The name Yoon Tae-min hung in the air like a death sentence.
Yoo-jin saw the confidence drain from his team's faces, replaced by a raw, universal panic. Kang Min-hyuk looked like he'd seen a ghost. Even Hana's icy composure had cracked, her expression hardening into a mask of grim determination.
Yoon Tae-min wasn't just a director. He was a legend, an auteur known for his brutal perfectionism and his complete lack of patience for anything less. Working with him was a career-making opportunity. Failing him was a career-ending certainty.
"Good," Yoo-jin said, his voice cutting through the fear. "That means he won't be swayed by industry politics or reputation. He'll only care about the music. That gives us a fair fight."
It was a lie, or at least a calculated simplification.
[Lie Detected.]
His system mocked him, but it worked. The panic in the room subsided, replaced by a fragile, nervous resolve. He was their leader. If he wasn't afraid, they couldn't afford to be either.
He turned to his two artists. "Mina. Hana. You have until tomorrow morning to read the script. I don't just want you to understand the plot. I want you to find the character's soul. That's what you'll be singing."
The unspoken message was clear: this wasn't just about vocal technique anymore. This was a battle of empathy.
The meeting was held at a stark, minimalist production studio in Paju, a place as cold and imposing as the director's reputation. Yoo-jin and his entire team were escorted into a screening room.
The room was dark, save for a single spotlight illuminating a man sitting in the center.
Yoon Tae-min was a small, wiry man in his fifties, with sharp, intelligent eyes that seemed to dissect everything they looked at. He didn't stand. He just watched them file in, his expression completely unreadable.
Yoo-jin took a deep breath and activated his skill. He needed to know what he was up against.
[Name: Yoon Tae-min]
[Occupation: Film Director]
[Potential: S-Rank]
[Title: The Perfectionist Auteur]
[Unique Skill: Visionary's Insight (Lv. 8) - Possesses an almost supernatural ability to identify flaws in artistic expression. Highly resistant to superficial charm or manipulation.]
[Current Emotional State: Impatient, Skeptical]
Yoo-jin's blood ran cold. Highly resistant to manipulation. His usual strategies wouldn't work here. He couldn't create a narrative or play a media game. This man could see right through it. They had only one path to victory: pure, undeniable talent.
"Producer Han Yoo-jin," the director's voice was a low, gravelly rasp. "Jung Sae-ri speaks highly of you. A foolish sentiment. Praise is for the finished product, not the potential."
He gestured to the chairs. "Sit. Let's not waste time. You brought your entire entourage. Who are they?"
Yoo-jin introduced them one by one. Go Eun-bi, the composer. Kwon Ji-ho, the producer. Kang Min-hyuk, the engineer. When he introduced Mina and Hana as the competing vocalists, Yoon Tae-min's eyes narrowed slightly.
"A competition," the director mused, a flicker of something that might have been interest in his eyes. "Bold. Or foolish. We'll see."
He turned his piercing gaze on the two girls. "The main character, Seo-yeon, is a prisoner in her own life, a puppet whose strings are pulled by a past trauma. She is silence and rage, a placid lake with a monster at the bottom. Which one of you understands that?"
It was a test. A pop quiz from hell.
Hana, ever the polished professional, answered first. "I understand her ambition. She wants to break free, to be the master of her own destiny. Her rage is a tool for her liberation."
It was a good answer. A safe answer.
Then, everyone looked at Mina. She clutched the script in her hands, her knuckles white. She looked small and fragile in the large, empty room.
[Name: Choi Mina]
[Emotion: Terrified]
[Hidden Motivation: Wants to prove she's more than just her trauma.]
"She... she's not angry because she wants to be free," Mina said, her voice barely a whisper. Everyone had to lean in to hear. "She's angry because she's afraid. She's afraid that even if the strings were cut... she wouldn't know how to move on her own."
The room was silent.
Mina's answer wasn't about ambition. It was about fear. It was about the core of the character's trauma. It was the truth.
Yoo-jin saw a flash of data from his system.
[Yoon Tae-min's 'Visionary's Insight' has registered a high degree of artistic empathy from Choi Mina.]
[His skepticism has decreased slightly.]
The director stared at Mina for a long, uncomfortable moment. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before he masked it. He then turned his attention to Eun-bi.
"And you. The composer," he said, his tone dismissive. "I've read your file. A string of rejected songs. Why should I believe you can create a masterpiece now?"
