The negotiations were short.
When you have a viral video exposing government corruption and ten million live viewers waiting for your next move, lawyers move fast.
The US military agreed to escort them out of the desert. In exchange, David Kim surrendered Subject Zero (still encased in foam) to federal custody as "evidence."
Yoo-jin didn't care about the monster. He cared about the sunlight.
They emerged from the Incubator's bunker at dawn. The desert air was cold and clean.
Yoo-jin took a deep breath. It hurt his lungs. It felt real.
"Boss," Mina said, shielding her eyes. "Look."
A convoy of black SUVs waited by the ruined diner. But behind them, lining the ridge of the crater, were people.
Hundreds of them. Fans. Locals. Kids who had driven all night after seeing the broadcast. They stood on the roofs of their cars, holding phones and signs.
WE HEARD YOU.
HUMAN.
Yoo-jin stopped. He reached for his interface to check the Crowd Hype stat.
Nothing. Just blue sky.
He felt a momentary panic—a phantom limb sensation. How could he gauge the audience without the numbers? How did he know if they were angry or happy?
Then, someone started clapping.
One person. Then ten. Then hundreds.
It wasn't the rhythmic, hypnotic applause of the System-controlled crowds. It was messy. It was out of sync. It was loud.
Yoo-jin smiled.
"They aren't NPCs anymore," he whispered.
One Week Later. Los Angeles.
The glass house in the Hills was still shattered, but the mood was lighter.
Yoo-jin sat on the terrace, reading a physical newspaper. His eyes tired easily now. He had to wear reading glasses.
"You look like a grandpa," Olivia Ray said, dropping a bowl of cereal on the table.
"I feel like one," Yoo-jin admitted. "My back hurts. Is that normal?"
"It's called aging," Olivia grinned. "Welcome to the club."
She pointed at the paper with her spoon. "Page six. They arrested the Minister of Culture in Seoul. Director Yoon is missing. Probably fled to China."
"He won't get far," Yoo-jin said. "Titan Korea is bankrupt. The stocks crashed the moment the manipulation algorithm died."
"And Starforce?"
"Starforce is... complicated."
Director Park walked onto the terrace. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and holding a tablet.
"Complicated is an understatement," Park sighed. "Yoo-jin, we have offers. Universal wants to sign Sol & Luna. Netflix wants the documentary rights. And a toy company wants to make an Eden action figure."
"No action figures," Yoo-jin said. "Eden isn't a product."
"Speaking of Eden," Park lowered his voice. "He's in the pool again."
Yoo-jin looked over the railing.
Eden was floating on an inflatable flamingo in the infinity pool. He was wearing sunglasses and staring at the sky. He had been doing that for three days.
"He's processing," Yoo-jin said. "Leave him be."
"He hasn't sung a note since the desert," Park worried. "What if... what if he lost it? The talent?"
"He didn't lose the talent," Yoo-jin said, folding the paper. "He lost the autopilot. Now he has to learn how to fly manually."
"It's risky," Park muttered. "Investors hate manual."
"Tell the investors to wait," Yoo-jin stood up. His knees popped. "I have a meeting."
The meeting was at a diner in West Hollywood.
David Kim was already there, eating pancakes. He looked surprisingly normal in a t-shirt and jeans, though the sunglasses remained.
"You look terrible," David greeted him.
"Thanks," Yoo-jin sat down. "You look expensive."
David slid a folder across the table.
"The settlement from the US government. They agreed to drop the trespassing charges if we sign NDAs about the specific tech inside the Incubator."
Yoo-jin signed without reading. "Done."
"Also," David took a bite of pancake. "I bought the Starforce building in Seoul."
Yoo-jin paused. "Excuse me?"
"It was going up for auction. Titan US acquired it. I'm expanding into the Asian market. The old Titan Korea is dead. I'm building something new."
He looked at Yoo-jin.
"I need a CEO. Someone who knows the terrain. Someone who killed the old god."
Yoo-jin laughed. It was a dry, raspy sound.
"You want to hire me? I just destroyed the entire industry's business model."
