The Scandal-Proof Producer

The café in Hongdae was a bubble of curated calm, filled with the scent of roasted coffee beans and the quiet murmur of conversations. Sunlight streamed through the large picture window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Lee Seo-yeon sat at a small table near the window, enjoying a rare afternoon of peace. The whirlwind of her debut had been exhilarating but exhausting. This—a cup of sweet vanilla latte and an hour to herself—felt like the ultimate luxury.

She had gained a quiet confidence since joining Aura. The constant fear that had shadowed her at Stellar Entertainment had been replaced by a tentative sense of belonging. She smiled as she scrolled through positive comments on her latest live performance video.

"Excuse me, are you Lee Seo-yeon?"

Seo-yeon looked up. A woman stood by her table, holding a leather-bound notebook. She was impeccably dressed in a stylish but understated blazer, her hair pulled back in an elegant chignon. Her smile was the most notable thing about her; it was warm, genuine, and instantly disarming. It was a smile that promised safety and understanding.

"I am," Seo-yeon replied, a little surprised to be recognized.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," the woman said, her voice soft and respectful. "My name is Kim Ji-soo. I'm a freelance journalist. I'm writing a feature for Art & Soul Quarterly." She named a small but highly respected arts magazine known for its thoughtful long-form pieces. "The working title is 'The Miracles of Aura: A New Philosophy in K-Pop.'"

Seo-yeon's eyes widened slightly. A positive story. A respectable publication.

"Your song, 'Thaw'… it's just beautiful," the woman continued, her eyes crinkling with sincerity. "Truly. I'm hoping to tell the human story behind your company. Everyone talks about the scandals and the chart battles, but I want to write about the artists. About the hope you represent."

Seo-yeon, flattered and seeing no possible threat, felt a blush rise to her cheeks. "Oh. Thank you so much."

"Would you mind if I asked you a few questions? Just an informal chat, nothing official. Your perspective is so unique."

"Of course," Seo-yeon said, gesturing to the empty chair opposite her. It felt good to be seen as an important part of the story.

Nam Gyu-ri, now inhabiting the persona of "Kim Ji-soo," sat down, placing her notebook on the table but not opening it immediately. She wanted this to feel like a conversation, not an interrogation. Her hunt had begun. Chairman Choi wanted to know the source of Han Yoo-jin's unnatural insight, and Gyu-ri's hypothesis was that the answer didn't lie in corporate espionage or financial records. It was something more fundamental. Something personal. And Lee Seo-yeon was the origin story. She was Patient Zero.

"It's just so incredible, the story of how CEO Han found you," Gyu-ri began, her tone one of genuine awe. "He has such an amazing eye for talent that others discard. When you first met him, right after you were let go from Stellar… what was that like? Was it just an immediate 'I see your potential' moment?"

Seo-yeon thought back. "He was… very intense," she said, her voice soft with the memory. "But kind. Not like the other executives. It felt like… it felt like he saw right through me. Not in a scary way, but like he understood things I hadn't even said."

Gyu-ri leaned forward, her expression one of utter fascination. This was it. The anomaly. "That's what everyone says! It's uncanny. People say it's like he has this sixth sense. When he spoke to you, did it feel like he already knew things about you? Your specific struggles with sustained high notes, for instance, or the vocal cord condition that Stellar thought was a career-ender? It's just that his insight seems almost… psychic. It's so inspiring how he uses it to heal artists instead of just exploiting them."

The questions were brilliant, each one a masterclass in psychological manipulation. She wrapped her probe in layers of praise, validating Seo-yeon's experience while simultaneously directing her toward the specific data points Gyu-ri needed. She wasn't looking for dirt; she was looking for evidence of knowledge that could not have been obtained through normal means.

Seo-yeon, feeling safe and celebrated, opened up completely. She saw no harm in confirming her producer's genius.

