CHAPTER 211: CHAPTER 211:UNDER THE SURFACE

The city was winding down, but in the new apartment—just below Joon-ho’s clinic and a short elevator ride from LUNE’s offices—the world felt suspended in its own hush. Mirae padded barefoot across the wide plank floor, the hem of her navy silk slip brushing the tops of her thighs. She’d thrown a big sweater over it for warmth, but the moment she stepped into the living room and saw Harin curled on the couch, she shrugged it off with a smirk.

"Hey, unnie, you want tea or wine? I can’t tell which kind of night it is." She held up two mugs—one dainty, one ridiculous, shaped like a bear.

Harin, legs tucked under her, glanced up from her phone. She wore a matching set, elegant but practical, pale rose lace against her skin. "Wine, I think. If I have to answer one more email, I’ll need something stronger, but let’s start slow."

Mirae poured the wine, handing Harin the bear mug just to see her roll her eyes. For a few minutes, the quiet was companionable—sprawled on opposite ends of the sofa, the TV flickering soft blues and golds in the corner.

But tension crackled between them, leftover electricity from the day’s spotlight. Mirae couldn’t sit still; her mind was racing, fingers drumming on the glass. "Today was fucking insane. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many cameras pointed at me since the finals last year."

"You looked like you loved it," Harin said, voice mild but edged. "Maybe a little too much."

Mirae bristled, but the smile stayed on her lips. "I did love it. We built something real, unnie. Don’t you want to show it off? I say we let fans into rehearsals—let them see the work. Hype is everything. LUNE’s got a shot to be huge, but only if we act like we belong at the top."

Harin set her mug down, fixing Mirae with a look that would have cowed most people. "I do want to show it off, Mirae. I want the world to see LUNE for what it is. But I don’t want us to lose it to carelessness. We’re still vulnerable. I’ve got a dozen emails from investors and three from the board reminding me what’s at stake. We can’t afford another scandal or a security slip, not now."

Mirae’s jaw set stubbornly. "What’s the point of building something if you never take risks? We can’t play scared forever. We survived Hanzenith—we can handle EON, trolls, whatever. The more we let them see us, the harder it is for them to tear us down."

"You say that now." Harin’s voice was low, weary. "But you didn’t see the threats that came in after that warning email. ’Watch the door,’ they said. ’The next move is mine.’ I’m not letting that be you, Mirae. Not you, not anyone on my team."

The silence stretched, charged. Mirae pulled her knees up to her chest, eyes bright and defiant. "I can take care of myself. I don’t want to live scared, and I don’t want to hide in your shadow, either. We’re not kids. I can lead, too."

Harin let out a breath. "I know you can. I just wish you’d slow down enough to think two steps ahead."

They glared at each other for a moment, both unwilling to back down. Then, just as quickly, Mirae huffed a laugh and reached for the remote. "Fine. But when you’re proven wrong and my livestream breaks the internet, I’m making you buy the drinks."

Harin managed a half-smile. "If your fans crash the server, I’ll be too busy firing our IT team to buy anyone a drink."

Mirae flopped back onto the couch, stretching so her bare legs grazed Harin’s. "Admit it, you’re glad I’m here. The old LUNE was boring as hell."

Harin didn’t answer, but she didn’t move away either.

The door opened and Joon-ho appeared, wearing loose drawstring pants and a white T-shirt, hair mussed from a late shower. He blinked at the pair sprawled on his couch, then grinned. "Did I walk into a truce, or should I leave you two to work it out?"

"Come here," Mirae said instantly, patting the space between them. "You’re the only one who gets to vote on what happens next."

He sat down, wedged between the girls, and instantly felt the heat. "What are we fighting about?"

Harin shot Mirae a glare that was half affection, half warning. "She wants to livestream rehearsals. I want to not get sued by our insurance provider or assassinated by crazed ex-fans."

Mirae gave Joon-ho her best wide-eyed look. "We need to show the world how hard we’re working. Let people in. Isn’t that what you always told me—be honest, be real?"

Joon-ho considered. "Transparency is good. But Harin’s got a point—there’s a target on our backs. Maybe there’s a compromise. What if we do a members-only preview? Paid access, extra security, no public stream. Limited risk, maximum hype."