"Exactly," David smiled, gold tooth glinting. "The algorithm is gone, Yoo-jin. We can't farm idols anymore. We have to find them. We have to nurture them. It's going to be messy, inefficient, and expensive."
He leaned forward.
"It's going to be art. Who better to run it than the man who proved humanity beats the machine?"
Yoo-jin looked out the window. He saw people walking by. Laughing, arguing, listening to music on headphones.
He thought about the stats. He missed them, sometimes. The certainty. The control.
But then he thought about the messiness of the applause in the desert.
"I have conditions," Yoo-jin said.
"Name them."
"One. No trainee debt. Ever."
David nodded. "Fine. We take the risk."
"Two. Sol, Luna, Eden, and Min-ji own their masters. 100%."
David winced. "That's steep. 50%."
"80%," Yoo-jin countered.
"70%," David offered. "And you produce my nephew's rap album."
"Deal," Yoo-jin shook his hand. "But if your nephew sucks, I'm shelving it."
That Night.
Yoo-jin found Sae-ri on the roof of the glass house.
She was looking at the city lights. The smog had cleared, and the stars were visible.
"David offered me a job," Yoo-jin said, standing beside her.
"I know," Sae-ri didn't look at him. "He offered me one too. Head of Acting Division."
"Are you going to take it?"
"I don't know," she turned to him. The wind caught her hair. "Going back to Seoul... it feels like going back to the scene of the crime."
"It is," Yoo-jin said. "But it's also home."
He reached out and took her hand. It was warm.
"I can't see your affection stat anymore," Yoo-jin said softly. "I don't know if it's rising or falling. I'm flying blind."
Sae-ri squeezed his hand.
"Good," she whispered. "Guess you'll have to ask."
"Ask what?"
"How I feel."
Yoo-jin looked at her. Really looked at her. Without the blue boxes, without the analysis. He just saw a woman who had saved his life three times.
"How do you feel, Jung Sae-ri?"
She stepped closer. She grabbed his lapels and pulled him down.
She kissed him.
It wasn't a movie kiss. It was clumsy. Their noses bumped. Yoo-jin stiffened in surprise before melting into it.
It felt like chaos. It felt like heat.
It felt S-Rank.
She pulled back, breathless.
"I feel like that," she said.
Yoo-jin touched his lips. He smiled, a genuine, goofy smile that made him look ten years younger.
"Noted," he said. "Data received."
"Idiot," she laughed.
"Hey!"
They turned. Eden was standing at the patio door. He was dripping wet, holding his inflatable flamingo.
"The others are asking for pizza," Eden said. "And Min-ji is trying to teach Director Park how to breakdance. It is... statistically improbable that he will succeed."
Yoo-jin laughed. "Let's go stop him before he breaks a hip."
He kept holding Sae-ri's hand as they walked back inside.
Inside, the house was noisy.
Hana was arguing with Olivia about toppings. Mina was laughing at Park, who was spinning on the floor. Min-ji was filming it.
It was a mess.
It was a family.
Yoo-jin looked at them. For a second, he instinctively looked for the System window to appear. To tell him Objective Complete.
But the air remained empty.
There were no more objectives. No more missions.
Just tomorrow.
"Okay!" Yoo-jin clapped his hands. "Listen up! We fly back to Seoul on Monday. We have a company to rebuild."
"Can we keep the bus?" Olivia asked.
"No," Yoo-jin said. "But we can keep the attitude."
He looked at Eden.
"Ready to go back to work?"
Eden looked at the flamingo. Then at Yoo-jin.
"I am not a machine anymore," Eden said. "I am tired. I am hungry. And I think I am... happy."
"That's a good start," Yoo-jin said.
He walked over to the window. He looked at his reflection in the glass.
No glowing eyes. No hidden code. Just a man with a second chance.
"System," Yoo-jin whispered to the empty air. "Log out."
The wind blew through the canyon. The city lights twinkled.
And for the first time in his life, Han Yoo-jin didn't need to know the odds.
He just liked the song.