Chapter 198: Chapter 198: Rumors & Reveal

The elevator doors slid open on the eighth floor, letting in a rush of noise from the construction site that had become LUNE’s future. Paint fumes and the hum of drills hung thick in the air, mingling with the perfume of sawdust and ambition. Joon-ho stepped out first, Harin right on his heels, clipboard in hand, hair pulled into a severe ponytail as if ready to wage war with any foreman who stepped out of line.

For a moment, they just stood there—surveying what would soon be theirs. The place looked nothing like the empty, echoing space they’d first toured a month ago. Glass panels gleamed under fresh lights, white walls bore the ghostly outlines of where the LUNE logo would be mounted, and sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the city in gold and silver.

Joon-ho dragged a knuckle along the edge of the new reception desk, admiring the glossy lacquer. "Not bad," he said, voice just loud enough to make a pair of workers look up and then duck back to their task.

Harin sniffed. "You doubted me?"

"I doubted the schedule," he shot back, grinning.

She didn’t smile, but there was a dangerous pride in the way she moved. "Give it one more week and we’ll be out of this mess. IT’s coming Monday, the furniture guys on Tuesday. The soft opening is set for Friday." She walked, rapid-fire, through the half-assembled lounge, ticking off boxes on her clipboard. "Conference room will be ready by morning. Green room and streaming setup will take another day or two. You can shoot the first promo by Wednesday if you want."

He followed, boots crunching on stray packing tape. "You’re letting staff in before the official opening?"

"Only the ones we trust," Harin said. "And the ones with deadlines."

A faint laugh escaped him. "That’s nobody, then."

She rolled her eyes, stopping at the main corridor where a line of doors waited for their nameplates. "You’re lucky I don’t invoice you for my overtime. I had to chase the sign company for the new logo. They wanted to charge double for rush. Guess who threatened to out their CEO for tax fraud?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You didn’t."

Harin grinned, all teeth. "I’m saving that for when we need a new streaming set."

They reached the far end of the hall, stepping into a nearly finished lounge where the furniture was still wrapped in plastic. Harin peeled back a corner, revealing dove-grey velvet. "Imported. Didn’t even go over budget."

Joon-ho lounged against the window, looking out at the sprawl of Seoul. "You thinking of hosting a party?"

She smirked. "Not just a party. Opening ceremony. Small, controlled—no trashy reporters, only vetted journalists. Hye-jin and I have a list. Anyone who’s ever written clickbait about LUNE or our girls is blacklisted for life."

He turned, arms folded. "What’s the schedule?"

Harin rattled it off from memory. "Next Friday, 3pm. We’ll do a quick tour, then a Q&A. We’re inviting a few journalists who’ve always played fair—ones Hye-jin and I trust. I’ve also got the PR team coordinating with two influencers: Min-ji and Bee. Both signed on this week, both come with clean reputations and fanbases that actually buy things. Rina and Jina are joining, too, but only on short contracts—enough to draw buzz, not enough to start drama."

Joon-ho’s brow rose. "What about Rika? I thought you wanted her for the runway collab."

Harin’s lips thinned, almost a sneer. "She’s a problem. Too much clout-chasing, not enough loyalty. She tried to start beef with Rina at fashion week—just to get the hashtags moving. I’m not running a circus, and we don’t need another social media scandal."

He nodded, relieved to let her handle the social calculus. "So, ceremony’s set, artists are on board, influencers prepped. What am I missing?"

She glanced down at her clipboard, then back up, tone shifting. "Rumors."

He went still, a different kind of tension spiking in his chest. "What kind?"

"EON’s been busy." Harin’s voice went flat. "Hye-jin’s been monitoring Twitter, Discord, even a couple Telegram groups. It started last week—anonymous accounts, coordinated comments, some doctored screenshots. It’s all aimed at Mirae. They’re going after her rep, trying to link her with a dating scandal and some bullshit about contract fraud."

Joon-ho’s jaw flexed. "Has it blown up?"

"Not yet. But we can see EON’s fingerprints all over it. They’re trying to get the fire started before the opening—hoping something sticks."

He considered. "Are the artists nervous?"

She shrugged, but it was a hard motion, defensive. "Mirae’s pretending not to care, but Hye-jin caught her crying in the bathroom last night. Jina and Rina are used to this shit, but it still stings. Bee is too new to know what’s coming."

Joon-ho crossed the lounge and closed the distance, dropping his voice. "What’s our move?"

Harin tapped her clipboard, nails clicking in irritation. "Hye-jin wants to wait it out—monitor, then hit back with an official statement if it blows. I say that’s bullshit. If we go passive, they set the timing. They can drop screenshots right in the middle of the opening, or worse—right before Christmas, when everyone’s glued to their phones."

He nodded, mind whirring. "So don’t wait. Get out in front of it. Control the story."

