The waiting lounges inside COEX were a living diorama of fashion, money, and clout. Velvet ropes separated the international VIPs from the next tier of brand reps, influencers, and media, but it didn't stop the subtle drift between groups. Waiters circled with trays of smoked salmon, champagne, and miniature desserts. The hum of anticipation grew with every new arrival—names whispered, cameras flashed, old scandals rehashed in undertones between bites of caviar.

Seo Yura had already claimed her place near the window, bathed in the white-gold evening light, a tailored Lumina suit sharper than any blade. At her side hovered Harin, keeping her tablet tucked close, updating Yura quietly between each wave of guests. A French brand ambassador bent low to kiss Yura's hand; an American beauty exec asked, only half-joking, if she was accepting new business partners "now that she was back on the market."

Yura smiled, all elegance, all armor. "You'll have to wait until tonight's show," she purred, then pivoted, taking the arm of a Parisian magazine editor and gliding off to another knot of industry heavyweights.

Near the inner doors, Min-Kyung was already in motion—her black slacks and utilitarian white blouse marked her as staff, but the way models and assistants deferred told a different story. She barely paused as two up-and-coming designers approached to offer nervous congratulations. Min-Kyung accepted with a curt nod, then leaned over a clipboard with her lead assistant, muttering about zippers and model order and a missing steamer. The nervous energy of backstage pulsed even here, bleeding into the waiting area.

Harin worked the room with a different rhythm. She moved from one sponsor rep to the next, smile never slipping, introducing herself as LUNE's CEO and subtly pitching the new agency's "international vision." When Min-ji, Rika, and Bee—the three chosen influencers—arrived, Harin personally greeted them at the LUNE PR table, handed over their passes, and whispered the plan for the evening. "Don't just post selfies. Talk to people. Show the chaos and the art. You're on trial for more than just this event."

The girls, flanked by their phones and selfie sticks, immediately got to work. Min-ji took a quick pan of the crowd for her feed, zeroing in on a group of European stylists with over-the-top accessories. Rika made a beeline for the bar, live streaming the array of custom cocktails and interviewing a bartender about which drink was "most runway." Bee, as always, grinned for her phone, narrating the excitement in a mix of Thai and English, racking up emojis and "fighting!" comments from her followers.

The room buzzed as the MC's voice boomed over the PA. "Ladies and gentlemen, we invite you to make your way into the main hall. The show will begin in fifteen minutes." Ushers in black earpieces and soft shoes began ushering groups toward the main entrance, peeling VIPs from their clusters, gently prodding the influencers off their phones, nudging even the most reluctant networkers into motion.

Yura allowed herself one last sip of champagne, meeting Harin's eyes across the lounge. They shared a nod—mission accomplished, at least for the pre-show. Harin shepherded the LUNE team—Mirae, Alina, Min-Kyung, and the rest—through the velvet curtain and into the wide expanse of the runway hall, past the flood of photographers and the crush of last-minute press.

Inside, the hall was a world apart: a gleaming white catwalk snaked through an ocean of seats, the stage backlit by an LED wall running a rolling montage of Seoul's skyline, city lights flickering with the pulse of anticipation. Rows of guests arranged themselves by clout—brand execs, socialites, press, celebrities. Camera crews positioned themselves along the sides, while influencers jostled for the perfect background to their livestreams.

Yura, guided by a discreet usher, took her seat beside the French ambassador, Harin on her other side. The rest of the LUNE girls—Mirae, Min-Kyung, Alina—filtered in behind, their energy a ripple of barely-contained nerves and excitement. Even the influencers, momentarily silenced by the grandeur, let their phones drop to their laps as they took it in.

Backstage, chaos ruled. Models lined up in order of appearance, some in silk robes, others in nothing but thongs and pasties as stylists zipped, clipped, and pinned each look into place. Min-Kyung's team buzzed around her, her head barely visible over racks of garment bags.

Joon-ho stood in front of a mirror, tie loose around his neck, half-buttoned in his first look. Mirae flitted beside him, the junior makeup artist dabbing shimmer at the corners of her eyes. They grinned at each other, a private joke lost in the noise. "Ready to go viral again?" Mirae teased, stealing a peek at her phone—her DMs blowing up as fans caught wind of her backstage presence.

