Backstage at COEX, the air was thick with sweat, perfume, and the crackle of celebration. Models whooped and squealed, dressers popped open mini champagne bottles, stylists hugged, and someone started a conga line that nearly bulldozed a nervous PR intern. Camera flashes stuttered everywhere—photographers snapping candids for the brands' socials, assistants recording TikToks and Weibo snippets. The runway had been packed, the seats full, and nobody could deny it: LUNE and Lumina had stolen the night.

Min-Kyung was all but mobbed, her assistants practically weeping with exhaustion as models and overseas buyers offered air kisses and fawning praise. She looked flushed, almost wild, her hair escaping its careful updo, lipstick half-bitten away by the strain. "We survived," she breathed to Mirae, who just grinned, eyes still glossy from the final runway walk.

Alina broke the reverie, her voice slicing through the noise. "After-party. Tonight. No excuses. My shoes are already off." She held a stiletto aloft like a trophy, earning a roar of laughter from a circle of French models. "We dance until we die or fuck until we faint."

Yumi nearly choked on her soda, giggling as Natty gave her a sidelong look. "She means both," Natty deadpanned. "Russian girls don't do half-measures."

"I'm not Russian, I'm trouble," Alina shot back, smacking Natty on the ass as she stalked toward the exit, already pulling the pins from her hair.

Joon-ho was just trying to breathe, tucked in a quieter corridor with Mirae, savoring a moment away from the chaos. She flopped beside him on the battered leather sofa, kicking off heels and sighing with pleasure.

"You looked like a goddess out there," he told her, voice low. "You killed it."

She blushed, pushing a damp strand of hair off her forehead. "It's the dress. And maybe the company."

Before they could get comfortable, the door burst open. Alina, Yumi, and Natty barreled in, loaded down with garment bags and half-eaten party trays. Alina had already ditched her dress, standing in nothing but lace panties and a sports bra, wholly unbothered.

"Our agency's waiting room is a nightmare," she declared, eyes rolling. "Interviews everywhere, managers screaming, two girls crying over the wrong foundation shade. We come here. Is okay?"

Yumi nodded, already unzipping her cocktail dress. "I just want five minutes where no one's taking my picture," she sighed, "except maybe for fun."

Natty sprawled on the couch, munching a stolen brownie. "You got whiskey, boss? I'll trade you this for a glass."

Mirae grinned and started stripping as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Joon-ho just shrugged, unbuttoned his shirt, and changed out of his suit pants, half-watching as the girls peeled off layers, swapped jokes, and passed around perfume.

Alina padded over, bra discarded, running her hand over Joon-ho's chest with proprietary glee. "Discipline tonight, you said?" she murmured, letting her fingers tease down over his abs and resting at the band of his boxer briefs, her smile pure challenge. "You owe me. I was so good out there, and you know how wet I get after a catwalk."

He smirked, grabbing her by the hips and dragging her close, not caring that everyone was watching. "We'll see how long that lasts. You're already dripping, aren't you? Maybe I should make you beg in front of everyone."

Alina grinned, eyes dark and hungry. "I'll beg. I want everyone to watch."

Mirae, catching the vibe instantly, produced a long red ribbon from her garment bag and dangled it in front of Alina's face. "Should we tie her up, Yumi? Or maybe gag her so she can't run that mouth while she's getting spanked?"

Alina, unbothered, stuck her tongue out and gave Mirae a look full of filthy promise. "Just make sure you tie it tight. I'm not squirming away from anything tonight."

Yumi blushed, eyes wide and locked on the scene, but her voice was barely a whisper and full of eager heat. "Can… can I really watch?" Her gaze flickered from Mirae to Joon-ho, nervous and thrilled. "Or maybe… help?"

Mirae laughed softly, slinking behind Yumi to press close, her hands on the younger girl's shoulders. "You can do more than watch, cutie. We'll start you slow. Would you like to touch while I tie Alina up?"

Yumi's cheeks flamed, but she nodded, licking her lips. "Yes, unnie. I want to see everything."

Natty, meanwhile, was sprawled across a bench, legs splayed and a half-eaten brownie perched on her knee. She licked chocolate from her fingers, grinning at the chaos. "I'll join if there's food. Tie me up, spank me, whatever. But if I miss dessert because you're too busy fucking each other, I'll bite someone."

Mirae tossed her a grin. "Don't worry, Natty, you can eat off my tits if you get hungry. Or maybe we'll see how much chocolate Alina can hold in her mouth while gagged."

Natty waggled her eyebrows. "Deal. But if anyone comes on my brownie, I'm throwing hands."

Alina let out a bark of laughter, already letting Mirae start winding the red ribbon around her wrists, pressing her body against Yumi's for good measure. "Come on, little voyeur," she purred at Yumi. "Get close—you're about to learn something new."

