CHAPTER 215: CHAPTER 215: BAIT AND SWITCH

NOTE: Next Chapter 216 is a bit dark and there’s an element of forcing as it is interrogation, please skip the Chapter if you don’t like it. It won’t mess with the story progression.

I put it here so you don’t need to purchase Chapter 216 if you don’t want it and skip ahead.

Su-bin’s eyes were hard, flat with satisfaction, as she slid the folder across the desk to Harin and Joon-ho. "You were right to be suspicious," she said. "Here’s the chain."

The dossier was thick, but the digital summary on her tablet was cleaner. She tapped through: dummy corporations, offshoots, shell accounts—all tracing back to one well-hidden subsidiary of EON, buried under three layers of legal insulation and a meaningless English name. "The proposal looked clean. But the money, the contacts, and—" Su-bin zoomed in on a metadata field—"the IP logs all run through the same virtual private network node as EON’s overseas PR office. Same as two other ’random’ offers we rejected last week. The fingerprints are there."

Joon-ho gave a low whistle. "And our dear assistant?"

"Not just involved—she’s been prepping files, forwarding internal notes, pushing this proposal for days. She even flagged it as a ’must-approve’ in the project tracker."

Harin’s jaw tightened. There was anger, but also relief. The suspicion that had crawled along her nerves for weeks finally had a face, a name. "We catch her leaking—then what?"

Su-bin shrugged, deadly calm. "Let’s make sure it’s a leak first. If it is... I’ll handle the rest. Quietly."

For a long moment, Harin just stared at the screen, all the victories of the past week flickering through her mind. None of it would mean anything if they were gutted from the inside.

She looked up, resolve hardening. "We turn it around on them. Give her a rope, let her tie the noose herself."

The private meeting room was warm, cozy, sunlight pooling over scattered coffee cups and lyric notebooks. Jina and Mirae sat across from Harin, an undercurrent of nervous excitement buzzing between them. Harin laid it out without drama, just facts.

"This isn’t just about one mole," she said quietly. "It’s about setting an example. We’ve tracked the offer—EON’s behind it, buried under their usual bullshit. My assistant’s been passing information out. So we’re going to flip the script."

Jina was first to grin, quick and feral. "You want us to bait them?"

"More than bait," Harin replied. "We’re going to give them something so tempting, they can’t resist. A track that’s close enough to a trending hit, it’ll get flagged instantly if it leaks or gets released. And we’ll make sure our mole is handling every piece—demo, schedule, file transfer. Meanwhile, we’ll make a real single in parallel—no one but us and Su-bin touches it."

Mirae’s eyes sparkled with wicked intelligence. "And when they run with the bait, EON gets hit for plagiarism? The assistant eats it, EON eats it, and we walk away clean?"

Harin nodded. "That’s the plan. You both okay playing a little dirty?"

Jina laughed. "It’s the music industry. If you’re not dirty, you’re dead. Besides, I owe EON for every bullshit contract they ever tried to screw me on."

Mirae nudged her, their bond easy and strong. "I’m in. And don’t worry, unnie—next time we have a go at Joon-ho, you’re the one who’ll be begging for mercy."

Jina whistled, delighted. "Wow, are all LUNE meetings like this? No wonder the company’s taking off."

Harin just rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched. "Just remember, girls, the real competition isn’t for me. It’s for him. And neither of you is ahead by much."

They laughed together, nerves loosening. Even under threat, they’d become family, rivals, partners in mischief.

Later that afternoon, the plan rolled into motion. Harin called the full project team together in the main studio: herself, Mirae, Jina, and her assistant, who arrived with her tablet, crisp and businesslike, hair in a tight bun.

Harin outlined the "big" new project—a pop single, Jina and Mirae together, fast-track for a summer release, heavy radio push. She assigned the assistant to handle all recording logistics and file management for the "main" track, giving her full access and authority to organize schedules, upload demos, handle the storage drives, and communicate with producers.

The assistant’s eyes gleamed—more excited than nervous. "I’ll keep everything locked down and moving on schedule," she said. "Should I liaise with the PR team as well? Pre-release teasers, maybe a leak to influencers?"

Harin pretended to consider. "We’ll talk about it after the first demo. For now, keep it under wraps—just make sure nothing leaks."

As the assistant took notes, Mirae and Jina exchanged a secret look. Harin moved smoothly on, outlining the "real" project—handled offline, in a separate studio, encrypted files, only Mirae, Jina, and a trusted engineer present. No digital communication, no advance sharing.

