The news had detonated across the group chat like a bomb made of glitter and filth.

The moment Yura dropped the sonogram—cropped artfully with her delicate fingers and a single, smug caption: "Guess who's really calling him Daddy now?"—all hell broke loose. Harin's reaction was first, of course, spamming the chat with three dozen peach and squirt emojis. Min-Kyung followed, shrieking in all caps about "MILF UPGRADE UNLOCKED," and Mirae, as always, kept it cool, simply sending a tiny heart and, "Congrats, unnie. So happy for you."

But it was Ji-hye's video call from Brazil that set everyone laughing: she popped in with a towel over her head, streaming sweat from practice, yelling "I'm missing EVERYTHING, don't you DARE do the first baby party without me!"

Yura sprawled on the living room couch, phone in one hand and a bowl of sliced fruit in the other, smirking at Joon-ho as he passed with two bottles of sparkling water. The city glowed outside the window—Seoul at midnight, alive and bright, but the only world that mattered was the one buzzing in her palm.

Mirae:I want dibs on godmother. Sorry, rules are rules.

Min-Kyung:We need a group dinner. Next week. My place or riot. I'll wear the filthiest dress in Korea—if your fetus can survive my cleavage, it's invincible.

Harin:We're doing a spa day before, right? I want to see Daddy in a robe massaging Yura's feet while we drink champagne and talk about who's next.

Yura grinned and flicked the phone at Joon-ho, who leaned over her shoulder to read, the heat of his body pressing into her back.

"Daddy's gonna be busy," she said, eyes wicked. "The girls are demanding a party, a spa day, a ritual sacrifice—"

He rolled his eyes, grinning as he kissed her temple. "As long as I get to eat cake off you, I'll survive."

She reached up, dragging him down for a deeper kiss, humming into his mouth. "You might need to work on your stamina, Daddy. There's a lot of girls to satisfy, and apparently, I'm high-maintenance now."

He nipped her bottom lip, hands cupping her cheek. "I'll take care of you. All of you. But you—" his gaze softened, thumb tracing her jawline, "—you're my number one now. You're carrying my baby. I want you to rest. Let them fuss. Delegate. I don't want you burning out, not when we're starting a family."

Yura's eyes blurred for a second. The idea of family—a real one, with her at the center, not just a prop for someone else's ambition—was still new, still fragile. But she nodded, letting herself lean into his chest.

"I never thought I'd have this. Not after everything. Not at my age. Not with you." Her voice was small, honest. "But I'm so fucking happy, Joon-ho."

He squeezed her. "Me too. You and me, babe. And our chaos harem."

The phone vibrated again—Min-Kyung posting a selfie in a towel, hair wild, tongue out, middle finger up.

See you all Friday. No excuses. Harin's bringing soju, Mirae's bringing sanity, I'm bringing a new sex toy for the baby to chew on. Deal with it.

Harin:DIBS ON DADDY'S LAP FIRST

Mirae:Yura gets Daddy's lap. We get the rest.

Yura:He's got enough lap for all of us, trust me ;)

The chat devolved into filthy GIFs, inside jokes, and one very explicit meme of a baby bottle photoshopped onto Joon-ho's cock. Yura howled, nearly dropping her fruit, while Joon-ho blushed, but looked more pleased than scandalized.

He kissed her forehead. "You should nap, troublemaker."

She yanked him down beside her, curling into his side, their phones buzzing with the unending chaos of their found family.

On the other side of the world, Ji-hye sat in the fluorescent-lit hallway outside the volleyball training center, clutching her phone to her chest. Her teammates thundered past, shouting Portuguese, hips swaying, faces lit with the wild hope of a night off.

Coach Min's voice boomed down the corridor. "Team meeting in five! No one late, or you're running suicides before bed."

Ji-hye groaned, tucking her phone away and slipping into the conference room. The walls were plastered with tactical charts and inspirational quotes in three languages. She found a seat near the front, pulling her knees up and listening as the coaches reviewed the week's training clips.

Coach Min—her mother—stood at the front, laser pointer in hand, running through individual stats and team drills. "Great hustle this week, everyone. Ye-rin, your right knee is still an issue. I want you in the rehab pool tomorrow, no argument. If you want to play offense in the Olympic qualifiers, you need to be bulletproof, understood?"

Ye-rin, bandaged and defiant, nodded. "Yes, Coach."

The assistant coach flicked through video of their last scrimmage, pausing to highlight errors and praise big plays. "We're flying back to Seoul the week before Christmas. Don't party too hard before then—I want everyone rested and healthy."

