The hunting ground was a sewer.
It was an underground club in the student-heavy neighborhood of Sinchon, a concrete box hidden in a basement. The air was a thick, suffocating soup of cigarette smoke, stale beer, and sweat. On the small, poorly lit stage, a punk band was thrashing through a song, their sound a distorted, angry wall of noise.
Yoo-jin stood in the back, leaning against a sticky wall, his eyes scanning every performer, his system on full blast.
[Name: "Crash" - Vocalist]
[Potential: D-Rank]
[Name: Lee Jin-su - Guitarist]
[Potential: C-Rank]
A sea of mediocrity and wasted potential. Standing beside him was his unwilling, and very unhappy, companion.
"This is your brilliant plan?" Lee Hana shouted over the music, her face a mask of pure disgust. "Scouting for a genius in this… pit? The only thing you're going to find here is a hearing problem and a lung infection."
She was here under the official guise of "intern duties." Her first task: to follow him and observe his methods. He knew it was a petty, small act of revenge to drag her here, but it was a satisfying one.
"The company's Rolodex is full of producers who are paid to be predictable," Yoo-jin yelled back, his eyes still scanning the stage. "I'm looking for someone who isn't. Your job is to watch and learn what real, raw talent looks like, outside of your corporate bubble."
She scoffed, crossing her arms. But he saw her eyes, sharp and analytical, scanning the performers on stage. Behind the contempt, there was a flicker of professional curiosity. She might hate him, but she couldn't turn off the part of her that had been trained for a decade to recognize skill.
Another band finished their set to a smattering of sparse, polite applause. As they were clearing their gear off the stage, a lone figure slipped out of the shadows.
He was a young man, barely out of his teens, with messy black hair that fell over his eyes. He moved with a nervous, twitchy energy, as if he was allergic to being looked at. He didn't say a word to the audience. He just set up a single laptop, put on a pair of oversized headphones, and hit a button.
A sound filled the room that was utterly alien to the punk rock noise that had come before it.
It was an electronic beat, but it wasn't for dancing. It was complex, melancholic, and hauntingly beautiful. It was the sound of a rainy midnight in Seoul, of neon lights reflecting on wet asphalt, of a profound, urban loneliness. It was a masterpiece.
Yoo-jin's eyes widened. A golden stat screen, as bright and powerful as Mina's had been, exploded into view above the boy's bowed head.
[Name: Kwon Ji-ho (Alias: ZERO)]
[Potential: S-Rank (Producer/Composer)]
[Talent: Melodic Innovation (S+), Sound Engineering (S), Arrangement (A)]
[Status: Crippling social anxiety. Performs anonymously. Hunted by debt collectors.]
The single, intense blue light from the boy's laptop screen illuminated his focused, emotionless face in the dark, smoky club. He was in his own world, completely lost in the sound only he could fully understand.
Yoo-jin had found him. A diamond in the dirt.
The track was incredible. It was modern, emotional, and completely unique. It was exactly what he was looking for. Beside him, even Hana was silent, her usual cynical expression replaced by one of grudging, surprised focus. She recognized it, too.
The moment the song faded into a final, echoing synth note, Yoo-jin started moving. He had to get to him before he disappeared.
But he wasn't the only one.
Three large, thuggish-looking men in cheap, tight-fitting suits suddenly cut him off. They moved with a purpose that had nothing to do with the music. They headed straight for the stage, grabbed the still-dazed Kwon Ji-ho by the arm, and started dragging him towards the back.
"Time to pay up, kid," the leader growled, his voice a low, gravelly threat. "The boss has been very patient."
Yoo-jin's blood ran cold. Hunted by debt collectors. It wasn't a metaphor.
He was about to lose his genius before he could even say a single word to him. He was a producer, not a brawler. He couldn't fight these guys. He was powerless.
The thugs were dragging the terrified, unresisting Ji-ho towards the back exit. The club's owner was deliberately wiping down the bar, his back to the scene. The few remaining patrons were all staring intently at their phones. No one wanted trouble.
It was over.
Suddenly, a new voice cut through the tense silence. It was cold, aristocratic, and dripped with an authority that was completely out of place in this grimy club.
"Let him go."
It was Lee Hana.
She had stepped forward, her posture transformed. The resentful intern was gone. In her place was a queen. The thugs turned, their faces a mixture of annoyance and confusion. The leader's eyes widened slightly as he recognized her.
Hana held up her phone. It was open to a single contact in her address book.
"My father is Chairman Moon of TK Group," she said, her voice like steel. Her family, the weakness Yoo-jin had used against her, was now being revealed as her ultimate weapon. "His legal team is very, very good at ruining people. They enjoy it."
She took a step closer, her gaze unwavering. "If you take one more step with that boy, I will make one phone call. Your faces, your names, and your boss's illegal loan sharking business will be the top news story by morning. And you will spend the next five years of your miserable lives in court."
The lead thug froze, his hand still clamped on Ji-ho's arm like a vice. He stared at the unexpected, terrifying power of the spoiled idol he had dismissed just moments before, now realizing he had made a very, very big mistake.