The euphoric shock held them all captive for a full minute before it shattered into a flurry of chaotic energy. The tiny office, which had been a tomb of anxious silence just moments before, erupted into a vibrant, energized war room. Han Yoo-jin felt a surge of adrenaline so pure it was like a drug, sharpening his focus and pushing aside the exhaustion of the past few days. This was the moment. Their window of opportunity was open, but he knew it wouldn't stay open forever. This was the time for a strategist, not a dreamer.
"The comments are insane!" Go Min-young shouted, her earlier despair completely forgotten. She was reading from her phone, her voice filled with a giddy disbelief. "They're all asking for a Spotify link! One person from Brazil wrote, 'Take my money and my soul! I need this song!' Another from the UK says, 'This is the kind of music I've been waiting for. Who is Ahn Da-eun?!'"
"It's not just the comments," Ahn Da-eun added, her own voice laced with a wonder she couldn't conceal. She had her laptop open, scrolling through Twitter. "The video's already been shared by three major international music blogs. Pitchfork hasn't picked it up, but a writer for one of their affiliate sites just tweeted a link to Simon's review with the caption, 'Is this the artist who will finally break the K-Pop mold?' They're calling the song 'the powerful antithesis to manufactured pop.'"
Kang Ji-won wasn't speaking. He was silently, intently reading the YouTube comments that specifically praised his production, a look of profound, long-overdue vindication on his face. Someone had called his sound 'a haunting masterpiece.' He read the comment three times, as if to make sure it was real.
"Okay, listen up!" Yoo-jin commanded, his voice cutting through the joyful chaos and pulling them all to attention. "This is our window. It's a hurricane. We can either ride the wave or be crushed by it. We have to move now, while the momentum is ours."
He turned to Ji-won, his tone sharp and direct. "Ji-won, get the song uploaded to the servers. Spotify, Apple Music, Tidal, Bandcamp—all the international streaming platforms. Use a fast distributor. I want it live within the hour. Don't even think about the Korean ones like Melon or Genie yet. We're bypassing them entirely for now. This is a global release."
Ji-won nodded, his usual scowl replaced by a look of fierce determination. He was already at his computer, his fingers flying across the keyboard, uploading the master file.
Yoo-jin then swiveled to face Min-young. "Min-young, I need you to create our official social media presence. Now. Get the handles 'Aura Management' and 'Ahn Da-eun Official' on Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok. I don't care if we have nothing to post yet, secure the names. Your first post on each platform will be a simple, elegant graphic with a quote from Simon's review and a heartfelt thank you. Link to his video. Then, you will live in the comment sections. Engage with the positive comments. Answer their questions. Let them know we're real, we're independent, and we're listening."
Min-young nodded eagerly, her nervous energy now channeled into a powerful sense of purpose. "On it, CEO!"
Finally, he looked at Da-eun. She met his gaze, her eyes bright with a fire he had never seen before. The fear was gone, replaced by an expectant, powerful focus. "Da-eun," he said, his voice serious. "We need a music video. We have no budget, so it can't be a blockbuster. It has to be something else. It has to be simple but powerful. I have an idea."
His idea was born of their limitations, a perfect guerilla tactic. "No fancy sets, no backup dancers, no ten costume changes. We go back to Ji-won's basement studio. We film a one-take, live performance video. Just you, a single vintage microphone, and the moody, atmospheric lighting of the studio. The focus will be entirely on your raw, emotional performance. We won't hide behind editing tricks. We'll double down on the authenticity that Simon praised. It's cheap, it's fast, and it reinforces our brand as real artists, not manufactured idols."
Da-eun nodded without hesitation. "Let's do it."
The episode cut away for a brief, chilling moment, to the cold, opulent office of Director Kang Min-hyuk at Stellar Entertainment. Choi Jin-wook burst into the room without knocking, his face pale, holding a tablet out like a piece of damning evidence.
"Director, you have to see this," he stammered. "It's that foreign critic, Simon Vance… he's praising Han Yoo-jin's new artist. He's calling her the future of Korean music. The video is starting to get traction on international forums. Music blogs are picking it up."
Kang snatched the tablet, his eyes narrowing as he watched the video. His face, usually a mask of controlled arrogance, twisted into a snarl of pure rage as he heard Simon Vance praise everything he stood against—authenticity, raw emotion, artistic courage.
"An 'international indie darling'?" Kang snarled, slamming the tablet down on his desk. The sound made Jin-wook flinch. "He thinks he can go around me? He thinks a few foreign bloggers and a pretentious critic can save him? This is Seoul. I own this playground. The moment he tries to bring that girl back here, the moment he needs a Korean broadcast station or a domestic distributor, I will be waiting. I will crush him."
The scene snapped back to the whirlwind of activity at Aura Management. They were a world away from the corporate power games, operating on pure adrenaline and creative synergy. They spent the next twelve hours in a blur. Ji-won successfully got the song live on all major streaming platforms. Min-young secured their social media handles and began expertly managing the tidal wave of new followers and positive engagement.
They filmed the music video in Ji-won's basement. The space, once intimidating, now felt like their home turf. Da-eun, standing alone in a pool of soft light, poured every ounce of her newfound confidence into the performance. She wasn't singing for a grade anymore. She was singing for her life, for her team, for every person on the other side of the world who had just discovered her voice. She held nothing back.
By dawn, they were back in their small office, huddled around Yoo-jin's laptop once more. The exhaustion was setting in, but it was overshadowed by a thrumming, electric excitement. Yoo-jin finished uploading the video to their brand-new YouTube channel. The title was simple, direct, and bilingual to cater to their new audience.
Ahn Da-eun (안다은) - "My Room" (Official Live Performance Video)
He posted the link across their new social media accounts, which had already amassed thousands of followers. Then, they watched.
The view count began to tick upward immediately. 100 views. 1,000 views. In the first hour, it surged past 10,000 as Simon Vance's legion of dedicated fans, hungry for the full song, discovered the video. The comment section exploded.
"I'm speechless. The live version is even more powerful."
"THIS is what real music is. Thank you, Aura Management."
"I've had the song on repeat on Spotify for an hour. Her voice is haunting."
Then, something incredible happened. A comment appeared at the top of the feed, highlighted by a small checkmark. It was from a verified account. It was from Simon Vance himself.
The comment consisted of six simple words.
This is it. This is the one.
His comment was instantly pinned by YouTube's algorithm and began accumulating thousands of likes per minute. It was a royal decree, a final, undeniable stamp of approval. The view count, which had been climbing steadily, began to climb exponentially.
The spark had been fanned. Now, a fire was starting to burn. It was a small fire, still on the other side of the world from the towering, fortified walls of the Korean music industry. But it was burning brightly, fueled by genuine artistry and global word-of-mouth. And it was only a matter of time before the smoke drifted back home.