The room exploded in cheers—everyone shouting about Christmas plans, boyfriends, and binging k-drama in their own beds. Ji-hye smiled, warmth prickling at her chest.

Ye-rin turned, grinning. "Ji-hye, your man's is available, right? Think you can get me a spot for physio? My knee's killing me."

Another teammate chimed in, "Nobody's hands are as good as Joon-ho's. My calves haven't been the same since that last tournament."

Ji-hye laughed, but inside, her chest tightened. "I'll try to book you in, but you know how busy he gets. I have first dibs—girlfriend privilege."

The room whooped and jeered, mock-complaining about unfair advantages, a chorus of "Ji-hye, tell him I'll pay in cake!" and "I'll owe you a week of laundry duty!"

Coach Min snorted, eyes rolling. "You can all fight for spots later. Joon-ho's not join until March for official team duty, but if you're nice, maybe he'll squeeze you in for a private session. Otherwise, stick to the program. No one gets special treatment—except maybe my daughter, but only if she makes her serves."

Everyone laughed. Ji-hye ducked her head, cheeks warm, pride and possessiveness tangling inside her. It was sweet—everyone wanted him, but he was hers, even when she was half a world away.

When the meeting broke, she lingered, sending Yura another private message:Save me a spot at the celebration. I miss you all like crazy. And tell Daddy he's got a lot of making up to do when I get home ;)

Back in Seoul, the group chat was still pinging with chaos as Yura got ready for bed. She padded to the bathroom, peeling off her shirt, pausing in the mirror to study the new curve to her belly—so slight, it could've been a late-night snack, but now she knew better.

She smiled at her reflection, traced her skin with gentle fingers. The world outside was a war of deadlines and headlines, but here, in the hush of her apartment, it was just her, her baby, and the certainty that she wasn't alone.

Joon-ho came up behind her, arms slipping around her waist. "You okay?"

She leaned back, head on his shoulder. "Yeah. Better than okay."

He watched her in the mirror, expression soft, almost reverent. "You're beautiful."

She laughed. "I look like I've been hit by a bus."

"You look like the mother of my child," he whispered, kissing her neck. "And I want to keep you safe. Promise me you'll let your team at Lumina take more. You don't need to do everything anymore."

She nodded, tears pricking. "I promise. I'll try."

He spun her gently, pressing her to the counter, hands splayed over her hips. "You don't have to be strong all the time, Yura. Let me take care of you."

She pulled him close, lips hungry, hope surging through her veins. "You'd better. You've got a lot of girls to keep happy."

He grinned against her mouth. "Challenge accepted."

Friday night arrived too fast. The private room at Seoul's trendiest fusion joint buzzed with anticipation. Min-Kyung was first to show, hair in a wild chignon, lips blood red, dress cut to scandalize. Harin strolled in with a soju bottle in each fist, Mirae behind her in an understated silk top, grinning like a fox. Yura and Joon-ho arrived last, Yura glowing in a soft, body-hugging sweater, barely hiding her bump.

"Look at this goddess!" Min-Kyung screamed, sweeping Yura into a hug. "I swear you're more radiant every time I see you. Is it the dick or the fetus?"

"Both," Yura shot back, deadpan, and everyone howled.

Harin demanded Joon-ho open the soju. "Do it, Daddy, show us those hands." She winked at Mirae. "I bet he could open more than bottles, huh?"

Mirae rolled her eyes, but her smile was sly. "He's got magic hands. You should see him with a pressure point."

Yura slumped into a chair, letting the girls fuss over her, piling food onto her plate. The banter flowed: filthy, affectionate, relentless. Joon-ho poured drinks, took selfies with each of them, accepting every joke, every lewd comment.

Min-Kyung raised her glass. "To Yura. For finally making an honest man out of Daddy. And to all of us—may we always eat, fuck, and celebrate together."

They drank, the room filling with laughter, the warmth of found family shimmering between them. Even with Ji-hye video-calling in, the group felt complete—connected by screens, by memories, by the tangled web of need and want and loyalty they'd spun together.

Later, as the plates emptied and the alcohol burned pleasantly, Harin leaned into Yura, voice low. "You really happy, unnie? For real?"

Yura nodded, eyes shining. "For the first time. It's messy, and it's insane, but it's ours. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Joon-ho reached for her hand under the table, squeezing tight. Around them, the girls plotted future weekends, spa trips, double dates, and baby shopping. For one perfect night, nothing else mattered.

Outside, Seoul roared on. Inside, in that golden-lit room, they carved out a world for themselves—a little wild, a little wicked, but real. And for Yura, that was enough.

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