Joon-ho smirked. "As long as it's with you."

The influencers, corralled by Hye-jin and her team, found their own makeshift station backstage. Their livestreams glowed in the gloom, viewers spamming heart emojis and questions—"Are you wearing Min-Kyung's dress?" "Show us the models!" "Is Joon-ho really that hot in real life?" Rika, a little breathless, tried to answer all at once, her phone trembling with the excitement.

On cue, the lights dimmed. The MC, visible now at the end of the runway, welcomed everyone in crisp Korean and flawless English. "Tonight, Seoul takes its place on the global stage. Tonight, the world watches us shine." Applause rolled through the crowd.

The first act began: a procession of French designers' ethereal silk and metallics, models moving like living art. The influencers angled their phones for wide shots and close-ups, narrating details, letting their followers feel the room's electricity. Min-ji grinned, whispering commentary; Bee giggled, panning over the front row's shoes and handbags.

Italian labels took the stage next—slick, body-conscious, high-gloss—followed by a Japanese segment bursting with color and layered street style. The crowd murmured their approval, influencers breathless with each shift in theme.

Then came the headliners: Lumina and LUNE. The lights shifted to a cool blue, the music dropped into a sensual beat. The models in Min-Kyung's designs appeared, moving as a single, fluid entity. Alina's posture was all Russian ice queen, Yumi's eyes sparkled with nerves, Natty stalked the catwalk like she owned the city.

The crowd leaned forward; cameras flashed. At the center of the drama, Joon-ho and Mirae emerged as a couple, their chemistry an instant jolt to the room. Joon-ho's suit was perfectly tailored, classic with a twist—wide lapels, subtle sheen. Mirae wore a column dress of liquid silver, slit high, her hair swept back.

Together, they moved down the runway, steps matched, gazes locked as if they were the only two in the hall. The influencers nearly dropped their phones. Min-ji's chat exploded—"Oppa! Noona! Couple goal!" "Are they dating for real?" Bee zoomed in as Joon-ho spun Mirae at the end of the runway, lifting her by the waist, the two of them laughing in a flash of cameras. On the Coffee Prince fan page, @unholynuna posted a gif before the pair even made it back behind the curtain: "They finally gave us our drama."

The finale loomed: the models, now changed into Min-Kyung's signature collection, lined up for one last walk. The music swelled. This time, Alina led the charge, followed by Yumi, Natty, and the international cast. Joon-ho and Mirae closed the show, this time locking hands, and at the end of the runway, dipped into a low, dramatic dance pose—Joon-ho's arm strong at Mirae's back, Mirae arching, eyes closed.

A beat. Cameras everywhere. Then Mirae rose on tiptoe, grabbed Joon-ho's lapels, and kissed him, slow and soft but hot enough to ripple through the room. The applause was instant, the room on its feet, guests whistling and hollering as the show shattered every staid expectation.

As the music faded, Min-Kyung herself came out, cheeks flushed, hair escaping its pins, to take a bow with her models. Joon-ho and Mirae drew her in for a three-way hug at the tip of the runway.

In the crowd, Yura's eyes gleamed, pride and relief mingling. Harin squeezed her arm. "I think that's your win, boss."

Yura's lips twitched. "It's our win. And LUNE's."

The influencers streamed every second, their chats now flooded by new fans demanding designer tags and details. In a side chat, Min-ji gasped, "We're trending worldwide!"

Backstage, chaos dissolved into elation—stylists hugging, models celebrating, Mirae and Joon-ho swarmed by staff and friends. Min-Kyung wiped a tear, then threatened anyone who saw it with death by scissors.

Outside the hall, journalists were already composing headlines: "Lumina Reinvents Seoul Fashion Week," "LUNE's Viral Moment," "Coffee Prince Kiss Crashes Runway."

In a penthouse across the city, Baek Ji-hwan glowered at the TV, his mistress sprawled naked across the sheets, the sounds of the fashion show echoing through the suite. He muted the screen, teeth gritted. "That bastard again. Let them enjoy tonight—they have no idea what's coming."

But inside COEX, the celebration belonged to Joon-ho and his women. Applause still echoed, and Seoul, for tonight, felt just a little more theirs.

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