The conference room on the 40th floor was a place Han Yoo-jin had only ever heard about in hushed, fearful whispers. It wasn't a room for creating stars; it was a room for extinguishing them. The walls were a dark, sound-absorbing charcoal grey. There were no windows, only a single, imposing slab of dark oak for a table, polished to a mirror shine. The air, recycled and chilled, felt heavy and sterile, scrubbed clean of any emotion except for cold, hard consequence. It was a corporate tomb.
Yoo-jin sat on one side of the table, his back ramrod straight, his hands resting calmly on his knees. It was a practiced calm, a thin sheet of ice over a raging sea of panic. Across from him sat Director Kang Min-hyuk. The twenty-four hours since the Lee Hyun-jae scandal had exploded had not been kind to him. His bespoke suit was rumpled, his usually perfect hair was slightly askew, and his bloodshot eyes burned with a venomous fury directed entirely at Yoo-jin. He looked less like a corporate director and more like a cornered animal, ready to tear out the throat of his perceived tormentor.
But the true center of gravity in the room sat at the head of the table. Executive Director Yoon Ji-seok was a man in his late fifties, the Chairman's right-hand and the company's legendary fixer. He was dressed in a simple, dark suit that probably cost more than Yoo-jin's car, but there was nothing flashy about him. His power wasn't in what he wore; it was in his stillness. He sat completely motionless, a thick legal file closed neatly in front of him, exuding an aura of absolute, unshakeable authority that made Director Kang's blustering seem childish by comparison.
The silence stretched for a full minute, a form of psychological warfare Yoo-jin knew was intentional. He focused on his breathing, keeping it slow and even. He had spent the entire sleepless night rehearsing this, playing out every possible question, every accusation.
Finally, Director Yoon placed a hand on the file, though he didn't open it. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet and devoid of inflection.
"Manager Han Yoo-jin." He addressed the polished surface of the table, not Yoo-jin. "As you are aware, the company has suffered a significant, and potentially catastrophic, blow. The aborted contract with Lee Hyun-jae has exposed us to severe market backlash. Our stock value dropped eighteen percent at the opening bell this morning. We are in damage control mode with every major advertiser and broadcast station."
He paused, letting the weight of the disaster settle in the room. Then, his gaze lifted, his dark, analytical eyes locking onto Yoo-jin for the first time. "Director Kang informs me that you, and only you among the forty-seven employees involved in the acquisition process, voiced a direct concern about this contract less than three hours before the news story broke."
Before Yoo-jin could even formulate a reply, Director Kang lunged forward in his seat, his control snapping. "It wasn't a 'concern,' Executive Director! It was a vague, cowardly piece of sabotage!" he spat, pointing an accusing finger at Yoo-jin. "He mumbled something about 'unsettling rumors' with no evidence, no source, no report! It's a miraculous coincidence, isn't it? That an obscure online rag that usually chases idol dating gossip suddenly gets a detailed, sourced exposé on a top actor's finances? A story that required an inside tip to even know where to begin digging!"
Yoo-jin flinched inwardly but kept his expression placid, a mask of respectful fear. He knew what Kang was doing. This wasn't an investigation; it was a witch hunt, and he was the witch. He risked a quick glance at Kang, and the system's blue panel flared to life, a lifeline in this suffocating room.
[Kang Min-hyuk's Current Thoughts: He looks too calm. It's unnatural. I need him to crack. I'll push the idea that he colluded with the reporter. Director Yoon values loyalty above all else. I just need to paint Han as a traitor.]
The information was exactly what he expected. Kang's strategy was crude, driven by desperation. Yoo-jin subtly shifted his gaze to the real power in the room, Executive Director Yoon.
[Yoon Ji-seok's Current Thoughts: This is a spectacular mess. Kang's ambition outpaced his diligence, and now he's flailing for a scapegoat. The manager's warning is highly suspicious, but Kang's gross incompetence is a certainty. My job is to determine if this was malicious internal sabotage or a simple, colossal failure of management. One requires termination and legal action. The other, a demotion.]
A wave of clarity cut through Yoo-jin's fear. Director Yoon wasn't looking for a witch to burn; he was looking for the source of the failure. He didn't care about Kang's wounded pride. He cared about the system. Yoo-jin knew his path. He wasn't a saboteur. He was a loyal cog whose warning had been ignored by a broken part of the machine.
