Three days. Seventy-two hours. Zero sleep.
The recording studio smelled like instant coffee, pepperoni pizza, and desperation.
Han Yoo-jin sat at the mixing console. His eyes were bloodshot, the veins in his hands bulging as he manipulated the faders.
"Measure 42," he croaked. "The harmony is flat. Again."
In the booth, Choi Mina leaned against the wall. She looked like a ghost. Her skin was pale, her eyes dark circles of exhaustion.
"PD-nim," she whispered into the mic. "My throat... I can't feel it anymore."
"Don't use your throat," Yoo-jin said, his voice mechanical. "Use your diaphragm. One more take. Then you sleep for four hours."
Mina nodded. She took a sip of water. She closed her eyes.
The track played. Hunter. The title track of the impossible album.
Mina opened her mouth. The sound that came out wasn't perfect. It cracked slightly on the high G.
"Cut," Yoo-jin hit the spacebar.
Hana, who was sleeping on the floor wrapped in a hoodie, sat up. "That's it. She's done. You're killing her."
"Titan released another song an hour ago," Yoo-jin said, staring at the waveform on the screen. "Memories of You. It's already number three on the charts. It's a ballad I wrote when I was nineteen. It's perfect. We can't beat perfect with 'good enough'."
Hana marched into the booth. She grabbed Mina's arm and dragged her out.
"We're taking a break," Hana glared at Yoo-jin through the glass. "If the singer dies, there's no album. Even a slave driver feeds his horses."
Yoo-jin watched them leave the room. The silence that followed was deafening.
He slumped forward, resting his forehead on the cool metal of the console.
[System Warning]
[Mental Fatigue at 85%. Decision making compromised.]
[Sync Rate: 46%. Auditory Hallucinations imminent.]
He could hear it. A faint, static buzzing in his ears. The sound of the Doppelganger.
You can't catch up, Yoo-jin. I spent ten years writing these songs. You have ten days.
Yoo-jin grit his teeth. He opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of vitamins. He dry-swallowed two pills.
"I don't need ten years," he muttered. "I just need one sound."
He left the studio and took the elevator down.
The basement. The Safe House.
Isabelle Moon was sitting on the floor, surrounded by sheets of paper. She was drawing. Chaotic, scribbled circles in black charcoal.
She didn't look up when he entered.
"The noise is loud today," she said softly.
"It's Titan," Yoo-jin said, leaning against the doorframe. "They're flooding the airwaves. SSS-Rank nostalgia. It's drowning us out."
"I heard Memories of You," Isabelle said. She stopped drawing. "It made me cry. It felt... pure."
"It is pure," Yoo-jin admitted. "Because the man who wrote it didn't know he was going to die yet."
He walked over and sat on the floor across from her.
"I have a track," Yoo-jin said. "Hunter. The beat is aggressive. The lyrics are violent. But it's missing something."
"What?"
"A soul," Yoo-jin said. "It's just angry noise. It needs a counterpoint. A voice that sounds like it's being hunted."
Isabelle looked at him. Her eyes were wide, fearful.
"You want me to sing?"
"I can't feature you," Yoo-jin said. "If Titan hears your voice, they'll raid the building with lawyers. But I can sample you."
He pulled out his phone and opened the voice memo app.
"Just a hum," he said. "A melody. Something broken. Give me the sound of what Titan did to you."
Isabelle stared at the phone. Her hand trembled.
She had been the Oracle. The perfect idol. Singing was her job, her cage.
"They'll know," she whispered.
"I'll distort it," Yoo-jin promised. "I'll chop it up. I'll bury it in the mix. But the feeling will remain. The han—the sorrow. It will be the glue that holds the album together."
Isabelle closed her eyes. She took a shaky breath.
She began to hum.
It wasn't a pop melody. It was a low, mourning wail. A sound of pure isolation. It sent a shiver down Yoo-jin's spine.
[System Notification]
[Skill Triggered: Soul Collector]
[Raw Emotion Captured: 'The Bird in the Cage'.]
[Quality: SSS]
He let her hum for thirty seconds. Then he stopped recording.
"Thank you," Yoo-jin said quietly.
Isabelle looked at him. She looked exhausted, but lighter. Like she had just vomited poison.
"Kill them," she whispered. "Kill them on the charts for me."
Back in the studio, Yoo-jin worked like a madman.
He loaded Isabelle's hum into the sampler. He pitched it down. He added reverb. He chopped it into a rhythmic pulse.
Now, the aggressive beat of Hunter had a ghost in the machine. Underneath the pounding drums, there was a weeping siren. It transformed the song from an action movie soundtrack into a psychological horror.
The door opened. Hana and Mina returned, looking slightly more alive after a nap and food.
"Get in the booth," Yoo-jin ordered without turning around. "Listen to the new mix."
Mina put the headphones on. She listened for ten seconds. Her eyes widened.
"What is that sound?" she asked. "The background vocal... it makes my chest hurt."
