The war didn't start with an explosion. It started with a notification.
Yoo-jin was in the Starforce conference room, sipping stale coffee. It was 8:00 AM on a Tuesday.
"Boss," Director Park said, his face pale. "Look at Melon."
Yoo-jin refreshed the chart on the big screen.
Sol & Luna's new single Human had been climbing steadily. Yesterday it was #3.
Today, it was gone.
Not dropped to #100. Gone. Erased from the database.
"Search for it," Yoo-jin ordered.
Park typed in the title.
No Results Found.
"It's the same on Genie, Bugs, and Flo," Park said, scrolling frantically. "The song has been delisted. They claim 'copyright infringement pending investigation'."
"Whose copyright?"
"Dragon Entertainment," Park slammed the tablet down. "They claim the melody samples a track from their vault. It's bogus, obviously. But the investigation takes two weeks. By then, the comeback hype is dead."
Yoo-jin clenched his fist. This was the infrastructure attack Chairman Lee had promised.
"What about physical albums?"
"Distributors cancelled the orders this morning," Park wiped sweat from his forehead. "They cited 'supply chain issues'. 50,000 albums are sitting in a warehouse in Paju with nowhere to go."
"And the TV stations?"
"Inkigayo just called," Park looked like he wanted to cry. "Our slot for Sunday is cancelled. 'Technical difficulties'."
Yoo-jin stood up and walked to the window. The city looked the same, but the invisible walls were closing in.
"He's suffocating us," Yoo-jin murmured. "Cutting off the air supply."
He turned to the room. The staff looked terrified. They were young, mostly poaches from Titan. They weren't ready for a siege.
"Don't panic," Yoo-jin said, projecting a calm he didn't feel. "If we can't use the front door, we use the window."
"There are no windows!" a marketing manager shouted. "Without streaming and TV, we don't exist in Korea!"
"Then we stop trying to exist in Korea," Yoo-jin said.
He looked at David Kim, who was sitting in the corner wearing a velvet tracksuit.
"David. How fast can you mobilize the US distribution?"
"Fast," David shrugged. "But K-Pop is a local game first. If you fail at home, the international fans think you're a flop. It's a perception war."
"Exactly," Yoo-jin smiled grimly. "So we change the perception."
He tapped the screen.
"Ghost. Are you there?"
"Always," So-young's voice crackled over the intercom.
"How many followers does Eden have on his personal account?"
"Zero," So-young said. "He doesn't have an account. The Ministry forbade it."
"Make one," Yoo-jin ordered. "Verify it. And give him the password."
"You want to unleash Eden on Twitter?" Park gasped. "Without a PR filter? He'll tweet about oranges and existential dread!"
"That's the point," Yoo-jin said. "Dragon controls the platforms. They don't control the people. We're going direct to consumer."
The Studio. Basement Level.
Eden sat in front of a laptop. He stared at the blinking cursor of the tweet box.
"What is the objective?" Eden asked.
"Truth," Yoo-jin said, leaning against the doorframe. "Chairman Lee blocked our music. Tell the fans why."
Eden typed. His fingers moved like lightning.
Hello. I am Eden.
I want to sing for you.
But the Dragon says no.
Is the Dragon afraid of the song?
He hit post.
Yoo-jin checked his watch.
One minute later, the post had 10,000 retweets.
Five minutes later, 100,000.
Ten minutes later, #DragonIsScared was trending #1 in Korea.
"It's a start," Yoo-jin said. "But tweets don't sell albums. We need a stage."
"We have no stage," Min-ji said, walking in with her guitar. "Every venue in Seoul is booked or owned by Dragon."
"Not every venue," Yoo-jin said.
He pulled up a map of Seoul. He pointed to a spot by the Han River.
"What's this?"
"Banpo Bridge Park?" Min-ji frowned. "It's a public park. You need a permit from the city."
"And the city takes weeks to approve permits," Park added.
"Unless it's a protest," Yoo-jin said.
"A protest?"
"Under Korean law, you don't need a permit for a political demonstration if it's under 300 people. Or if it's spontaneous."
Yoo-jin grinned.
"We aren't holding a concert. We're holding a 'Rally for Artistic Freedom'."
"That's... a stretch," Sae-ri said, walking in. "But it's legal. Barely."
"Prepare the truck," Yoo-jin ordered. "We're going busking."
Banpo Bridge. 6:00 PM.
The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the river. Cyclists and couples strolled along the concrete bank.
A white moving truck pulled up onto the grass.
The back door rolled up.
Inside wasn't furniture. It was a full backline of amps, drums, and speakers.