He lowered his head in a gesture of deference, directing his words only to Director Yoon. "Executive Director Yoon, what Director Kang says is partially true. I did voice a concern. As an A&R manager, it is part of my job to be aware of the ambient chatter in our industry. I had heard whispers—nothing concrete, I admit, just noise from contacts at bars and posts on anonymous industry forums—that Lee Hyun-jae's private life was becoming reckless."
He chose his words with surgical precision. "I felt it was my duty to report this possibility up the chain of command, even without hard proof. I advised a simple postponement, a brief pause for a more thorough background check. My warning… was dismissed." He didn't inject any accusation into his tone. He simply stated the fact, letting it land in the silent room with its own damning weight.
Director Yoon's expression remained unreadable, but his eyes narrowed slightly. "And the specific source of these 'whispers,' Manager Han? A barman? An anonymous username?"
It was the critical question. The one he had prepared for. He saw Kang's thoughts flash with triumphant glee: [He's trapped! He has no credible source! He's lying!]
"Sir, I'm sure you understand that in our line of work, protecting one's sources is paramount for future information," Yoo-jin said, buying a precious second. "But given the gravity of the situation, I can tell you the primary flag came from a contact on the production team at SBC. They mentioned their crew had significant difficulties with Lee Hyun-jae's temper and unprofessional demands during his last drama filming. It wasn't actionable evidence of financial ruin, of course. It was merely a character red flag. A sign that the public image might not match the private reality."
It was a perfect lie—plausible, professional, and ultimately unverifiable.
"I take no pride in being proven right, sir," he added, his voice filled with carefully measured sincerity. "I am as devastated as anyone by what has happened to Stellar's reputation. My only regret is that I was not more forceful in my recommendation to my superior."
Every word was a carefully aimed arrow, and they all hit their mark. Director Yoon turned his glacial gaze from Yoo-jin to Director Kang.
"Director Kang," he said, his voice dropping a degree colder. "Manager Han claims he brought you a red flag regarding the actor's on-set temperament. Why was this information not escalated to the legal team or to my office?"
Kang, who had been expecting Yoo-jin to crumble, was caught completely off guard. "It was… it was baseless gossip!" he sputtered, his face flushing a deep red. "We had a signed letter of intent! A ten-billion-won deal was on the table! Are we supposed to halt a project of that magnitude every time some low-level floor manager hears a rumor?"
[Yoon Ji-seok's Current Thoughts: Arrogance. And stupidity. He didn't dismiss the warning because it was baseless; he dismissed it because it challenged his authority and threatened his grand achievement. This is a fundamental management failure.]
Yoo-jin saw it in his mind and knew he had won. He remained silent, letting Kang's own panicked words dig his grave deeper. In this room, shouting was a sign of weakness. The silence that followed was Yoo-jin's most powerful testimony.
Director Yoon made a small, almost imperceptible nod. He closed the file with a soft thud that echoed like a gavel.
"Director Kang. Your failure to perform adequate due diligence, compounded by your arrogant dismissal of a subordinate's valid, risk-averse warning, has cost this company an incalculable amount in both capital and reputation. You are suspended for one month, effective immediately, without pay. Your performance will be subject to a full review upon your return. Your bonus for this fiscal year is, of course, cancelled."
Kang stared, aghast, his mouth opening and closing silently like a fish gasping for air.
Yoon then turned back to Yoo-jin. "Manager Han. Your instincts were correct. And your loyalty in bringing the concern forward is noted. However, this entire affair demonstrates a flaw in our internal communication protocols. In the future, if you have a critical concern of this nature, you will document it in a formal email. You will send it to your direct superior, and you will CC the internal audit department. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Executive Director," Yoo-jin said, bowing his head to hide the immense wave of relief that threatened to break his composure.
[Yoon Ji-seok's Current Thoughts: This manager is either the luckiest employee in this company, or he is far more cunning than he appears. He warrants observation.]
"You are dismissed," Yoon said.
Yoo-jin stood on legs that felt like they were made of cotton. He bowed once to Director Yoon, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the stunned and seething Director Kang, and walked out of the room. As the heavy door clicked shut behind him, he leaned against the cool wall of the hallway, finally allowing a single, shaky breath to escape his lips. He had survived. But the look in Kang's eyes as he left was not one of defeat. It was a promise of future retribution. He had won the battle, but he had just officially entered the war.