The arrivals gate at Incheon International Airport was a chaotic symphony of hurried footsteps, joyful reunions, and the rolling thunder of luggage wheels on polished floors. Han Yoo-jin, bleary-eyed and deeply jet-lagged, expected to slip through the chaos unnoticed, just another anonymous traveler returning from a business trip. He had mentally prepared Kevin Riley, who was walking beside him with a wide-eyed, nervous energy, for the quiet anonymity of their arrival.
He was wrong.
As they passed through the final customs gate and into the main terminal, a sudden barrage of camera flashes erupted, a blinding constellation of artificial light that made both of them flinch. A small but determined crowd of reporters and photographers, their lenses like a firing squad, had formed a semi-circle around their exit. A handful of young fans stood behind them, holding up small, handmade signs with messages written in a mixture of English and Korean. One read, Welcome Home, CEO Han! Aura Mgmt Fighting! Another, held by a girl with bright purple hair, said, Kevin Riley, Welcome to Korea! We Love Fading Echoes!
Yoo-jin was momentarily stunned. This was a level of public attention he had never anticipated. This wasn't for an idol. This was for him. For them.
"CEO Han! A comment on your victory over the smear campaign!" a reporter shouted, pushing a microphone toward his face.
"Over here! You've been called the 'David' of the Korean music industry! How do you respond?" another called out.
"Kevin Riley-ssi! Welcome to Korea! How does it feel to be working with Aura Management?"
Kevin looked utterly overwhelmed, a deer caught in a supernova. Yoo-jin, his mind snapping back into focus, instinctively put a protective hand on Kevin's shoulder. He quickly scanned the crowd with his Producer's Eye, a reflex now as natural as breathing. The system panel confirmed his initial assessment: [General Mood: Highly Positive, Admiring, Curious. Intent: To capture the 'Hero's Return' narrative.] They weren't here for blood. They were here for a triumphant story.
With a calm authority he didn't know he possessed, Yoo-jin navigated them through the throng. "Thank you for the warm welcome," he said, his voice clear and steady over the din. "We're exhausted from our flight, but we're very excited to be back in Seoul to continue making music. We'll have a formal statement in the coming days. Thank you." He kept his answers short, polite, and non-committal, steering a shell-shocked Kevin towards the exit and into a pre-booked car. As they pulled away, he looked back at the crowd, a strange mix of pride and apprehension settling in his gut. They were not just a company anymore. They were a story. And stories were commodities that could be built up and torn down with terrifying speed.
When they arrived back at their office building in Hongdae, he was met with another surprise. Go Min-young and Ahn Da-eun were waiting for them in the lobby, beaming. But instead of leading them up to their familiar, dusty room on the third floor, they guided them into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.
"What's this?" Yoo-jin asked, a confused smile on his face.
"Aura Management has moved up in the world," Da-eun said, a rare, genuinely proud smile on her face. "Literally."
The elevator opened onto a hallway, and they led him to a large corner office with glass walls and a panoramic view of the neighborhood. The space was bright, clean, and filled with new, real furniture—sturdy desks, ergonomic chairs, and a long, polished conference table in the center. It was a proper office.
"How did you manage this?" Yoo-jin asked, stunned as he walked into the room.
"The first wave of streaming royalties from Spotify came in," Min-young explained, her eyes shining. "It was… a lot more than we expected. And after the news broke about how we fought back against the plagiarism claim, a few smaller, independent brands reached out. They said they admired our integrity and wanted to be associated with us. We got sponsorship deals for all our new equipment." She pointed to a brand new, high-end espresso machine in the corner. "That one was from a fair-trade coffee bean company."
The four core members of the team, plus their new international addition, gathered around the conference table. The awkwardness of their first meeting with Kevin had been replaced by the easy camaraderie of soldiers who had survived a battle together. They shared stories from the past week. Min-young and Da-eun recounted the flood of positive messages, the explosion of support from fans who now saw them as a symbol of artistic integrity. They had become, as one blogger put it, 'the heroes K-Pop didn't know it needed.'
After the celebratory mood had settled, Yoo-jin got down to business. He stood before their new, larger whiteboard, a fresh set of markers in his hand. "The single was a declaration of war," he said, his voice resonating with a new level of authority in the spacious room. "We survived the counter-attack, and we won the first battle. But now we need to win the territory. One hit song makes you a sensation. A great album makes you an artist. It's time to produce Ahn Da-eun's debut mini-album."
He outlined his vision on the board, a new creative goal that energized the entire room. The album would have five tracks, each designed to showcase a different facet of their identity.
1. "My Room": The powerful, defiant title track that started it all.
2. "Austin Rain (Seoul Remix)": The pre-release single. It would be their collaboration with Kevin, a symbolic track of unity and healing.
3. A new up-tempo track: Ji-won's challenge, to prove they could create something with energy that didn't sacrifice their artistic depth.
4. A raw acoustic ballad: Written by Min-young, designed to showcase Da-eun's pure, vulnerable vocal talent.
5. An experimental track: A chance for Ji-won and Da-eun to push their creative boundaries.
The plan was ambitious, exciting, and real. It was happening. But as they dove into the creative planning, the double-edged nature of their new fame made itself known. Da-eun's phone rang. She excused herself to take the call, moving to the far corner of the office by the window.
Yoo-jin's ability, however, had a long range. He couldn't help but pick up snippets of her increasingly frustrated conversation.
"…Yes, Mom, I'm eating well. I promise… No, I don't know when I'll be able to come home for dinner… No, I can't just 'bring a bunch of signed CDs' for all the cousins… Yes, I saw that Uncle posted my baby pictures on his Facebook page. Please, can you ask him to take them down? It's embarrassing."
He glanced over at her. She looked stressed, her shoulders hunched. He focused his Producer's Eye. [Current Status: Overwhelmed by sudden loss of privacy. Family members and old 'friends' from school are emerging from the woodwork, making demands and sharing personal information online without permission.]
A heavy realization settled on Yoo-jin. He had been so focused on protecting his artists from corporate enemies and industry predators that he hadn't considered the more intimate threats that came with fame. He had built a fortress to protect them from the outside world, but now the calls were coming from inside the house. He made a new, crucial mental note. His artists didn't just need a producer to guide their careers. They needed a manager to protect their lives. His job had just gotten infinitely more complex.