NOVEL NEXT Chapter 147: New Ground
The sunlight in Joon-ho's apartment was golden and bold, slanting across the kitchen's warm wood and turning Harin's hair to fire where it caught the rays. The table was scattered with the remains of their breakfast: empty mugs, toast crusts, a nearly-gone bowl of fruit. From somewhere down the hall, the faint scent of fresh laundry mingled with brewing coffee, creating a bubble of domestic peace—one that felt both new and heartbreakingly fragile.
Harin was perched on the kitchen counter, knees drawn up to her chest, scrolling absently through the notifications on her phone. She'd dressed in an oversized sweatshirt of his and little else, her legs bare and marked here and there with fading red from where he'd gripped her last night. The sight made Joon-ho smile privately as he moved around her, refilling her mug and brushing a hand lightly over her ankle in passing.
She looked up, caught the softness in his gaze, and rolled her eyes—but her smile was lazy, full of the kind of contentment that only happened when the world outside was very far away.
"Stop looking at me like that, oppa," she teased, the word carrying both affection and a challenge.
"Like what?" He leaned against the counter opposite, folding his arms. "Like you're the most beautiful thing in the room? Guilty."
Harin grinned, but her ears went a little pink. "You say that now, but wait until you see me stress-eat half a cake at lunch."
He shrugged, playing along. "I'll just have to eat the other half. We'll call it team building."
She laughed, and the sound filled the kitchen, mingling with the city's quiet weekend hum. There was something easy about their morning—something that reminded Harin how far she'd come from the version of herself who'd never let a lover see her before coffee, let alone without makeup, hair undone.
After a beat, she sobered a little, the weight of the week settling onto her shoulders. "So what's on your agenda, really? Any hero work today? Clinic emergencies? Girlfriend rescue missions?"
He made a show of checking his phone, then shrugged. "Not a thing. For once, I have nothing planned. Which is weird. I keep waiting for someone to call me in to fix a dislocated shoulder, or drag me off to a boardroom disaster."
She snorted. "If anyone tries to take you away today, I'll bite them. Today is ours."
He grinned, loving her fierce streak. "Yes, boss."
She looked at him, searching, then reached out—her fingers curling over his wrist, thumb stroking his pulse point. "Joon-ho… do you think we're actually ready for this? The agency, I mean. It's a lot. And if we drag Mirae in, it's not just a fun side project anymore. It's her life. Her future."
He was silent for a long moment, the weight of responsibility threading between them. "I know. That's why we need her—and Hye-jin—to see it with open eyes. No secrets. No promises we can't keep."
Harin nodded, pulling out her phone. "Then let's do it. Lunch, somewhere nice. She deserves to feel like a VIP, even before she's signed. And Hye-jin needs to know we're serious, not just playing house."
He watched her tap out a message—her fingers flying, her brow furrowed in concentration. He was struck, not for the first time, by the gap between her public and private selves. The girl who could command a room of designers, models, and managers was the same one who curled up with him on quiet mornings, hair mussed, voice soft with hope.
She glanced up, catching him staring. "What?"
"Nothing. Just… thank you. For believing. For being here."
She softened, letting her head fall to his shoulder. "You make it easy. Well—easier, anyway. If you were a pain in the ass, I'd have run for the hills by now."
He nuzzled her hair, breathing her in. "Liar. You'd have dragged me with you."
They sat that way for a while, the silence companionable. Eventually, her phone pinged, and she straightened, reading aloud: "Mirae says yes. She's free at noon. Hye-jin too. Looks like we're a go."
He exhaled, some tension he hadn't realized he was holding releasing. "Great. Now the only challenge is booking somewhere that isn't crawling with reporters or idol-chasers."
Harin waggled her brows, triumphant. "Leave it to me. Yura unnie's got connections at the Meridian. Private café, killer pastries, insane view. If I ask, the manager will roll out the red carpet."
He tried to look impressed, but couldn't suppress a smirk. "I'm lucky I have you. Otherwise, this would be a team meeting at the nearest Paris Baguette."
She flicked his arm. "Please. You'd try to book a love motel and call it 'intimate.'"
He feigned shock, but then burst out laughing, the sound bright and unguarded. "I would not. Maybe… Okay, maybe once. But only for budget reasons."
They fell into a comfortable rhythm—clearing dishes, making a fresh pot of coffee, checking the day's headlines. The anticipation built quietly between them, a sense that something real and permanent was taking root, right there in their shared morning.
As Harin dressed for the day—choosing a sharp pantsuit over her usual weekend jeans—Joon-ho found himself watching her, seeing the CEO emerge from the woman he'd held naked in his arms an hour before.
"You nervous?" he asked, handing her a mug as she fussed with her earrings.
She looked at him in the mirror, her reflection both fierce and vulnerable. "Terrified. But that's normal, right? Big things should scare us. Otherwise, they're not worth doing."
He smiled, pride and affection warring in his chest. "You'll be brilliant. You always are."
She finished with her makeup, then turned to him, arms open. He stepped into her embrace, holding her close, grounding them both.
"Ready?" she whispered.
He kissed her temple. "With you? Always."
They left the apartment together—shoulders squared, hearts steady—stepping into a future they would shape, side by side.
