds empires and crushes his competition without a second thought. "I admire your ambition. I admire your talent. But you have refused to become my asset. Therefore, by definition, you must now become my competitor."

The air in the room grew colder. The joy of the showcase began to feel like a distant memory.

"I will not crush you like that fool Kang Min-hyuk tried to," Choi continued, waving his cigar dismissively. "That is crude, inefficient, and beneath me. Instead, we will compete. In the open market, as it should be. I gave you your shot on television. The debt from the parking garage incident has been noted and, for now, deferred. From this moment on, Top Tier Media's resources, our broadcast connections, our distribution network—they are no longer available to you. But I will not actively blacklist you. You have earned the right to stand on your own two feet. Let's see how long you last."

Yoo-jin listened, his mind racing. This was better than outright hostility, but it was a declaration of a new kind of war.

"However," Choi said, and a predatory gleam returned to his eyes, "I must confess, I find this game you've started rather enjoyable. You are a kingmaker. I, too, am a kingmaker. It has been a long time since I have had a worthy opponent in that particular arena. So let us see who is better at it."

He leaned forward, a conspiratorial excitement in his voice as he revealed his next move. "That boy group that performed before your artist on M Countdown. 'Eclipse.' The ones with the flashy effects and the perfectly synchronized, utterly soulless performance. As of this morning, I have acquired their agency. I am personally overseeing their rebranding and their first full album. They are now my project."

Yoo-jin felt a chill. He was no longer just competing with the market; he was in a direct, personal competition with Chairman Choi himself.

"I will give them the best songs from my European writing camps," Choi said, ticking points off on his fingers. "I will give them the best producers. I will give them a marketing and promotion budget that is fifty times larger than your company's entire net worth. They will be my answer to your 'authenticity.' They will be flawless, perfectly cut jewels. We will see which product the market truly prefers: your raw, emotional diamonds, or my glittering, manufactured perfection."

The Chairman stood up, looming over Yoo-jin, a titan casting a long shadow. "You have my respect, Han Yoo-jin. And because you have my respect, I will be coming at you with the full force of my empire. No more thugs in parking garages. No more petty media games. This will be a war of resources, a war of marketing, a war of strategy. A war of songs. I will release my group's album on the same day as your Ahn Da-eun's. I will buy up every primetime advertising slot. I will block you from award shows by ensuring my groups sweep every category. I will outshine you at every turn, not out of malice, but out of simple, pure competition."

He turned to leave, Director Yoon falling into step silently behind him. He paused at the door and looked back at Yoo-jin, a final, chilling smile on his face.

"Welcome to the big leagues, CEO Han," he said. "I do hope you're prepared."

He was gone. Yoo-jin was left alone in the silent, opulent lounge, the lingering smell of cigar smoke thick in the air. The euphoria of his showcase, the pure joy of his team's triumph, had been replaced by a cold, hard, and terrifying reality. He had survived the street fights. He had survived the back-alley ambushes. And now, as a reward, he had earned the right to face the final boss. He was now in a declared, open war with the single most powerful man in the industry. It was his small, independent kingdom of artists against a vast, glittering, and utterly ruthless empire.