The conference room was plunged into a stunned, horrified silence. The name—Han Ji-young—and its devastating context echoed in the space, sucking all the air out of the room. Da-eun and Min-young stared at Yoo-jin, their faces etched with a mixture of confusion, shock, and deep concern. His usual mask of unshakable confidence had crumbled, leaving behind a raw, unguarded expression of pure disbelief. He looked like he'd been struck by lightning.
"My sister…" he whispered, the words feeling foreign and heavy in his mouth. "No. That's… that's not possible."
He staggered back a step, his hand finding the back of a chair to steady himself. His mind, always so quick to analyze and strategize, was a chaotic mess, refusing to process the information. "We… we don't talk," he said, more to himself than to the others. "She's worked at Stellar for years, but she has nothing to do with me, with my life. We exist in different orbits. Why would she do this? Why would she help Nam Gyu-ri?"
He sank into his chair, the strength draining from his limbs. His cold, strategic mind, his Producer's Eye, all the tools he used to navigate the treacherous world of the music industry, were utterly useless against this emotional tidal wave. This wasn't a corporate rival or a faceless enemy. This was family. This was blood.
Min-ji, seeing his profound distress, did the only thing she knew how to do: she dug for more data, trying to find a logical explanation for an illogical act. Her fingers moved quietly across her keyboard, her expression focused and intense.
"I'm digging deeper into her personnel file," she announced softly, her voice a welcome anchor of calm in the swirling emotional storm. "There are notes here… performance reviews, project assignments." She paused, her brow furrowing as she read. "She was a very promising A&R manager ten years ago. On the executive fast track. Her reviews were exceptional."
She stopped again, a new piece of information catching her eye. "And then… her career stalled. Completely. Her project assignments became less prestigious. Her reviews became… average. The shift is abrupt. It happened right around the time you were recruited to Stellar as a rookie, CEO-nim."
Yoo-jin looked up, his eyes unfocused. Min-ji's words were dredging up memories he had long since buried, ghosts from a past he had chosen to forget. A dawning, sickening realization began to surface.
"My sister and I…" he began, his voice rough as he explained the history to his shocked team, the act of speaking the words aloud making the painful memories sharper, clearer. He was piecing it together himself, right there in front of them. "We were always rivals. Ever since we were kids. Everything was a competition. Who got the better grades, who won the award, who got the most praise from our parents. When I got into Stellar, it was a huge deal for our family. I was the golden boy, the prodigy. She was already there, quietly working her way up, but I… I rose faster. Much faster."
The memories were coming back in a flood now, vivid and uncomfortable. He could feel the old resentments, the sharp edges of their sibling rivalry.
"There was a project," he continued, his gaze becoming distant, lost in the past. "The biggest project of the year. A new idol group debut. Both Ji-young and I were managing competing trainee teams for that single debut spot. It was the final round. My team… they were more polished, more commercially viable, easier to market. But her team… her team had more raw talent. More soul. And her lead trainee… she was special. A true prodigy. Fierce, ambitious, with a gift for composition that was just undeniable."
The final, damning piece of the memory clicked into place, and Yoo-jin flinched as if from a physical blow. "Chairman Choi called us both into his office. He said there was only one debut slot, one budget. He made us pitch our teams against each other. He turned our rivalry into a corporate blood sport."
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, the shame of the memory washing over him. "I was young. I was ambitious. I was… ruthless. I tore her team apart. I pointed out every flaw in their training, their lack of discipline, their 'unmarketable' experimental concepts. I sold my team as the safer, more profitable bet. A guaranteed return on investment. And I won."
He opened his eyes, the memory's bitter taste filling his mouth. "My group debuted. They became a moderate success, made the company money, and then faded away. Her team was disbanded the next day. The trainees were all cut. My sister's career never recovered. She was sidelined, stuck managing legacy artists and re-release projects while I got bigger and bigger assignments. We haven't had a real, meaningful conversation since that day."
A horrible, chilling thought began to form in his mind, a final puzzle piece so monstrous he could barely contemplate it. "That lead trainee," he whispered, his voice cracking. "The girl whose dreams I crushed, whose career I destroyed just to get my first big win…"
He looked at his team, his eyes wide with a new, all-encompassing horror.
"Her name was Nam Gyu-ri."
The revelation detonated in the room. The entire war, the plagiarism, OmniCorp, the betrayals, the lies—it all snapped into a horrifyingly clear focus. This wasn't about business. This wasn't a professional rivalry that had gotten out of hand. This was about a decade-old grudge.
Nam Gyu-ri wasn't trying to destroy Han Yoo-jin, the brilliant, successful CEO of Aura Management. She was systematically, patiently, and brilliantly getting her revenge on the cocky rookie producer who, in her eyes, had stolen her dream and destroyed her life.
And she was using his own sister—the other person whose career he had sacrificed on the altar of his ambition—as her primary weapon to do it.
The entire war was a deeply personal, biblical act of revenge. And Yoo-jin was standing right at its heart.