The private dining room on the 81st floor of the Signiel Hotel was so quiet that Han Yoo-jin could hear the faint clink of ice settling in his glass of whiskey. The silence was a weapon, wielded with expert precision by the man sitting across from him. Chairman Choi of Top Tier Media watched him with an amicable, patient smile, the expression of a fisherman who knows the hook is set and is simply waiting for the fish to tire itself out. On the polished dark wood table between them, the leather-bound contract folder sat like a golden promise and a gilded cage.
Salvation. That was what it represented. An end to the phone calls that went unanswered, an end to the doors slammed in his face. It was funding. It was security. It was immediate, crushing revenge on Director Kang Min-hyuk. It was everything a struggling startup CEO was supposed to dream of.
But Yoo-jin's mind was racing, weighing the true cost. He saw the system panel floating beside Chairman Choi's head, the cold, hard data that stripped away the man's charm and revealed the predator beneath. [Views Artists as Interchangeable Assets]. [Ruthless Acquisition]. He remembered the hollowed-out eyes of Lee Seo-yeon, a casualty of a system that saw talent as a line item on a budget sheet. He thought of Go Min-young's fragile courage, and Kang Ji-won's defiant artistry. Most of all, he thought of Ahn Da-eun, a young woman he had just pulled from the wreckage of that very system, promising her a new way.
Accepting this offer would be a betrayal of everything Aura Management was supposed to stand for. They would become another cog in another machine, shinier and better-funded, but a machine nonetheless. He would become Chairman Choi's puppet, and Da-eun would become the beautifully packaged face of his next commercial product. It was a deal with the devil.
Yoo-jin took a slow, deliberate sip of the expensive whiskey, the smooth, peaty liquid doing nothing to calm the storm in his mind. He couldn't afford to make an enemy of this man. Refusing him outright would be corporate suicide. He would go from having one powerful enemy to two. He needed to find a third path. A way to decline the handshake without getting his hand bitten off.
He set the glass down with a soft click, a look of calm consideration on his face. He smiled, a mirror of the Chairman's own charming mask.
"Chairman Choi, your offer is incredibly generous," Yoo-jin began, his voice smooth and respectful. "It's a testament to your legendary vision and your reputation for identifying potential before anyone else. And you are absolutely right. Ahn Da-eun's potential is limitless."
He paused, letting the flattery hang in the air. "So limitless, in fact, that tying her to a single girl group, even a global one, feels… restrictive. Her current brand is built on being a singular, authentic voice. Forcing her into a group dynamic right after her debut would dilute the very thing that makes her so valuable, the very thing that attracted your attention in the first place."
With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed the leather folder back across the table. It slid to a stop just before Chairman Choi's hand. "For that reason, I must respectfully decline this acquisition offer. It is a brilliant offer, but it is not the right one for my artist at this specific moment in her development."
Chairman Choi's smile didn't falter, but Yoo-jin saw it tighten at the edges. A flicker of cold annoyance flashed in his eyes before being expertly concealed. He was not a man who was used to being refused.
"However," Yoo-jin continued, pressing his advantage before the Chairman could speak. "That doesn't mean we can't be partners. I have a counter-proposal."
"A counter-proposal?" Choi echoed, a note of genuine, slightly amused surprise in his voice.
"You want Ahn Da-eun's 'indie credibility,'" Yoo-jin said, his voice now sharp and strategic. "You want access to the international buzz we've generated. You want to be associated with this new, authentic wave of music. You don't need to own my company to get that. In fact, owning us would destroy the very authenticity you seek to leverage."
He leaned forward, his tone shifting from respectful to that of an equal proposing a business deal. "Let's talk about a simple distribution partnership. You use your immense influence to get Aura Management's song, 'My Room,' properly distributed on the major domestic platforms—Melon, Genie, Bugs. And you secure one, just one, performance slot for Ahn Da-eun on a major music show like M Countdown. That is all I ask."
"And in return?" Chairman Choi asked, his curiosity now piqued.
"In return," Yoo-jin said, laying out his terms, "Top Tier Media receives a generous percentage of the domestic digital sales and streaming revenue for this single. Furthermore, you get the exclusive rights to co-brand the broadcast performance. Imagine the narrative: 'Top Tier Media, the visionary giant, recognizes true talent and presents the exclusive Korean debut of the international sensation, Ahn Da-eun.' You become the hero of the story. You get the positive press, the association with cutting-edge art, and a healthy cut of the profits, all for the low, low cost of making a few phone calls. It's a brilliant, low-risk, high-reward PR move for you."
Yoo-jin watched the system panel as he spoke, monitoring the Chairman's thoughts. [Insolent. Audacious. But… clever. He's offering me all the publicity and a cut of the profit with almost zero investment or financial risk from my side. It still undermines Kang Min-hyuk, which is an enjoyable bonus. If the girl is a hit on domestic television, I can make a much more aggressive, and expensive, acquisition offer later when they're more valuable. If she fails, I lose nothing but a few minutes of my time. The boy has a future.]
Chairman Choi suddenly threw his head back and laughed. It was a loud, booming, genuine sound that filled the opulent room. It was not the laugh of a man who had been offended; it was the laugh of a predator who had just seen a cub display its first set of sharp teeth.
"You have guts, CEO Han," he said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. "Real guts. I haven't had a rookie CEO try to play chess with me like that in years. You want to use my entire network for a single performance slot and a distribution deal?"
He leaned forward again, and this time, his charming smile was completely gone, replaced by a look of cold, hard steel. "Very well. It's a low-risk gamble for me, and frankly, I'm amused to see what happens. You have a deal. My legal office will send your 'distribution partnership' contract tomorrow. You will get your one shot on television. But know this," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly serious whisper. "If you fail to impress, if your artist chokes under the pressure, a second chance will not be forthcoming. And I promise you, I will not be so generous the next time we meet."
Yoo-jin stood, his heart pounding but his face a mask of calm composure. He bowed respectfully. "Thank you for the opportunity, Chairman. We won't disappoint you."
He walked out of the lavish hotel and into the cool night air of Seoul, the city lights blurring around him. He had stared into the eyes of the devil and refused to shake his hand. But he had managed to walk away with a small, crucial, and very dangerous victory. He had secured a path to mainstream Korean television—their one shot to prove themselves to their home country.
But he also knew, with chilling certainty, that he had just made a powerful, patient new enemy. Chairman Choi was no longer just amused. Now, he was watching. And waiting for him to stumble.