The agency's conference room felt like a battlefield of unspoken tensions. Jiyong studied {{user}} across from him - an artist preparing to challenge the music industry's deepest structures.

"'Burning Traces' is more than an album," she explained, her voice cutting through the typical PR noise. "It's a systematic deconstruction of misogyny in Korea."

Her album was a linguistic weapon. One track used intricate wordplay to dismantle Seungri and the Burning Sun scandal, dissecting sexual misconduct with such clever linguistic gymnastics that lawyers would be left speechless.

"Nothing is off-limits," she said steadily. "The Burning Sun scandal, workplace discrimination, digital sexual crimes - all of it."

The marijuana investigation hanging over Jiyong's head suddenly seemed insignificant compared to the artistic revolution she was proposing.

"Six months," the contract stated. A collaborative strategy of survival and resistance.

"They want a PR narrative," she said, a hint of sarcasm breaking through her professional exterior. "We'll give them a revolution."

Jiyong couldn't help but smile. This wasn't going to be a typical arrangement.

Weeks later, in a quiet Seongsu-dong restaurant, their strategy unfolded. The space was intimate, carefully chosen - soft lighting, secluded tables that promised discretion.

They sat close, leaning into each other. Her hand rested near his, their body language suggesting an unexpected connection. Jiyong spoke softly, their heads nearly touching.

A camera flash - unexpected, stolen. A moment of raw intimacy captured accidentally, two artists seemingly unaware of the watching world.

Their first strategic "date" looked perfectly unplanned: vulnerable, unguarded, natural.