Kang Ji-won's massive studio monitors filled the small Aura Management office with a sound that was far too big for the room. The mastered demo of "My Room" washed over them—a tidal wave of cold, glittering synths, a sharp, aggressive beat, and Ahn Da-eun's raw, defiant voice soaring over it all. It was a statement, a declaration of war disguised as a song.
When the final, haunting piano note faded into silence, a rare, shared sense of pride settled over the four of them. For a moment, they weren't a bankrupt CEO, a traumatized singer, a shy lyricist, and a hermit producer. They were a team. They had created something beautiful and powerful out of nothing but their shared frustrations and talents.
Go Min-young was the first to break the reverent silence, her face beaming with a pure, unadulterated joy that made her look years younger. "It's… it's a masterpiece," she breathed, her hands clasped together as if in prayer. "When the radio stations hear this, they'll have to play it! They'll have no choice! And the music shows… Da-eun, can you even imagine performing this on a stage like Inkigayo? The lights, the camera work…"
Ahn Da-eun, for the first time since Yoo-jin had met her, didn't immediately shut down the optimistic fantasy. A small, almost shy smile played on her lips as she pictured it. "The choreography would have to be minimal," she mused aloud, her eyes distant. "Nothing too flashy. It should be more focused on emotion. On the storytelling."
From a corner of the room where he was meticulously coiling an audio cable, Kang Ji-won let out a harsh, cynical scoff that instantly punctured the hopeful atmosphere. "Radio stations? Music shows?" he grumbled, not even bothering to look at them. "Are you two new to Seoul? Are you five years old? That's not how this works. You don't just send a polite email with an MP3 file and get put on the air between IU and BTS."
Yoo-jin held up a hand, trying to mediate the clashing energies. "Ji-won is right," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "It's not that simple. But that's my job. The creative part is done, and it's brilliant. Now comes the business side. The strategy. Getting our song heard."
He pulled out his phone and a small, worn notebook filled with names and numbers, a relic from his ten years at Stellar. "This is where we start," he said, trying to project an aura of confidence he didn't entirely feel. He knew this was the first real test of Director Kang's ominous threat. "I'll start with a few PDs I know. People who owe me favors from my old life. We'll get a foot in the door."
He stepped into the narrow hallway outside their office to make the calls, seeking a sliver of privacy. But the walls were thin, and the others sat in silence, straining to hear his side of the conversation.
The first call was to a junior PD at KBS Cool FM, a major radio network. "Hey, Sun-woo! It's Han Yoo-jin… Yes, a long time! How have you been?… Good, good. Listen, I'm calling because I have something absolutely incredible for you… Yes, that's right, I left Stellar. It was time for a change. I've started my own label, Aura Management… I'm producing a new solo artist. Her debut track is a monster. I'm telling you, it's a guaranteed hit. The sound is completely fresh… Oh."
There was a long pause. Yoo-jin's upbeat tone faltered. "I see. The fall schedule is completely booked? Every single slot?… No, I understand. Of course. It's a busy time of year. Completely booked. Got it. Well, it was great catching up." He hung up the phone, and the cheerful mask on his face tightened into a strained smile. He took a deep breath before dialing the next number.
This one was a booker for M Countdown, a popular online music show known for occasionally showcasing indie artists. "Manager Park? It's Han Yoo-jin… Right, formerly of Stellar Entertainment. I have a debut artist I'd love to get on your radar for the 'New Discovery' segment… The name is Aura Management… Yes, A-U-R-A… Okay, I'll hold."
Another pause, this one longer. Yoo-jin's posture straightened, his expression turning grim. The silence stretched on for almost a full minute. Inside the office, Da-eun began to chew on her thumbnail, a nervous habit he hadn't seen before.
"Yes, I'm still here," Yoo-jin said into the phone, his voice now colder. "What do you mean you can't accept submissions from us at this time? Is there a reason?… An 'internal policy' regarding new labels? That's not a reason, Manager Park, that's a corporate excuse… I see. So it's not a discussion." He didn't say goodbye this time. He just ended the call, his thumb jabbing at the screen.
He had one last card to play. A high-risk one. A music journalist named Min-jun, a man whose career Yoo-jin had personally helped build by feeding him legitimate scoops about Stellar's artists. Min-jun owed him.
"Min-jun? Hey, it's Yoo-jin. Listen, I need a favor. A real one this time. I need an article. I have a debut song from my new label, and… what? What do you mean you can't?" Yoo-jin's voice, which had been controlled, finally cracked with disbelief. "Min-jun, I helped you get your exclusive on Zenith's comeback album two years ago. That story got you promoted to senior editor… Director Kang? What about him?… He called you. He called everyone. He told you that anyone who works with me will find themselves on the outside looking in… And you just… you just agreed? Unbelievable."
The silence that followed was heavy with betrayal. Yoo-jin hung up the phone, a look of cold, quiet fury on his face.
He walked back into the office. He didn't need to say anything. The hopeful expressions on Da-eun's and Min-young's faces had already vanished, replaced by a shared look of dread. They had heard it all.
"So?" Da-eun asked, her voice brittle. She had retreated back into her cynical armor; it was her safest place. "How many of your powerful friends are lining up to help us?"
Yoo-jin slumped into his chair, the weight of their collective hopes feeling like a physical burden. "None," he admitted, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "The doors are closed. Radio, TV, online shows, the press… Kang wasn't bluffing. He's poisoned the entire well. We're blacklisted."
The fragile bubble of hope they had built around their song popped, leaving a vacuum in its place. Min-young looked utterly devastated, as if someone had just told her that talent and hard work didn't matter after all. Da-eun's face hardened into her familiar 'I told you so' mask, a bitter and weary resignation settling in her eyes.
"So that's it, then?" Da-eun said, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. "We make one good song in a basement studio and it never sees the light of day? I knew it was too good to be true. This whole thing was a stupid fantasy."
Ji-won, who had remained silent through the whole ordeal, finally spoke up from his corner, his voice a low, gravelly rumble of vindication. "Welcome to the real industry, kids," he said, a grim satisfaction in his tone. "I tried to tell you. It's not about talent. It was never about talent. It's about power. And we have none."
The finality in his words was crushing. Yoo-jin looked at the defeated faces of his team. He was their CEO. He was their leader. He had made them promises of a new way, a different path. And on the very first step, he had led them straight into a brick wall. The masterpiece on his laptop, the song they had poured their souls into, felt less like a key and more like a tombstone. He had failed them before they had even begun.