Harin nodded slowly, chewing her lip. "I could live with that. I’ll talk to the IT team. And security—nothing goes out unvetted."

Mirae leaned over, pressing her side into Joon-ho’s, eyes dancing. "See? Problem solved. You should sit between us more often, oppa. We might actually take over the world."

He rolled his eyes, but Mirae could feel his pulse picking up beneath his skin. Harin, for her part, was watching them with an expression that was impossible to read—equal parts exasperation and something sharper.

They drifted into lighter topics. Mirae teased Joon-ho about his morning hair; Harin complained about the PR firm’s color palette for the next campaign. At some point, Mirae curled against Joon-ho’s side, feet in his lap, playing up her cuteness. Harin responded by leaning in from the other side, pretending to reach for the remote but letting her hand linger on his thigh.

The air in the apartment was thick with that competitive edge—the rivalry now openly playful, almost flirtatious. Joon-ho, for all his calm, looked a little dazed by the attention.

Mirae turned, her voice low and deliberately sweet, her fingertips skimming along Joon-ho’s thigh beneath the blanket. "You know, unnie’s been all work lately. She probably needs someone to remind her how to have fun." Her hand crept higher, teasing, nails lightly scratching at the edge of his waistband.

Harin bristled, refusing to be outdone. She leaned in, her arm sliding behind Joon-ho’s shoulders as she pressed herself against his side, her own hand gliding down his chest to his abs. "If you’re volunteering, don’t let me stop you, Mirae. But remember who gets to call the shots around here." As she spoke, her palm flattened over Joon-ho’s stomach, just above where Mirae’s hand lingered.

Joon-ho snorted, unable to hide his amusement—or the way his cock twitched under the double assault. "You two need a ref. Or maybe a time-out."

Mirae’s laughter bubbled over, bright and wicked. She shifted, straddling Joon-ho’s lap, her slip riding up to her hips, her warmth pressing against his growing bulge. "No, we need a prize. Something worth competing for." She reached down, not at all subtle, and let her fingers brush over the outline of his cock through his pants, her gaze daring Harin to do better.

Harin’s gaze flicked to Joon-ho, then back to Mirae, lips curving into a slow, predatory smile. "You’re not getting him just because you’re louder." She leaned forward, cupping Mirae’s breast through her slip, squeezing just enough to make Mirae gasp, then turned and caught Joon-ho’s mouth in a rough, claiming kiss.

Joon-ho groaned, his hands finding both of them—one sliding up Harin’s thigh to her ass, the other curling around Mirae’s waist, squeezing her closer. Mirae’s nails dug into his chest, breathless with excitement.

Mirae grinned, cocky, refusing to lose ground. "Watch me." She leaned in and kissed Joon-ho too, tongue playful, fingers working his waistband open just enough to make him hiss with pleasure.

For a moment, all three were tangled together, hands and mouths wandering, rivalry bleeding into a wild, breathless hunger. The laughter and teasing never stopped, but now every word was an invitation—every touch a dare to see just how far they could push before the game turned serious.

And Joon-ho, caught deliciously in the middle, realized he wouldn’t mind being their prize at all.

The tension spun out, warm and electric, neither woman quite willing to back down or give in, both content to keep the game going just a little longer. Joon-ho, caught in the crossfire, simply let himself enjoy the attention, even as he sensed the rivalry running under the surface of every smile.

Later, as the city’s lights dimmed and the last trains rattled away, the three of them lingered—legs tangled, laughter echoing off the high ceiling, ambitions and desire both quietly burning.

When Harin finally got up to refill her mug, she paused by the kitchen island, looking back at Mirae and Joon-ho. Her voice was soft but sure. "We’re going to build something that lasts, all of us. Even if we fight along the way."

Mirae nodded, eyes meeting Harin’s with an honesty that felt like a rare gift. "I wouldn’t want it any other way."

Joon-ho smiled, content in the center of the storm. "Good. Because the world’s not ready for us, not even close."

They settled into the night, the edge of rivalry softened but never dulled, the promise of what was coming next hanging in the air—a future built not just on talent or ambition, but on the friction and fire that only true partners—and true competitors—could create.