Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

The air in the Lumina conference room was thick with tension and anticipation. Portfolios, mood boards, and tablets lay scattered across the polished glass table, evidence of weeks of preparation and panic. But at the center of it all, Min-kyung sat upright, no longer the playful, pouty woman who clung to Joon-ho in the clinic. Here, her back was straight, her expression sharp, and her voice carried the confidence of a woman who had bent New York, Paris, and London to her name.

"Alright," she began, her fingers gliding across the screen of her phone. "We can't waste time. For the female lead, I considered Han Se-ri. She has the body, the reputation, and her face fits the fresh theme I'm pushing."

Before she could finish, Yura cut her down with a cold flick of her hand. "No. Se-ri is poison. Too much of a princess. Attitude problems on every set, every campaign. Do you want photographers walking out mid-shoot?"

Min-kyung's lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't argue. She simply swiped to the next file. "Then Park Do-jin for the male. Strong jawline, good physique, international recognition."

"Cheating scandal," Yura replied immediately, voice flat. "The divorce isn't even finalized. Half the public hates him. He'll drag Lumina's name into mud the moment he steps on stage."

Min-kyung exhaled through her nose, her irritation visible only in the way she tapped her screen a little harder than necessary.

The staff, sensing the space to intervene, began timidly offering their own ideas.

"What about Ji-hoon?" one suggested.

"Playboy," Min-kyung shot back instantly. "His Instagram is nothing but clubs and women. No discipline."

"Chae-rin?" another ventured.

"Slutty image," Min-kyung dismissed without hesitation. "Sexy, yes, but that doesn't translate to a runway presence. Fashion Week needs aura, not just curves."

The names kept coming. Each was struck down like flies. Too lazy. Too sleazy. Too scandal-ridden. Too artificial.

Min-kyung's critiques were merciless but precise, her eyes narrowing as she explained her reasoning. "He's lost his body tone; it shows in photos. She can't even walk in a straight line on a runway, let alone command it. Him? He's a glorified influencer with no professional credibility. And her? Just a body with no artistry. A dress can't live on flesh alone."

Silence spread, thick and awkward. Staff members shifted in their seats, their earlier eagerness drained. Every option seemed to crumble under Min-kyung and Yura's combined scrutiny.

Min-kyung leaned back, her expression unreadable. "This is why Lumina falters whenever the wrong names get pushed forward. You can't buy freshness. You can't buy youth."

She steepled her fingers. "The theme is summer and fresh. Clean, alive, blooming. The faces must radiate it. We're not selling sex. We're selling vitality."

A murmur of agreement rolled across the table, but no one dared suggest another candidate.

The room was stuck.

Harin sat quietly near the end of the table, trying to ignore how small she felt in the sea of executives and designers. She had no right to be here—she was just Joon-ho's assistant, pulled along into Lumina's world. But as she watched the paralysis grip the room, something stirred in her chest.

She raised her hand tentatively.

All eyes snapped toward her. Min-kyung blinked. Yura's brow arched.

"Yes?" Yura said, her tone both curious and dangerous.

Harin swallowed hard, but her voice was steady when she spoke. "What about… Kwon Mirae?"

A ripple ran through the room.

Several staff immediately perked up, nodding. "That could work." "She's trending right now." "The public loves her."

Min-kyung's eyes narrowed as she scrolled quickly through her phone, pulling up Mirae's latest campaign images. She studied them in silence, her designer's gaze dissecting every detail—body proportion, posture, facial expression, the elusive aura captured in a single photo.

Then she smiled, slow and satisfied.

"Yes," she said firmly. "Perfect. Kwon Mirae is a national sweetheart. She has innocence, freshness, and her body proportion is flawless. Her image is on the rise, and she's still untarnished by scandal. On the runway, she'll shine."

The tension in the room eased instantly. Heads nodded, pens scribbled, whispers of approval passed between staff.

Harin felt her face heat as Min-kyung turned her sharp gaze toward her, lips curling in the faintest smirk. "Good eye," she said.

For the first time since the meeting began, Harin felt like she belonged at the table.

But the relief didn't last long.

"Now," Min-kyung continued, her serious tone returning, "who will stand beside her?"

The question dropped like a weight.

The room stilled again. No one dared suggest a name after the brutal culling they had witnessed. Mirae was secured, but the male slot remained a minefield. Every candidate was either scandal-ridden, overexposed, or wrong for the theme.

The silence stretched painfully. Even Min-kyung, so sharp moments ago, tapped her nails against the table in thought.

Then Yura's voice cut through, calm and absolute.

"Joon-ho."

Every head snapped toward him.

"What?" a staffer whispered.

"The male model will be Joon-ho," Yura repeated, her gaze locked firmly on him. Her voice held no trace of doubt, no room for argument.

The room erupted in stunned murmurs.

"Who is he?" "I've never heard the name." "He's not in the industry—"

But Yura silenced them with a single look, her authority pressing down like iron.

Joon-ho, for his part, did not react. He sat as he always did, calm, unshaken, his dark eyes meeting Yura's with the faintest flicker of something unspoken.

The storm of whispers continued around him, but he remained still—like the eye of the hurricane that had just been unleashed in the room.

The conference room buzzed with disbelief. Pens clicked nervously, chairs creaked, whispers darted like nervous fish.

