The Scandal-Proof Producer

The Aura Management conference room had been transformed. The comfortable, creative clutter was gone, replaced by a stark, operational tidiness. The large whiteboard, which usually held song structures or marketing plans, was now covered in a complex diagram of interconnected boxes and names, a network map of what little they knew about Dr. Elias Thorne and The Eidolon Initiative. It looked less like a record label's meeting room and more like a wartime briefing room.

At the head of the table sat Yoo-jin, his expression grimly focused. To his left was Park Chae-rin, looking pale but resolute, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. To his right, Oh Min-ji sat with her tablet, radiating an aura of cold, clinical competence. And beside Chae-rin, a grounding, human presence in the sterile atmosphere, was Go Min-young, her pen and notebook ready, though her primary role today was clearly not that of a lyricist. This was a different kind of rehearsal.

"Let's begin," Yoo-jin said, his voice cutting through the tension. "Min-ji, the equipment."

Oh Min-ji slid a sleek, brand-new smartphone across the table to Chae-rin. It was identical to her personal phone, but it felt heavier, colder.

"This is a clean device," Min-ji said, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Your personal phone is now considered compromised and will be kept here, switched off. From now on, you will use only this one. All communications will be routed through it." She tapped the screen, bringing up a simple home page. "It is equipped with a passive audio recorder. It is not an app you open. You activate it with a four-tap sequence on a dead zone of the screen, like this." She demonstrated the quick, subtle gesture. "The recording begins instantly. The files are encrypted in real-time and uploaded directly to our private cloud server. Even if he were to take the phone and break it open, he would find nothing. He will not detect it."

Chae-rin nodded, her throat too dry to speak as she mimicked the four-tap sequence.

Min-ji then produced a small, velvet box. She opened it to reveal a delicate silver locket on a thin chain. It was elegant and minimalist, a piece of jewelry Chae-rin would genuinely wear.

"This is not jewelry," Min-ji continued, her tone making it clear she had no time for aesthetics. "It contains a miniaturized, broad-spectrum RF detector powered by a kinetic charger. It will draw energy from your movement. If it vibrates, even once, it means it has detected a high-powered, unconventional radio frequency transmission nearby—likely a more sophisticated listening or data-skimming device than we can anticipate. If you feel it vibrate," Min-ji's dark eyes locked onto Chae-rin's, "the meeting is over. You will excuse yourself politely and leave immediately. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Chae-rin whispered, her voice barely audible. She picked up the locket. It felt cold against her skin.

"Good," Yoo-jin said, taking over as Min-ji sat back, her part of the briefing complete. "Min-ji has given you the 'how.' I will give you the 'what.' Your objective in this meeting is not what you think. You are not there to catch him in a lie. He's a professional manipulator. He won't make a simple mistake like claiming to work for OmniCorp."

Yoo-jin stood and began to pace, his mind in full strategist mode. "Your mission is to make him talk about himself. About his work, his philosophy. Men like Thorne, men who believe they are the smartest person in any room, who see the world as data to be collected, have an Achilles' heel: their own ego. They believe they are the ones observing, not being observed. We will use that against him."

He stopped and looked at Chae-rin. "We are going to role-play. I am Dr. Thorne. Ask me a question."

Chae-rin blinked, caught off guard. "I… I don't know what to ask."

"Perfect. I'll start," Yoo-jin said, his posture shifting, his expression becoming warmer, more intellectually curious. He was channeling the enemy. "'It's truly a pleasure to speak with you, Chae-rin-ssi. I was so fascinated by your song. Tell me, how did you translate such a profound feeling of isolation into that specific melody in the chorus?'"

Chae-rin hesitated, then remembered her own feelings. "It… it didn't feel like I was translating anything. It felt more like… like I was excavating something that was already buried inside me."

"Excellent answer. Honest. Vulnerable," Yoo-jin said, dropping the persona. "Now, here is the key. You must immediately flip the script. End every one of your honest answers with a question for him. Try again."

He resumed the role of Thorne. "'Fascinating. A process of excavation. And how does that feel?'"

Chae-rin took a breath. "It feels… dangerous. Like I might uncover something I can't handle. But… you're the expert, Doctor." The words felt strange in her mouth. "From a neurological perspective, what do you think is actually happening in the brain during that kind of emotional 'excavation'?"

"Precisely," Yoo-jin said, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "You see? You fed his ego by positioning him as the 'expert.' You flattered him. That makes him feel safe, it makes him feel superior, and it will make him eager to show off his knowledge. In his desire to impress you, to indoctrinate you, he will reveal his philosophy, his methods, and the core ideology of OmniCorp, all while thinking he's the one leading the conversation."

The strategy was brilliant, but Chae-rin felt a wave of dizziness. It was too much. A clean phone, a spy locket, a conversational chess match… she was an artist, not a secret agent.

Go Min-young, who had been watching Chae-rin's face intently, saw the panic beginning to set in. She gently placed a hand on Chae-rin's arm, the simple human contact a grounding force in the cold, strategic atmosphere.

"CEO-nim is right," she said, her voice a soft counterpoint to Yoo-jin's intensity. "But don't think of it as a script. You'll forget a script. Think of it as a song."

Chae-rin looked at her, confused.

"The verses are your honest feelings," Min-young explained. "Your stories about your music, your fears, your hopes. You sing your verse. And then the chorus," she said, her voice kind but firm, "is always the same, just with slightly different words. The chorus is always the question: 'And what do you think, Doctor?' You're just having a conversation where you have decided to be more interested in him than he is in you. That's all."

The artistic metaphor was something Chae-rin could grasp. It wasn't a deception; it was a performance. A song with a repeating refrain. The knot of anxiety in her stomach loosened slightly.

"One last thing," Yoo-jin said, his voice drawing her attention again. He provided the final, crucial piece of the plan. "At the end of the meeting, when you feel you have built enough rapport, you will present him with a problem. This is the bait. You will tell him about the duet with Da-eun. You will tell him you're struggling, that you feel your voice gets lost next to hers. You will make yourself sound vulnerable and desperate for a solution."

He leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "His response to this problem will tell us everything we need to know about his true objective. Does he offer you encouragement? Does he suggest artistic methods? Or does he offer a technical solution? Does he try to help you harmonize with Da-eun, or does he offer to help you 'beat' her? His solution will reveal his real motive."

Chae-rin looked around the table. At Min-ji's cold technology, at Min-young's warm empathy, at Yoo-jin's sharp strategy. They had built a plan around her, a suit of armor made of spy-craft and song structure. She was terrified. But for the first time since reading Thorne's message, she wasn't alone in her fear. She took a deep breath, clipped the cold silver locket around her neck, and gave a firm, determined nod. The rehearsal was over.