Joon-ho leaned against the lockers, cock straining against his boxer briefs, watching his girls banter and bare themselves without shame, the changing room thick with the scent of arousal and the buzz of anticipation.

He caught Mirae's eye, and she flashed him a wicked smile. "Boss, you gonna help tie her up or just stand there with that hard-on?"

He prowled forward, grabbing another ribbon from the pile and tossing it to Mirae. "You handle her wrists. I'll handle her ankles."

Alina moaned low, submitting gladly as her wrists were bound behind her back, her breasts on full display, nipples peaked and swollen. Yumi hovered, trembling with excitement, running tentative fingers down Alina's arms.

Natty finished her brownie and wiped her fingers on her thigh, looking at the scene as if deciding whether to jump in or order pizza.

The teasing only grew, the girls crowding in, laughter and dirty promises bouncing off the tile. Outside, the afterparty beckoned, but for now, the real fun was just beginning—no cameras, no runway, just raw, hungry bodies and every wicked itch about to get scratched.

The laughter was easy, a giddy release after the nerves and lights. They were all half-naked, a pile of silk and flesh and adrenaline, the unspoken knowledge that later—much later—tonight would dissolve into something even filthier.

A knock at the door; Hye-jin peeked in. "Interviews are running over, girls. Influencers are gone, shuttled out already. Don't burn this place down before the rest of us finish, alright?"

Alina blew her a kiss, panties dangling from her finger. "We'll be good. Promise."

Hye-jin rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. "Not what I heard last time." She shut the door behind her.

Joon-ho changed down to his boxers, unhurried. The girls didn't blink. Mirae slipped behind him, arms around his waist. "Still got energy? Or do you need a nap?"

He grinned, hands finding hers. "Save it for the after-party. I'll need both."

Alina leaned into his side, all bare skin and mischief, breath warm against his ear. "I want to be punished in the club bathroom. Can you handle that, boss?"

Natty snorted, "He'll have a line out the door. Don't hog him."

Yumi, glowing with wine and excitement, snuggled into Mirae's lap, murmuring about being "disciplined by big sister." Mirae stroked her hair, promising to "make her a good girl" later, the undertone as much comfort as it was filthy.

They finished dressing—a mess of party dresses, velvet, leather, and a few stolen accessories from Min-Kyung's emergency stash. Alina, now freeballing under a black slip, pouted into the mirror, smudging on lipstick. Mirae touched up Yumi's blush, Natty grabbed her phone and snapped selfies with the group, threatening to post the worst ones on Joon-ho's fan page.

Soon the afterglow shifted to urgency. Mirae checked her phone. "Harin says the interviews are almost done, and we're meeting by the exit in five."

Joon-ho pulled on a jacket, surveying the barely-contained chaos. "You ready?" he asked, a general marshaling his favorite soldiers.

Alina saluted. "Born ready. Let's make those crypto assholes cry."

As they headed out of COEX, the noise from the street was more than just engines and shouting. Natty's phone buzzed with a notification—Min-ji, ever the eagle-eyed influencer, was already messaging the group chat.

"Look at this," Natty said, holding up her phone. "Crypto Queen's livestream just started. She's practically naked, popping bottles with Baek Ji-hwan and a harem of girls. She tagged half the city—'Crypto will eat fashion alive tonight'." She made a face. "Classy."

Alina snorted, glancing over her own shoulder at the neon-lit club across the boulevard, where cameras glinted through tinted glass. "That bitch? I fucked her ex in Milan. Twice."

Yumi leaned in, wide-eyed as the girls crowded around Natty's screen, watching Crypto Queen grind on Baek's lap while a chorus of crypto bros cheered. "Is she trying to start a war or just thirsty for clicks?"

Harin rolled her eyes, but her tone was sharp. "It's not a coincidence—they timed that stream for after our show, hoping to hijack the hashtags. Baek's got more money than taste. Let them pump their own bags; we'll steal the spotlight by just existing."

Mirae, half amused and half annoyed, muttered, "She probably thinks this is a flex. Let's see how she does when no one gives a shit tomorrow."

Joon-ho, glancing at the phone, shrugged. "Let them party for the cameras. The real fun's with us—and it won't be livestreamed for anyone's bag-holders."

Yura's lips curled in a predatory little smile. "If the crypto crowd wants a turf war, they'll regret picking the wrong industry."

Alina cracked her knuckles. "I say we outlast them. After-parties don't end until someone cries."

Natty winked. "She'll be the first. I'll DM her a selfie from Cloud 9 later. Hashtag: fashion owns the night."

Harin grinned, fired up. "You know what to do, girls. We make our own legend, and tomorrow every feed will be ours."

The group traded smirks and battle plans as they made for their rides, adrenaline spiking—not just for sex, but for war. The city was theirs for the taking, and tonight, no blockchain bullshit was going to steal their crown.

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