Hana's parting words were a declaration of co-ownership. He wasn't just her producer anymore; he was her co-conspirator.
He sat in the silent office, the city lights beginning to blur outside his window. A three-front war. TK Group demanding he push Mina. Hana demanding he control her. And Director Yoon, the vampire, hunting for the truth that would destroy them all.
Running was not an option. Hiding was temporary. The only way out was to build a fortress. A fortress of lies, so perfectly constructed that no one would ever want to look inside.
He pulled out a clean sheet of paper. At the top, he wrote his new objective in stark, simple terms: SURVIVE.
Beneath it, he listed his assets and liabilities.
Asset: Hana's Ambition.
Liability: Hana's Suspicion.
Asset: Mina's Trust.
Liability: Mina's Talent (a beacon for Yoon).
Asset: Ghost's Intel.
Liability: Ghost's Agenda (unknown).
Asset: SSS-Rank Potential.
Liability: SSS-Rank Potential (the source of all his problems).
He needed a plan. A damage control strategy, just as Hana had demanded.
First, Director Yoon. The hunter. How do you stop a predator from sniffing out your trail? You give him a new, more appealing scent to follow.
He pulled out the burner phone and sent a message to Ghost. I need information. Everything you have on Yoon Tae-min's past projects. Specifically, the artists he's worked with who flamed out. The ones he broke.
The reply came back in less than a minute. A secure link to a file. It was a list of names. Composers who retired early. Singers who developed career-ending vocal nodules. Producers who checked into rehab for 'exhaustion'. A trail of bodies.
Ghost's message followed. He's a serial killer of careers. What's your play?
Yoo-jin's fingers flew across the tiny keyboard. I'm not going to expose him. I'm going to feed him.
His plan was taking shape. It was monstrous. It was perfect.
Next, Mina. The decoy. Hana was right; he had to keep her stable. He couldn't let Yoon drain her, but he also couldn't let her shine so brightly that she became a problem for Hana's debut. He had to walk a razor's edge.
He looked at the schedule. The next OST recording session was in three days. He had to prepare.
Finally, Hana. The queen. He had to give her the report she demanded. He had to prove he was her tool, her weapon.
He spent the next hour outlining a detailed strategy, a masterpiece of misdirection and manipulation. It was the most cynical, ruthless thing he had ever written.
When he was done, he felt hollowed out, a stranger to himself. He took a photo of the document and sent it to Hana.
Her reply was a single, cold word. Acceptable.
The next two days were a blur of calculated moves.
Yoo-jin started with a call to Jung Sae-ri's agency. He used his most charming, professional voice.
"Sae-ri-ssi, it's Han Yoo-jin," he began. "First, thank you again for the party. It was a wonderful opportunity for my team."
"Of course, Producer Han," she replied, her voice warm. "How is our little songbird, Mina?"
"She's why I'm calling," Yoo-jin said, the lie tasting familiar now. "Director Yoon's process is... incredibly demanding. Mina gave everything she had in the first session. To protect her voice for the rest of the recordings, I'm putting her on a strict regimen. Minimal stress, vocal rest, and..."
He paused for effect. "...a temporary media blackout. No interviews, no appearances. I need her completely focused. I'm building a fortress around her to preserve the purity of her performance for the film."
It was a brilliant spin. He was using his duty to the OST as an excuse to pull Mina out of the spotlight, thus satisfying Hana's need to keep her controlled and TK Group's desire to see him "protecting" their asset.
"How wonderfully diligent of you, Producer Han," Sae-ri said, her voice filled with admiration. "A true professional. Of course, do what you must. The film is the priority."
One front managed.
Next, he walked into the main studio where Ji-ho and Hana were working. The energy in the room was electric. Hana was pushing Ji-ho to his limits, demanding sounds that were bigger, sharper, more regal.
"The synths on the chorus need more... majesty," she was saying. "I want it to sound like an army marching."
Yoo-jin listened for a moment. He turned on his new 'sense', just for a second, dialing it up like a radio. He could hear the sound of their combined creation. It was a powerful, brassy fanfare, but it was missing something. A foundation.
He turned the sense off before the headache could start.
"Ji-ho," Yoo-jin said, stepping forward. "The synth is the crown. It's not the throne. You need a bassline that can carry the weight. Something simple, repetitive, almost hypnotic. A low, pulsing heartbeat that says 'inevitable'."
