The wheels touched down with a thud that rattled Yoo-jin's teeth.
"Welcome to Incheon International Airport," the pilot announced. "The local time is 9:00 AM."
Yoo-jin unbuckled his seatbelt. His back stiffened. A sharp ache radiated from his lumbar to his neck.
He instinctively waited for the blue window.
[Status Effect: Jet Lag]
[Recommended Item: Espresso]
But the window didn't come. The air in front of him remained stubbornly empty.
"I need a chiropractor," Yoo-jin muttered, rubbing his neck.
"You need a vacation," Sae-ri said, standing up from the seat across the aisle. She looked fresh, her skin glowing even after a fourteen-hour flight.
"How do you do that?" Yoo-jin asked. "You look like you just walked out of a spa."
"It's called skincare, CEO Han," she smirked, handing him his coat. "And Acting. Act like you aren't exhausted. The cameras are waiting."
Yoo-jin took a deep breath. He adjusted his collar in the reflection of the window.
The face staring back was just a man. No glowing eyes. No hidden data. Just Han Yoo-jin, age 29, human.
It was terrifying.
"Let's go," he said.
The arrival gate was a war zone.
When they had left Korea a week ago, they were fugitives sprinting past a blockade. Now, they were conquering heroes returning from the front lines.
The roar hit them the moment the automatic doors slid open.
"HAN YOO-JIN!"
"EDEN! OPPPAAA!"
"STARFORCE!"
Thousands of fans packed the terminal. They hung over the railings of the upper floors. Security guards linked arms to hold back the tide.
Flashes erupted like a strobe light show.
Yoo-jin flinched. Without the System's [Sensory Dampening] passive skill, the noise was physically painful. It felt like a hammer hitting his skull.
"Smile," Olivia Ray whispered, walking beside him in oversized sunglasses. "Wave. Pretend you love them."
Yoo-jin forced a smile. He waved.
The crowd screamed louder.
He scanned the faces. In the past, he would have seen a sea of stats.
[Fan Loyalty: 85%]
[Spending Potential: High]
Now, he just saw people. A teenage girl crying. A guy holding a 'SOL & LUNA' sign. A reporter shouting questions he couldn't hear.
He felt blind. How did he know if this momentum was real? How did he know if it would last?
"Boss," Eden tugged on his sleeve.
The boy was looking around with wide, panicked eyes. He wasn't wearing his sunglasses.
"There is too much input," Eden whispered. "I cannot process the focal point. Who do I look at?"
Yoo-jin stopped. He grabbed Eden's shoulder.
"Look at me," Yoo-jin said calmly.
Eden focused on him.
"You don't need to process everything," Yoo-jin said. "Just pick one person. Wave to them. Then pick another."
"One at a time," Eden repeated. "Inefficient. But acceptable."
Eden raised his hand and waved at a girl in the front row. She shrieked and fainted.
Eden looked alarmed. "Did I damage her?"
"No," Yoo-jin laughed, guiding him toward the waiting van. "You just made her year."
The ride into Seoul was quiet. The city looked the same—gray concrete, endless traffic, smog—but it felt different.
The massive digital billboards in Gangnam weren't playing ads for Titan's latest group. They were playing news clips of the "Desert Concert."
THE FALL OF THE MINISTRY.
WHO IS HAN YOO-JIN?
"We're trending," Director Park said from the front seat, scrolling through his tablet. "Stock prices for the major agencies are in freefall. Investors are looking for a lifeboat."
"They're looking for us," Yoo-jin corrected.
The van pulled up to a familiar building.
The Titan Entertainment tower. Thirty stories of glass and steel that dominated the district.
Only the logo was gone.
A crane was currently dismantling the giant "T" from the roof.
"David works fast," Sae-ri noted.
"He wants the rebrand done before the shareholders meeting tomorrow," Yoo-jin said.
They stepped out. The lobby was empty, stripped of the Titan portraits that used to line the walls. It smelled of paint and fresh ambition.
"Director Park," Yoo-jin barked. "Get the dorms settled. 4th floor for the girls. 5th for Eden. I want security sweeps every hour."
"On it," Park saluted, looking energized by the new, bigger playground.
"Sae-ri, set up the Acting Division on the 10th floor. Poach whatever staff you need from the old Titan roster. But check their backgrounds. No former Ministry sympathizers."
"Understood."
"And Min-ji..." Yoo-jin turned to the rocker.
"I'm going to the studio," Min-ji said, cracking her knuckles. "I have a melody stuck in my head from the bunker. I need to bleed it out."
"Go," Yoo-jin said. "Basement level B2. The equipment is top-tier."
Everyone dispersed. The machine was moving.
Yoo-jin stood alone in the lobby. He walked to the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.
The CEO's office.
The office was huge. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the Han River. A mahogany desk the size of a car sat in the center.
It used to belong to Director Yoon, the "Vampire" who drained trainees dry.
Now it was Yoo-jin's.
