Back in the war room, the digital ghost had been exorcised. The severed fiber optic cable had turned Aura's headquarters into a fortress of silence, but it was the silence of isolation, not of peace. Yoo-jin stood alone before the blank, dark monitors, the quiet pressing in on him.
Da-eun's insane, brilliant gambit had forced his hand, shifting their strategy from defense to a high-risk, public defiance. It was a brave move, a necessary one, but he knew it was fundamentally reactive. It was a queen's gambit, a powerful piece moved to the center of the board to challenge the enemy. But to win, he needed an offensive weapon. He needed to hunt, not just counter-attack.
He was fighting a two-front war against enemies who defied his systems. Ryu was a creature of chaos and sadism, immune to financial or reputational pressure. Chairman Choi was a wounded corporate titan, now operating on pure pride and vengeance, throwing the rulebook of rational corporate warfare into the fire. Yoo-jin's own methods—data analysis, strategic leaks, financial leverage—had failed spectacularly. His house was not in order.
He needed a new piece on the board. A wild card. An ally who understood both the digital filth of Ryu's world and the corporate brutality of Chairman Choi's. He needed someone ruthless, someone with nothing left to lose, someone who hated his enemies as much as he did.
An unthinkable name surfaced in his mind.
He closed his eyes, activating his Producer's Eye, but he didn't analyze his current threats. He delved into his own archives, pulling up the historical profile of the man he had personally, spectacularly, and publicly humiliated.
[Analyzing Subject Profile: Nam Gyu-ri (Historical Data)]
[Core Trait: Pathological Pride (LV 10 - Critical Failure State: Shattered)]
[Analysis: Subject's entire identity was constructed around his perceived genius and superiority. Public humiliation has resulted in a catastrophic collapse of self-worth.]
[Current Primary Motivation (Projected): Vengeance (LV 10)]
[Analysis: Subject is incapable of self-reflection or accepting fault. His shattered pride has metastasized into an all-consuming desire for revenge against all parties deemed responsible for his downfall.]
[Hierarchy of Vengeance Targets:]
[1. Han Yoo-jin: For orchestrating the public defeat and humiliation.]
[2. Ryu: For witnessing the failure and for the perceived betrayal of disappearing afterward.]
[3. Chairman Choi: For the insult of absorbing OmniCorp's assets without offering him a lifeline, confirming his status as a pariah.]
The Eye laid it out in cold, logical text. Nam Gyu-ri was not a has-been. He was a chaotic agent of pure spite, a loaded gun filled with poison, waiting for someone to pull the trigger. And his list of enemies was a perfect, terrible match for Yoo-jin's own. The enemy of my enemy…
He summoned Oh Min-ji to the war room. The young strategist looked exhausted but determined, already working on the logistics for Da-eun's guerilla concert.
"I need you to find Nam Gyu-ri," Yoo-jin said, his voice flat.
Min-ji's head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock. "Gyu-ri? CEO-nim, why?"
"Because he hates Ryu and Chairman Choi almost as much as he hates me," Yoo-jin stated simply. "And right now, I can work with that."
"He's a ghost," Min-ji said, immediately turning to her laptop. "He has no digital footprint. He vanished from all social media months ago. No financial activity, no new phone registered in his name…"
"Check the sasaeng network," Yoo-jin interrupted. "Your bounty post for Da-eun's photographer. Prideful men, even when they fall, develop habits. They cling to old routines. A stalker who makes a living tracking the famous might have seen a ghost who used to be famous. Widen the net. Offer more money."
Min-ji's expression was a mixture of understanding and deep apprehension, but she nodded and dove back into the dark web forums. She navigated to her post, the one offering ten million won for the identity of Da-eun's photographer. There was a new, encrypted reply. It wasn't an answer to her original query.
[USER: 'ShadowBroker']
[REPLY: The girl's photo is amateur hour, not worth my time. But I know about ghosts. The washed-up producer from OmniCorp… I know where he drowns his sorrows. Information like that is far more valuable than a picture. Fifty million won. Non-negotiable.]
Yoo-jin read the message over her shoulder. There was no hesitation. "Pay it."
Min-ji wired the cryptocurrency through a secure, anonymous tumbler. Five minutes later, an address appeared in their inbox. It wasn't a residence or an office. It was a location in a seedy, forgotten industrial district on the outskirts of Incheon, a place of rusting warehouses and crumbling factories.
An hour later, Yoo-jin was there. He left his driver and car two blocks away and walked the rest of the way alone. The address led him to a subterranean billiards hall, its entrance marked only by a flickering neon sign with half the letters burnt out. He descended a flight of grimy concrete stairs, the air growing thick with the smell of stale beer, cheap cigarettes, and profound regret.
Inside, under a low, smoke-stained ceiling, a few listless men were scattered around worn-out pool tables. In the very back of the hall, isolated under a single, buzzing fluorescent light that cast long, distorted shadows, a lone figure was playing pool.
It was Nam Gyu-ri.
But it was a version of him that was almost unrecognizable. The impeccably tailored designer suits were gone, replaced by a cheap, ill-fitting tracksuit. His hair, once perfectly styled, was greasy and unkempt. A scruffy beard covered his jaw. He moved with the slow, heavy motions of a man who had been hollowed out by failure and filled back up with cheap soju. He looked like a ghost haunting the scene of his own death.
Yoo-jin's footsteps echoed on the cracked linoleum as he walked towards him. Gyu-ri didn't look up. He remained hunched over the green felt of the table, lining up a shot. His movements were lazy, almost careless, but the muscle memory of an expert was still there. He stroked the cue ball smoothly, and it sank the seven-ball into a corner pocket with a soft, definitive thwack.
"I knew you'd find me eventually, Han Yoo-jin," Gyu-ri said, his voice a gravelly ruin of its former sharp arrogance. He still hadn't looked up, his eyes fixed on the remaining balls on the table. "Have you finally come to gloat? To take a picture and show all your little idols how the mighty have fallen?"
Yoo-jin stopped at the edge of the pool table, the flickering light casting half his face in shadow. "No," he said, his own voice steady and clear, cutting through the smoky haze. "I've come to offer you a job."
Gyu-ri paused, his pool cue hovering over the table. The lazy movements stopped. A flicker of something—disbelief, amusement, intrigue—broke through his stupor.
Yoo-jin leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on the edge of the table. "I need you to help me destroy Ryu," he said. "And after he's dealt with, we're going to burn Stellar Entertainment to the ground."
For the first time, Nam Gyu-ri slowly straightened up and lifted his head. He looked at Yoo-jin, his eyes bloodshot and weary. But behind the haze of alcohol and failure, a faint, terrifying ember of his old, predatory fire began to glow. The unholiest of alliances was about to be forged in the ruins of their shared hatred.