Midnight.
The digital clock on Yoo-jin's laptop clicked over, and the war for the charts officially began. Mina's full debut album was now live on every streaming platform in the world.
The small waiting room was silent, the air thick with an almost unbearable tension. The five of them—Yoo-jin, Mina, Eun-bi, Ji-ho, and Min-hyuk—were huddled around the laptop, their faces illuminated by its cold, blue light. Even Hana, who had been about to leave, was now lingering by the door, her usual cynical mask replaced by a look of tense, grudging curiosity.
"Refresh the chart," Eun-bi whispered, her voice trembling.
Yoo-jin took a deep breath and hit F5.
The real-time music chart updated. For a split second, his heart stopped. The top four spots were all a bright, aggressive pink—the official color of Aurora. Their title track, "APEX," was at number one, with their B-sides taking the next three slots. It was a brutal, overwhelming display of fandom power.
Then he looked further down.
At number five, a single, defiant line of deep blue. Choi Mina - Monster.
And at number seven, another. Choi Mina - Echo.
"Two songs in the top ten…" Ji-ho breathed, his voice filled with a disbelief that bordered on reverence. For a debut solo artist to chart two songs in the top ten on the first night was almost unheard of.
But it wasn't enough.
Yoo-jin switched to the real-time album sales tracker. The numbers there told a grimmer story.
Aurora - 1st Mini Album 'APEX': 435,112 copies sold.
Choi Mina - 1st Mini Album 'Metamorphosis': 198,764 copies sold.
They were being crushed. Their critical acclaim and divided public interest weren't translating into the overwhelming sales they needed. The goal of 500,000 copies felt like a distant, impossible dream. The weight of his promise to Ji-ho's mother, of his contract with Director Park, settled on Yoo-jin's shoulders like a physical thing.
Min-hyuk let out a low curse. "Their fandom is a monster. We can't compete with that kind of organized buying power."
He was right. They had the attention of the general public, but Aurora had an army. An army that was currently propelling them towards a historic first-week sales record.
The mood in the room plummeted. The brief flicker of hope was extinguished, replaced by the cold, hard reality of the numbers.
Just as despair began to set in, Yoo-jin's phone buzzed. It was a notification from Reporter Kim So-jin's news site.
He clicked the link. The headline was simple, direct, and utterly devastating.
[ANALYSIS] A Tale of Two Debuts: Did Titan Entertainment Use Pyrotechnics to Hide a Lip-Synced Performance?
The article was a masterpiece of journalistic assassination. It didn't make a direct accusation. Instead, it just asked questions. It showed a slow-motion, frame-by-frame analysis of Aurora's performance, right next to a clip of Mina's raw, unfiltered vocal climax in "Monster." It was filled with quotes from anonymous "industry insiders" and "sound engineers" who all expressed their "doubts" about the integrity of Aurora's stage.
Yoo-jin's poison was in the water supply. And it was spreading fast.
He switched back to the online forums. The entire conversation was shifting. The debate was no longer about which song was better. It was about which performance was real.
The hashtag IsabelleLipSync was starting to trend, fueled by Mina's passionate new fans and anti-fans of Titan.
"Look," Mina whispered, pointing at the screen.
The sales numbers were changing. Aurora's sales, which had been climbing at a dizzying rate, were starting to slow down. Mina's, on the other hand, were beginning to accelerate.
Choi Mina: 210,341
Choi Mina: 225,788
Choi Mina: 240,119
The general public, the people who had been intrigued but hadn't yet bought the album, were starting to pick a side. They were choosing the raw, flawed, authentic "monster" over the perfect, sterile, and potentially fake "goddess."
A slow, dangerous hope began to dawn in the room. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
The next few days were a blur. A brutal, exhausting, exhilarating war of attrition.
Mina was thrown into a whirlwind of radio shows, interviews, and music show performances. She was exhausted, but she was also glowing. Every time she stepped on stage, she sang her heart out, her voice raw and live every single time. She wasn't just performing; she was making a statement.
Yoo-jin was the general, directing the battle from their small office. He was a master of guerrilla marketing, feeding small, exclusive behind-the-scenes clips to friendly bloggers, arranging interviews with respected music critics instead of vapid idol magazines, and carefully cultivating Mina's image as a true, authentic artist in a sea of manufactured products.
The sales numbers continued to climb, a slow, steady, relentless march upwards.
Day 3: Choi Mina - 350,000 / Aurora - 480,000
Day 5: Choi Mina - 420,000 / Aurora - 510,000
They were closing the gap. But time was running out. They only had one week to hit their impossible goal.
On the final day of the first week, they were at 485,000 copies sold. It was an incredible, miraculous number. But it wasn't 500,000.
The team was gathered in the office, staring at the final sales chart, the silence thick with a sense of tragic, heroic failure. They had fought the good fight. They had done the impossible. And they had still come up short.
Ji-ho was staring at the number on the screen, his face a mask of pale, hollow despair. Yoo-jin felt a sickening lurch in his stomach. He had failed.
The door to the office opened. It was Director Ahn Soo-jin, the fixer from TK Group. She was flanked by two stern-looking men in suits.
She walked in, her heels clicking on the cheap linoleum floor. She didn't look at Ji-ho. She didn't look at Mina. She looked directly at Han Yoo-jin.
Her face was a cold, emotionless mask.
"485,000 units," she said, her voice as smooth and sharp as polished obsidian. "An impressive number. But the terms of your agreement were quite specific."
She paused, letting the weight of his failure settle over him.
"The Chairman is… disappointed."
This was it. The end of the line. The devil had come to collect his due.
Yoo-jin closed his eyes, bracing himself for the final, killing blow.