He walked to the desk. He sat down in the leather chair. It was comfortable, but cold.
He placed his hands on the surface.
"System," he whispered. "Status Report."
Silence. The air conditioning hummed. A pigeon flew past the window.
"Right," Yoo-jin sighed. "Manual mode."
He opened the drawer. It was empty, except for a single file left by David Kim's transition team.
PROJECT: NEW DAWN.
Budget: Unlimited.
Roster: Starforce Elite.
Yoo-jin opened the file. It listed his artists.
Sol & Luna.
Kim Min-ji.
Eden.
Olivia Ray.
That was it. Five artists against an industry that wanted them dead.
A knock on the door.
"Come in."
Min-ji walked in. She looked frustrated. She wasn't holding a guitar; she was holding a USB drive.
"We have a problem," she said.
"Already?"
"It's the studio," Min-ji paced the room. "The gear is insane. Neve consoles, gold-plated mics. But... I can't tell if the take is good."
Yoo-jin frowned. "What do you mean? You have perfect pitch."
"I know I'm hitting the notes!" Min-ji snapped. "But the vibe. In the bunker, when we played the Kill Code, I knew it was working because I could feel the System shaking. Now? It just sounds like... a song."
She threw the USB on his desk.
"I need your ears, Boss. Tell me if this is a hit or trash."
Yoo-jin looked at the drive.
Panic flared in his chest.
Before, he could just look at a file. The System would tell him: [Potential Rating: S]. He didn't even have to listen. He knew the mathematical probability of success.
Now? He had to judge it.
"Play it," Yoo-jin said, keeping his voice steady.
Min-ji plugged it into the office sound system.
Music filled the room. It was a rough demo. Heavy bass. Distorted guitars. Min-ji's voice was raw and aggressive.
It sounded... good.
But was it Great?
Was the hook catchy enough for the charts? Was the bridge too long? Was the mixing muddy?
Yoo-jin listened hard. He closed his eyes. He tried to summon the Producer Interface.
Come on. Give me a grade. Give me a percentage.
Nothing. Just sound waves hitting his eardrums.
The song ended.
Min-ji looked at him, expectant. "Well? Is it an S-Rank track?"
Yoo-jin's palms were sweating. He realized, with sudden horror, that he didn't know. He was a fraud. He was a pilot who had been flying on autopilot his whole career, and now he was in a storm.
"It's..." Yoo-jin started.
He looked at Min-ji. He saw the doubt in her eyes. She needed him to be the god-producer. If he faltered, the whole team would crumble.
He forced himself to stop looking for stats. He looked at his own reaction. Did his foot tap? Did his heart rate go up?
"The pre-chorus is weak," Yoo-jin lied—or maybe he told the truth. He went with his gut. "You lose momentum before the drop. Cut four bars. Make the vocals sharper."
Min-ji blinked. She nodded slowly.
"Yeah. Yeah, I felt that too. Okay. Cutting four bars."
She grabbed the drive. "Thanks, Boss. You always know."
She ran out.
Yoo-jin slumped back in his chair. He exhaled a shaky breath.
"I have no idea what I'm doing," he whispered.
The sun began to set, turning the Han River blood-red.
Yoo-jin stood by the window, watching the city lights flicker on.
His phone buzzed. An unknown number.
"This is Han Yoo-jin."
"Mr. Han," a deep, smooth voice answered. "Welcome back to Seoul. I trust the flight was comfortable?"
Yoo-jin stiffened. He didn't recognize the voice, but the tone was unmistakable. It dripped with power.
"Who is this?"
"Someone who has been watching your career with great interest," the voice said. "My name is Chairman Lee. Dragon Entertainment."
The Dragon.
The head of the biggest agency in Korea. The man who sat above the "Big 3." The man even the Ministry treated with caution.
"I heard you bought the Titan building," Chairman Lee continued pleasantly. "A bold move. But real estate is easy. Talent is hard."
"Is this a congratulatory call?" Yoo-jin asked coldly.
"It's a warning," Lee said. "You killed the Ministry. You killed the algorithm. You think you liberated the industry. But all you did was break the dam."
"And?"
"And now the flood is coming. Without the System to regulate the market... it's going to be chaos. The weak will drown."
A pause.
"I'm inviting you to dinner tomorrow. The Blue House. Just the heads of the families."
"I'm not part of your family," Yoo-jin said.
"You are now," Lee chuckled darkly. "You're a player, Mr. Han. And players have to sit at the table. Or they get served on it."
The line went dead.
Yoo-jin stared at the phone.
He felt a headache coming on. Not a System overload. Just stress.
He looked out at the city. The lights seemed brighter, sharper, more dangerous.
He touched his chest. His heart was beating a steady, mortal rhythm.
"Chaos," Yoo-jin muttered, a slow grin spreading across his face.
He walked back to his desk and opened his laptop. He started a new file.
PLAN B.
"Bring on the flood."