Ji-ho's eyes lit up with understanding. He immediately turned to his keyboard, his fingers flying. A deep, resonant bassline filled the room, a simple three-note pattern that was instantly iconic. It was the missing piece.
Hana looked at Yoo-jin, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. He hadn't just given a vague suggestion; he'd given a precise, actionable solution that instantly improved her song. He was proving his worth.
He had just paid the first installment on their devil's bargain.
He left them to their work and found Mina in the small practice room, stretching.
"Vocal rest, remember?" he said gently.
"I'm not singing," she replied with a small smile. "Just keeping my body ready. Can I ask you something, Producer-nim?"
"Of course."
"The next session with Director Yoon," she said, her smile fading. "I'm scared."
"I know," he said. "But you don't have to be. We're going in with a new strategy."
He sat down with her. He didn't tell her about the 'Muse Drain'. He didn't tell her about the invisible war. He framed it in a way she could understand.
"Director Yoon isn't looking for a perfect singer," he explained. "He's looking for a perfect vessel for the character's pain. Last time, he tried to force it out of you. This time, we're going to offer it to him freely."
He outlined a plan. She would go in, not as a singer, but as an actress. She would focus on a single, painful memory from the character's backstory in the script. She would channel that one emotion, and that one emotion only.
"You're not there to sing a song," he told her. "You are there to bleed onto the track. And I will be there to tell you when to stop. To make sure you don't give him everything. You give him just enough."
It was a dangerous lesson. He was teaching her how to control her own pain, how to weaponize her own trauma. He was turning his fragile artist into a soldier.
She listened intently, her eyes wide. She was scared, but she was also determined. She trusted him completely.
"I can do that," she said, her voice firm. "If you're there with me, I can do it."
The weight of that trust was a physical thing. It was the heaviest burden he carried.
The day of the second recording session arrived.
Yoo-jin walked into the sterile white studio with Mina, a sense of grim determination settling over him. This time, he was prepared.
Director Yoon was already there, a cup of black coffee in hand. He looked at Yoo-jin, his eyes sharp, analytical. The hunt was still on.
"Producer Han," Yoon said, his voice a low purr. "I trust your artist is ready to provide something... authentic today."
"She is," Yoo-jin said, meeting his gaze without flinching.
He felt the familiar psychic probe of the director's skill. But this time, Yoo-jin was ready. He focused, wrapping his own chaotic SSS-Rank static around himself like a cloak.
The director's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He couldn't get a read. It was like trying to listen for a whisper in the middle of a hurricane.
Yoo-jin had just learned how to jam the vampire's radar.
Mina went into the booth, her face pale but resolved. The music started.
As she sang, Yoo-jin did something new. He activated his soul-hearing sense, but kept it focused, narrow. He didn't listen to the room, or the city. He listened only to the two people who mattered.
He could hear Mina's soul, that cello melody, intentionally playing a single, sorrowful note over and over, just as he'd taught her.
And he could hear Director Yoon. The hungry, grinding machine was starting up. The psychic hooks of 'Muse Drain' were reaching out.
But this time, Yoo-jin didn't shield Mina. That had only made the director suspicious.
Instead, as the director's skill latched onto Mina's focused pain, Yoo-jin did something else. He reached out with his own energy, not to block, but to redirect. He found one of the director's psychic hooks and gave it a gentle, imperceptible 'push'.
He pushed it away from Mina, and aimed it at the empty space beside her.
He was feeding the vampire a ghost. An echo. He was letting him drain an illusion.
The director frowned, a confused look on his face. He was tasting something, but it was weak, unsatisfying. It was like drinking watered-down wine. He pushed harder, his skill demanding more.
And that's when Yoo-jin made his final move. He opened the floodgates of his own power for a single, calculated second. He let out a blast of his chaotic SSS-Rank static, not as a shield, but as a diversion. A psychic flare.
The director jolted, his eyes going wide. He had just tasted the vintage he'd been hunting for. But it was gone as quickly as it came, a fleeting, intoxicating scent.
Yoo-jin saw him look around the room, a desperate hunger in his eyes. He was no longer focused on Mina. He was obsessed with the ghost he was chasing.
Yoo-jin had just turned himself from the prey into the bait. And he had taken complete control of the hunt.