CHAPTER 217: CHAPTER 217: WINNER AND LOSER

Madam Ha-eun wore power like silk—smooth, expensive, unyielding. The private room she’d chosen overlooked the Han River, a wall of smoked glass reflecting Seoul’s glittering skyline, the city’s pulse humming below. Around the table sat two politicians, a lawyer, and a former prosecutor, all leaning in, hungry for a taste of her favor.

She sipped her whiskey, let the pause stretch. "Gentlemen, you know as well as I do that these scandals aren’t about guilt—they’re about perception. Hanzenith was reckless. That’s all. There’s no reason the city’s development plans should stall over one man’s mistake. Especially when the right partners are ready to step in."

She slid a folder across the table—deeds, contracts, lists of newly distressed assets up for sale, many already marked with her holding company’s watermark. The men leafed through them with practiced greed.

"Baek Ji-hwan will have to liquidate quickly. My terms are generous," Ha-eun continued, her tone velvet and iron. "And if the right stories circulate—he’s a tragic casualty, not a criminal—everyone saves face. Everyone wins." Her gaze flicked to the prosecutor. "You’ll take care of the media. The rest of you—just make sure the paperwork isn’t held up."

There were murmurs of assent. Promises were traded over glasses of single malt, and by the time dessert was served, Ha-eun’s web was knotted tighter than ever. As the men departed, she lingered by the window, phone in hand, texting her right-hand woman:

Proceed. Secure the Bundang lots tonight. Watch Ji-hwan’s people—make sure nobody tries to jump ship with inside info.

She smiled to herself as the city glittered. Another set of strings in her hand. Another enemy strangled by their own ambition.

---

Baek Ji-hwan barely slept these days. His office, once an arena of ego and ambition, felt more like a bunker—papers stacked high, screens flickering with urgent warnings, the air stale with anxiety and aftershave. His finance chief hovered in the doorway, eyes wary.

"Sir, the Bundang lots have multiple bidders. The offers are... lower than projected. But we have to cover the shortfall. Auditors are pushing for answers on the Singapore fund."

Ji-hwan snapped his pen in two, tossing the pieces at his desk. "Accept the highest. I don’t care if it’s a fire sale—just get them off our books. Move the rest through the Jakarta account and keep compliance out of it. And tell Legal to stall the press. I won’t be made a scapegoat for this."

The finance chief hesitated. "Sir, we should review—"

"Just do it!" Ji-hwan shouted, veins popping in his neck.

He turned back to his screens, desperate for any glimmer of hope. Each red number seemed to pulse brighter. Each new message brought more bad news—assets frozen, regulatory threats, rumors swirling about his personal conduct. His lieutenants began to avoid his gaze. Whispers floated through the corridors—how long before Ji-hwan lost control? Was it time to look for a new job, a safer ship?

He poured himself another drink, the amber liquid sloshing in his trembling hand. He dialed a private number, voice low and urgent. "You told me this would be covered. You said no one would dig this deep."

On the other end, the broker’s voice was smooth. "I’m just a messenger, Ji-hwan. The market has moved. There’s nothing personal here."

"Bullshit," Ji-hwan spat, rage barely held in check. "Who’s buying? Tell me who’s consolidating."

There was a pause, just long enough for dread to settle in. "Madam Ha-eun’s group is active. I’m sorry, sir. She’s not alone, but she’s the fastest."

Ji-hwan’s hand clenched so tight the glass shattered. "That bitch." He let the broken shards fall to the carpet, blood mixing with the whiskey. "You tell her—" But the line was already dead.

He hurled the phone at the wall, watched it burst into pieces, then stumbled back to his chair. He stared at the skyline, chest heaving, and for the first time in years, he felt hunted.

He’d built Hanzenith from nothing. He’d be damned if he’d lose it to a woman and a handful of snakes.

Ji-hwan drank alone, slouched in the ruins of his office. The walls seemed to close in, the screens blinking red and gold, the city beyond mocking him with every flicker. He signed the sale contracts with shaking hands, sweat beading on his forehead. It felt like an execution.

When his phone rang again, he ignored it. Let them fight over the scraps. Let them gossip and plot. He still had cards left—old debts, buried favors, secrets that could crack foundations.

But for tonight, he was tired. So fucking tired.

He thought of Seo Yura, the way she’d looked at him during divorce trial. He wondered if she was watching the news. If she mocked that he was falling.

