Chapter 199: Chapter 199: Spreading Buzz

Rumors always traveled fastest in the dead hours—when most people were finishing dinner, doom-scrolling through their feeds, half paying attention yet ready to believe anything that offered a spark of shock. Tonight was no different. On several SNS channels, whispers thickened into threads, threads into compilations, and compilations into breathless "exposés."

An anonymous account posted that an actor had been spotted drinking heavily with suspicious company at a Gangnam bar. Another channel claimed a male idol had visited an illegal poker den. A trending tweet accused a rising influencer of cheating on her long-term boyfriend; a Telegram gossip group dropped supposed "proof" of a girl group member abusing prescription medication. Most of it was blurry screenshots, cropped messages, or recycled scandals from years prior—painted with new names, new clickbait titles.

It was chaos, a feeding frenzy, typical of December. End-of-year fatigue mixed with fierce competition for media attention; companies scrambled to stay relevant before the holiday silence. Some rumors burned bright, stirring thousands of comments. Others flickered once and died.

And then there were the ones aimed at Mirae.

Not many. Not viral. Not even mildly trending. But they were there—thinly veiled digs about her "disappearing from variety shows," accusations that she "couldn’t handle pressure," whispered implications about past disputes with her agency. Nothing concrete. Nothing with evidence. Just bait thrown into murky waters.

Most posts had fewer than a dozen likes. A few comments. The occasional troll agreeing with itself under different accounts.

Still, Hye-jin had spotted the pattern days ago. And she wasn’t the only one.

Across fandom circles and gossip networks, the noise sharpened. Not by chance.

It was EON’s favorite tactic: generate static everywhere, quietly slip in one targeted rumor, and hope the chaos would carry it further.

But so far, Mirae’s stayed on the ground. Unmoving. Barely noticed.

Because something else was gathering momentum—something unexpected that no company could engineer or predict: fan hunger.

Specifically, the hunger to see one man.

Inside the Coffee Prince fan page, the evening posts were a chorus of restlessness and thirst. A dozen active threads, all circling the same lamentation.

"We need new pictures of Joon-ho."

"Does anyone know if he’s alive? Does he even use a phone?"

"He’s so handsome but ZERO updates. This is emotional torture."

"At this point, I’m ready to apply to LUNE as a janitor just to see him walk around."

The page, once dedicated to witty commentary about boy groups, now attracted young women with suspiciously similar motives: they wanted their dose of Kim Joon-ho—his smirk, his rare but devastating smiles, his quietly devastating visuals. The more he disappeared from mainstream projects, the more people obsessed over him.

Under one post, someone tagged the legendary admin.

@unholynuna, please, we’re begging. Any crumbs? Any hint? A shadow? A shoeprint?

A flood of likes followed.

In her apartment across the city, @unholynuna slurped noodles directly over her bowl, eyes half-lidded in boredom as she scrolled through the comments.

"Thirsty little gremlins," she muttered, amused.

Her apartment was the perfect contradiction—tastefully decorated living room, but her desk was a fortress of dual monitors, snack wrappers, and folders labeled cryptically in ways that revealed nothing. Her occupation remained shrouded in mystery, even to those closest to her. She liked it that way. Her power lay in opacity, in knowing more than she ever revealed.

Another ping sounded—an incoming DM.

Sender: Seo Hye-jin (EON → LUNE Manager)

.Message preview: Need a favor.

@unholynuna raised an eyebrow and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, clicking open the chat.

HYE-JIN: Want some behind-the-scenes pics of the new LUNE office? Might distract the nosy ones.

NUNA: Depends. If it’s boring, I won’t post.

HYE-JIN: Joon-ho is in half of them.

NUNA: You should’ve led with that.

A minute later, her inbox flooded with image files. High-quality, candid, natural lighting. Hye-jin always delivered clean material.

The first picture:Joon-ho leaning over a large drafting table, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy, glasses perched on his nose as he reviewed a blueprint with Harin beside him pointing at something. He looked like the world’s most dangerous architect.

The second:Mirae kneeling on the floor with fabric samples fanned around her, her brows furrowed in concentration as she matched colors to the new green room walls.

The third:Rina balancing on a chair to reach a shelf while Jina held her steady, bickering mid-laugh.

The fourth:The whole group around a temporary kitchen island eating kimbap out of takeout boxes. Harin glaring at a contractor in the corner like she might throw her chopsticks at him.