"It's the target," Yoo-jin said. "Sing to it. You aren't just hunting a monster. You're trying to save the girl inside it."
Mina nodded slowly. The exhaustion in her eyes was replaced by a haunting focus.
She sang.
This time, she didn't crack. The fatigue in her voice blended with the sample, creating a texture that was raw and heartbreaking.
"Perfect," Yoo-jin whispered.
He looked at Hana. "Your turn. The rap isn't anger anymore. It's desperation. You're running out of time."
Hana stepped up. She attacked the mic. Her flow was jagged, breathless.
They finished the track at 6:00 AM.
Yoo-jin exported the file. Hunter_Final_Master.wav.
He slumped back in his chair. His body felt like lead.
"We have the title track," Yoo-jin said. "Seven B-sides are drafted. We can finish the album in four days."
"And then?" Hana asked, sitting on the edge of the desk. "Titan has released five songs this week. They're saturating the market. By the time we release, people might be tired of music."
"That's the strategy," Yoo-jin said. A tired, wicked grin spread across his face. "Titan is giving them a buffet. Too much food. The public is getting full."
He spun his chair around.
"We aren't serving dinner. We're serving a palate cleanser. A shot of acid."
He pulled up the marketing plan on his screen.
Project: OPEN SOURCE.
"We aren't releasing a teaser video," Yoo-jin said. "We're releasing the stems."
Mina blinked. "The stems? The raw audio files?"
"The drums. The bass. The vocal acapella," Yoo-jin explained. "We're going to upload them to a public server tonight. Copyright free for non-commercial use."
"You're giving the song away before it's out?" Hana looked horrified. "Why?"
"Titan is controlling everything," Yoo-jin said. "They control the release schedule, the radio, the playlists. They want the audience to be passive consumers."
He stood up, energized by the gamble.
"We're going to make the audience the producers. We challenge every DJ, every bedroom producer, every kid on TikTok to remix Hunter. We tell them: 'Titan gives you finished products. We give you tools. Make your own noise.'"
"It's anarchy," Hana realized.
"It's viral," Yoo-jin corrected. "By the time the official version drops next week, there will be ten thousand versions of Hunter online. Titan can't compete with the internet."
[BREAKING] Sol & Luna Leak Their Own Album?
[Starforce Uploads Raw Files: "Remix This."]
[#CreateYourHunter Trends #1 Worldwide.]
The strategy worked faster than Yoo-jin expected.
Within 24 hours, SoundCloud and TikTok were flooded. Trap remixes. Orchestral covers. Heavy metal versions.
The mysterious "Isabelle Sample" in the background became a conspiracy theory. Who is the crying voice? Is it a ghost? Is it a hidden message?
Titan's polished, nostalgic ballads were suddenly boring. Why listen to an old song when you could participate in a new one?
Yoo-jin sat in the CEO's office, watching the metrics explode.
Director Park was laughing hysterically. "We spent zero won on marketing! Zero! And we have free promo from Skrillex? He just tweeted the link!"
Yoo-jin didn't laugh. He was watching the news ticker on the TV in the corner.
Titan Entertainment Announces Emergency Press Conference.
Director Yoon Tae-min to unveil 'The Masterpiece'.
"They're reacting," Yoo-jin said. "Turn it up."
Park grabbed the remote.
On the screen, Director Yoon stood at a podium. He looked older, more haggard than usual. His eyes were manic.
"The internet is full of noise today," Yoon sneered into the microphones. "Amateurs playing with toys. Titan Entertainment believes in art. In legacy."
He held up a small USB drive.
"Tomorrow at noon, we release the final song from the Golden Era Vault. It is the last song Han Yoo-jin—the original genius—ever worked on. It was unfinished. I have completed it."
Yoo-jin froze.
The last song.
He remembered the night he died. He wasn't working on a pop song. He was working on a symphony. A requiem.
"The title is Silence," Yoon announced. "Featuring the entire Titan roster. Apex. Aurora. Everyone."
He smiled at the camera. It was a smile directed straight at Starforce.
"Let's see if your noise can survive Silence."
The feed cut.
Director Park stopped laughing. "A company-wide single? That's... that's an Avengers-level threat. They'll block out the sun."
Yoo-jin stood up. He walked to the window.
The Doppelganger text came through a second later.
I told you. I have the nukes.
You have one day, Version 2.
Yoo-jin looked at the reflection of his own tired face in the glass.
"He finished my requiem," Yoo-jin whispered. "He's going to use my own funeral song to bury me."
He turned back to Park.
"Get the car," Yoo-jin said.
"Where are we going?"
"To the broadcast station," Yoo-jin said. "We aren't waiting for the album release. We're going to perform Hunter live tomorrow."
"But we haven't booked a slot!"
"We don't need a slot," Yoo-jin said, his eyes burning with SSS-Rank determination. "Titan is holding a press conference for their song release? Good. That means all the cameras will be there."
He grabbed his jacket.
"We're going to crash it."