The Scandal-Proof Producer

In the days that followed their explosive debut, a new, unfamiliar reality settled over Aura Management. The initial media frenzy, a chaotic whirlwind of interviews and breaking news alerts, subsided into a steady, powerful hum of global acclaim. Aura Chimera was, without question, the most talked-about musical act in the world. The office was flooded with offers for festival appearances in Europe, television guest spots in America, and lucrative brand deals for everything from high fashion to coffee. The victory was absolute.

But victory, Yoo-jin was quickly learning, came with its own set of complex and exhausting challenges. He had successfully managed his artists through a crisis of failure; now he had to manage them through the disorienting glare of overwhelming success.

He called a meeting to discuss their next steps, to chart a course through the sea of opportunities now spread before them. The energy in the room was a strange cocktail of triumph and exhaustion. Jin, having reclaimed his artistic identity on a global stage, was buzzing with a manic creative energy.

"We need to get back in the studio, now," he urged, his eyes alight with a fire Yoo-jin hadn't seen before. "We need to write another song, capitalize on this momentum. Show them that 'Hollow' wasn't a fluke."

Chae-rin, on the other hand, was a picture of quiet overwhelm. She held a tablet displaying a list of potential endorsement deals, her expression one of near-panic. "This Japanese cosmetics brand wants us to be the face of their new campaign," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "It's a multi-million dollar offer, but it would mean a month of promotions in Tokyo. I… I don't know." The ghost who had craved recognition was now terrified by the sheer scale of it.

Da-eun was another story entirely. She was restless, prowling the conference room like a panther. The fight had been won, and she was already looking for the next one. "So, what's OmniCorp's next move?" she asked, ignoring the talk of brand deals. "They're not just going to roll over. When does Kai's album drop? We need to be ready to counter."

Yoo-jin listened, observing his three artists, his three global symbols of artistic integrity. He activated his Producer's Eye, not out of suspicion, but as a diagnostic tool, a way to check the engines after a grueling race. What he saw was disturbing. Their victory had come at a price, forging new, invisible chains around each of them.

[Target: Kim Jin-hyuk]

[Analysis: The public martyrdom has created an intense pressure to maintain a perceived standard of artistic 'purity.']

[New Trait Acquired: Public Burden (B-Rank)]

[Description: Feels an overwhelming obligation to represent 'authentic art.' Is developing a fear that any future work that is seen as too commercial or lighthearted will be perceived as a betrayal of his own story and the public's support.]

[Target: Park Chae-rin]

[Analysis: The sudden transition from complete anonymity to global fame has triggered latent anxieties.]

[New Trait Acquired: Agoraphobia (C-Rank)]

[Description: The constant attention and pressure of being a public figure is causing a fear of open spaces and crowd interactions, directly conflicting with the promotional demands of her career.]

[Target: Ahn Da-eun]

[Analysis: The high-stakes, successful conflict has created a new psychological baseline. Peace feels like stagnation.]

[New Trait Acquired: Adrenaline Dependency (C-Rank)]

[Description: Has become accustomed to a state of crisis and righteous conflict. Feels bored, restless, and purposeless during periods of calm, actively seeking out the next battle.]

A cold realization washed over Yoo-jin. In the process of weaponizing their stories to win the war, he had inadvertently helped turn those stories into gilded cages. They were no longer just artists; they were symbols. Jin was now The Stolen Soul, and he could never again write a simple, silly pop song. Chae-rin was The Rescued Ghost, and the world's attention felt like a thousand new sets of eyes watching her in the dark. Da-eun was The Righteous Roar, and she was lost without a war to fight. He had freed them from their pasts, only to see them imprisoned by their own narratives. His job as their manager had just become infinitely more complex.

He was about to address this, to try and navigate their new realities, when Da-eun's phone, sitting on the conference table, began to buzz insistently. She glanced at the caller ID, her expression souring. "It's my mother," she sighed, clearly expecting a lecture or another round of questions about the documentary. She hit the speakerphone button with an air of weary resignation. "Hi, Mom. I'm in a meeting."

"Da-eun!" Her mother's voice was not scolding; it was thin and frantic, laced with a panic that made everyone in the room sit up straight. "Something's happened. It's your father."

Da-eun's face went white. "What? What's wrong? Is he okay?"

"He's okay, but… oh, I don't understand any of this," her mother sobbed. "Some men came to the restaurant this morning. Lawyers. They served him with papers. He's being sued, Da-eun. Sued!"

"Sued for what?" Da-eun demanded, her voice sharp with alarm.

"It's his old business partner, Mr. Choi," her mother cried. "From the first restaurant, years ago. He's claiming your father embezzled money from him back then. A lot of money. He says… he says he has proof now. Bank records or something. He's taking us to court. He wants to ruin us."

Yoo-jin's blood ran cold. Every instinct in his body screamed. This was not a coincidence. This was not a random business dispute dredged up from the past. The timing, coming just days after their monumental victory, was too perfect. The methodology was too precise.

This was an attack.

Nam Gyu-ri, unable to discredit Da-eun's story of artistic struggle, had dug deeper. She had found a different story, a buried story, one that had nothing to do with art and everything to do with the ugly, complicated mess of money and betrayal. She was attacking Da-eun's family, aiming to embroil Aura's fiery symbol of integrity in a dirty, public, financial scandal.

Da-eun hung up the phone, her hands shaking, her face a mask of disbelief and fury. "I don't understand," she said, looking around the room at her stunned colleagues. "That was settled years ago. My dad paid him. Why would he do this now?"

But Yoo-jin knew exactly why. He was looking at the Viper's fangs, sunk deep into the soft underbelly of his proudest warrior. The war had not ended. It had just moved to a new, uglier, and far more personal battlefield. His job as a producer who could protect his artists from scandals had just become terrifyingly, tangibly real.