Min-ji jumped out, plugging her guitar in. Olivia Ray set up a keyboard. Sol and Luna grabbed mics.
Eden stood in the center, looking at the small crowd of confused pedestrians.
"Test," Eden said into the mic.
The sound echoed across the water.
People stopped. Heads turned. Phones came out.
"Is that Eden?"
"Omg, it's Starforce!"
Within minutes, a crowd began to form. Fifty people. Then a hundred.
"Let's go," Yoo-jin signaled from the soundboard he had set up on a park bench.
They didn't play a polished pop song. They played Human. Acoustic. Raw.
Min-ji's guitar snarled. Luna's voice soared. Eden added a haunting, rhythmic beatbox.
It wasn't a broadcast performance. It was a street fight.
The crowd grew. 200. 500.
People were livestreaming it. The signal spread like wildfire.
Starforce Guerrilla Concert at Banpo! Come now!
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
"We have company," Olivia shouted over the music.
A patrol car pulled up. Two officers got out, looking annoyed.
"Hey! You can't do this here!" the older officer shouted, pushing through the crowd. "Where is your permit?"
Yoo-jin stepped in front of him. He held up a placard he had hastily written on cardboard.
ART IS NOT A CRIME.
"It's a protest, officer," Yoo-jin said calmly. "We are protesting the unfair monopoly of the music industry. Article 21 of the Constitution guarantees freedom of assembly."
The officer blinked. He looked at the screaming fans. He looked at Eden, who was currently singing a high note that made the birds take flight.
"This is a concert!" the officer argued.
"Is it?" Yoo-jin pointed to the lack of tickets, the lack of a stage. "We're just citizens singing. Is singing illegal?"
The crowd started chanting. "LET THEM SING! LET THEM SING!"
The officer realized he was outnumbered. If he shut this down, he'd be the villain on the 9 o'clock news.
He sighed and radioed for backup. "Just... keep it off the bike path."
Yoo-jin nodded. "Thank you for your service."
He turned back to the stage.
"Louder!" he yelled.
The music swelled. The crowd was now over a thousand. They spilled onto the grass, the bridge, the road. It was a sea of lightsticks and flashlights.
It was beautiful.
But Yoo-jin felt a chill.
He looked up at the bridge overhead.
Standing on the pedestrian walkway, looking down at the chaos, was a figure.
A man in a black suit. Holding a phone to his ear.
He wasn't filming. He was reporting.
Yoo-jin recognized him. It was the Dragon's Chief of Security.
The blockade hadn't stopped them. So now, the Dragon was going to escalate.
Yoo-jin's phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
"You're making a mess, Mr. Han," Chairman Lee's voice was dry as dust.
"I'm making art," Yoo-jin answered, watching the man on the bridge.
"Art is fragile," Lee said. "It breaks easily. Especially when the power goes out."
CLICK.
Suddenly, the streetlights on the bridge went dark.
Then the park lights.
Then the power to the amps cut out.
The music died.
The park was plunged into total darkness. The crowd gasped.
"They cut the grid," Min-ji cursed, slapping her dead guitar. "The city cut the power to the whole district!"
It was a blackout. A message. We control the infrastructure. You are nothing.
Silence fell over the crowd. The momentum was dying.
"It's over," Director Park whispered. "We can't play without power."
Yoo-jin stood in the dark. He felt the fear rising in his chest. No System to tell him what to do. No cheat code.
Just him.
"No," Yoo-jin said.
He climbed onto the bench.
"Everyone!" he shouted. His voice was raw, unamplified. "Turn on your lights!"
A few people turned on their phone flashlights.
"All of you!" Yoo-jin screamed. "Be the light!"
One by one, the phones lit up. A hundred. A thousand.
The park was illuminated by a galaxy of white stars. It was brighter than the streetlights ever were.
"We don't need amps!" Yoo-jin turned to his team. "Acoustic! Now!"
Min-ji switched to her acoustic guitar. Eden started stomping a rhythm on the wooden floor of the truck.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The crowd joined in. They clapped. They stomped.
Luna started singing. Without a microphone. She projected from her diaphragm, her voice ringing clear and pure in the night air.
"I'm only human after all..."
The crowd sang with her. Ten thousand voices amplifying the song.
It wasn't a performance anymore. It was a choir.
Yoo-jin watched them. Tears pricked his eyes.
Chairman Lee could cut the power. He could block the streams. He could buy the TV stations.
But he couldn't stop this.
He looked up at the bridge. The man in the black suit was gone.
Yoo-jin smiled in the dark.
"Your move, Dragon."