"Did she just say—""—him? The therapist?""Who even is he?"

A few staffers, bolder than the rest, craned their necks openly at Joon-ho, assessing him. Their eyes traveled over his broad shoulders, the controlled posture, the calm, unreadable expression. Some frowned skeptically. Others nodded, grudgingly impressed by what they saw.

"He has the physique.""Manly enough, yes…""But zero background, no media exposure. Can the press even accept him?"

Min-kyung broke into a laugh that sliced through the mutters. She slapped her forehead lightly, shaking her head in mock frustration. "Why didn't I think of it? Of course it should be him. Look at him—he's cool, strong, masculine without being brutish. He fits the theme better than anyone we've named."

Her eyes sparkled as she leaned toward the table. "And with Mirae? Oh, the pairing is perfect. His grounded strength against her innocent freshness. I can already picture the adjustments I'll make to the cuts of the suits and dresses."

A murmur of reluctant agreement rippled around the room.

Still, doubts lingered. "But he's an unknown," one staffer said cautiously. "The lead male model at Fashion Week is a huge spotlight. Journalists will demand his resume. His background."

"He's Yura's choice," another whispered back, already resigned. "That's all the resume he needs."

Yura rose smoothly from her chair, her presence commanding enough to choke the room back into silence. "It's settled. Kwon Mirae and Joon-ho will be the leads. Make arrangements immediately—schedules, fittings, press strategy. I expect proposals on my desk within twenty-four hours."

The tone of her voice left no room for argument.

"Yes, Madam Seo," the staff chorused, already scrambling to their feet. Notes were gathered, phones whipped out, emails drafted before they even left the room. Within moments, the storm of activity had swept out into the corridor, leaving only Yura, Min-kyung, Harin, and Joon-ho behind.

Yura turned toward him with a faint smile. "Come. We'll talk in my office."

The private office of Seo Yura was a different world. While the conference room screamed corporate efficiency, her office exuded personal power: floor-to-ceiling windows framing Seoul's skyline, a wall of rare books and luxury perfumes, an antique desk gleaming with polish.

The moment the door shut behind them, Yura's mask slipped. She crossed the room in quick strides and wrapped her arms around Joon-ho, pressing her face briefly to his chest.

"Do you mind?" she asked softly, her voice stripped of the iron edge. "I had to block them, and you were the only one I could trust with this."

His hand brushed her back in a grounding gesture. "I don't mind. If you need help, I'll do it."

Relief flickered across her face before she let go, regaining composure.

Min-kyung, of course, wasted no time. She slid in between them with a playful grin, hugging Joon-ho from the side. "See? She's monopolizing you again. But I won't lose."

She pouted up at him, then turned and waved dramatically at Harin. "Come on, don't just stand there. You're part of this too."

Harin blinked, then laughed, a little embarrassed. "What, are we having a group hug?"

"Yes," Min-kyung declared. "Mandatory."

Shaking her head, Harin stepped forward and joined, looping her arms lightly around the cluster. For a moment, the four of them stood together in the middle of the office—an odd little constellation of lovers, allies, rivals, and friends.

The world outside might have seen them as business titans and public figures, but here, for a heartbeat, they were simply people bound to Joon-ho in different ways.

Yura was the first to step back, smoothing her dress as she returned to her desk. The softness vanished; the CEO was back.

"There's a reason I chose you," she said, her gaze steady on Joon-ho. "That lead slots has been under siege for weeks. Every sponsor tried to push someone in—actors, idols, sugar babies, even their mistresses. If I let one through, the others would riot. They'd try to buy our runway, and Lumina's vision would be torn apart by greed."

Her lips curled faintly. "So I killed the game. I put you there. No one can argue—not when you're mine to put."

Joon-ho nodded once, unflinching.

"As for Mirae," Yura continued, her tone sharpening, "she'll agree the moment she hears your name. That girl would follow you into fire."

Harin smiled faintly at that—she knew Mirae's feelings were no secret.

"But her agency," Yura went on, tapping her pen against the desk, "is another matter. They're supportive, yes, but notorious for overworking their talent. They'll resist freeing her schedule, even for Lumina, unless pushed."

She leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing. "I'll negotiate with them directly. But pressure from Mirae herself will make the difference."

"Maybe…" Harin ventured, hesitant but bold enough to speak, "…maybe I or Joon-ho can reach out to Mirae. If she pushes from her side, her agency might bend faster. Especially if she makes it clear she wants to stand with him."

Yura considered her with a slow nod. "Not a bad thought. Mirae's voice carries weight in her own agency, but only if she insists." Her gaze slid back to Joon-ho. "And she will insist—if it's you."

Min-kyung laughed lightly, draping herself over the arm of the sofa. "Looks like you're about to break another girl's schedule, daddy. Better get used to it."

Harin swatted her shoulder, half-exasperated. "You talk too much."

"And you blush too much," Min-kyung teased back.

Yura ignored them both, her focus fixed on Joon-ho. "The runway won't just be a show this year. It will be a war. And with you at the center, I intend to win."

Her words hung in the air like a vow, the skyline of Seoul gleaming behind her as though to witness it.

And Joon-ho, calm as ever, simply inclined his head.