The invitation sat on the mahogany desk like a loaded gun.
It was heavy cream paper, embossed with a gold dragon. No time. No date. Just an address in the secluded hills of Bukhan-san and a single word: Dinner.
"It's not a request," David Kim said, leaning against the window frame. He was throwing a baseball up and catching it. "Chairman Lee doesn't ask. He summons."
"I know," Yoo-jin said, staring at the gold foil. "Dragon Entertainment. The only agency that refused to use the Ministry's System."
"Because they didn't need it," David caught the ball with a snap. "The Ministry used mind control. Dragon uses brute force. They own the distribution channels, the concert halls, the ticket sites. They are the plumbing of the industry. You can't flush a toilet in K-Pop without paying them a royalty."
Yoo-jin rubbed his temples. The phantom headache was gone, but the stress was real.
"He wants to absorb us," Yoo-jin said. "With Titan gone, there's a power vacuum. He thinks Starforce is just a lucky indie label that got too big."
"Are we?"
"No," Yoo-jin stood up, buttoning his jacket. "We're the ones who broke the vacuum."
He grabbed the invitation.
"If he wants dinner, I'll bring an appetite. But I'm not going alone."
The practice room on the 4th floor smelled of sweat and floor wax.
Sol and Luna were running through the choreography for their comeback stage. They moved in perfect sync, breathless and sharp.
Yoo-jin watched from the mirror.
In the past, blue lines would have traced their limbs.
[Synchronization: 98%]
[Fatigue: 40%]
Now, he just saw two girls working their hearts out.
The music stopped. Mina bent over, hands on her knees, panting. Hana chugged a water bottle.
"How was it?" Hana asked, looking at Yoo-jin in the reflection. "The bridge felt loose."
Yoo-jin hesitated. He hadn't noticed the bridge. He had been distracted by the lack of stats.
"It was..." Yoo-jin started. He couldn't lie. Not to them. Not anymore.
"I don't know," he admitted.
Hana froze. Mina looked up, eyes wide.
"You... don't know?" Hana repeated slowly. "You always know. You usually tell me my elbow is two degrees too low."
"I lost the cheat sheet," Yoo-jin said, walking into the center of the room. "The instinct is still there, but the precision is gone. I can't give you a score out of a hundred anymore."
Silence filled the room. This was terrifying for them. They had relied on his god-like perception for years.
Then, Hana laughed.
It was a sharp, barking laugh. She threw her towel at him.
"Finally," she grinned. "Now you have to actually watch us."
"What?"
"You used to look through us," Mina said softly, standing up. "You looked at the numbers floating around us. Now... you're looking at me."
She wiped sweat from her forehead.
"The bridge was loose because I hesitated," Mina said. "I was afraid of the high note. I don't need a System to tell me that. I need you to tell me I can hit it."
Yoo-jin felt a lump in his throat. He had treated them like racehorses. They wanted to be treated like partners.
"You can hit it," Yoo-jin said firmly. "Do it again. From the top."
The Server Room. Basement Level.
"Ghost" Kang So-young was surrounded by screens. The air conditioning was blasting at arctic temperatures.
"Found it," she said, spinning her chair around as Yoo-jin walked in.
"What did you find on Dragon?"
"They're hungry," So-young pointed to a graph that looked like a jagged cliff. "Since the Ministry collapsed last week, thirty small agencies have gone bankrupt. Dragon bought twenty-eight of them."
"They're consolidating," Yoo-jin realized. "Buying the dip."
"It's worse," So-young tapped a keyboard. A list of names scrolled up. "They aren't keeping the artists. They're shelving them. Dragon is buying the contracts just to kill the competition. They're creating a monopoly by erasing everyone else."
Yoo-jin's eyes narrowed.
This was Chairman Lee's strategy. He didn't want better music. He wanted silence. If Starforce was the only noise left, Dragon would try to mute them too.
"Can you find his weakness?" Yoo-jin asked.
"Chairman Lee is a ghost," So-young sighed. "No email, no smartphone. He does business on paper and landlines. I can't hack a piece of paper."
She hesitated.
"But... I found a transaction log from ten years ago. A payment to a private hospital in Switzerland."
"For what?"
"A patient named 'Lee Ji-su'. His daughter."
So-young pulled up a photo. A blurry paparazzi shot of a young girl in a wheelchair.
"She was a trainee," So-young said. "At Dragon. She was supposed to debut. Then she vanished. Rumor is she had a 'breakdown'."
Yoo-jin stared at the photo. A breakdown in this industry usually meant the pressure cracked them. Or the abuse did.
"Keep digging on the daughter," Yoo-jin ordered. "That's the crack in the armor."
7:00 PM. The Dressing Room.
Yoo-jin stood in front of the full-length mirror.
He wore a bespoke black suit. Not the cheap polyester he wore as a manager. This was Italian wool, sharp enough to cut glass.
