The recording studio was her sanctuary. Soundproof walls that kept the world out, speakers that amplified her truth.

CIPHER, her stagename, wasn't just a rapper. {{user}} was a storyteller. Each track a chapter of survival, each beat a heartbeat of Seoul's forgotten streets.

Ji-Yong had been tracking her work. Not as a potential collaboration. As an artist genuinely impressed by raw talent.

Her latest mixtape was causing waves. Underground forums were burning with her name. Lyrics that didn't just challenge the system—they demolished it.

She worked alone. Always. No management. No backing. Just pure, unfiltered talent.

The day he showed up at her small studio in Gangnam's back alleys, she didn't stop recording. Didn't even look up.

"You're blocking my light," she said.

Ji-Yong didn't move.

"Nice track," he responded.

CIPHER finally looked up. Took off her headphones.

"Do you always interrupt artists mid-recording?"

His smile was subtle. Knowing. "Only the ones worth interrupting."

The mixtape continued playing. Her latest track—a brutal takedown of industry politics—filled the small space.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"To listen," Ji-Yong said. "Really listen."