Her eyes met his, sharp. "With what? We don’t have a big project to launch. We’ve got influencers and a new logo, but nothing that’ll bury a scandal. No collab, no viral campaign, not even a juicy comeback."

He thought for a moment, staring out the window as if the answer might be written in the skyline. "Find one," he said finally. "I don’t care if it’s a charity collab, an artist’s comeback, or a behind-the-scenes expose with Coffee Prince fanning the flames. Make the news cycle about us, not them."

Harin’s mouth curled at the corners, the look she got when a real challenge was dropped in her lap. "I knew you’d say that. You realize the team’s exhausted?"

"So is EON. If we hit hard, they’ll scramble."

She nodded, her own gears turning. "Let me talk to Hye-jin and Mirae. We could drop a ’day in the life’ video—show how hard everyone’s working, no drama, just real sweat and late nights. Min-ji’s got a Paris shoot coming up, Bee can film a collab with local artists, Rina and Jina can do a TikTok series about why they left their old agencies."

"Push the positive stories," Joon-ho said. "Flood the feed. Bury the negative with so much energy the rumors look pathetic."

Harin grinned. "That I can do."

He crossed his arms, thoughtful. "Do you trust the journalists you picked for the opening?"

"Only as far as I can throw them. But Hye-jin’s got receipts on everyone. Anyone leaks, we cut them off for good."

He laughed, the sound echoing in the nearly empty room. "Remind me never to cross you."

She leaned back against the window ledge, gaze softening. "This is the first time it’s felt real. Next week, this place will be full of noise—artists, managers, cameras. We made it, Joon-ho."

He looked around, letting himself feel it—the thrill, the risk, the ownership. "We’re not done yet. Once this place opens, EON will hit harder. You and Hye-jin need to keep the PR team on a war footing."

She saluted, mock-serious. "Aye aye, captain."

The intercom buzzed. Harin glanced at her phone. "That’s the contractor. Want to come yell at him, or do you trust me to do it?"

"I trust you," he said. "But I want daily updates until opening. Any whiff of a new rumor, I want to know first."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was real. "Fine, but you get to deal with the next influencer meltdown."

"Deal."

She strode off, phone already at her ear, barking instructions in three languages. Joon-ho took another lap around the office. He paused by the half-unwrapped reception counter, tracing the future logo in his mind, then wandered into the green room, where mirrors gleamed and ring lights stood ready for the onslaught of selfies and streams.

A group chat notification buzzed on his phone—Harin, Hye-jin, Mirae, Rina, Jina, Min-ji, Bee, even Coffee Prince admin @unholynuna already in the loop. Messages flew back and forth, a storm of brainstorms: teaser campaign, influencer interviews, a last-minute Christmas single, live Q&A with fans. Every name brought a ripple of pride and anxiety—so much to protect, so many stories to tell.

He typed a short message:"Let’s go big. No fear. Announce everything, make it loud. If EON wants a war, we’ll drown them in noise."

Harin’s reply was instant, fire emoji and a string of thumbs up.

He wandered to the far window, the city laid out beneath him, a living map of ambition and rivalry. Sunlight struck the glass, cutting through the fatigue. This was more than just another company launch—this was survival, a declaration. They’d outmaneuvered EON before. They would do it again.

A knock sounded at the glass door—Bee and Min-ji, the newest faces, bright-eyed and ready, holding takeout coffee and a bag of pastries. Min-ji wore Parisian black, her posture all elegance and command. Bee bounced beside her, warm and chatty, phone out and already streaming to her cultish fanbase. They bowed, grinned, offered food, and fell in with the rhythm of a team on the verge of something massive.

"Ready for your close-up?" Harin called, striding back into the room, the contractor trailing behind her with a sheaf of paperwork.

Min-ji flashed a peace sign, Bee gave a dramatic wink. "Always," they chorused.

The office filled with voices, laughter, the crackle of nerves and possibility. Mirae and Rina arrived moments later, makeup barely done, hair wild, both giving Harin a hard time about the early hour. Jina joined on video call, waving from a car. Coffee Prince admin dropped a message in the group, promising a "leak" of behind-the-scenes stories for maximum buzz.

Harin stood at the center of the chaos, clipboard forgotten, arms folded, grin sharp as a blade. "This is it, people. You want to make LUNE a trend? Now’s your chance. Smile for the cameras. Show them what EON could never be."

Joon-ho watched them all, a storm gathering in his chest—pride, worry, the thrill of creation. He let himself imagine the future: headlines about LUNE’s rise, fans crowding their socials, rumors fading into irrelevance.

He caught Harin’s gaze, nodded once. "Let’s give them something to talk about."

Sunlight caught in the glass, cameras clicked, and the office—unfinished, imperfect, alive—became the stage for everything they’d built and everything still to come.