The Scandal-Proof Producer

While the creative heart of Aura Management was busy forging their new, authentic narrative, Yoo-jin turned his attention to the uglier, more practical side of the war. He was moving to neutralize the source of the scandal, not with a show of force, but with a quiet, strategic intervention.

After getting the necessary details from a still-fragile but resolute Go Min-young, he made a call. He didn't summon her brother, Lee Jin-soo, to the intimidating glass-and-steel fortress of his office. That would be a power play, an act of intimidation. Instead, he arranged to meet him at a quiet, neutral cafe, a nondescript place in a sleepy residential neighborhood far from the glitter and pressure of Gangnam.

Lee Jin-soo arrived looking like a ghost haunting his own life. He was thin and pale, his clothes looking a size too big for his gaunt frame. His eyes were perpetually darting, scanning the room, the classic paranoia of a man who owes money to dangerous people. He radiated a palpable aura of shame and desperation. When he saw Han Yoo-jin—a face he recognized from business articles—sitting at the table instead of the vaguely described "friend of the family" he was expecting, his posture immediately stiffened.

"CEO Han?" he stammered, his eyes widening in alarm. He took a half-step back, ready to bolt.

"Please, Jin-soo-ssi. Sit," Yoo-jin said, his voice calm and even. He gestured to the empty chair, making no move to stand, keeping his own posture relaxed and non-threatening.

Jin-soo hesitated, then sank reluctantly into the chair, perching on the edge as if ready for flight. His mind was clearly racing, cycling through the worst-case scenarios. He was here to be threatened, to be told he was ruining his sister's life, to be ordered to disappear. His defenses were up, his expression a mixture of fear and belligerence.

"I know why you're here," Jin-soo began, his voice raspy. "You're here to tell me to stop causing trouble for Min-young. To fire her. Whatever. Just get it over with."

Yoo-jin didn't rise to the bait. He didn't lecture or admonish. He completely disarmed him by starting with a truth that Jin-soo could not argue with.

"I'm here because of your sister," Yoo-jin said, his voice filled with a genuine sincerity that was impossible to fake. "Your sister, Go Min-young, is the most talented lyricist I have ever had the privilege of working with. She is more than an employee; she is the heart of my company. Her words give our music its soul."

Jin-soo stared at him, confused by the unexpected praise.

"And because she is so important to me, and to all of us at Aura," Yoo-jin continued, leaning forward slightly, "her well-being is my top priority. That includes the well-being of her family."

Jin-soo scoffed, a bitter, broken sound. "Right. So you're here to pay off my debt? Give me some money to shut me up and make me go away so I don't tarnish your shiny company's image?" It was a cynical, wounded question from a man who had likely never been offered help without strings attached.

"No," Yoo-jin said calmly, and the simple, direct word seemed to stun Jin-soo into silence. "I'm not here to give you money. Paying off this specific debt won't solve anything, will it? In a few months, maybe a year, there will just be another one. Another group of dangerous men. Another round of threats. More fear for you, more pain for Min-young."

He let the harsh reality of his words settle in the space between them. "I'm not here to offer you a temporary payoff, Jin-soo-ssi. I'm here to offer you a way out. A real one."

Yoo-jin reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sleek, discreetly designed brochure. He slid it across the table. The cover was minimalist, showing only the name of an institution: "The Serenity Spring Recovery Center."

Jin-soo stared at it, uncomprehending.

"It's one of the best addiction treatment and rehabilitation facilities in the country," Yoo-jin explained gently. "It's located in a quiet place in Jeju province. It specializes in discreet, comprehensive care for high-profile individuals and their families. It's not just about stopping the gambling; it's about treating the underlying causes—the anxiety, the depression, the impulse."

He laid out the offer, piece by piece. "Aura will cover the entire cost of their 90-day inpatient program for you. We will also provide financial support for your parents while you are away, so they don't have to worry. While you are getting the help you need, we will hire a team of the best debt negotiators and lawyers in Seoul to deal with New Dawn Financial. They will handle everything."

He paused, letting the sheer scope of the offer sink in. This wasn't a payoff. This was a complete, holistic rescue plan.

"We ask for only one thing in return," Yoo-jin concluded, his gaze steady and sincere. "That you accept the help. That you do the hard work. Not for me. Not even for yourself, if that feels too difficult right now. Do it for your sister. Do it for Min-young."

Lee Jin-soo stared at the brochure, then at Yoo-jin's calm, non-judgmental face. His entire life, his addiction had been met with anger, tears, disappointment, and ultimatums. He was used to being a problem to be managed, a burden to be carried. He had never, not once, been met with a structured, compassionate, and comprehensive solution.

He had been expecting a threat, an insult, a wad of cash thrown in his face. He was not prepared for an act of profound, strategic empathy.

His defensive shell, built up over years of shame and failure, finally shattered. His shoulders began to shake, and he covered his face with his hands as deep, wracking sobs tore through him. The years of accumulated fear, guilt, and hopelessness poured out of him in the quiet corner of the anonymous cafe.

Yoo-jin didn't speak. He simply sat there, a silent witness, giving the man the space to finally break down completely.

After a long time, Jin-soo looked up, his face streaked with tears, his eyes red but holding a flicker of something Yoo-jin hadn't seen before: a fragile, desperate hope.

"Okay," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Okay. I'll do it."

Yoo-jin nodded slowly. The familial vector, the ghost in Min-young's family, had been neutralized. Not with a threat, not with a bribe, but with a lifeline.

As he stood up to leave, placing enough cash on the table to cover the coffee and then some, he pulled out his phone. He walked out of the cafe into the cool afternoon air and made a call.

"Min-ji," he said, his voice now devoid of its earlier warmth, replaced by a cold, sharp edge. "Did you get what I need on New Dawn Financial?"

He listened for a moment, a grim smile touching his lips. "Good. Very good. Set up a meeting. My office. Tomorrow afternoon."

He paused, looking up at the sky.

"It's time to have a talk with the men who thought they could put a price on my family's soul."