Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

Morning sunlight spilled through the revolving doors of the Grand Meridian, casting patterns across polished marble floors and reflecting off a sea of wheeled suitcases and sleek leather boots. The lobby buzzed with the measured chaos unique to Seoul's fashion week: managers juggling schedules, idols trailed by stylists, coffee carts doing brisk business at every corner. Camera shutters clicked, laughter and chatter echoing off glass and steel.

At the center of the swirl, Hye-jin was all purpose and momentum—a dark blazer over crisp lines, phone pressed to her ear as she issued brisk instructions to someone at EON. Her eyes, though sharp and intent, kept darting back to Mirae, who waited quietly beside an oversized suitcase. Even after everything, Hye-jin's protective instincts showed in the smallest things: the way she checked that Mirae's water bottle was full, that her bag's zipper was closed, that she wasn't forgotten in the shuffle.

"You're in good hands now," Hye-jin said, finally ending her call. She moved in and pulled Mirae into a quick, tight hug—just long enough for comfort, not long enough for sentimentality to turn into tears. "But text me if you need anything. I'll handle EON."

Mirae nodded, feeling the weight of Hye-jin's words settle around her like a warm shawl. "Unni, are you… really leaving today?"

Hye-jin gave her a quick, reassuring smile. "There's too much to do to waste any time. Besides—" Her gaze flicked to Joon-ho, who was quietly reviewing a folder of documents nearby. "You'll be fine. He's stubborn but good-hearted. And you'll have Harin. That woman would kidnap you if you tried to hide."

That made Mirae laugh despite her nerves. She glanced at Joon-ho, who caught her eye and winked, making a "fighting!" fist with a crooked grin.

With a last, quick check of her phone—her fingers flying across the screen as she fired off messages to half a dozen contacts—Hye-jin stepped back. Her expression shifted: no longer just Mirae's guardian, but someone on the verge of a new campaign. She was already texting former colleagues, her posture crisp and sure, her mind racing ahead to recruitment, resignations, and the quiet war she was about to wage against EON's empire.

As she strode toward the exit, Hye-jin turned for a final glance. "Remember, Mirae. Don't let anyone treat you like you're small. You're not."

Mirae's reply caught in her throat, but she bowed deeply, gratitude shining in her eyes.

"Hey!" A sudden, laughing voice cut through Mirae's reverie. Before she could react, a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind—a hug that was more ambush than embrace, squeezing her tight enough to make her yelp.

"H-Harin!" Mirae gasped, twisting around in the other woman's grip.

Kang Harin beamed at her, eyes sparkling. Where Hye-jin radiated measured discipline, Harin was all mischief and warmth, her cropped jacket and ripped jeans a direct challenge to the formality of the lobby. "Caught you! I was starting to think I'd have to chase you down in the parking lot."

Joon-ho looked up from his papers, his brow quirking with amused resignation. "You're early, Harin."

Harin shrugged, still not letting go of Mirae. "I couldn't wait. Besides, the sooner I steal your star artist, the less trouble you'll get into, right?"

She finally released Mirae, only to stand beside her with a proprietary air. Harin's energy was infectious, a counterpoint to the uncertainty that had been gnawing at Mirae since Hye-jin's announcement. Harin shot Joon-ho a teasing grin. "Sorry, agency boss. Your precious rookie is off-limits tonight. Girls' orders."

Mirae flushed, half-embarrassed, half-amused. She ducked her head, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Joon-ho feigned a sigh, but his eyes were gentle. "I suppose I'll survive."

Harin winked at Mirae, her tone conspiratorial. "We've got a strict no-boys policy for tonight. Trust me, you'll have more fun than you think."

As they moved away from the check-in counter, Harin pulled out her phone and nudged Mirae with her elbow. "Check this out," she said, swiping open a group chat.

The "Touch Therapy Girls" chat was alive with a flurry of notifications. At the top, Seo Yura had posted a neatly organized itinerary—location, dress code ("Casual! No heels!"), and a menu heavy on comfort food and Yura's favorite imported wines. Jung Min-kyung had responded with a barrage of memes and GIFs, including a suspiciously accurate drawing of what she called "Joon-ho's sad face when left out."

In between, Mirae caught a video selfie from Yoo Ji-hye, grinning from a sun-drenched Dubai sports hall, volleyball in hand.

"Sorry, can't make it! Kill a bottle for me. Mirae, you better survive these wolves. I'll interrogate you next week!"

Harin scrolled through the messages, reading them out with exaggerated voices, making Mirae giggle. "Tonight is for us girls," Harin declared. "Yura's hosting, and she's promised not to talk about work more than half the night. Min-kyung's bringing a stack of games. We'll talk, we'll eat, we'll spill secrets. Maybe we'll even put on face masks and scare each other. You in?"

Mirae hesitated, a knot tightening in her stomach. She glanced between the lively chat and the circle of new faces it represented. "I… don't know what to bring. I've never done this before."

Harin nudged her, her voice suddenly soft. "Just bring yourself. If you want to pick up snacks, Yura's got a list, but honestly, she over-caters anyway."

Mirae's anxiety flickered, surfacing in a rush of questions: Would they accept her? Was she an outsider, a charity case, someone the others tolerated because of Joon-ho? She bit her lip, looking at her shoes.

Joon-ho, sensing her hesitation, stepped closer. His tone was low, gentle. "They'll love you, Mirae. Just be yourself. You already won over the hardest one." He nodded at Harin, who made a face in mock indignation.

"Hey! I'm not that hard to impress. Anyone who can survive Hye-jin's glare and still walk straight deserves a medal."

Mirae smiled, shy but blooming. "Okay… I'll try."

"Atta girl." Harin gave her a light squeeze on the shoulder, then checked her phone again as another burst of notifications came in—Min-kyung, apparently, had just discovered an embarrassing old music video featuring Yura and was threatening to bring a portable karaoke machine.

The last traces of formality faded as Harin looped her arm through Mirae's. "Come on. If we're late, Yura will make us do a group selfie for her feed—and nobody wants to be immortalized with morning face."

Mirae let herself be led, Harin's banter easing her nerves. They passed through the hotel's automatic doors, the autumn air outside bright and brisk. For a moment, Mirae felt weightless, caught between the world she was leaving and the one opening ahead.

Joon-ho lingered behind, hands in his pockets, watching the two women disappear into the crowd. His heart swelled with conflicting emotions—pride, watching Mirae grow beyond the shell he'd first met her in; amusement at Harin's irrepressible spirit; a faint ache at the sudden quiet left in their wake.

For all his careful planning and ambition, this was the part he couldn't control: the way people bonded, drifted, found each other. It felt like handing off a torch, not just to Mirae, but to a new generation of women who'd carry each other forward.

In the lobby's fading echo, he caught a last glimpse of Mirae and Harin—heads close together, laughing about something he couldn't hear. It was enough.

Behind them, Hye-jin stood on the curb, already dialing another number, her eyes fixed on a future only she could see. In a group chat miles away, Yura was plotting the evening's entertainment, Min-kyung was gathering new memes, and Ji-hye was sending a string of encouraging emojis.

And somewhere between the parting and the promise, Mirae took her first steps—not as someone's shadow, but as a part of something all her own.