In the elevator, Harin sent a quick text to Mirae and Hye-jin: "See you soon, VIPs. Lunch on us. Dress like you belong in a power drama."
Joon-ho peered over her shoulder, grinning. "You know, you might scare them off before they even get to the cake."
She slipped her hand into his. "If they run, they're not cut out for this business."
He laughed, letting her lead him out into the bright Saturday morning, the city buzzing with possibility. Whatever came next—risk, reward, heartbreak, or triumph—they would face it together.
And for the first time in a long while, that felt like enough.
The glass doors of the Grand Meridian Hotel swept open with a hiss, letting in a spill of warm spring sunlight and the faint perfume of lilies that floated in from the lobby's massive flower arrangements. Harin and Joon-ho strode through the marble atrium, the world outside left behind as they ascended in a private elevator, side by side, shoulders brushing in the mirrored capsule.
On the 38th floor, the Meridian's café was all velvet and glass, sunlight pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows and painting the tables gold. The hum of the city was distant, muted by thick glass and even thicker carpets. Waiters glided between tables, their uniforms sharp, their movements practiced. The clientele was a parade of old money and new fame—art collectors, junior chaebols, influencers, starlets. But today, all eyes shifted, subtle but unmistakable, as "Coffee Prince" entered.
The hotel manager, a slim man in his forties with an immaculate part in his hair, hurried to meet them. "Director Kang, Mr. Kim—thank you for joining us. Your table is prepared, with extra privacy as requested. We'll ensure your time here is… undisturbed."
He offered a bow, and Harin, already in her "CEO" mode, gave a nod of thanks, slipping effortlessly into the role. She squeezed Joon-ho's hand as they followed the manager across the café—past a few clusters of whispering women, their phones half-hidden, their gazes flicking up, down, up again.
Someone at the next table gasped, just loud enough to be heard. "Is that him? The Coffee Prince from Café Days?"
Another girl, cheeks red, snapped a photo under the table, trying (and failing) to be discreet. Joon-ho caught the flash in the reflection of a gold-rimmed mirror. He arched a brow at Harin as they settled into their plush semicircle booth.
Harin grinned, clearly delighted. "Look at you. You can't even go for cake without causing a stir." She lowered her voice, mock-scolding. "Should I get a leash, or are you planning to bring home a few new sisters for me today?"
He played along, voice low and teasing. "That depends. Would you prefer fashion models or just the massage clients? The staff might riot if I'm gone too long."
She nudged him under the table with her knee. "Behave. I'm still getting calls from your clients, demanding to know when their favorite therapist is reopening shop."
He put a hand on his heart, feigning innocence. "Soon as Fashion Week ends. But since you're about to be agency CEO, I'm going to need an assistant—or three. You'll be far too busy bossing me around."
Before Harin could reply, the manager returned with menus, beaming at them. "We've arranged for the private alcove, as requested. May I recommend our new desserts? The lemon cloud cake is especially popular on social media."
Joon-ho smiled, politely declining the menu. "We're expecting two more. Could you bring coffee and water first?"
"Of course. If you require anything else, please call." The manager left with another respectful bow, but not before eyeing Joon-ho with open curiosity.
As the manager departed, Harin leaned in, eyes dancing. "You realize you've become the most eligible bachelor in the Seoul café scene. Should I be worried about a fan club invasion?"
He laughed, brushing a stray hair from her cheek. "Maybe. But I'm more worried about surviving a lunch with three power women plotting my career for me."
She rolled her eyes but her smile was fond. "That's right, oppa. Just remember, CEO or not, you're still on my team."
They relaxed into the plush seats, sinking into the rare feeling of being somewhere both luxurious and protected from prying eyes. Joon-ho looked out the window, tracing the Han River far below, the city a blur of motion and possibility.
A short while later, Mirae and Hye-jin arrived—together but moving at slightly different speeds. Mirae, dressed for anonymity in a simple trench coat and oversized sunglasses, scanned the room with practiced caution before peeling off her disguise to reveal a carefully curated, almost businesslike poise. Hye-jin, sharp in navy, her manager's badge visible only to those who knew where to look, hovered close—a shield, but also clearly exhausted.
Their arrival brought another low ripple of interest from nearby tables, but Harin waved them over, breaking the tension.
"Mirae! Hye-jin! Over here—don't worry, we're safe from paparazzi. For now."
Mirae relaxed by degrees as she slid into the booth next to Harin, Hye-jin opposite her. The four formed a small fortress of trust and anticipation, a rare island of privacy in the world's most public city.
Joon-ho, his voice gentle, started, "Thank you both for coming. I know it's risky—"
Mirae shook her head, her tone warmer than her nerves let on. "If you and Harin are running point, I'll take the risk. I've trusted you both with worse."
The tension ebbed, replaced by a sense of purpose—what had started as a luxury lunch was about to become something much more: the first move in a new kind of war.
The manager brought their coffee, and as the cups were placed and hands curled around the porcelain warmth, Harin glanced at Mirae, then at Hye-jin, her voice low, her words both invitation and promise:
"Let's talk about the next chapter. This is more than a lunch—it's our line in the sand. What do you need to feel safe? What would make you believe in this agency, and in us?"
The sunlight was sharp on the windows, and beyond the glass, Seoul carried on, unaware that in one sunlit alcove, four people were beginning to rewrite the rules.