Yoo-jin's finger hovered over the mouse, a single millimeter of plastic separating their desperate strategy from the harsh judgment of the world. He looked at Mina's steady gaze, at the unwavering trust in her eyes, and clicked.
The video was uploaded. The red button had been pushed.
For a full minute, the five of them stood in the basement studio, crowded around the small laptop screen in complete silence. The only sound was the hum of the old refrigerator in the corner.
The view count on the video read: 0.
The silence stretched, becoming heavy and suffocating. Doubt began to creep back into the room, cold and sharp. Had he made a catastrophic mistake? Was their brilliant counter-attack just a pathetic, homemade video that no one would ever see?
Then, the number changed.
Views: 17
A few seconds later, Views: 112.
"Someone posted it to a forum," Eun-bi whispered, her eyes glued to the screen.
The numbers started to climb faster. 548. 1,381. 4,992. It was like watching a spark catch on dry grass.
The first comment appeared.
UserA: Is this real? The masked singer??
Then another, and another. A floodgate had opened.
UserB: HOLY S**T. That's her voice. I'd recognize it anywhere.
UserC: No autotune? No backup track? This is LIVE? My god.
UserD: Forget Aurora's stupid CGI trailer, THIS is music. It feels so… real.
The view count exploded past 50,000. Then 100,000. It was happening. It was actually happening.
Yoo-jin scrolled through the comments, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The narrative was taking hold, just as he had gambled it would. People weren't comparing the production value. They were comparing the feeling.
UserE: Aurora's song makes me want to dance. This song makes me want to cry in the best way possible. I think I need this album.
UserF: Did anyone else hear her voice crack on that one high note? It made it even better somehow. It was so raw.
That one comment made Yoo-jin look over at Mina. Her eyes were wide, scanning the messages of support. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but this time, it wasn't from fear or sadness. It was from the overwhelming, terrifying, beautiful shock of being heard.
Their whisper was turning into a roar.
The next morning, the war began in earnest.
Yoo-jin walked into their small, sad office to find his team already gathered around the main computer, their expressions a mixture of awe and terror.
"It's a top trend," Eun-bi said, her voice shaky. "The term 'Leaked Starforce Track' is number three on every major search engine."
The video had passed a million views overnight. News articles were already popping up, not from major outlets, but from smaller, faster-moving music blogs and forums. The headlines were all asking the same questions.
'The Masked Singer Returns: A Raw, Unfiltered Answer to K-Pop's Polished Machine?'
'Starforce vs. Titan: A David and Goliath Battle for the Soul of the Industry?'
Yoo-jin felt a surge of triumph. Their strategy had worked better than he could have ever dreamed. They hadn't just countered Aurora's hype; they had created a competing narrative.
The office door creaked open. Director Park stood in the doorway, his face an unreadable mask. His eyes scanned the room, landing on the computer screen.
"One million views," Park said, his voice flat. He looked at Yoo-jin. "You leaked an unapproved, unfinished demo of our company's most anticipated debut track."
The air in the room went cold. The team froze.
"It was a calculated marketing decision, sir," Yoo-jin said, his own voice steady, refusing to back down.
Director Park was silent for a long moment. Then, a slow, predatory smile spread across his face. "It was reckless. It was insubordinate." He took a step into the room. "And it was brilliant. Pre-orders for the album went live an hour ago. We've already passed fifty thousand units."
Fifty thousand. It was an insane number for an album with no concept photos, no tracklist, and a single 'leaked' song.
"However," Park continued, his smile vanishing, "Titan Entertainment is not happy. Their CEO called me personally this morning. They see this as a direct declaration of war. They are moving up their debut showcase. It's now on the same day as ours."
The other shoe had dropped. Titan wasn't going to let them have their own narrative. They were going to force a direct, head-to-head comparison on the biggest stage possible.
"Do not lose, Producer Han," Park said, his voice a low warning. "Because they will not be as forgiving as I am."
He turned and left, the threat hanging in the air.
The pressure was now immense. They had the public's attention, but that attention was a double-edged sword. If Mina's official debut stage didn't live up to the raw, emotional promise of the leak, the backlash would be brutal.
They lived in the studio for the next week, a blur of sleepless nights and caffeine-fueled recording sessions. The rest of the album was coming together, a collection of Eun-bi's soulful lyrics and Ji-ho's haunting, innovative beats.
But there was a problem. A big one.
"The title track is a masterpiece," Min-hyuk said, rubbing his tired eyes as they listened to the final mix. "And 'Echo' is a legend. But the other five songs… they're good, but they're not great. They feel like filler."
He was right. They had two S-Rank songs. The rest were solid B-Ranks. It wasn't enough to sustain a full album. It wasn't enough to hit 500,000 sales.
The team fell into a frustrated silence. They had no time. They had no more budget to commission new songs. They were stuck.
From her corner, where she had been silently organizing scheduling documents, Hana spoke up. Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant.
"There are other songs," she said.
Everyone turned to look at her.
"The company has a vault," she explained, not looking at anyone directly. "It's where they keep all the rejected tracks from top-tier producers. Songs that were bought but never used. Songs that were deemed 'too experimental' or didn't fit a group's concept."
Her eyes finally met Yoo-jin's. "It's a graveyard of potential hits. But you need a top-level security pass to even look at the catalog. A pass that only an officially recognized A-Rank artist is given."
A pass, Yoo-jin knew, that he and his entire team of outcasts could never hope to get. A pass that only one person in this room possessed.
Hana looked away, a flicker of a long-buried memory in her eyes. "There was one song, from years ago. From a European producer. They said it was too dark for an idol group. I've never forgotten it."
The room was silent as the implication of her words settled in. She was offering them a key. But what was the price?
Yoo-jin walked over to her desk. "What was the song called?" he asked, his voice low.
Hana stared at the wall, her expression complex and unreadable.
"It was called 'Monster'."