"The Chairman is… disappointed."
Director Ahn's words hung in the air, cold and heavy as a death shroud. The small, shabby office suddenly felt like a tomb.
Yoo-jin's mind went blank. He had failed. After all the gambles, the sleepless nights, the impossible fights—he had failed. He saw the face of Ji-ho's mother in a hospital bed, the image flashing behind his eyes like a camera flash.
Ji-ho, who had been staring at the sales numbers with a hollow expression, now looked up at Director Ahn, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated terror. He knew what this meant.
Min-hyuk instinctively took a half-step forward, placing himself between the rest of the team and the two stern-looking men flanking Director Ahn. It was a futile gesture, but a protective one.
Yoo-jin finally found his voice, his throat dry. "There's still time on the clock. The final numbers aren't in for another hour." It was a weak, desperate protest, and he knew it.
Director Ahn gave him a look that was almost pitying. "A commendable effort, Producer Han. But a failure is a failure."
She placed a thin, elegant briefcase on his desk, the same one she had carried at the diner. She clicked it open.
But inside, there wasn't a revised contract or a legal summons. There was a single, sealed manila envelope.
She slid it across the desk. It stopped directly in front of Yoo-jin. His name was written on it in sharp, precise calligraphy.
"The Chairman does not appreciate failure," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "But he does appreciate a good show. And you, Producer Han, have put on a very, very good show."
Yoo-jin stared at the envelope, his mind unable to process the sudden shift. What was this?
"The Chairman is, above all else, a businessman," Director Ahn continued, a faint, almost imperceptible hint of amusement in her voice. "He believes in backing talent. And while your sales numbers are… unfortunate, your market disruption has been extraordinary."
She tapped a polished fingernail on her tablet. "Starforce Entertainment's stock is up 15% since the debut. Titan Entertainment's is down 8%. You haven't just sold an album. You've changed the entire conversation in the industry. That has value."
She looked at him, her eyes sharp and analytical. "The Chairman has decided to make a new investment."
With trembling fingers, Yoo-jin tore open the envelope. Inside was not a bill for 100 million Won.
It was a purchase order receipt.
Item: Choi Mina - 1st Mini Album 'Metamorphosis'
Quantity: 20,000 copies
Purchaser: TK Group Ventures
His eyes scanned the numbers, his heart hammering against his ribs. 485,000 plus 20,000.
505,000.
They had done it.
A wave of stunned, disbelieving silence washed over the room.
Eun-bi let out a small, choked sob of relief. Min-hyuk just stared, his jaw slack. Ji-ho looked from the receipt to Director Ahn, his eyes wide with a fragile, dawning hope that was too scared to fully believe what it was seeing.
"Why?" Yoo-jin finally managed to ask, his voice hoarse.
Director Ahn allowed herself a small, cold smile. "As I said, a test case. You have proven that a small, agile, story-driven team can wound a corporate giant. The Chairman finds this… interesting. He considers this a small price to pay for such a valuable piece of market research."
She turned to leave, her job done. "The original terms of your agreement are now null and void. The debt is considered cleared." She paused at the door, looking back at Ji-ho. "Your mother's hospital bills for the next year will also be taken care of, as a bonus for your excellent work."
Ji-ho collapsed into his chair, covering his face with his hands as silent, shaking sobs of pure, overwhelming relief wracked his body.
Director Ahn's gaze finally shifted to Mina, who had been watching the entire exchange with a quiet, unnerving intensity. "Congratulations on your successful debut, Miss Choi. The Chairman will be following your career with great interest."
Then she and her men were gone, leaving a stunned, victorious, and utterly bewildered team in their wake.
They had won. But they hadn't won on their own. In the final moment, a powerful, unseen king had reached down and moved them across the finish line like a pawn in his own game.
Yoo-jin looked at the purchase order, at the cold, corporate logo of TK Group. He felt a profound sense of relief, but it was tainted by a new, chilling unease. He had escaped one devil's bargain, only to find himself unknowingly playing a part in another, much larger one.
The official news broke the next morning.
The headlines were explosive.
'A TRUE MONSTER ROOKIE: Choi Mina Shatters Debut Sales Record, Surpassing 500,000 Copies!'
'Aurora Dethroned: Titan Entertainment's Perfect Debut Marred by Lip-Sync Scandal and Unexpected Sales Defeat.'
The industry was in shock. Starforce Entertainment, a mid-tier company, had produced a solo artist who had gone head-to-head with a titan and won. It was a fairy tale. A miracle.
In Director Park's office, the atmosphere was euphoric.
"You did it, Han Yoo-jin! You actually did it!" Park was beaming, clapping Yoo-jin on the back. "The board is ecstatic! They're calling you the 'Midas Hand'!"
He was a different person from the cold, calculating director who had set an impossible trap for them. He was now looking at Yoo-jin as his personal golden goose.
"We need to capitalize on this momentum immediately," Park said, his eyes gleaming with greed. "A fan meeting, a reality show, endorsement deals… And we need to start planning the next album. We need to strike while the iron is hot!"
Yoo-jin just nodded, a strange sense of detachment washing over him. He had played their game and won. He had fulfilled his contract.
"About that, Director," Yoo-jin said, his voice calm and steady. He placed a single sheet of paper on Park's desk. It was his own contract.
He pointed to the success clause they had both signed. "The contract states that upon successful completion of the debut mission, my team and I are to be awarded the largest bonus in the company's history."
Park's smile faltered slightly. "Of course, of course. The accounting team will process it."
"It also," Yoo-jin continued, his voice turning to ice, "gives me full creative and operational control over the Special Projects Team. Which means, from now on, you will approve my budgets without question. And you will not interfere with my team in any way."
He leaned forward, his expression mirroring the same cold, predatory look Park had given him weeks ago. "And my first operational decision is this."
He pushed a second document across the desk. It was a formal transfer request.
"Lee Hana," Yoo-jin said, "is to be permanently and officially assigned to my team. Not as an intern. As an artist."
Park stared at him, his mouth agape, the color draining from his face. He was staring at his golden goose, who had suddenly, inexplicably, grown teeth.