Han Yoo-jin watched as Kevin Riley's shift at the coffee shop ended. The young musician didn't talk to his coworkers; he just untied his stained apron, grabbed a worn-out backpack from a locker, and walked out the back door, his shoulders slumped with a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion. Yoo-jin started his car and followed at a safe distance, his instincts telling him not to corner his target in a public place.
Kevin walked for several blocks, his path aimless, before finally heading towards a quiet, slightly desolate public park on the outskirts of the neighborhood. It wasn't a manicured city park, but a stretch of wild green space bordering a small, sluggish creek. The sun was beginning to set, painting the vast Texas sky in brilliant hues of orange and purple. Kevin found a secluded spot by the water, pulled an old, battered acoustic guitar from a gig bag, and began to strum tunelessly. The chords were melancholic, disconnected, the sound of a musician who had lost his muse.
This was the place. Yoo-jin parked his car, got out, and began to walk towards him, his footsteps soft on the dry grass. He made sure to approach from the side, where Kevin could see him coming. He didn't want to startle him.
It didn't matter. The moment Kevin's eyes landed on Yoo-jin—a stranger, an Asian man dressed with a quiet deliberateness that was alien to this laid-back park—he went rigid. A jolt of pure, animal panic shot through him. His fingers fumbled on the strings, producing a discordant twang. He recognized Yoo-jin instantly from the photos he must have been shown by his shadowy benefactors. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, ready to bolt.
"Kevin Riley," Yoo-jin said, his voice calm and even in the quiet dusk. He stopped a safe ten feet away, holding his hands up slightly in a universal gesture of peace. "My name is Han Yoo-jin."
"I… I don't know what you're talking about," Kevin stammered, his American accent thick with fear. His eyes darted around, looking for an escape route. He started to hastily stuff his guitar back into its case. "I don't know you. I think you have the wrong person. You should leave."
Yoo-jin stood his ground, his gaze steady. He focused his ability, reading the maelstrom of terrified thoughts swirling in Kevin's mind.
[Current Thoughts: Oh God, oh God, they found me. How did they find me? The woman on the phone, she said this might happen. She said the Korean company might send people to threaten me or my family. She said to deny everything, to say I was the victim, that they stole my music. Oh God, I can't do this.]
The information was crucial. They had prepped him. They had coached him on a cover story. A direct confrontation would only trigger that rehearsed defense. Yoo-jin knew he had to disarm him completely.
"I'm not here to threaten you, Kevin," Yoo-jin said, his voice soft, almost gentle. "And I'm not here to demand the twenty thousand dollars back. You can keep it. I'm here because I spent the last two days listening to your other songs on that Bandcamp page. The real ones. 'Austin Rain.' 'Highway Ghosts.' 'Faded Photograph.' You're a talented songwriter. You have a real gift for melody."
The unexpected compliment completely derailed Kevin's panicked train of thought. He froze, his hands still clutching his guitar case. He stared at Yoo-jin, his suspicion now warring with a deep, profound confusion. He was prepared for lawyers. He was prepared for anger, for threats. He was not prepared for a sincere compliment from the man he had helped to frame.
"I know they paid you," Yoo-jin continued, his voice maintaining its gentle, empathetic tone. He took a slow step forward and sat down on the dry grass, a non-threatening posture that lowered his status and invited conversation. "And I'm not mad at you. I flew all the way here from Seoul to tell you that. I know what it feels like to be a struggling artist. I know what it's like to be so desperate for a break, for a little bit of money to keep the lights on, that you'd consider doing almost anything."
He looked out at the creek, at the fading light on the water. "The people who paid you… they are the same kind of people who crush artists like you and me every single day. They're a company in Korea called Stellar Entertainment. They sit in their glass towers and they look at music, at art, not as something beautiful, but as a product. A commodity. They don't care about you. They don't care about your music. And they certainly don't care about me. They used you. They used your name and your talent as a disposable weapon to try and destroy my artist."
Kevin remained silent, but his defensive posture had begun to crumble. He was listening now, truly listening. The terror in his eyes was slowly being replaced by a dawning horror.
"Let me tell you who you made a deal with," Yoo-jin said, turning his gaze back to Kevin. "The woman who likely arranged this, her name is Nam Gyu-ri. In the dark corners of my industry, they call her The Viper. And she is very, very good at what she does. Right now, to her, you are a loose end. A pawn in her game. Once this is over, what do you think will happen to you? Do you think they'll protect you?"
He let the question hang in the air. "They'll erase you. They'll shut down your Bandcamp page, your social media. Or worse, if my company somehow survives this, they will leak that you were the one who tried to extort us. They will paint you as a failed musician and a pathetic fraud who tried to get famous by suing a K-Pop agency. They will destroy what little reputation you have, and they will walk away completely clean. You took their money, but you're still just their pawn. And pawns, in the end, always get sacrificed."
Kevin sank to the ground, his face pale in the twilight. He finally understood. He was trapped. He had traded his integrity for a small sum of money and, in doing so, had handed his entire future over to people who would not hesitate to destroy him.
"So I'm going to make you an offer," Yoo-jin said, his voice shifting from empathetic to something more powerful, more audacious. "And it's not what you think. I don't want you to just confess to the media. That's the easy way out, and it still leaves you ruined. I want you to work with me. I want to offer Aura Management's first official international collaboration… to you."
Kevin stared at him, his mouth agape, his expression one of complete, utter bewilderment.
"My lyricist, Go Min-young, is a genuine fan of your songwriting style. My producer, Kang Ji-won, respects your guitar work. We are going to write a new song, together. You, me, and my team. We will record it properly, in a real studio. We will produce it to the highest standard. And we will release it, under your name, 'Fading Echoes,' as an official Aura Management artist. We will give you the real debut you deserve, the one you were denied."
"Why?" Kevin finally whispered, the word fragile in the quiet air. "Why would you do that for me? I tried to ruin you."
Yoo-jin looked at him, and his eyes were filled with a powerful, unshakeable conviction. "Because the best way for us to prove that we are not thieves is to become patrons and partners of the very artist we were accused of stealing from. It's a move they will never see coming. And it's the right thing to do. My company was founded on one principle, Kevin. We don't crush other artists. We lift them up."
He stood and pulled a simple, white business card from his wallet. It had his name and a number with a Korean country code. He walked over and placed it gently on top of Kevin's battered guitar case.
"You have a choice," Yoo-jin said, his voice now a quiet challenge. "You can remain their ghost, a pawn they will sacrifice without a second thought, and let your music die with you. Or you can work with us. You can reclaim your name, make the best music of your life, and help me burn their entire corrupt kingdom to the ground. The choice is yours. I'll be at the motel on the highway until tomorrow morning."