The debut showcase was three days away. The air in their small office crackled with a frantic, sleep-deprived energy.
Empty coffee cups and instant noodle bowls littered every surface. Eun-bi and Ji-ho were practically living in the studio, putting the final touches on the album's mix. Mina and Hana were spending every waking hour in the warehouse, being pushed to their absolute limits by Shadow.
Yoo-jin was the center of the storm, a whirlwind of phone calls, scheduling, and last-minute problem-solving. He was coordinating with the broadcast station, approving the final album art, and fighting with the company's stingy marketing department for every single promotional banner.
He felt less like a producer and more like a general fighting a war on ten different fronts at once.
He was on the phone, arguing with a stage manager about lighting cues, when Hana walked in. She moved with a stiff, pained grace, her body clearly aching from the brutal training.
She didn't say a word. She just dropped a single, folded piece of paper on his desk.
Yoo-jin hung up the phone. "What's this?"
"Aurora's final cue sheet for the showcase," she said, her voice flat. "I still have contacts in their production team. This is their entire stage plan. Set changes, lighting cues, special effects. Everything."
Yoo-jin stared at the paper, then at her. It was a golden piece of intel, a detailed map of the enemy's battle plan. A week ago, she would have rather died than give him this.
"Why?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
Hana just shrugged, turning to leave. "Shadow's training is… effective," she said, her back to him. "And I find the idea of losing to a bunch of soulless, manufactured puppets deeply offensive."
She paused at the door. "Don't mess it up." Then she was gone.
Yoo-jin unfolded the paper. In the top corner, next to the official Titan Entertainment logo, was a small, handwritten note in neat, precise lettering.
Their pyrotechnics cue in the final chorus is their weak point. It's designed to hide the fact that their lead vocalist's stamina is poor. She'll be lip-syncing that part.
It was a dagger, aimed straight at the heart of their rival's 'perfect' performance. And Hana had just handed it to him.
That evening, Yoo-jin brought fried chicken and beer to the warehouse for the final training session. It was a small, pathetic attempt at a victory feast before the war had even begun.
Shadow was pushing Mina through the "Monster" choreography one last time.
The change in Mina was staggering. She was no longer just surviving the dance. She was commanding it. Her movements were still raw, but now they were sharp, intentional, and filled with a dangerous, captivating confidence. She had finally made the song her own.
As the final note faded, she stood in the center of the floor, chest heaving, sweat dripping from her chin. But her eyes were clear and bright, burning with a fire that hadn't been there a week ago.
Even Shadow looked impressed, a rare, almost imperceptible nod of approval. "Good," she grunted. "You've stopped dancing like a victim. You're ready."
They all sat on the cold concrete floor, passing around chicken and paper cups of beer. It was the first time they had all been together in days, a brief moment of calm before the storm.
"Are you nervous?" Eun-bi asked Mina, her own voice filled with anxiety.
Mina took a bite of chicken and thought for a moment. "I am," she admitted. "But it's different now. Before, I was afraid of people looking at me. Now…"
She looked around at her team. At Yoo-jin's steady, determined face. At Min-hyuk's gruff, protective presence. At Eun-bi's passionate, supportive eyes. Even at Hana, who was sitting slightly apart from the group, silently nursing a can of soda.
"Now," Mina finished, her voice quiet but strong, "I feel like you're all on stage with me."
A comfortable, warm silence settled over the group. It was the first time they had truly felt like a single, cohesive unit. A team of outcasts, misfits, and broken geniuses, united against the world.
The moment was broken by a sharp, sudden ringing. It was Yoo-jin's phone. The caller ID was a number he didn't recognize, but the prefix was from outside of Seoul.
He answered, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach. "Hello?"
A woman's voice, frail and weak, came through the line. "Is this… is this Han Yoo-jin-ssi?"
"Yes, it is. Who is this?"
"My name is Kwon Myung-hee," the voice said, punctuated by a soft cough. "I'm Kwon Ji-ho's mother."
Yoo-jin's blood ran cold. He quickly stood up and walked away from the group, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Is everything alright, Mrs. Kwon?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she said, though her voice sounded anything but. "A very kind woman from a company called TK Group came by today. She told me that Ji-ho's… financial problems had been taken care of. She said it was thanks to a kind producer who saw his talent."
Her voice was filled with a trembling, tearful gratitude. "I don't know what to say. Thank you. Thank you so much. My son… he's a good boy. He's just had a hard life. He's been working so hard, trying to pay for my hospital bills…"
The words hit Yoo-jin like a physical blow. He looked back at his team. Ji-ho was laughing at something Min-hyuk had said, a rare, genuine smile on his face. He looked free.
"The woman, Director Ahn, she also told me something else," Mrs. Kwon continued. "She told me that my son's debut project is very important. That its success would guarantee his future, and my continued care."
The unspoken threat was wrapped in the silken words of an old woman's gratitude. It was a message from TK Group, delivered through the most personal, cruel channel imaginable. A reminder of the leash they held.
"Please," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "Please take care of my son."
"I will," Yoo-jin said, his own voice hoarse. "I promise."
He hung up the phone, his hand trembling. The weight of his secret, of the deal he had made, came crashing down on him with a force that almost buckled his knees.
He looked at his team. His small, brave, hopeful team. They were celebrating a battle they thought they could win.
But Yoo-jin now understood the terrible, absolute truth of their situation.
This wasn't just about selling albums anymore. This was about saving a life. And failure was not an option.