The question was a deliberate, targeted blow. Eun-bi shrank under his gaze, the old insecurities flooding back.
[Name: Go Eun-bi]
[Emotion: Humiliated, Anxious]
Before Yoo-jin could intervene, Ji-ho, the silent producer who rarely spoke more than two words, stood up. It was so sudden that everyone, including Yoo-jin, was startled.
"Because..." Ji-ho's voice was soft, but it carried in the silent room. "Because her rejections weren't failures. They were searching. For the right story." He tapped the script in Eun-bi's hands. "And this is it."
It was the most Ji-ho had ever spoken in front of strangers. He was defending her. He was defending their art.
The director looked from Ji-ho's fiercely loyal face to Eun-bi's stunned one. He didn't comment, but a subtle shift had occurred. He had expected a sycophantic pitch meeting. He had gotten a den of quiet, wounded lions defending their own.
"Fine," Yoon Tae-min said, standing up abruptly. "You have two weeks. Bring me two demos. Not rough sketches. Fully produced, broadcast-quality tracks. If they are mediocre, you will not get a second chance. This meeting is over."
He turned and walked out of the room without another word, leaving them in the echoing silence.
They had survived. Barely.
The drive back to Starforce was tense. The pressure was immense, a physical weight in the small van.
"He's a monster," Min-hyuk muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
"He's a challenge," Hana corrected, her eyes burning with competitive fire.
When they got back to the office, the team split into two camps without a word. Hana immediately dragged Ji-ho into one of the smaller recording booths, her voice a low, intense murmur as she laid out her vision for the song. She was aggressive, direct, and brilliant.
Mina stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, looking lost. Eun-bi walked over to her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Let's go to the main studio. We can start with the melody."
Yoo-jin watched them, the producer in him calculating, the man in him worried. This brutal competition could forge them into diamonds, or it could shatter them completely.
He spent the rest of the day bouncing between the two studios, a neutral arbiter ensuring both teams had equal resources.
Team Hana was a storm of focused energy. Hana drove Ji-ho relentlessly, demanding edgier sounds, more complex arrangements. Ji-ho, to his credit, met her intensity with his quiet genius, translating her abstract demands for 'power' and 'darkness' into tangible music.
Team Mina was different. It was quieter, more emotional. Eun-bi and Mina sat at the piano for hours, not just talking about notes, but about feelings. Eun-bi would play a soft, melancholic chord progression, and Mina would hum a response, her voice filled with a fragile sadness that was breathtakingly beautiful. They were building the song from the character's broken heart outward.
Late that night, Yoo-jin was in his office, reviewing the day's progress reports, when his phone buzzed. It was an unknown number, but the text was chillingly direct.
Rooftop. 10 minutes. Come alone.
Yoo-jin's instincts screamed 'trap'. Director Park? A rival company? He grabbed a heavy Maglite from his desk—not much of a weapon, but better than nothing—and headed for the roof.
The wind was sharp and cold. A lone figure was standing at the edge of the rooftop, silhouetted against the glittering city lights. It wasn't Director Park.
It was Director Ahn of TK Group.
"An impressive performance today, Producer Han," Ahn said, not turning around. His voice was calm, but it carried an edge of steel.
"I don't have time for games, Director Ahn," Yoo-jin said, stopping a safe distance away. "What is this about?"
Ahn finally turned. His face was impassive as always, but his eyes held a flicker of something new. Approval.
"The Chairman is pleased. You've accepted the challenge from the Muse. You are moving your pieces correctly."
Yoo-jin's heart hammered in his chest. So they knew. They knew everything. "What does Chairman Moon want from me?"
"He doesn't want anything from you," Ahn corrected. "He wants to see what you will become. The world you've just entered... it has its own ecosystem. Its own predators. A fledgling like you will be eaten alive without a sponsor."
He took a step closer. "The Chairman has decided to offer his patronage. But it comes with a condition."
"What condition?" Yoo-jin asked, his hand tightening on the flashlight.
"You must win this competition with Director Yoon. But that is not all," Ahn said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You must ensure that Choi Mina is the one who wins the title track. Not Lee Hana."
Yoo-jin stared at him, stunned into silence. He had set up a fair fight. A merit-based competition. Now, the shadowy hand of TK Group was demanding he fix the game.
He was being ordered to betray one of his own artists.