The Idol Insider article hung in the air of the small office like a toxic cloud. The triumphant energy from just an hour ago had completely evaporated, replaced by a tense, simmering anger. Ahn Da-eun stared at the screen, her face pale, the article's venomous words seemingly stripping away the layers of newfound confidence she had so carefully built. Go Min-young looked like she was about to be sick, her belief in a world where talent conquered all crumbling before her eyes.
"How can they just… lie like that?" Min-young whispered, her voice trembling. "They make it sound like Da-eun is lazy and difficult."
"They're not lying," Da-eun said, her voice a low, bitter monotone. She had retreated back into her emotional fortress, the walls shooting up so fast it was like a physical reaction. "That's what's in my file at Stellar. 'Attitude issues.' 'Lack of motivation.' They're just twisting the truth to make it sound uglier."
"This is a classic smear tactic," Han Yoo-jin said, his voice cutting through their despair. He was furious, but his anger was cold and focused, like a sharpened blade. "They know they can't attack the music because it's been validated by a credible international source. So they attack the artist. They're trying to frame the narrative, to define you before you have a chance to define yourself."
He looked at Da-eun, whose eyes were fixed on the floor. The negative article had clearly shaken her, dredging up all the old insecurities she'd been fighting. "Don't let them get to you," he said firmly. "This isn't a setback. It's an opportunity. They've given us an opponent to fight against. We are going to use this interview tomorrow to tell our own story. The real one."
The next afternoon, their office was as tidy as it had ever been. They had cleared the table of empty coffee cups and snack wrappers, attempting to project an image of professional competence. Da-eun was nervous, fidgeting with the sleeve of her simple black sweater. Yoo-jin could see her anxiety levels flickering in his vision. The article had done its damage.
The reporter, Kim Ji-soo, arrived precisely on time. She was young, dressed in a smart but understated way, and her eyes held a keen, intelligent curiosity. As she set up her small digital recorder on the table, Yoo-jin focused his ability on her.
[Name: Kim Ji-soo]
[Affiliation: Sound & Seoul Magazine]
[Key Strength: Seeker of Truth, Dislikes Agency Politics, Strong Ethical Compass]
[Critical Weakness: Susceptible to Genuine Emotion, Eager to Prove Herself]
[Current Thoughts: The Idol Insider piece felt like a PR hit job. The timing is too perfect. It reads like something an agency would plant. I wonder what the real story is. I hope they're honest with me.]
Yoo-jin relaxed slightly. She wasn't looking for a scandal. She was looking for the truth. He knew they could win her over.
After some initial pleasantries about the song's international success, Ji-soo got right to the point, her expression turning serious. "I have to ask about the article that was published yesterday on Idol Insider," she said, her tone apologetic but direct. "It claims you were 'let go' from Stellar Entertainment for significant attitude problems. It paints a very different picture from the artist who sang 'My Room.' How do you respond to that?"
It was the question they had been waiting for. Da-eun tensed, looking to Yoo-jin for a brief, fleeting moment. He gave her a single, almost imperceptible nod of encouragement. Tell your truth.
Da-eun took a deep breath, her gaze steady as she looked directly at the reporter. "It's true that I was a trainee at Stellar Entertainment a few years ago," she began, her voice calm and measured. "And it's true that the company and I parted ways. But 'attitude problems' is a simple way of saying something much more complex. I was sixteen years old, and I was in a high-pressure system that values conformity and obedience above all else. I was struggling with immense anxiety and a crippling fear of failure, and I didn't have the vocabulary or the tools to cope with it."
She didn't sound like she was making an excuse. She sounded like she was stating a fact. "That fear came out as silence. As what they called a 'rebellious attitude.' Instead of being offered support or guidance, I was labeled 'difficult.' My experience in that system is the reason the song 'My Room' is so intensely personal to me. It's a song for anyone who has ever felt like they were being forced into a box that didn't fit, and who had to build a wall around themselves just to survive."
