“Care to explain,” Min-jun said, his voice a low, dangerous growl, “why you two are sneaking out of the basement at 3 AM with *this*?” He dangled the silver supervisor’s keycard, a glinting accusation in the dim lobby light. Ha-mi dug her fingernails into her palms. Beside her, Si-woo froze mid-step, his shoulders hiking toward his ears. This was it. Game over. Exposure, contract breach, eternal debt. Her brain, however, had a built-in panic response: bluff. “Ah, that?” Ha-mi said, forcing a casual wave of her hand. “Just… a late-night scavenger hunt.” Min-jun’s stare sharpened. “A scavenger hunt that requires a master key to restricted server rooms?” His tone was flat, devoid of any belief. “What exactly were you scavenging for, Noh Ha-mi? More bizarre sound advice for my tracks? Or perhaps evidence of your ‘muse’ powers?” “Actually,” Ha-mi cut in, stepping forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “we found something a lot more concerning than my questionable musical taste. Something that affects the whole band, Min-jun. And it has to do with Mr. Kang.” She met his eyes, allowing a flicker of genuine alarm to show through her bluff. Min-jun’s expression didn’t soften, but the corner of his mouth twitched, a tiny crack in his stoic facade. He knew Mr. Kang was trouble. “What are you talking about?” “Project Resonance,” Ha-mi said, recalling the folder's header. “And a dossier on me. It warned: ‘Subject’s energy signature erratic. High risk of total collapse.’” She leaned closer. “Total collapse, Min-jun. Not just for me, but for the entire lineup. And I think Mr. Kang engineered it.” Si-woo, finding his voice, piped up, “He’s always watching us. And he never looks happy when we’re making progress. He just… observes.” Min-jun’s gaze shifted between them, knuckles whitening against the silver keycard. An agonizing slide into irrelevance was bad enough, but an orchestrated sabotage was worse. He raked a hand through his dark hair. “Follow me. My studio. Now.” Studio C, usually a sanctuary of meticulous sound engineering, felt like a war room. Min-jun paced while Ha-mi relayed the details of their server room escapade, omitting the part about her being a mischievous demigod who set this whole mess up. Si-woo sat quietly, occasionally adding a corroborating detail. “He washed out of an agency twenty years ago,” Ha-mi said, citing Yu-ri's late-night forum deep-dives. “His unit got scrubbed following a Muse scandal. He despises anyone tied to the title.” Min-jun stopped pacing. “So he’s not trying to salvage our comeback,” he said slowly. “He’s steering us into the dirt.” His voice dropped to a gravelly rasp. “He wants to prove the concept is toxic. If the five of us implode on live television, it validates his old grudge. And while SNE’s stock craters, he buys out the board.” Ha-mi gave a tight nod. “It’s a buyout disguised as an occult meltdown. We’re just collateral.” “But why me?” Si-woo asked, his young face furrowed. “Why would he use *us*?” “Because we’re disposable,” Min-jun muttered, staring down at his mixing desk, “and we’re the company's heaviest gamble. If our roster sinks, SNE goes under with us. And Kang steps in with private equity.” He glanced at Ha-mi. “He doesn't need to push hard. Just enough to shatter the team.” Min-jun spun his studio chair around, tapping his desk with steady, measured beats. “We leak his play first.” [NEW QUEST: EXPOSE THE PUPPETEER] [Deliver a public humiliation so devastating, Mr. Kang’s reputation shatters like a cheap vase. Reward: 500 Karma Points & a 'Gossip Bomb' tidbit.] Ha-mi’s phone vibrated, illuminating her face with the familiar cryptic message. “Well,” she said, a wicked glint entering her eyes, “the System agrees. And I think I have an idea how.” *** The next morning, SNE’s main conference hall buzzed with the nervous energy of a live-streamed press event. CEO Park Seon-gil, gray-faced under the hot stage lights, sat beside Mr. Kang at the walnut panel table. The five idols sat off to the right in identical tailored jackets, keeping their chins level, while Ha-mi watched from the fifth row of folding chairs with a laminated visitor badge bouncing against her collar. “Thank you for joining us,” Mr. Kang began, beaming smoothly at the battery of press cameras, “to discuss the future of Starlight Nexus and our flagship quintet. Despite recent creative roadblocks, we expect their showcase to redefine the charts.” Ha-mi watched, a tiny, almost imperceptible device tucked into her palm. Si-woo, positioned subtly near the main soundboard, gave her a brief, reassuring nod. Min-jun sat upright on the dais, eyes locked on the monitor at his feet. “And now,” Kang continued, gesturing to a junior assistant who handed him a bottled water, “I’ll be taking questions regarding our innovative approach to artist development and our… unique assets.” He took a sip, then leaned towards the assistant, his voice dropping slightly, believing his microphone was off. That’s when Ha-mi pressed the small button in her hand. A faint click, unheard in the bustling room, but registered by Si-woo at the soundboard. Suddenly, Mr. Kang’s hushed voice boomed through the conference hall’s speakers, amplified for the entire world to hear. His face froze, pupils shrinking under the halogen glare. “—frankly,” his voice drawled out through the overhead rig, dripping with casual disdain, “the boyband is a sinking barge. Pure overhead. And their little Muse? She’s the anchor dragging them under. Once their stock bottoms out, SNE’s catalog goes on sale for pennies.” Silence descended, thick and suffocating. CEO Park Seon-gil knocked over his water tumbler, staring at Kang while red tally lights blinked continuously across three broadcasting pedestals. The journalists, initially stunned, began to murmur, then frantically type on their laptops, their faces a mix of shock and ravenous excitement. Kang’s face was a mask of utter devastation. He lunged for his microphone, but it was too late. The words were out. The live stream was carrying his true sentiments to millions. The collective gasp from the room was almost as loud as his confession. Ha-mi allowed herself a small, triumphant smirk from the back row. Karma points acquired. Payback delivered. Just then, the main doors to the conference hall swung open with a soft swish. A tall, elegant woman with sharp, intelligent eyes and a tailored charcoal suit stood on the threshold. She scanned the chaotic scene – the horrified CEO, the sweating Mr. Kang, the frantic reporters. Her gaze, sharp and assessing, landed directly on Ha-mi. “So,” the woman said, her voice clear and resonant, cutting through the rising clamor, “you’re the one.”

An Unholy Alliance and a Public Payback