They started writing the bait track together that afternoon—pulling up reference tracks, zeroing in on a global chart-topper everyone recognized. The chords, melody, even some lyrics were close enough to catch the ear of anyone in the know. "Make it obvious, but not so obvious we get hit ourselves," Harin cautioned.

Jina laughed, spinning in her chair. "Don’t worry, I’ve had enough producers rip me off to know exactly how close we can get."

Mirae laid down scratch vocals, nailing the hook with a sly wink at Harin. "This is too much fun. Almost makes me wish I was actually on EON’s roster—just for the drama."

Harin grinned. "Be careful what you wish for. You might end up starring in their next apology video."

By the end of the session, the assistant had all the "dangerous" files, the schedule, and every reason to pass them on to EON—whose music division had a long history of rushing "leaked" tracks out before competitors could go public. Jina and Mirae worked late, recording the genuine track on the side, completely offline, every note secured by Su-bin’s private cloud and a chain of custody so tight even Harin’s lawyer couldn’t break it.

As the clock struck midnight, they gathered in the lounge, sipping on leftover wine, debriefing the day. Mirae sprawled across the sofa, Jina curled up beside her, Harin perched at the edge of an armchair.

"Here’s to fucking over EON," Jina toasted, raising her glass.

Mirae clinked hers back. "And to outsmarting snakes everywhere."

Harin smiled, the knot in her chest easing for the first time in days. "We’re not finished yet. Now we watch."

For the rest of the week, the tension simmered under every interaction. Harin’s assistant worked overtime, logging long hours in the studio, sending polite check-ins, running digital backups—always offering to "help" with everything, even tasks outside her lane. She pushed hard for early release plans, hinting at "strategic leaks" to build hype. Harin played along, watching carefully.

Meanwhile, Mirae and Jina threw themselves into the real recording, their voices blending, lyrics sharp and fresh—nothing borrowed, nothing stolen, just raw talent and hunger. They even worked out choreography, letting themselves imagine the single’s launch, the fans’ reaction, the headlines that would follow.

But the bait was irresistible. By Thursday, Harin found a message from her assistant forwarding the "demo" to an external email, complete with metadata pointing back to EON’s PR pipeline. Su-bin, watching every byte, smiled grimly. "The hand is in the cookie jar," she muttered. "Now we wait for them to bite."

On Friday, the news dropped. EON’s main music channel announced a "surprise comeback" by their in-house diva, with a snippet of a "new" single—melody and lyrics lifted nearly note-for-note from the track Mirae and Jina had "recorded" for LUNE. It took exactly four hours for fans to point out the plagiarism, linking it to a recently trending global hit. By the end of the day, #EONPlagiarists and #JusticeForLUNE were both trending.

Harin called an emergency meeting with her assistant, who showed up pale and sweating, her confidence crumbling. The evidence was bulletproof. She’d handled every file, every transfer, left digital prints everywhere. Su-bin watched the confrontation from the corner, arms folded, letting Harin take the lead.

"I want the truth," Harin said, voice like steel. "Who else is involved? And how much did they pay you to sell us out?"

The assistant’s face went pale, but she straightened her spine and tried to bluff it out, shaking her head as the evidence piled up. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyone could have forwarded that file. This is a misunderstanding, I swear—there must be some mistake in your system—"

Harin didn’t bother to answer, her gaze flat and cold. Su-bin’s lips curled in a smile that never reached her eyes. "You’re coming with me," she said quietly, already reaching for the assistant’s arm.

The woman tried to pull away, but Su-bin’s grip was iron. "We’ll have a chat. Don’t worry—I’ll let Harin know if you actually have anything useful to say."

She marched the struggling assistant out of the office, her voice low and dangerous as she whispered in her ear. "You might want to remember everything, because this is your only shot at mercy."

Harin watched them go, her pulse still thundering. For now, the threat was contained, but she knew Su-bin would do whatever it took to get the truth—one way or another.

That night, Mirae and Jina celebrated in the studio—playing the real track at full volume, dancing in the glow of victory. Jina wrapped Mirae in a hug, both of them breathless and wild.

"Next time, you get to bait the snakes," Jina teased.

Mirae just grinned. "Next time, I’m winning every round. In music—and in bed."

Jina rolled her eyes, laughing. "You two are hopeless. But I love it."

Harin watched from the doorway, pride and relief and a quiet, simmering fury all tangled together. They’d survived another attack—but the war for LUNE was far from over.

In the city beyond the glass, the sharks were still circling. But for tonight, they were the ones holding the knife.