CHAPTER 218: CHAPTER 218: CHART BREAKERS

The countdown had started hours ago, but the tension in LUNE’s main office was just starting to boil. It was dusk, but no one was thinking about the city lights outside or the early winter air. Mirae paced back and forth behind the sofa, phone in hand, refreshing, biting her lip. Jina, legs folded, sat cross-legged at the end of the coffee table, headphones around her neck, pretending to be calm and scrolling memes, but her foot tapped out a frantic rhythm on the floor.

Hye-jin hovered near the snack bar, hands wrapped around a paper cup, eyes flicking from her phone to the large flatscreen on the wall, where the streaming dashboard glowed with anticipation. Harin kept her seat by the window, notebook open but ignored, every muscle tight. The whole place buzzed, the core staff pressing in with nervous, hopeful energy.

"Two minutes," Jina said, glancing up at the clock and grinning at Mirae’s agitated shuffle. "You’re going to wear a hole in the floor."

"I can’t help it!" Mirae whined, tucking her hands into her sleeves. "This is the first single. Our single. What if no one listens?"

Hye-jin burst out laughing, half from nerves, half from exasperation. "Sweetie, we could release you humming in the shower and the internet would lose its mind."

"It’s not about that," Mirae protested. "It’s about LUNE. It’s about us. I want people to see it’s real, not just another agency product."

Harin finally looked up, her voice gentle but edged. "It will be. It already is. But let’s see what the numbers say, yeah?"

The timer ticked down, voices dropped to whispers. Someone killed the music. All the screens in the room switched over to the charts and streaming sites, countdown clocks, YouTube premiering, the comments already exploding in anticipation.

Then, all at once, the single dropped.

For one suspended moment, everything stopped—no one spoke, no one breathed. Then the numbers began to roll in: ten thousand, twenty, fifty. The chat rooms flooded. Comments flew so fast the moderation AI threw up its hands and surrendered.

Mirae stared, wide-eyed. "Oh my god. That’s... that’s a lot, right?"

Jina barked a triumphant laugh. "You just broke your own old record. Look at this—trending in three categories, and it’s not even midnight!"

The staff exploded into cheers. Someone popped open a bottle of sparkling wine from the mini fridge. Hye-jin wiped away a sudden tear, half-laughing at herself as she hugged Mirae around the shoulders.

"You did it," she whispered fiercely. "We did it."

Beneath the avalanche of notifications, the data was unmistakable: the song was a hit. It was playful, bright, festive—just the right amount of sparkle for the city easing into Christmas. Within twenty minutes, TikTok clips using the chorus were popping up everywhere. Covers, dance duets, and memes bloomed like wildflowers. The office was a riot of relief and pride, people high-fiving, calling friends, staff from the marketing team sticking their heads in to shout the latest numbers.

Jina, who’d lived through more flops and flashes-in-the-pan than anyone else in the room, watched the climb with the careful eye of a pro. "If this keeps up, you’ll break the top ten by Christmas, easy. Don’t let it get to your head, though. This is just the first push. It’s about keeping the momentum."

Mirae flopped onto the couch, letting the tension bleed out in a full-body sigh. "Is this what it’s always like?"

Harin smirked, finally letting herself exhale. "No. Sometimes it’s much, much worse. But this? This is what we built LUNE for."

The cheers subsided only slightly when Min-ji, ever the opportunist, burst through the door, phone held up. "What are you all doing in here? We’re trending in six countries and not a single one of you is live with fans? Unforgivable."

Mirae covered her face, mortified. "I’m not camera-ready!"

Jina threw a pillow at her, grinning. "You’re always camera-ready. Besides, that’s the point—fans want the real you. Let’s do it. I’ll handle the dance challenge, you handle the chaos."

Min-ji wrangled the studio team, commandeering the backup room for a pop-up livestream. She set the ring light, directed staff to toss holiday props in the background, made Jina fix Mirae’s hair, and threatened the marketing team into prepping the official LUNE social channels.

"Everyone ready?" Min-ji called out, already switching to host mode, eyes bright with that influencer’s buzz for numbers. "Okay, live in three, two..."

The screen filled with hearts and shoutouts before the girls could even say hello.

