Night wrapped Hanzenith's headquarters in glass and steel, the city lights reflected in a thousand perfect panes. Inside, Baek Ji-hwan's office glowed with the hush of late hours, that hush of power held close and secrets kept even closer. He sat alone, feet on the desk, suit coat flung over a chair, a bottle of whiskey sweating beside his tablet. His eyes flicked over encrypted notifications—one, in particular, made him grin: "Mirage Partners Inc.: LUNE IP Expansion Fund—Transfer Complete."

He poured a drink, the sound sharp in the quiet. A few minutes later, his finance chief entered, shoulders tense, holding a folder thick with compliance memos. Ji-hwan waved it away.

"By next quarter, we'll own their future," he announced, raising his glass. "Make sure no one in compliance sees this. And get out—unless you want to write a report to the board explaining how we're about to become the kings of K-culture IP."

The chief tried to smile, murmured something about risk, but Ji-hwan was already half-distracted—checking his phone, swiping through layers of encrypted chat, deleting anything that lingered too long on screen. He barked at the chief to leave the lights off when he went. Alone again, Ji-hwan took a long sip, staring at his own reflection in the black glass—hungry, gleaming, and a little too wild.

On the other side of the city, LUNE HQ glowed like a fortress. Harin, Mirae, and Joon-ho clustered in Harin's office, door locked, curtains drawn. The only light came from Harin's laptop screen—a spreadsheet showing the trail of millions flowing into carefully constructed shell accounts.

"It's done," Harin said, voice flat with exhaustion and relief. "The money's all there. Every test ping, every audit—they never saw a thing. Hanzenith is all-in."

Mirae's eyes were wide, nervous. "What if he suspects?"

Joon-ho leaned back, lips twitching into a half-smile. "He can't. If he tries to expose us, he exposes himself. You think he wants to explain to regulators and LPs how he tried to steal our project pipeline and IP secrets through offshore fronts?"

They all knew the answer. The tension broke—just a little. Joon-ho poured three glasses from the minibar, handed them around. "To phase two. We baited the trap, and now he's in it."

They clinked their glasses. Harin gave a tired but genuine smile, then typed a short message on her phone and sent it off. Joon-ho glanced at the screen, nodded:

To: Madam Ha-eun — Phase Two ready. Your payment processed.

Harin took a deep breath, trying to rein in both her anxiety and the surge of protectiveness that had grown since the night she and Mirae finally cracked each other open. "Mirae, you're going to be the public face for a while. Foreign investment, rumors, press—all of it will come for you first. We'll keep the team close, double the security, but be careful. Whoever's behind that attack on your car, they're still out there, and I don't want you caught off guard. Promise me you'll stay sharp."

Mirae reached across the table and covered Harin's hand with her own—a simple, steady gesture that would have been impossible between them even a week ago. "I promise. I'm ready, unnie. Let them watch. Let them talk. I know who I am—and who we are." She flashed a smile, but there was iron underneath it, the kind of confidence that had always made fans believe in her. "Honestly, I trust you more than I trust myself, sometimes. And I trust Joon-ho." She nudged him playfully under the table with her knee, her eyes dancing. "But if this all goes viral and I get too famous, you two will have to take a number to see me."

Joon-ho smirked, pretending to be scandalized. "Oh, is that how it's going to be? I slave away to keep this ship from sinking and suddenly I'm waiting in line behind your DMs and fan café admins?"

Mirae giggled, then flicked her hair, putting on her idol act. "That's right. Maybe you'll get a lucky ticket for backstage access. If you're good."

Harin snorted, but she couldn't help the warmth that softened her expression. "If you get too big for us, I'm writing a tell-all memoir and cashing in."

They all laughed, the tension melting into something sharper and sweeter. The old rivalry between Harin and Mirae was still there, but now it hummed with challenge and camaraderie instead of barbed wire. They were teammates, but neither would ever stop fighting for Joon-ho's attention—and neither would ever let the other get swallowed by the darkness outside.

Joon-ho lifted his glass, eyes glinting. "Fine. Whoever gets the first scandal, breakfast is on me. But just remember—I'm impossible to embarrass."

Harin and Mirae locked eyes, twin sparks of trouble in their smiles. "We'll see about that," Mirae teased, and for a moment, there was nothing in the world but the three of them—hungry, unbreakable, and all in.

On the other side of town, Madam Ha-eun sat in a velvet-lined booth at a private club, Park Min-jae—the lawyer—by her side. Documents sprawled on the table, signatures and stamps piling up. Ha-eun signed with a flourish, sliding the last page to Park.

Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her smile growing sharp as a blade. The wire had hit. LUNE's "expansion fund" was real, and so was her cut.

"Tell the politicians dinner is back on," she murmured to her right-hand woman. "And get something expensive for the detective's wife. Rubies, not sapphires this time."

