By the time morning sun slanted through the frosted glass of the Lumina office, the building hummed with the restless energy of reinvention. Seoul's fashion district stretched below—endless movement, delivery vans, neon ads promising impossible dreams—while up here, another kind of gamble was about to take its first breath. Joon-ho stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, city skyline at his back, straightening the cuffs of his new suit. He felt the edge of nerves, a rare thing for him. It wasn't about money, or even power. It was about stakes: everyone in this room had bet something vital on today.

Mirae was early, clutching a coffee she'd barely sipped. She wore no makeup but moved with the strange grace of someone who'd lived too long in borrowed skin—each moment an act, each smile a calculation. Still, her eyes were bright, darting from Joon-ho to Harin, to the doors where the others would file in. There was no point in pretending she was fine. The past week had been a fever of silence and speculation. Even now, her phone pulsed with unread messages: fans demanding answers, tabloids circling like crows, rumors mutating by the hour. Sugar daddy, secret pregnancy, illegal gambling ring—every story except the truth.

Harin arrived with a brisk nod, her own hair swept up, phone in one hand and a slim folder in the other. She gave Mirae a quick, genuine smile, a rare crack in her usually impenetrable shell. "Today is just the beginning," she whispered, handing off the folder. "If we get through this meeting, nothing will stop us."

Seo Hye-jin came next, in business casual but with a wary look around the office, as if she still expected an EON spy to pop out from behind a pot plant. With her were the new core recruits: the logistics manager, all sharp elbows and competence; the stylist, a vision in thrifted streetwear and an eye for everyone's flaws; the two social media specialists, both glued to their phones, thumbs darting as they monitored Mirae hashtags and group chat theories. They exchanged greetings, measured and cautious, but when Hye-jin introduced Joon-ho as "the one making all this possible," something subtle shifted—a ripple of respect, and maybe, beneath it, hope.

Park Jae-hyun entered last, still straightening his tie, carrying a slim briefcase. "All ready," he announced. "Paperwork is on the table. Registration will finish by noon. If you want to put this place on the map, today's the day."

They took their seats around the long conference table, Lumina's branding glowing softly in gold at one end. Joon-ho surveyed the group, letting the weight of silence settle until even the distant hum of the street faded.

"Thank you for being here," he began, voice steady, gaze circling the table. "This isn't just about saving face or dodging headlines. It's about building something real—something that will last. We're not running away from EON. We're starting over. LUNE is our answer."

He slid the thick stack of legal papers toward Park. "Name: LUNE Agency. CEO: Kang Harin." He gave Harin a nod, and for a moment she looked startled—then accepted, calm, focused.

Park began sorting through the documents. "Sign here. And here. Initial these… LUNE will be registered by end of business. Legally, you'll be operational tomorrow. I'll file these as soon as we're done."

Joon-ho passed the pen to Harin, who signed with a determined flourish. The others watched—some with visible relief, others with the wariness of old wounds reopening. Mirae signed last, the final mark sealing something that had been unthinkable only months before.

Park slid the paperwork back into his case. "I'll see you all at the launch. Congratulations. This… this is how you take control." He left with a faint smile, promising a call when everything was official.

Joon-ho turned to Hye-jin, voice gentler now. "Will you introduce your team?"

Hye-jin obliged, her tone proud but a touch defensive. "This is Choi Min-seok, logistics. He kept the EON tours running—he'll keep us on track. Ji-ae, stylist, if you want to look your best, she's your woman. And our media crew: Hana and Yul. They'll handle everything online—narratives, damage control, all of it."

Min-seok grinned, quick and businesslike. "I left EON for a reason. I'd rather build something new than keep fixing what's broken." Ji-ae appraised Mirae with a tilt of her head. "We'll find your new image. Nobody does reinvention like us." Hana and Yul waved, phones never leaving their hands. "Already planning the hashtags," Hana said, "and the apology posts—just in case."

Joon-ho smiled, tension finally easing. "We need you all. This isn't just about Mirae, though she's our shield. We'll protect her, yes, but we'll bring in others too. LUNE is real—our artists, our rules. Let's make that the industry standard."

Mirae looked up, her gratitude raw and unguarded. "Thank you. For not making me hide."

Harin straightened her stack of notes, taking the floor as CEO. "We're launching with Seoul Fashion Week. I've already confirmed the main runway slot for Mirae and Joon-ho. Our official agency announcement and model reveal will be simultaneous. It's risky, but if we pull it off, it's headline news—on our terms, not EON's."

She gestured to Hana and Yul. "You'll manage the media rollout. Control the narrative. We want the rumor to shift: Mirae isn't hiding. She's coming back bigger than ever. Teasers, countdowns, controlled leaks—get the fandom on our side. Flood the timeline, make the silence feel strategic."

She nodded to Hye-jin and Min-seok. "You two—endorsement leads. Build two lists: brands eager to work with us, and brands to avoid. If anyone tries to blacklist or sabotage us, I want to know now. Reach out quietly, feel out the ground."

Ji-ae perked up. "Wardrobe. Image. We'll need to meet with Lumina's designers this afternoon. No more 'tragic princess' for Mirae. Think rebirth. Think evolution."

Harin checked her phone, reading a message from Yura. "As agreed, I'll handle the official Lumina partnership. Yura is on board and wants to meet soon. And Hye-jin and I will contact Jina and Rina about joining LUNE. We need to expand our roster. Reach out to promising freelancers. We have to look big—even if we're still scrappy."

The group grew animated, throwing out suggestions, already brainstorming hashtags, color palettes, moodboards. The media team bickered over launch slogans. Min-seok started sketching a schedule for Fashion Week rehearsals. Ji-ae flipped open her tablet, taking notes on potential looks for Mirae's comeback. For a moment, the swirl of gossip outside faded—here, there was only momentum and purpose.

Amid the bustle, Mirae found herself exhaling, tension draining from her shoulders. She caught Joon-ho's eye. "I still don't know if I deserve this. All this hope."

He met her gaze, voice soft but sure. "You earned it the hard way. Now let us help you live it."

The logistics manager clapped his hands. "Okay, troops, let's get to work. Seoul Fashion Week is five days out. First fittings at two, comms meeting at three, and if anyone needs me, I'll be drowning in spreadsheets." Laughter broke the tension. For the first time since her debut, Mirae laughed with them.

The morning rolled on—phone calls, Google Docs, last-minute confirmations, one media specialist on the phone with a notorious K-pop leaker, wheedling for a "friendly" rumor drop. Someone ordered lunch and left it on the window ledge; people ate standing, still arguing over logo fonts and campaign taglines.

By early afternoon, the office felt like a real agency: the low buzz of work, the smell of coffee and fresh printouts, even a little friendly chaos. As the new team huddled for a group photo, Mirae stood at the center, self-conscious, but when Harin pressed her shoulder, she didn't flinch. The camera caught her with her eyes open and smiling, not performing, but present.

At the far end of the office, Joon-ho watched, letting himself believe. Harin handed him the first printout—LUNE's logo, crisp and bright. "We did it," she said.

"First step," he replied. "Let's make it count."

As the sun dipped over the city, the old world's shadows stretched long across the Lumina building. But in the heart of the office, in laughter, argument, and the promise of something unbreakable, LUNE's first day burned brighter than all the noise outside.

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