The Scandal-Proof Producer

The next afternoon, Chae-rin walked into the chosen coffee shop, a place she had suggested herself. It was a vast, open-atrium space in the lobby of a modern art gallery, filled with the echo of conversations and the hiss of an espresso machine. The high ceilings and constant, unpredictable movement of strangers made it a terrible place for discreet surveillance, a fact that gave her a small, sharp sense of control. This was her territory, not his.

She spotted him at a table near the center, and he stood as she approached. Dr. Elias Thorne was as polished as ever, his smile a well-practiced instrument of disarming charm. He looked like a man who had never been denied anything in his life.

"Chae-rin-ssi," he greeted her, his voice a warm, conspiratorial murmur. "I'm so glad you could make it. I was beginning to wonder."

"I had to be careful," she replied, her voice a practiced whisper. She played her part to perfection, her eyes darting around nervously as if she were a spy in an old movie. She sat down, clutching her bag to her chest.

"Of course, of course," he said, his expression one of paternal understanding. "Discretion is paramount. Did you… were you able to…?" He let the question hang, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Chae-rin took a deep breath, feigning reluctance. Then, with a conspiratorial glance around the bustling cafe, she reached into her bag and slid a small, elegant black USB drive across the table. It was a high-end model, sleek and metallic, the kind a professional musician would plausibly use for their most important files. It looked expensive and felt heavy with secrets.

"I… I got it," she whispered, her voice trembling just enough to be convincing. "It's a raw take of Da-eun's vocals from our last session. The final one. No one knows I have it."

A look of pure, predatory triumph flashed in Dr. Thorne's eyes before he masked it with a reassuring smile. He had her. The fragile artist, so desperate for an edge, had delivered the key to him on a silver platter. He didn't see a spy; he saw a pawn he had successfully manipulated.

"You have done a remarkable thing today, Chae-rin-ssi," he said, his voice low and smooth as he pocketed the drive without a second thought. His confidence in his own intellectual superiority made him blind to the possibility of deception. "You have taken control of your own artistic development. This is a crucial step towards ensuring the longevity of your career."

He was already thinking about the data, the rich, complex waveform he would feed into his machines. He was thinking about the papers he could publish, the promotions he could earn within OmniCorp's esoteric hierarchy.

As he was about to speak again, Chae-rin added her final, brilliant touch—a layer of deception she had rehearsed with Yoo-jin until it felt like a second skin.

"Doctor…" she said, leaning forward, her eyes wide with feigned worry. "I don't think we should meet in person like this for a while. My producer… CEO Han… he's been watching me. He said my performance has been 'inconsistent' and he's been asking a lot of questions. I think he suspects something."

This was the masterstroke. It not only provided a perfect excuse for her to cut off physical contact, but it also framed Yoo-jin as the classic, controlling antagonist, reinforcing Thorne's narrative that he was her sole ally, her savior.

"I'm worried he might even check my phone," she added, the lie tasting like truth.

Thorne's expression shifted to one of grave concern, though it was the concern of a scientist worried about losing access to his prize specimen. "An excellent precaution," he agreed instantly, his mind already working on a solution. "You are right to be cautious. We can't risk compromising your position."

He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. "I will establish a private, encrypted channel for us. A secure digital space where we can communicate freely without fear of observation. I will send you the access details once I've had a chance to do some preliminary analysis of this remarkable data you've brought me."

He believed he was securing his asset for long-term study and manipulation. In reality, he was eagerly agreeing to forge a direct, private link from his own network into the waiting, watchful hands of Oh Min-ji. The hook wasn't just set; the fish had swallowed the entire line.

Chae-rin nodded, looking relieved and grateful. "Thank you, Doctor. You're the only one who seems to understand."

She made her excuses and left, her heart pounding a triumphant rhythm. She didn't look back.

Hours later, the lights were dimmed in the Aura Management conference room. The only illumination came from the glow of Oh Min-ji's laptop screen, casting long shadows on the faces of the team gathered around her. Yoo-jin, Da-eun, Chae-rin, Min-young, and Ji-won were all there, a silent, anxious vigil.

Min-ji's screen displayed a single, stark window: a black command-line interface with a green cursor blinking at a steady, maddening pace. It was a digital watchtower, aimed at the heart of OmniCorp, waiting for a signal.

"The worm is passive," Min-ji explained again, her own voice tight with tension. "It can't activate itself. Thorne has to plug in the drive and, specifically, load one of the WAV files into their analysis software. The software's request to read the file's metadata is the trigger that will execute my script."

Every minute that passed felt like an eternity. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the soft, rhythmic blink of the cursor.

"Maybe he didn't use it," Da-eun whispered, voicing the fear they all felt. "Maybe he's waiting."

"Or maybe their security is better than I anticipated," Min-ji said, her voice a low monotone, though Yoo-jin could see a muscle twitching in her jaw. "Maybe it detected the anomaly and flagged the drive."

Chae-rin stared at the screen, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white. She held her breath, replaying every moment of her conversation with Thorne. Had she made a mistake? Had her performance been unconvincing?

Da-eun, sensing her spiraling anxiety, put a firm, reassuring hand on her shoulder. The simple gesture of solidarity was an anchor in the tense, silent room.

Another five minutes crawled by. The cursor blinked. Blinked. Blinked.

Ji-won let out a long, slow breath. "Well, it was a good plan…"

And then it happened.

With no warning, the blinking cursor vanished. In its place, a single line of bright green text flashed across the black screen, stark and electrifying.

[Packet Received. Source: OMNI_CORP_SERVER_734. File: Blueprint_Nightingale.zip.]

A collective gasp filled the room. A wave of adrenaline and disbelief washed over them. It had worked. The Trojan Horse, their song, their roar, had breached the walls.

Min-ji's hands flew to her keyboard, her composure breaking for a fraction of a second in a flash of pure, triumphant focus.

Another line of text appeared beneath the first.

[Beginning Decryption Protocol…]

Their gambit had been successful. The ghost had slipped inside the machine. But as they all stared at the decrypting file name, a new, more profound tension began to build. They had the blueprint to their enemy's greatest weapon. What they were about to see could be more complex, more ambitious, and more terrifying than they had ever imagined.