The air in the Aura Management conference room was no longer heavy with suspicion; it was crackling with a different kind of energy. It was the volatile, intoxicating ozone that fills a room in the moments after a lightning strike. The suffocating pressure of the secret was gone, replaced by the unifying, exhilarating hum of a shared enemy and a singular purpose. On the large wall monitor, the sleek corporate invitation to the Innovate Dynamics Finalist Showcase glowed like a target map, a direct line into the heart of the enemy's territory.
Da-eun, unable to contain the righteous fury now coursing through her veins, was pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. The quiet, wounded artist who had first walked into this office was gone, replaced by a warrior who had finally been shown the true face of the dragon she was fighting.
"So we do it," she said, her voice a low growl that cut through the silence. She stopped pacing and slammed her hand flat on the conference table, making the others jump. "We accept the invitation. But what's the mission? Do we just walk in and I flip a table? Because I will. I'll flip every single table in that gaudy, soulless convention hall."
Jin, who had been watching her with a quiet, almost clinical intensity, shook his head. His own anger was a cold, compressed thing, nothing like Da-eun's fire. "Flipping tables is loud, but it isn't useful," he countered, his voice steady. "This is a high-level corporate event. It's an intelligence opportunity. They're going to be showing off. Bragging. We need to know what they're planning, what Nam Gyu-ri is going to unveil. We need to know the true scope of 'Project Nightingale' before it's unleashed on the world."
He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Yoo-jin. "We can't fight an enemy we don't understand. This is our chance to see their weapons before they fire them."
Yoo-jin stood at the head of the table, absorbing the raw energy of his team. He felt their absolute trust, their unified focus. It was a potent, dangerous cocktail, and he knew he had to channel it with surgical precision. He picked up a black marker and walked to the whiteboard, the familiar motion calming the storm in the room.
"You're both right," he said, his voice cutting through the debate and commanding their full attention. He uncapped the marker. "A public disruption would be satisfying, Da-eun, but Jin is correct—it would be a waste of a golden opportunity. Our primary objective is intelligence. We need to know what they're building so we can build a shield against it, or better yet, a weapon to dismantle it."
He paused, turning to face them, his eyes glinting with a familiar, predatory light. "But that doesn't mean we don't send a message. We will be a ghost at their feast. A presence they feel but can't prove is there. A whisper of doubt in their moment of triumph."
Go Min-young, listening intently, finally spoke up. "But how do we get in? The invitation is for Hana."
The name hung in the air. The team exchanged glances. It was the obvious, unavoidable, and deeply complicated answer. They had to use the innocent indie artist, their unwitting spy, one more time.
Chae-rin, who had been sitting quietly, flinched almost imperceptibly. The thought of putting Hana back in the line of fire sent a cold spike of anxiety through her. This was her responsibility, her burden.
"She's our only way," Jin stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. He looked at the others, his face grim. "She's already vetted by their recruiter. They trust her. It's the perfect cover."
"It's a dirty job," Da-eun added, her earlier bluster replaced by a grim pragmatism, "but they're the ones who made it necessary. We use the tools we have."
Kang Ji-won, who had been leaning back in his chair, a silent observer until now, gave a short, cynical scoff. "Turn the lamb into a Trojan Horse. It's poetic, in a sick sort of way. I like it." His trust was no longer in question; it had been reforged into a sharp, weaponized loyalty.
The consensus was forming, a powerful current pulling them all in the same direction. They were united, their individual doubts washed away by the tide of their collective will.
It was Oh Min-ji, standing by her laptop, who threw up the first dam.
"CEO-nim," she said, her voice calm but firm, a splash of cold water on their heated planning. "This is a significant escalation of risk."
All eyes turned to their teenage spymaster.
"The first encounter was a simple meeting in a public cafe," Min-ji continued, her fingers already tapping on her keyboard, bringing up schematics and data points only she understood. "This is a private, corporate showcase for executives and investors. Security will be exponentially tighter. They will almost certainly have digital check-ins linked to a guest list, RFID badges, and extensive physical security. They might even use facial recognition software at the entrances to cross-reference attendees with a database of competitors and known threats. We would be on that list."
She looked up from her screen, her expression serious. "Hana is an amateur. A very talented one, but an amateur nonetheless. If she makes a mistake, if she's caught, the connection back to us could be immediate and undeniable. The Mutually Assured Destruction scenario becomes irrelevant if they can prove in a court of law that we are engaged in active corporate espionage. They could sue this company into oblivion."
Her words landed with a thud, a dose of sobering reality. She was right. The risk was enormous.
Yoo-jin listened to her, nodding slowly. He felt a flicker of doubt, but it was quickly extinguished by the roaring fire of his newfound confidence. He looked at the faces of his team—Da-eun's fire, Jin's cold resolve, Ji-won's cynical support. He felt their absolute faith in him, and it made him feel invincible.
"Your points are valid, Min-ji. They are all valid," Yoo-jin acknowledged, giving her analysis the respect it deserved. "But you're assessing the security logically. You're not accounting for the primary vulnerability in OmniCorp's entire operation: Nam Gyu-ri's arrogance."
He turned back to the whiteboard. "She believes she's already won this round. She thinks she's broken our trust, that we're in disarray. She will be looking for a lion roaring at her gates, not a quiet mouse slipping through a crack in the floorboards. Her hubris is our camouflage."
He tapped the marker against the board, a new, more refined plan forming in his mind. "So we won't use Hana as an active spy. That's too dangerous. We will use her as a key. A simple key to unlock the door."
He looked at Chae-rin, his gaze softening slightly, acknowledging the burden he was about to place on her. "Chae-rin, you will call Hana. You will tell her what a massive opportunity this is. And you will suggest that she ask her recruiter, Min-hee, if she can bring her mentor and producer with her, to help her navigate the event and speak to executives. It's a perfectly reasonable request for a young artist. Min-hee, eager to secure her 'asset,' will see it as a sign of Hana's commitment. She'll approve it."
The plan was audacious. It was simple. It felt, like all of Yoo-jin's best plans, just plausible enough to work.
The last of the resistance in the room dissolved. Min-ji gave a short, sharp nod, conceding the point on psychological grounds. The rest of the team was already on board, their excitement rekindled. They had a mission. They had a plan. They were unified, focused, and moving as one. Fueled by a righteous anger and led by a brilliant commander they trusted implicitly, they felt unstoppable. The war room was no longer just a place for planning; it was an echo chamber of their own shared conviction, and the sound it made was deafening.