---

At EON headquarters, chaos simmered behind closed doors. CEO Choi Sung-woo was a storm in a thousand-dollar suit, his anger radiating in every slammed drawer and barked order. The creative floor was silent, staff working with the nervous, hunched energy of prey.

Choi kicked open the conference room door, sending a stack of demos skidding across the table. "Which one of you idiots signed off on that song?" His voice was acid. "You know what happens when I look bad. When EON looks bad."

One of the junior producers, face pale and sweating, raised his hand. "Sir, the song was already pre-approved. You said to move fast—beat LUNE to market before they could—"

"I SAID TO MOVE FAST, NOT TO GET US SUED!" Choi roared. "I don’t pay you to get caught. You copied a song so obvious even the goddamn intern caught it!"

An executive assistant edged in, carrying a tablet. "There’s more, sir. The source we had in LUNE—the one flagging files for us—she’s gone dark. Last heard from three days ago. LUNE’s legal just served an intent-to-sue notice."

Choi’s face twisted. He swept an arm across the table, sending papers and coffee flying. "They found her. Of course they did. I told you to be discreet—now look at us. The press is circling, fans are calling us thieves, and you idiots can’t even keep a mole alive for more than a month!"

He paced, jaw clenched, eyes wild. "No more risks. No more leaks. We stay quiet, we ride this out, we keep every idiot in this building on a leash. Do you understand?"

There were scattered, fearful nods.

He stopped at the window, staring at the city below, knuckles white on the glass. "LUNE isn’t lucky. They’re just better at this than you are. Remember that. And if anyone here even thinks about jumping ship, I’ll make sure you never work in this industry again."

The staff hurried out, some too scared to look back, others quietly texting contacts, weighing their options. Loyalty had never meant less. EON’s confidence was shot, the cracks in the walls now wide enough for everyone to see.

Choi Sung-woo stared out at the dark city, chest heaving. His anger had curdled into something else—fear, maybe, or just the cold edge of uncertainty.

He picked up his phone, called a number only three people in Seoul knew.

"Stay low," he whispered when the voice answered. "LUNE’s watching. I don’t care how long it takes, but we’re not done. I want a new plan by next week."

He hung up, staring at his reflection in the glass, the city’s lights smearing into something ugly and restless. LUNE had won the day. But the night still belonged to men like him—men who didn’t quit, even after the mask cracked.

---

At LUNE, the mood was cautious but celebratory. The office buzzed with quiet laughter, soft music playing in the background. Harin and Mirae stood in the lounge, wineglasses in hand, eyes bright with the first taste of real victory.

"We did it," Mirae said softly, clinking her glass to Harin’s. "You did it."

Harin shook her head, but her lips curled. "Not yet. This is just a battle. The war keeps moving."

Mirae glanced around, her voice dropping. "You think they’ll try again?"

"Always. But let them." Harin’s gaze was fierce. "They’re predictable now. We’re not."

Joon-ho joined them, sliding an arm around each woman’s waist. "To us," he said. "And to whatever comes next."

They toasted quietly, the laughter genuine, the scars of the last months starting to fade.

---

Ha-eun watched the news from her suite, feet up on a marble coffee table, a second glass of whiskey at her elbow. The TV scrolled through headlines:

HANZENITH FIRE SALE—BILLIONS IN PRIME ASSETS MOVE TO NEW OWNERS

LUNE’S POWER SURGE—MUSIC INDUSTRY SHAKEN BY PLAGIARISM SCANDAL

CEO CHOI UNDER FIRE FOR EON’S STUMBLE

She smiled, slow and dangerous. Her phone buzzed—her broker confirming the transfer of three new properties, another message from a city councilman promising expedited permits. She replied with a single word: "Good."

From the corner of her eye, she caught her reflection in the window—luminous, sharp, untouchable. She didn’t believe in luck, only leverage. Joon-ho had played his hand well, Harin had proved herself shrewder than half the men in the room, and the money would keep moving as long as she kept the sharks fed.

She thought of Baek Ji-hwan, alone in his tower, grasping for control as his empire crumbled. She thought of Choi Sung-woo, screaming in his office, haunted by the ghosts he’d tried to plant in her world. And she thought, with a kind of affection, of the LUNE crew—messy, ambitious, hungry. Maybe they’d last. Maybe not. But tonight, the board was hers.

Winners and losers were just temporary.

The game, as always, was never truly over.