It was a perfect answer. It was honest, vulnerable, and brilliantly reframed her supposed 'flaw' as the very source of her art. It transformed her from a 'problematic trainee' into a relatable survivor.
Yoo-jin saw his moment to drive the point home. "Aura Management was founded on one simple principle," he added, leaning forward. "The mental and creative well-being of the artist comes first. The old system, the one that labeled Da-eun as difficult, often sees artists as products to be manufactured and sold. If a part is flawed, you discard it. We see artists as partners to be nurtured. The fact that an outlet is now trying to punish an artist for her past struggles proves exactly why our new approach is so desperately necessary in this industry."
The reporter, Kim Ji-soo, was visibly impressed. She was scribbling notes furiously, her initial skepticism replaced by a look of deep, empathetic engagement. They had won her over completely.
The scene cut away, shifting from the hopeful, spartan office of Aura Management to the cold, luxurious office of Director Kang Min-hyuk. He was on a high-definition video call, the face of a sharp, impeccably dressed woman in her late thirties displayed on a massive screen. She had sleek, black hair cut in a severe bob, diamond earrings that glittered like chips of ice, and a smile that didn't reach her cold, calculating eyes. This was Nam Gyu-ri, known in the darkest corners of the industry simply as "The Viper."
Yoo-jin, if he had been there, would have seen a system panel that glowed with a terrifying, blood-red light.
[Name: Nam Gyu-ri (Alias: The Viper)]
[Overall Potential: SSS (Crisis Management/Media Manipulation)]
[Key Strengths: Planting False Narratives, Exploiting Journalistic Greed, Character Assassination, Master of Psychological Warfare]
[Critical Weakness: Arrogant Overconfidence, Underestimates Opponents Without Institutional Power]
[Scandal Factor: 99% -> Is the anonymous source behind dozens of buried celebrity scandals and expertly manufactured rivalries.]
"Your little smear piece on the girl was clumsy, Min-hyuk," she said, her voice smooth as silk but sharp as a razor's edge. She was filing her nails with a casual air that belied the venom in her words. "It was amateurish. You made them sympathetic. You gave them a platform to stand on and look like noble victims fighting against the big, bad machine. The narrative is now working for them, not against them."
"They got lucky with one foreign critic," Kang snarled, his face tight with fury. "I want them buried. I want their company to be a stain, a warning to anyone else who thinks they can defy me."
"Burying people is my specialty," The Viper said with a thin, cruel smile. "It's a passion of mine. But it requires a scalpel, not a sledgehammer. Attacking the girl directly is messy. The public is fickle and loves an underdog story. You need to attack the foundation. The one holding it all up. The CEO. Han Yoo-jin."
"What do you have in mind?" Kang asked, leaning forward, intrigued.
"Han Yoo-jin's entire brand, his entire appeal, is built on this narrative that he's the 'ethical producer,' the savior of lost and broken artists," she explained, her eyes gleaming with predatory intelligence. "So, we need to prove he's a hypocrite. A predator, just like everyone else, only smarter about his packaging. We need to find a way to link him to a scandal. Something dirty. Something that makes him look like a manipulative user of vulnerable young women."
She paused, letting the idea sink in. "We don't have to prove it in a court of law. This isn't about facts. This is about perception. We just have to plant the seed of doubt in the court of public opinion. We make the public question his motives. We make them wonder what's really going on in that small office with those two young girls."
"And if there's no scandal to find?" Kang asked.
Nam Gyu-ri finally looked up from her nails, a chilling smile gracing her lips. "Oh, Min-hyuk. You're so wonderfully literal sometimes. Everyone has a skeleton in their closet. I'll find his. And if, by some miracle, he's as clean as he looks… well, skeletons can be built. Just give me a week. And my fee."
She ended the call, leaving Director Kang with a cruel, deeply satisfied smile on his face. He had been using a club to try and kill a snake. Now, he had just hired a bigger, more venomous snake to do the job for him.