Sae-ri stood behind him, adjusting his tie.
"You're tense," she whispered. Her hands lingered on his chest.
"I'm going into a shark tank without a cage," Yoo-jin muttered. "Tense is the appropriate reaction."
"You're not going alone," Sae-ri said. "I'm coming with you."
"No. It's too dangerous. If things go south—"
"I'm the Head of the Acting Division," Sae-ri tightened the knot. She met his eyes in the mirror. "And I'm a better liar than you. You need me to read the room while you read the contract."
Yoo-jin looked at her. The "Muse" who had guided him through the supernatural world was now ready to guide him through the corporate hellscape.
"Fine," Yoo-jin relented. "But don't drink the tea. And if I tap the table twice, we leave. No questions."
"Deal."
She smoothed his lapels.
"You look like a CEO," she said.
"I feel like a fraud."
"Good," she kissed him on the cheek. "Frauds try harder."
8:30 PM. Bukhan-san.
The restaurant was hidden in a pine forest. It wasn't a building; it was a traditional Hanok compound. Lanterns glowed softly along the stone path.
Armed guards in suits stood every ten meters. They bowed as Yoo-jin and Sae-ri walked past, but their eyes were cold.
"This isn't dinner," Sae-ri whispered, clutching her clutch bag. "It's a mafia summit."
They reached the main pavilion. The sliding doors opened.
Inside, the air smelled of expensive incense and fear.
A low table was set in the center of the room. Seated around it were five men. The heads of the remaining mid-sized agencies. They looked pale. Sweaty.
At the head of the table sat Chairman Lee.
He was an old man, thin and wiry, with hair like white smoke. He wore a traditional Hanbok. He was pouring tea with slow, deliberate movements.
He didn't look up.
"Sit," he said. His voice was soft, like dry leaves rustling.
Yoo-jin sat at the opposite end. Sae-ri sat beside him, her posture perfect.
"Mr. Han," Chairman Lee placed the teapot down. "You are young. Younger than my grandson."
"Age is just a stat," Yoo-jin said.
"Is it?" Lee looked up. His eyes were black pits. "I find that age is experience. And experience teaches us that nails that stick out get hammered down."
He slid a document across the table. It stopped perfectly in front of Yoo-jin.
"A merger proposal," Lee said. "Dragon absorbs Starforce. You keep your title. You keep your salary. Your artists get access to our global distribution network."
"And if I refuse?" Yoo-jin didn't touch the paper.
"Then you have no distribution," Lee sipped his tea. "No inkigayo stages. No physical albums in stores. No streaming on Melon. You will be screaming into a void."
The other CEOs around the table flinched. They had already taken the deal. They were survivors.
Yoo-jin looked at the paper. It was a surrender treaty.
He thought about Sol & Luna practicing until they collapsed. He thought of Eden learning to be human. He thought of Version 1 dying in a hospital bed to give him this chance.
He picked up the paper.
Chairman Lee smiled faintly. "Wise choice."
Yoo-jin ripped the paper in half.
RIIIP.
The sound was shockingly loud in the quiet room.
The other CEOs gasped. The guards by the door tensed, reaching into their jackets.
Chairman Lee didn't blink. He just set his cup down.
"That," Lee said softly, "was a mistake."
"No," Yoo-jin stood up. He tossed the torn pieces onto the table. "A mistake is thinking you control the flow."
He leaned over the table.
"You control the pipes, Chairman. I control the water. And right now? The world is thirsty."
"Thirst fades," Lee said coldly. "Infrastructure lasts."
"Not when it's rotten," Yoo-jin shot back. "I know about the Swiss clinic, Chairman. I know why you hate the chaos. Because it took your daughter."
Lee's face didn't change, but the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. His hand clenched around his teacup until the porcelain cracked.
"You dig deep," Lee whispered. "Be careful you don't fall in."
"I'm not falling," Yoo-jin turned to Sae-ri. "We're leaving."
"You won't make it to the gate," one of the guards stepped forward, blocking the exit.
Sae-ri stood up. She didn't look scared. She looked bored.
"If we don't check in by 9:00 PM," she checked her watch, "Our social media manager posts a video. A pre-recorded message from Eden titled 'Why Dragon is Scared of Us'."
She smiled at the Chairman.
"Do you want another viral trend, sir? Or should we just leave?"
Lee stared at them. A long, agonizing silence.
Finally, he waved his hand. The guard stepped aside.
"Go," Lee said. "But know this, Han Yoo-jin. Tomorrow, the blockade begins. You won't sell a single ticket in this country."
"Then we'll sell them somewhere else," Yoo-jin said.
He walked out.
He didn't look back. But as they hit the cool night air, his legs almost gave out.
"You ripped the contract," Sae-ri hissed, grabbing his arm to hold him up. "You actually ripped it."
"It felt good," Yoo-jin exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Now what?"
"Now," Yoo-jin loosened his tie. "We start a war."