CHAPTER 209: CHAPTER 209: ISN’T OVER

The morning air inside Hanzenith’s headquarters was thick with panic, the usual self-assured hum of money and authority replaced by frantic footsteps, urgent whispers, and a chill that no one dared name aloud. Compliance officers darted between glass-walled offices with stacks of paperwork clutched to their chests. Legal counsel, faces drained of all pretense, barked into phones about warrants and emergency board meetings. There was nowhere to hide from the tidal wave of emails stamped with official government seals: the Financial Supervisory Service had launched a full investigation.

In his corner office, Baek Ji-hwan watched his kingdom tremble through mirrored glass. He snapped at his assistant to close the door, barked at the trembling finance chief for updates, then snatched his phone and dialed a string of numbers. Each call dead-ended: offshore legal teams not picking up, lawyers suddenly unavailable, even old contacts in compliance mumbling apologies before hanging up. He could see them all slipping away—each asset he’d hidden now a beacon for investigators.

A compliance officer appeared at the door, pale and sweating. "Sir, they’re asking for full records. There are urgent requests for access to every shell—"

"Delay them!" Ji-hwan snapped, slamming his palm on the desk. "Don’t give them a damn thing until I say so."

His legal chief leaned in, voice low, "We can’t stall forever. Some of the staff—some are talking to outside auditors. There’s... there’s talk about the entertainment fund and the Mirage accounts. We’re exposed."

Ji-hwan’s face twisted in rage. "Find out who’s talking. Freeze their access. If one more file leaks, you’re finished—do you hear me?"

The legal chief backed out, not daring to meet his eyes. In the hallway, staff huddled in corners, their voices a static of panic and accusation. Ji-hwan could almost see the walls closing in, his empire of smoke and mirrors dissolving as the first morning headlines hit the screens:

HANZENITH CAPITAL UNDER OFFICIAL REVIEW. OFFSHORE TRANSFERS FLAGGED. INVESTORS DEMAND ANSWERS.

Desperate, he tried to call the Mirage shell company, then Arrowpoint’s Singapore office. Only voicemails and polite refusals. He pounded out encrypted texts, demanding answers, demanding someone fix this, but every response was slow, frightened, or missing entirely. By noon, his overseas assets were frozen, his local accounts flagged, and every contact he thought he could trust was suddenly in the wind.

He spun back toward the city, watching Seoul’s towers glint with that cold, indifferent light. How many of his own staff were watching him now, waiting for the moment he stumbled? He slammed his fist against the glass, voice trembling with fury. "Traitors. I built this. You all think you can survive without me?"

But the only answer was the rising panic outside his door, the empire turning against itself in whispers and frantic, shifting eyes.

Across town, the atmosphere at LUNE HQ was electric—half relief, half disbelief, every screen in the building alive with news of Hanzenith’s implosion. In Harin’s office, the mood was equal parts adrenaline and exhaustion. Joon-ho paced near the windows, Mirae slumped in a chair, still catching her breath from the morning’s onslaught of calls and congratulatory messages. Harin stared at her phone, not quite daring to smile.

She let the silence stretch, then finally gave in, a grin spreading across her lips. "We did it. Hanzenith is burning. They’re investigating everything—shells, transfers, the whole network. This is... it’s actually happening."

Joon-ho leaned over, catching Mirae’s eye. "We’re not out of the woods. That kind of money doesn’t just vanish. And Ji-hwan’s the type to set the building on fire on his way out."

Mirae laughed—a shaky sound, but genuine. "Let him try. After what he did to us? I hope he chokes on it."

Harin’s smile faltered. "We need to stay sharp. The authorities might look at us too. Don’t say a word to anyone, not even friends. No statements, no interviews—nothing unless it comes from me."

Joon-ho nodded, gaze serious. "Security too. Mirae, you don’t go anywhere alone. Su-bin’s team is doubling patrols. If anything feels wrong, you call. Understood?"

Mirae mock-saluted, but her smile faded as she glanced at her phone—a string of missed calls from reporters and a few cryptic, unsigned messages. The world was watching, and the danger wasn’t gone, just changed.

Just then, Su-bin entered, her expression unreadable, carrying a folder marked with new surveillance stills. "Morning. I have an update—and it’s not all celebration."

Joon-ho straightened. "What is it?"

Su-bin dropped the photos on the desk. "We’ve got signs the assailant’s active again. Someone tripped our sensors on B2 last night—got through a service door with a cloned pass. Only reason they didn’t make it inside is because one of our night staff nearly ran into them. They ran, fast."

Harin frowned, tension seeping back in. "Any idea who?"

"Not yet. But they know the building. Too slick for a random hit. Could be tied to Ji-hwan, could be someone new trying to make their move while Hanzenith’s distracted."

Mirae hugged herself, a shiver passing over her skin. "So... it’s not over."

