The Scandal-Proof Producer

The news that Simon Vance was coming to Seoul had thrown Aura Management into a different kind of frenzy. The legal threat had been replaced by the pressure of an impending royal visit. He was, in the world of global music criticism, the ultimate kingmaker, and he had announced to the world that he was making a documentary about them. About Yoo-jin.

He had requested a private meeting prior to bringing in his film crew, a "preliminary chat," as his assistant had called it. Yoo-jin walked into the soaring, opulent lobby of the Shilla Hotel feeling a sense of nervous anticipation unlike anything he had ever felt before. This wasn't a rival or an enemy. This was a mystery. The man who might hold the key to the truth of his own existence.

He spotted him immediately. Simon Vance was not with an entourage. He was sitting alone in a plush armchair in a quiet corner of the lobby, nursing a cup of tea, looking perfectly at ease. In person, he was exactly as he appeared on screen: tall, impeccably dressed in a tweed jacket, with a charismatic intelligence that seemed to radiate from him. He stood as Yoo-jin approached, a warm, genuine smile on his face, his eyes sharp and deeply analytical.

"Han Yoo-jin," he said, his voice the familiar, gravelly baritone. He offered a firm handshake. "The man of the hour. A pleasure to finally meet you in person. Thank you for coming."

"The honor is all mine, Mr. Vance," Yoo-jin replied, his voice steady. "Your review of 'My Room' changed everything for us."

"Nonsense," Vance waved a dismissive hand as they sat down. "A great song changes things for itself. I just happened to be the one holding the megaphone." He leaned back, his gaze never leaving Yoo-jin's face. "I thought a private chat before we bring in the cameras would be more… productive. Less performative."

The conversation that followed was a masterclass in subtext, a duel fought with pleasantries and philosophical questions. Both men were probing, testing, searching for something behind the other's words. Vance asked about Aura's philosophy, about the discovery of Ahn Da-eun, about the artistic choices behind the "Echo in the Void" music video. His questions were brilliant, insightful, and on the surface, entirely appropriate for a documentarian. But Yoo-jin sensed something more behind them. A deeper search.

He activated his ability, but with extreme caution. After the last uncontrolled sync, he was terrified of a repeat, especially in a face-to-face meeting. He didn't dare attempt a deep or targeted scan. He kept it at the lowest possible level, a surface skim, just trying to get a read on the man's immediate emotional state.

[Name: Simon Vance]

[Emotional State: Intense Professional Curiosity (80%), Guardedness (15%), Unidentified Emotion (5%)]

[Current Thoughts: The boy has a remarkable 'feel' for it. His instincts are flawless. Every decision he makes is creatively and strategically sound. Is it practiced genius, the result of years of obsessive work? Or is it something more intuitive? Let's see how he responds to the next question.]

The data was frustratingly, impressively opaque. Vance's mind was a fortress, his emotions tightly controlled and shielded behind a lifetime of British reserve and intellectual discipline. That five percent of "Unidentified Emotion" was a black box, a complete mystery to Yoo-jin's power.

Vance skillfully steered the conversation toward Yoo-jin's uncanny knack for predicting success and failure.

"Your ability to spot not just talent, but trouble, is already becoming the stuff of legend in the industry," Vance said, his tone casual, but his eyes were sharp. "The Prism incident years ago. The Lee Hyun-jae gambling scandal you averted for Stellar. It's as if you have a special lens. A kind of… producer's eye… for the fault lines in a person's character."

He said the phrase again. Producer's Eye. It was deliberate. A test. He was watching Yoo-jin's reaction like a hawk studying its prey. Yoo-jin felt the familiar, faint psychic tingle at the base of his skull, the precursor to a sync. He immediately threw up the mental firewall he had been practicing, focusing on the feeling of the plush armchair beneath him, the scent of jasmine from his tea. The tingle subsided. He had held the line.

He knew he couldn't let the comment pass. He had to counter-probe. He deflected the question by turning it right back on Vance, showing him that he had done his own research.

"It's just a matter of paying close attention, Mr. Vance," Yoo-jin said with a calm smile. "The same way you do. I read an old interview with you once. About that post-punk band you championed, 'The Pale Saints.' You were the only one who believed in them."

Vance's expression didn't change, but Yoo-jin saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"You said you knew their art was real because when their singer performed, you felt a 'melancholic echo' of his pain," Yoo-jin continued, quoting the phrase perfectly. "That sounds like more than just music theory. That sounds like a kind of 'critic's eye,' wouldn't you say?"

Now it was Vance's turn to be momentarily thrown off balance. The upstart producer had just revealed the depth of his homework. He had parried the thrust and returned with one of his own. The two men were no longer just a producer and a critic. They were two psychic duelists, circling each other in the center of a quiet hotel lobby, acknowledging a shared, secret language without ever speaking its name.

A slow, deeply impressed smile spread across Simon Vance's face. He let out a soft chuckle.

"Touché, Mr. Han. Touché." He leaned back, the probing part of the conversation seemingly over. "Well. My documentary, as you know, will culminate at the Starlight Festival. I have been asked to sit on the international judging panel for the festival's 'Rising Star of the Year' award. It's a new award, created this year to recognize emerging global potential."

He looked at Yoo-jin, his expression now one of a mentor offering a challenge. "The world will be watching your stage very, very closely. I will be watching very, very closely."

It was both a promise and a warning. Vance was offering Yoo-jin a global platform, a chance to prove his philosophy on the world's biggest stage. But he was also making it clear that he would be judged, not just as a producer, but by a higher, unspoken standard.

The meeting concluded with a mutual, profound, and unspoken acknowledgment. They were both more than they seemed. The Starlight Festival would not just be a concert. It would be the stage upon which their true natures, and the true nature of their strange, shared world, would finally be revealed. And neither of them knew what would happen when they finally saw each other clearly.