Park arched an eyebrow, but said nothing—knowing well enough not to question when money was moving and power was shifting. Ha-eun closed the folder and slid her phone across the table."Buy the new property in Apgujeong, and make sure the donation receipts look squeaky clean. The game's moving fast."

Back at Hanzenith, trouble was starting to seep in through the cracks. The compliance officer, pale and tired, sat hunched over a monitor in a dim office. A string of wire transfers—more than ₩13 billion—caught her eye. She frowned, clicking through vendor details, trying to match the names to any actual entity.

She hurried into Ji-hwan's office, folder clutched tight. "Sir, did you authorize this outflow to overseas vendors? These are all linked to entertainment IP and show no public record—no products, no offices—"

Ji-hwan's face darkened. "You questioning me?"

The officer hesitated, but stood her ground. "If we're flagged by the FSS, we could face criminal review. It's my job—"

He cut her off with a slash of his hand. "Your job is to make sure these files stay locked. No further questions. If I see another audit memo, you'll be cleaning out your desk. Now get out."

She retreated, but not before glancing at another compliance staffer in the hallway. Their eyes met, and in a whisper, the first doubt started to spread inside Hanzenith's walls.

The next morning, Mirae found herself flanked by cameras outside LUNE. Reporters swarmed, microphones out."Ms. Kwon! Is it true LUNE has foreign investors? What about the IP expansion? Is your agency for sale to the highest bidder?"

Mirae managed a confident smile, deflecting with practiced ease. "I'm just proud to be part of something growing. Our focus is on new projects and supporting artists. Transparency is important—watch for our announcements soon!"

She let the speculation swirl, giving nothing away but hope and a little mystery. Inside, Harin and Joon-ho watched from the window, both protective and a little amused. Mirae handled it like a pro.

That night, Baek Ji-hwan held court at a high-end bar nestled above Gangnam's neon canyons. The VIP lounge was washed in gold light, all velvet curtains and mirrored shelves stacked with liquor most of the city could only dream of tasting. Ji-hwan sprawled at the head of a private booth, half-empty bottle of whiskey forgotten beside his phone. The Arrowpoint Capital advisor sat across from him, eyes hungry and attentive, papers scattered between them.

Ji-hwan's voice was loud enough to cut through the low jazz. "You see what I've built here? I've got LUNE by the throat now." He drained his glass, slamming it on the polished table with a flourish. "Their next move is ours. Mark my words—by next quarter, they'll be signing everything over. IP, shows, sponsorships, their whole goddamn future. That little empire of theirs? Just waiting to be stripped for parts."

The Arrowpoint advisor leaned in, a hungry smile twisting his lips. "Brilliant work, Mr. Baek. You always know how to play the market—people and all."

Ji-hwan puffed up at the praise, waving his hand as if swatting away any doubt. "It's nothing. You grease the right hands, keep the regulators guessing, and feed the rumors just enough. The rest takes care of itself. Let them scramble for scraps. That clinic boy—what's his name—Joon-ho? He won't even see it coming."

Neither of them noticed the bartender quietly polishing glasses at the end of the marble bar, eyes down but ears tuned in. He was a fixture here—never talked much, always worked the closing shifts, always invisible. But tonight, every boast and every drunken confidence from Ji-hwan and his advisor was being quietly catalogued and relayed. When Ji-hwan's laughter finally faded and the table settled into talk of wine, the bartender slipped away for a moment into the back, texting a coded message to Madam Ha-eun's trusted line.

A single line, no names needed:"Your fox brags again. LUNE, Arrowpoint, next quarter—the wolves move at midnight."

By the time Ji-hwan ordered another round and the Arrowpoint advisor started plotting deals for Singapore, Madam Ha-eun's circle was already one step ahead, the jaws of the trap drawing ever tighter.

At LUNE HQ, the net closed. Joon-ho received a text:

LP review initiated. Hanzenith Capital flagged for due diligence—possible compliance breach.

He showed it to Harin. Su-bin entered, dropping a file thick with printouts onto the desk. "They made a mistake," she said, voice low and gleaming with satisfaction. "One of the shell accounts rerouted through a legacy vendor—too lazy to cover their tracks. We have a clean link to Hanzenith. All we need to do is pull."

Joon-ho allowed himself a rare, genuine smile. "Let him run. There's nowhere left to go."

Harin grinned, already prepping the next phase—a new set of bait documents, quietly prepared, fake projects spun with just enough truth to tempt anyone desperate enough to take another bite.

In a dark office, Madam Ha-eun's right hand relayed the latest: Hanzenith's shell companies were about to be flipped. Money moved faster than panic—if Ji-hwan tried to claw anything back, he'd be chasing ghosts.

Ha-eun sipped her drink, the city below a shimmering maze. "It's time to close the jaws," she whispered.

In a single night, all the traps snapped tighter, and the war for LUNE's future went from shadows to open hunt.

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