Chapter 200: Chapter 200: Welcome to LUNE

The new LUNE headquarters gleamed as the winter sun climbed above the city’s sprawl. The 8th floor was barely recognizable from a month ago—where there’d been dust and plans, now there were glass partitions, sleek lighting, soft gallery walls lined with framed portraits of the agency’s rising stars. In the heart of the office, a glowing LUNE logo flickered gently, reflected in marble and steel.

The rooftop lounge was already prepped for the evening—a soft spill of fairy lights overhead, discreet heaters tucked beside low couches, the faintest hint of champagne and citrus wafting on the air. Everything was poised, immaculate, humming with potential.

Harin was everywhere, headset perched above her dark hair, suit jacket a little too sharp, clipboard bristling with to-do lists. She swept from the entryway to the lounge to the green room, checking angles, lighting, making last-second adjustments to the seating charts. No one could ever say she didn’t know how to make an entrance or control a crowd.

Joon-ho found her in the gallery corridor, straightening a frame. He grinned, hands in pockets, eyes warm with mischief.

"You look like you’re about to stage a coup at Seoul Fashion Week," he teased.

She shot him a glare. "If anyone moves my chairs out of order, I might. Don’t tempt me."

The elevator doors opened with a hush. Press badges flashed—journalists from respected publications, none of the usual gossip-mongers. A few familiar faces, some newcomers, all shepherded by LUNE staff with subtle precision.

Harin greeted them, her voice the perfect blend of formal and inviting. "Welcome, and thank you for joining us on this special day. We’re proud to open a space dedicated to creativity, safety, and the future of Korean entertainment." She led the way, every detail in place—art on the walls, fresh bouquets, not a single stray wire in sight.

As they passed the creative wing, Rina and Jina were mid-laugh, striking a pose for the cameras, winking at the reporters with the easy charm that made fans adore them. The artist prep room buzzed with gentle chaos: Mirae sat in a stylist’s chair, hair being curled, Rina fussing over her lipstick, laughter echoing against the walls.

In the kitchen area, staff unpacked towers of takeout—bento boxes, pastries, fruit platters, bottles of sparkling water. Everything ready to impress, but not too showy. The mood was "family, not fortress."

Cameras clicked. Harin outlined LUNE’s mission: ethical management, artist-led vision, creative freedom. She fielded questions about everything from the office’s design to their policies on harassment and sponsor interference. Joon-ho handled technical queries—how LUNE would nurture talent, the agency’s approach to training and health.

There was a ripple among the press as Seo Yura arrived—Lumina dress immaculate, her skin softly luminous, her poise almost regal. The faintest hint of fatigue showed at the corners of her eyes, but she wore it like a secret. Rumors had swirled since her withdrawal from public life. Now, she stepped through the office as if she’d never left. A few photographers angled for a better shot.

She greeted staff with quiet grace. Rina and Jina perked up immediately; Mirae nearly bounced out of her seat to hug her, eyes shining with affection. Yura smiled—wider for Mirae, softer for Rina and Jina, but always guarded, a veil of distance between her and everyone else.

Harin’s expression tightened, just for a moment. She watched Yura float from group to group, offering gentle words, careful smiles, her hand absently brushing her midsection as she talked. Harin looked away before anyone could notice.

Joon-ho pulled Yura aside near a sunlit window. "You’re stealing the spotlight," he murmured.

She smiled, a wry tilt of her lips. "I’m just window dressing today. It’s your show."

"You’re sure you’re all right?"

She hesitated, searching his face. "Tired. But I wanted to see it—before everyone else lays claim." She leaned in, whispering, "Besides, I want to see how you handle the press."

He laughed quietly, a flash of relief crossing his face. "I’ll be fine. Try to eat something before you leave."

She nodded, and for a moment they stood together, silent, the city stretched below them.

Mirae hovered nearby, checking her phone. The crowd shifted; a sponsor rep—tall, smooth, overfamiliar—slid up beside her, too close.

"Mirae! So glad to see you here. We should talk again soon—my company always has new opportunities, especially for someone with your... potential."

Mirae stiffened, managing a polite smile. "Thank you, but I’m focused on LUNE now."

"Oh, come on," the rep laughed, his tone a shade too intimate. "We knew you long before LUNE existed. You know we can take care of you—better than some upstart agency."

Before Mirae could answer, Harin materialized at her side, eyes cold, posture unyielding. "She’s under LUNE’s management now. All inquiries go through our office."

The rep tried to play it off, hands raised. "We’re old friends. I just wanted to check in."

"She’s busy," Harin said, her tone final. "If you’d like to schedule something, contact our PR team."

