The Scandal-Proof Producer

The email arrived at 3:15 PM on a Tuesday. It slid into Han Yoo-jin's inbox not with the bluster of an attack, but with the quiet, chilling precision of a sniper's bullet. He was in the middle of a heated budget review, arguing with his accountant over the escalating costs of Director Choi's vision for the "Echo" music video—she now insisted on using a rare, vintage German lens that cost more than his car. The notification popped up on his screen, and the sender's name alone was enough to silence the argument in his head.

From: Nam Gyu-ri, Head of Strategic Artist Development, Top Tier Media.

His heart gave a hard, painful lurch. He had expected her next move to be another subtle attack, another poisoned whisper in the dark. He had not expected a formal, direct approach. He clicked it open, his stomach tightening into a cold knot.

The email was a masterpiece of corporate politeness, its tone so reasonable and conciliatory that it was instantly more terrifying than any threat.

Subject: A Discussion Regarding Stellar Entertainment's History

Dear CEO Han Yoo-jin,

I trust this message finds you well, despite the recent... enthusiastic... competition in the marketplace. It is in the spirit of professional respect that I write to you today.

In the course of my work on a historical project archiving the meteoric rise of Stellar Entertainment, I came across the fascinating and, if I may say, tragic story of the girl group, Prism. More fascinating still was your role in the affair. I was able to locate a copy of the initial risk assessment dossier you authored. It was deeply impressive—a work of startling, almost prophetic, insight.

My employer, Chairman Choi, shares my academic interest in this particular case study. He believes there are profound lessons to be learned from it that remain deeply relevant to the modern industry. To that end, he would like to formally invite you to a private dinner to discuss your unique perspective and insights from that time.

He is of the opinion that men of vision should not always be adversaries.

Please let me know your availability.

Sincerely,

Nam Gyu-ri

Yoo-jin read the email once. Then he read it again, the words seeming to swim on the screen. His blood ran cold. This wasn't an email. It was a summons. It was a perfectly crafted trap, disguised as flattery and intellectual respect.

They knew.

They knew about the "Miracle Five" incident. His most spectacular, most painful, most deeply buried failure at Stellar. This wasn't a random meeting. It was a targeted interrogation, designed with surgical precision to exploit his greatest weakness: his pride. They were dangling his own history in front of him like a piece of meat, baiting him with the one thing he had always craved and been denied—acknowledgment of his overlooked, dismissed genius.

He closed his eyes, his breathing shallow, and focused his ability on the email itself, on the ghost of intent left behind by its author. The interface flared in his mind, stark and unforgiving.

[Analysis of Message from Sender: Nam Gyu-ri]

[Primary Intent: Lure Target 'Producer' to a controlled environment for observation.]

[Secondary Intent: Probe for methodology and cognitive processes behind past 'predictions' and anomalous successes.]

[Tertiary Intent: Conduct psychological profiling to identify vulnerabilities, particularly in relation to pride, ambition, and past grievances.]

[Covert Objective: Isolate and analyze Target's perceptive abilities under direct social pressure.]

[Trap Probability: 100%]

The final line was a punch to the gut. It wasn't a possibility; it was a certainty. This was a cage, and they were politely inviting him to step inside and lock the door behind him.

The logical move, the sane move, was to refuse. To have his assistant send back a polite, professionally worded email about scheduling conflicts. It was the safe play. The defensive play. It would show them nothing, risk nothing.

But the words from Mockingbird's first transmission echoed in his mind: "You're already at war with him. You just haven't realized you're losing."

To refuse the meeting was to cower. To hide. It showed fear. It would allow The Chairman and his Viper to continue setting the pace of the conflict, to continue their hunt for his secret while he simply reacted to their moves. It was admitting that he was afraid of them.

Accepting, on the other hand… accepting was madness. It meant walking willingly into the viper's nest. It meant sitting across a dinner table from the two people in the world who were actively, systematically, hunting for the source of his power. It was offering his head up for inspection.

But it was also an opportunity. A breathtakingly risky one.

A chance to turn the tables. A chance to sit across from them and use his ability on both of them at once, in real time. A chance to see past their masks, to probe their intentions, to gauge how much they truly knew and what they truly feared. It was a chance to stop being the hunted and become a hunter himself, right in the heart of their territory.

He sat there for a long time, the two choices warring within him. The path of the survivor versus the path of the predator. He thought of Ahn Da-eun's trust, of Ji-won's suspicion, of Jin's desperate plea from his gilded cage. He couldn't win this war by playing defense. He couldn't protect his people by hiding in his fortress.

He took a deep breath, his decision made. He would not be their prey.

His fingers moved across the keyboard, typing a short, confident reply. He addressed it directly to Nam Gyu-ri.

Ms. Nam,

Chairman Choi's invitation is intriguing. I have always believed that history offers the most valuable lessons.

I would be delighted to attend. The story of Prism is indeed a powerful cautionary tale about the importance of seeing what others often refuse to.

Please send me the time and location.

Regards,

Han Yoo-jin

CEO, Aura Management

He stared at the message for a second, then hit send before he could lose his nerve. The quiet swoosh of the email leaving his outbox sounded as loud as a gunshot in the silent office. He had just willingly accepted an invitation to have dinner with a king and his chief executioner, armed with nothing but his secret ability and a desperate hope that he was a better gambler than they were.

His hands shaking slightly, he opened the secure chat to his most valuable and vulnerable asset.

Producer: The Chairman has invited me to dinner. The Viper is the host. The topic is a ghost from my past.

He paused, then typed the final, chilling line.

I'm walking into the cage. Be ready.