Joon-ho shook his head. "No. But now we know the stakes. And we’re not letting anyone inside these walls—not again."

As Harin rallied her team for another day of defense and counterattack, a very different scene was playing out far above the city’s noise.

Madam Ha-eun sat in a private club nestled behind tinted windows, the city’s evening traffic a blurred ribbon far below. She wore midnight silk, hair up in a lacquered chignon, every gesture precise, every word measured. Across the table, three men and a woman—political fixers, media liaisons, old allies—waited for her to speak.

Ha-eun set her phone down, a tiny smile curving her lips. "The time is right. Hanzenith is wounded, and those who want a piece should act now. Support LUNE’s public projects, block Ji-hwan’s men wherever you find them, and keep your hands clean. I’ll handle the rest."

Her right-hand woman slipped a thin folder across the table. "We’ve accelerated the transfers. We’ll have the new properties under your name by tomorrow morning, and the charity routes are set up."

"Perfect," Ha-eun murmured, eyes gleaming. "Remind everyone—the more chaos, the easier it is to pick up pieces. If anyone tries to slow us down, buy them. If you can’t buy them, distract them."

One of the men spoke up, cautious. "And the authorities?"

Ha-eun’s smile didn’t waver. "They’re focused on Hanzenith now. By the time they look here, the money will be elsewhere. We keep our noses clean, our friends happy, and our options open."

As the meeting dissolved into whispered agreements and promises, Ha-eun sat back, toying with her wineglass, her gaze on the city beyond. She knew Joon-ho thought he could predict her—but even he hadn’t guessed just how deep her ambitions ran, or how easily she could switch allegiances when the wind changed.

At Hanzenith, Ji-hwan’s world unraveled with every passing hour. Messages from his shell companies returned with new warnings:

Funds frozen. Regulatory hold. Further activity will be reported.

He fired off messages to Arrowpoint and every advisor he still trusted, demanding someone fix the problem—someone unfreeze the accounts. But every answer was evasive, every voice cautious or outright absent.

He stormed through his office, tearing open drawers, hunting for files he’d hidden, his paranoia finally boiling over. He snapped at anyone who looked at him, convinced everyone was a traitor—every whisper a plot, every silence an accusation.

In the finance department, staff hunched at their desks, whispering about early departures, slashed bonuses, and empty promises. More than one eye flicked to the elevators, as if expecting the police to arrive at any moment. Loyalty had curdled to fear; the first signs of revolt simmered in every uneasy glance.

In the thick of this chaos, LUNE’s offices glowed with tense energy. Harin, Joon-ho, and Mirae watched news feeds as Hanzenith’s story dominated headlines. Every time an update flashed—another freeze, another investigation—the tension would rise, then break into nervous laughter or relief.

But even in celebration, wariness lingered. Harin checked her phone obsessively. Su-bin prowled the building, security staff at her side, reviewing logs and camera feeds for any sign of the mysterious assailant. Mirae fielded dozens of media requests and messages from fans, putting on her idol smile, even as her eyes darted to every shadow in the hallway.

Joon-ho kept his voice steady, but every touch—on Mirae’s shoulder, on Harin’s back—held a promise: no one would slip through again. "We hold tight, we stay together. That’s how we win this."

Up in her suite, Madam Ha-eun fielded texts from realtors, politicians, and newly enriched donors. She’d spent years building a web, and now she pulled the strands tighter—new properties in her name, gifts to friendly officials, discreet thank-yous to anyone willing to turn a blind eye.

Her right hand appeared in the doorway. "Everything’s moving, Madame. You’re on track to double your holdings this quarter. And Ji-hwan’s people are already knocking on our doors."

Ha-eun smiled, sipping her tea. "Let them. As long as I’m the one writing the checks, they’ll follow my lead. And if Joon-ho gets clever, well... he’s used to fighting in the light. I prefer the dark."

For a moment, she let herself savor the feeling—unstoppable, untouchable, the city hers to command.

Evening settled over LUNE like a velvet shroud, the first hints of rain tapping at the windows. Harin was the last to leave, locking her office and waving to the last straggling staff. She checked her phone one more time—a single, new email blinking in her inbox, no subject, no sender.

She hesitated, then opened it.

The message was brief, cold as ice:

THE GAME ISN’T OVER. YOU THINK YOU WON. WATCH THE DOOR. THE NEXT MOVE IS MINE.

She stared, pulse pounding, reading it over and over. No trace, no hint, just a promise—one that carried the chill of a new enemy, or an old one reborn.

Downstairs, Joon-ho and Mirae waited, chatting softly as Harin emerged. She forced a smile, but the shadow of that email lingered behind her eyes.

"Something wrong?" Joon-ho asked, sharp.

She shook her head, lying to keep them calm. "Just tired. Let’s go home."

The night outside felt different now—danger coiled just out of sight, waiting to strike. And as the lights of LUNE’s tower flickered against the rain, the war for their future was only just beginning.