The sponsor’s smile flickered, but he bowed out, his eyes calculating. Mirae’s relief was tinged with irritation. She turned to Harin, jaw clenched. "You didn’t have to do that."

Harin’s nostrils flared. "I’m protecting you. That’s my job."

"I can protect myself," Mirae shot back, low and furious. "Stop treating me like a child."

"I’m treating you like an artist in my care," Harin said. "You don’t know how dirty these deals can get."

Mirae’s eyes narrowed. "You’re not my mother. Or my owner."

Harin’s face went still, something dangerous flickering behind her eyes. "Maybe not. But I’ve lived through things you haven’t. I don’t want you to have to."

Mirae folded her arms, shoulders tight. "Maybe stop assuming I’m weaker than you."

There was a long, brittle silence. Joon-ho, watching from across the room, saw the way neither woman could quite look away from the other. He stepped closer, trying to break the tension, but both ignored him. Mirae turned and stalked toward the media lounge, Harin retreating to the gallery wall, hands clenched around her clipboard.

A photographer called for a group photo. The core LUNE family gathered—Yura, Harin, Mirae, Jina, Rina, and Joon-ho at the center. For a heartbeat, Mirae and Harin stood as far apart as possible. Joon-ho gently maneuvered them closer, an arm around each, and the camera captured their forced smiles, the unresolved heat between them shimmering in the air.

Yura watched, worry settling like dust on her brow.

Evening fell, the rooftop lounge transformed by pools of golden light. Staff and artists relaxed into low couches, laughter spilling over the music. The city glimmered beyond the glass railing; in the distance, the Han River was a ribbon of silver.

Rina and Jina livestreamed the afterparty, pulling faces for the camera, showing off their plates of tiny desserts and the sparkling skyline. Fans flooded the chat with hearts and "congrats LUNE!" messages. Mirae hovered near the edge, quiet, running her fingers along the railing, sipping from a flute of ginger ale.

Harin busied herself with logistics, tracking catering and making sure no one snuck onto the rooftop. Every so often, she glanced across the crowd to where Mirae lingered, their eyes meeting for a second before both looked away.

Joon-ho drifted through the party, offering easy comfort—a nudge here, a joke there, making sure Mirae ate something, teasing Rina for her third glass of wine, catching Harin before she disappeared to the elevators. He lingered beside Yura, checking on her with soft questions.

As the party found its rhythm, the elevator doors slid open once more.

Madam Ha-eun swept in—her presence electric, wrapped in midnight velvet, hair pinned up with gleaming combs. She moved like she owned the place, and for tonight, maybe she did. Heads turned. Staff straightened. Even Harin paused in her orbit, bowing slightly.

Ha-eun hugged Harin with the warmth of an older sister. "Beautiful. You’ve done something special here." She clasped Yura’s hand, her eyes soft. "You look radiant, darling. Congratulations."

Yura smiled, quiet and grateful.

Rina and Jina curtsied, playful. "We want to look like you when we grow up," Jina teased.

Ha-eun only winked, then turned, searching the crowd until her gaze fell on Joon-ho.

She crossed to him with a kind of lazy grace. He bowed his head in greeting, but she only smiled and slipped her arm through his.

"Come, let’s get some air. The view is better from the balcony."

They stepped outside, cool wind threading through the soft music from the lounge.

Ha-eun leaned on the railing, city lights sparking below. "You did it. You built a tower worth admiring."

Joon-ho’s smile was genuine, pride leaking through. "It’s only just begun."

Her expression turned, shadowed. "Then listen. New towers attract old ghosts."

He stilled, voice dropping. "Is this about EON?"

She shook her head, gaze distant. "Not only EON. When you rise fast, you cast a longer shadow. There are people—companies, even families—who don’t like seeing upstarts take root."

Joon-ho watched her, uncertain.

She rested her hand lightly on his arm. "Be careful, Joon-ho. For your artists. For your women. And for yourself."

He nodded, the warning heavy in the winter air.

Ha-eun’s smile softened, almost sad. "I’ll see you soon. Don’t keep me waiting too long."

She glided back inside, weaving through the laughter and champagne, her silhouette framed by fairy lights.

Joon-ho lingered alone at the balcony edge, city lights swirling in his vision. Inside, his people—his girls, his rivals, his allies—laughed and toasted and sparkled in the glow of their new world.

His phone vibrated in his pocket—a message from an unknown number. Only a single sentence.

Enjoy the view while it lasts.

He looked up, scanning the city—uncertain whether the threat was from EON, or something darker and older, waiting just out of sight.

Inside, Harin and Mirae locked eyes across the rooftop, two women burning with secrets and pride, neither quite willing to surrender the high ground.

LUNE was open.

The storm was only beginning.