Mirae’s nerves evaporated under the flood of encouragement. She and Jina thanked the fans, laughed over the chaos in the office, answered questions about the song and its meaning, and riffed with Min-ji about holiday plans. Hye-jin sent in stories from behind the scenes; Harin, off-camera, trolled the chat with in-jokes about Jina’s cooking and Mirae’s snoring. Even the IT guy was caught in the comments, joking about the servers sweating more than the staff.

As viewership climbed, Min-ji checked her phone and grinned at the others. "Looks like we’ve hit a plateau—unless we give them something extra. You know what the fans want?"

Jina rolled her eyes. "A dance challenge?"

Min-ji laughed. "No. They want a Coffee Prince sighting."

The chat immediately caught fire: WHERE’S JOON-HO? WHERE’S OUR PRINCE? SHOW US JOON-HO! Half the top comments were memes of his last rare public photo. Harin, reading from the doorway, couldn’t resist—she darted into the hall, caught Joon-ho just as he stepped out of his last late-night client, and stage-whispered, "You’re coming on camera. Your fanclub will riot if you don’t."

Joon-ho groaned. "I’m sweaty. I have client oil on my shirt."

"You could show up naked and they’d still go wild," Harin deadpanned, pushing him into the studio.

The moment Joon-ho’s face appeared on the livestream, the chat detonated. Fans spammed hearts, emojis, and confessions. "COFFEE PRINCE!" "He’s alive!" "We missed you, oppa!" "Marry me!!!" "Jina, Mirae, move over!"

Jina leaned into the frame, adopting a faux-serious tone. "There he is, folks—the elusive Joon-ho, more popular than all of us combined."

Mirae grinned, eyes sparkling. "Should we just let him take over the livestream?"

The chat went wild with "YES!" and "NOOO, stay!" Min-ji fanned herself dramatically, joking, "My career is over. Joon-ho has more fangirls than all of LUNE combined."

Joon-ho took it in stride, waving, thanking the fans for their support, and teasing Mirae and Jina about their "world domination" ambitions. Hye-jin sent in a coffee emoji; the Coffee Prince fanclub’s legendary admin, @unholynuna, started a call for new Joon-ho content. Someone joked about auctioning off his used clinic towels for charity. Mirae almost choked on laughter.

"Okay, okay," Joon-ho protested. "I’ll show up for more streams—if Mirae and Jina hit #1 on the charts. That’s my deal."

The chat made promises it couldn’t keep, but the mood was euphoric. Jina taught Mirae the chorus dance, both laughing so hard they collapsed against each other. Min-ji closed the stream with a toast, waving at the camera: "Thank you, everyone! This is just the beginning!"

They cut the feed, collapsing in a heap on the studio floor, sweat and adrenaline and laughter in the air. Outside, the office had already started planning the next wave—press, sponsors, collabs, a thousand new possibilities.

Harin found Mirae in the quiet afterward, curled up on the window seat, face glowing in the city lights. "Proud of you," Harin said softly.

Mirae smiled. "Of us. It’s all of us, unnie."

Jina joined them, still catching her breath. "I haven’t seen numbers like this since my old group. And I was the ’problem child’ back then. This—this is different. Feels real."

Hye-jin called everyone together for a final group picture—team, staff, anyone still awake and buzzing. The photo would go up on every channel by sunrise: LUNE’s first big win, a holiday anthem, a new family formed by grit and a little luck.

Min-ji, always on, started pitching collab ideas on the spot. "We need to do a follow-up stream—maybe a holiday baking show? Or a dance challenge with fans. Or—wait—international fans, let’s get subtitles—"

Harin’s phone pinged with a new message—a sponsorship inquiry from a major cosmetics brand. Mirae glanced at her own, eyes widening as she read:"International label interested in holiday collab. Please advise availability."

Jina hooted, shaking her head. "You two are going to be too busy for sex at this rate."

Mirae and Harin exchanged a look, then laughed, rolling their eyes. "We’ll make time," Mirae insisted. "We always do."

Joon-ho poked his head in. "What’s this about sex and schedules?"

"None of your business," Jina shot back, waving him away as the girls cackled.

The office slowly emptied as midnight crept over Seoul, but no one wanted to leave, as if breaking the moment would wake them from a dream. The single trended all night; the fan videos, the memes, the remixes never slowed.

At sunrise, with the city dusted in frost and possibility, LUNE’s banner hung higher than ever—proof they could build something of their own, that hope, hustle, and a little mischief still counted for something.

For now, that was enough.

But as always, success was just the next beginning.