The fifth:A candid of Joon-ho caught mid-turn, adjusting his glasses with one hand, eyes slightly narrowed, lips curved into the smallest smirk—as if he’d heard the camera but allowed the moment anyway.

@unholynuna’s noodle-slowing stopped mid-slurp.

"Good," she murmured. "Very good."

She typed:

NUNA: I’ll post a curated selection. Don’t send me anything bland next time.

Hye-jin reacted with a laughing emoji.

Ten minutes later, Coffee Prince fans received the update they’d been dying for.

The post began simple:

"Sneak peek into LUNE’s new HQ progress.This is what teamwork looks like.P.S. If you’re weak to men in glasses, stop at pic 5. Consider this your warning."

The photos rolled out, clean and well-framed—just enough insider feel to ignite curiosity, but not enough to compromise privacy. @unholynuna wasn’t just an admin. She was a curator of obsession.

Almost instantly, the comment section detonated.

"HELLO??? JOON-HO IN GLASSES???"

"My ovaries just filed for bankruptcy."

"Who is the girl next to him? She looks terrifying but hot."

"Why does this office look so cozy?? Can I work there??"

"Mirae looks so cute choosing fabric omg."

"Pic 4—Harin is about to kill that contractor, I can feel it."

"Wait—they’re all having lunch together??? I want in."

Likes shot upward. Shares multiplied. The post spread to several fangirl communities, then to idol gossip accounts, then to lifestyle fanpages that had nothing to do with LUNE originally.

A ripple effect began.

Tweets reshared the images with commentary like:

"Is LUNE becoming the safest place for artists??"

"EON is shaking."

"Why does Joon-ho look hotter doing paperwork than most idols performing onstage?"

And from Coffee Prince’s own members:

"Unholynuna always delivers. We don’t deserve her."

"This is proof LUNE is the superior agency."

"The vibe is family. I stan."

Several new users joined within the hour—an influx that trended female and young, drawn in purely by the candid charm of LUNE’s environment or simply by Joon-ho’s face.

Some even confessed openly:

"I’m joining for Joon-ho. I don’t regret anything."

Meanwhile, EON’s attempt to stir Mirae’s scandal hit a wall. Old rumor accounts still tried to push it, but the posts drowned under a tide of excitement, speculation about LUNE’s interior design, and memes of Joon-ho in glasses.

It wasn’t intentional damage control.

But it was extremely effective.

At LUNE’s side, the energy shifted too.

Inside the eighth-floor office, Mirae scrolled through Coffee Prince’s page, cheeks pink as she saw her candid photo. "I look like such a dork," she muttered.

Harin snorted without looking up from her laptop. "You look fine. Meanwhile, I look like I’m threatening to stab someone."

"You were," Joon-ho said, passing by and sipping coffee.

She threw a pen at him.

Rina and Jina leaned over Mirae’s shoulder. "Wait, this is us? Cute!" Jina squealed. "I love how that page edits their photos. So aesthetic."

A notification popped up on Harin’s phone—an encrypted message from Hye-jin.

HYE-JIN: Rumor momentum dropping.

HYE-JIN: Coffee Prince post is exploding.

HYE-JIN: Good job on finding those pics.

Harin smirked. "Credit goes to the queen of chaos herself."

Joon-ho looked over, curious. "Who’s that?"

"@unholynuna."

He blinked. "Does anyone know what she actually does for a living?"

"No," Harin said. "And that’s the fun part."

A minute later, another message arrived.

HYE-JIN: Tell them thanks. Saved me days of work.

Harin’s reply was instant:

HARIN: Next time we’ll send shirtless pics. Watch the membership triple.

Her screen lit with a single emoji from Hye-jin:😏

Back on the fan page, the discussion spun wildly, jumping from idol gossip to LUNE appreciation to pure thirst.

The final comment of the night, the one that pinned itself through sheer volume of likes, said:

"Other agencies have scandals.

LUNE has vibes.

And glasses.

We know who’s winning."

By midnight, rumors had shifted direction completely.

Scandal talk faded.Speculation about LUNE’s upcoming opening and whether Joon-ho would attend in glasses became the new trend.

Sometimes the smallest spark—one picture, one post, one admin with a godlike sense of timing—could redirect the entire narrative of a day.

And somewhere in her apartment, @unholynuna set down her bowl, wiped her mouth, and smiled at her screen.

She always did know how to steer attention.

And tonight, she’d done it flawlessly.