Yoo-jin's "third option" was not so much a plan as it was a declaration of faith—faith in his own ability to see what others could not. The hunt for their antagonist began again, but this time, the parameters had changed. They were no longer looking for a polished, established star. They were searching for a ghost, a whisper, a spark of latent genius in the most unlikely of places.
The days that followed were a grueling, often disheartening, odyssey through the fringes of the entertainment world. They sat through endless showcases at university drama departments, watching earnest but unexceptional students perform Chekhov. They scouted independent theater productions in cramped, dusty basements, seeing raw passion but rarely the specific, magnetic charisma the role of Kenji Tanaka demanded. They even held open calls for male models, hoping to find a handsome face with an undiscovered soul behind the eyes.
For weeks, they found nothing. The SSS-Rank potential that Yoo-jin's Eye could detect was impossibly, vanishingly rare. It was the creative equivalent of a unicorn.
Director Oh Se-young's initial grudging respect for Yoo-jin's audacity began to curdle back into her default state of weary skepticism. Her presence at these fringe auditions was a testament to her commitment, but her patience was clearly wearing thin.
"This is a fantasy, Yoo-jin," she said one evening, after a particularly grueling day of watching bad Shakespeare. They were the last two in the empty theater, the smell of dust and desperation still hanging in the air. "Stars are not forged in a few months. It takes years of training, of experience, of luck. We are running out of time. The network is getting nervous. Perhaps we should reconsider our options with Quantum. A deal with the devil is better than no deal at all."
Yoo-jin, however, was resolute. "No," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "He's out there. We just haven't found him yet."
His certainty was beginning to feel like delusion, even to himself. He was starting to wonder if a talent of that magnitude, for that specific role, truly existed outside of Quantum's carefully curated prison of compromised stars.
The breakthrough came, as it so often did, when he wasn't looking for it.
He was attending the final, sold-out Seoul concert of Aura Chimera's Asian tour. He was there to support his artists, to be the proud producer watching his creation take its victory lap. He was off the clock, for once, just a man in the crowd.
The opening act was an indie rock band called 'The Black Petals.' They were a personal favorite of Da-eun's, a struggling but talented group she had insisted on giving the massive platform of her own concert. Their music was a raw, moody blend of garage rock and melancholic blues, and they were giving it their all, playing to the massive arena as if it were the last night of their lives.
Yoo-jin was listening with a professional ear, appreciating their tight musicianship and clever songwriting. But then his attention was drawn, irresistibly, to their lead singer.
His name was Kwon Ji-hyuk. He was tall and lean, with a shock of messy black hair that fell into his eyes. He wasn't conventionally handsome in the polished idol sense; his features were sharper, more angular, his expression a permanent, brooding scowl. But his stage presence was a force of nature. He wasn't just singing the songs; he was living them, a vessel of raw, charismatic intensity. Between songs, he spoke to the crowd with a dry, self-deprecating wit that was surprisingly charming. He was a natural star, and he didn't even seem to know it.
And then, Yoo-jin's Producer's Eye, unbidden, activated with a violent, blinding flash. The data that poured into his vision was so overwhelming it made him physically take a step back.
[Analyzing Subject: Kwon Ji-hyuk (Lead Singer - 'The Black Petals')]
[Primary Talent: Musical Performance (A-Rank)]
[Core Musical Traits: 'Raw Charisma,' 'Melancholic Soulfulness.']
This was all expected. But then came the line that made his heart stop.
[SECONDARY TALENT DETECTED: ACTING (SSS-RANK - DORMANT/UNTRAINED)]
It was there. The unicorn. He pushed the analysis deeper, his hands trembling slightly.
[Core Acting Traits: 'Intense Charisma,' 'Hidden Vulnerability,' 'Naturalistic Instincts,' 'Intellectual Depth.']
[Synergy with Role 'Kenji Tanaka': 98% (Requires Training)]
It was a near-perfect match. This unknown, struggling rock singer had the dormant soul of a world-class actor, the perfect vessel for their complex antagonist.
The next day, Yoo-jin brought a high-definition recording of the concert to Director Oh's office. He didn't say a word, just cued up the video of The Black Petals' performance.
She watched, her expression a mixture of professional appreciation and deep confusion. "They're a decent band," she said when the video ended. "Good energy. What am I supposed to be seeing?"
"The singer," Yoo-jin said simply. "Kwon Ji-hyuk. He's our Kenji Tanaka."
Director Oh stared at him as if he had just sprouted a second head. "You want to cast a loud, sweaty rock singer with zero professional acting experience as the subtle, psychologically complex, aristocratic military antagonist in our twenty-million-dollar historical drama?" She let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Han Yoo-jin, have you finally, completely lost your mind?"
Yoo-jin knew he couldn't convince her with data she couldn't see. He couldn't tell her about his Eye. He had to show her. "Give me one hour with him," he pleaded. "That's all I ask."
Reluctantly, she agreed. He brought the singer, Kwon Ji-hyuk, into the office later that day for a "meeting." The young rocker was clearly out of his element, his leather jacket and ripped jeans a stark contrast to the sleek, corporate environment of Aura. He was wary, suspicious, and carried himself with the defensive swagger of a man who was used to being told no.
Yoo-jin didn't ask him to read a script. He didn't ask him to act. He looked the young man in the eye, and using the cold, hard data he knew to be true, he delivered a calculated, cruel-to-be-kind blow.
"Your band," Yoo-jin began, his voice flat and clinical. "The Black Petals. I've analyzed your streaming numbers, your tour receipts, your social media engagement. You're not going to make it. You have a small, loyal following, but you've already hit your growth ceiling. In six months, you'll be broke, the passion will be gone, and the band will break up. Your dream is dying."
Kwon Ji-hyuk's defensive swagger evaporated, replaced by a flash of raw, wounded anger. "What the hell do you know?" he snarled.
"I know the numbers," Yoo-jin said calmly. He then gestured to Director Oh, who was watching this bizarre exchange with mounting horror. "This woman is a legendary film director. And she is about to give up on her dream, too, because she can't find the right actor for her masterpiece."
He then locked eyes with Ji-hyuk, his voice dropping, delivering the impossible prompt. "I want you to look at her. And I want you to convince her, with all your heart, that she is wrong to give up on her dream. Because you are terrified of giving up on yours."
The prompt bypassed the need for 'acting' entirely. It tapped directly into Kwon Ji-hyuk's deepest, most real fears and passions. He turned to Director Oh, and the transformation was breathtaking. The anger, the fear, the desperation, and the fierce, burning hope of his entire life poured out of him in a raw, unplanned, and absolutely mesmerizing monologue. He wasn't acting a character; he was bleeding his own truth, his words a desperate, passionate plea for the value of a dream against impossible odds.
Director Oh was completely stunned, her skepticism washed away by the raw, undeniable power of the young man's presence. She wasn't seeing a rock singer anymore. She was seeing a brilliant, untamed, and utterly captivating talent. She was seeing the soul of Kenji Tanaka.
She looked from Ji-hyuk's tear-filled, blazing eyes to Yoo-jin, who was watching the scene with a quiet, confident calm. For the first time, she understood that his strange instincts were not just luck; they were a form of sight.
"Alright, Mr. Han," she said, her voice filled with a new, profound respect. "You've found your uncut diamond. Now, how in God's name do we cut and polish it in time?"