"Yes, exactly!" she exclaimed, excited that someone finally understood. "That was the strangest part. He knew my range was higher than my Stellar profile said. He told me my vocal cord issue wasn't damage, it was inflammation from improper technique, and that with the right kind of rest and retraining, it would heal completely. He even seemed to understand my stage fright… not just that I had it, but why I had it. It was like he had read my diary."

To Seo-yeon, this was a testament to Yoo-jin's profound empathy and experience. It was the reason she trusted him so completely.

To Nam Gyu-ri, it was a flashing red light. Knew her range was higher. Diagnosed her medical issue. Understood the psychological root of her fear. These weren't lucky guesses. This was a pattern. This was concrete data confirming the Chairman's suspicions.

Gyu-ri kept her expression warm and encouraging, even as her mind raced, connecting the dots. "What a gift," she murmured. "To be seen so clearly. He truly is a miracle worker."

Later that evening, the Aura office was a hive of frantic activity. Lee Seo-yeon, still buzzing from her encounter, found Yoo-jin in the middle of a heated but productive-looking conversation with the formidable new music video director. She waited until they were finished before approaching him, her face beaming.

"Yoo-jin! You won't believe it. I was at a café today and I met a reporter who's writing a story about us. A really positive one!"

Yoo-jin, distracted by a dozen different fires he was trying to put out, gave her a tired smile. "Oh yeah? That's great, Seo-yeon."

"She was so kind!" Seo-yeon gushed. "She really understands what we're trying to do. She thinks you're a genius. Her name is Kim Ji-soo. She said she might want to interview you next, to get the 'visionary's perspective'."

A cold dread, sudden and sharp, prickled at the back of Yoo-jin's neck. The name was unfamiliar, but something about the situation—the targeted, effusive praise, the focus on his 'genius'—felt wrong. It felt slick. Manufactured.

"Kim Ji-soo?" he repeated slowly. "From what magazine?"

"Art & Soul Quarterly," Seo-yeon said proudly.

His blood ran cold. He knew the editor of that magazine. She was an old-school purist who despised the K-pop industry. She would never assign a feature with a title like 'The Miracles of Aura.'

"Seo-yeon," he said, his voice dropping, trying to keep the alarm out of it. "What exactly did you talk about?"

"Oh, everything! How you found me, how you helped Da-eun, how you just… know things. She was so impressed."

His mind went into overdrive. He focused on Seo-yeon, on her memory of the meeting, on the face of the woman she'd spoken to, on the name she'd given. He pushed his ability, not just to read Seo-yeon, but to read the data trail this mysterious reporter had left in her mind.

The interface in his head flickered into existence, but the result was different from anything he'd seen before. He wasn't scanning a person in front of him. He was scanning a ghost.

[Subject of Inquiry: "Kim Ji-soo"]

[Analyzing Residual Data from Subject Lee Seo-yeon's Memory...]

[Cross-referencing Biometric Data with Known Industry Figures...]

[Match Found.]

The screen refreshed, stark, clinical, and utterly terrifying.

[True Identity: Nam Gyu-ri]

[Current Title: Head of Strategic Destabilization (Unlisted)]

[Affiliation: Top Tier Media, Office of the Chairman]

[Current Objective: Investigate Han Yoo-jin. Identify source of non-public, pre-cognitive, or otherwise anomalous information. Priority: Highest.]

Yoo-jin felt a jolt as if he'd touched a live wire. Ice water flooded his veins. This wasn't a media attack. It wasn't a smear campaign. The terms on the screen—Strategic Destabilization, Anomalous Information—were the language of corporate warfare, of intelligence operations.

The Viper wasn't trying to ruin his company's reputation anymore. She was hunting him. She was meticulously mapping his life, starting from the very beginning, from the first person he ever saved with his power. She wasn't looking for scandals. She was looking for the source code of his ability.

He looked at Lee Seo-yeon's innocent, smiling face, and a profound, protective terror seized him. His greatest secret, the weapon that had built this entire company, was now his greatest vulnerability. And the enemy's most dangerous agent was no longer throwing bombs from a distance. She was on the ground, patiently, brilliantly, closing in for the kill.