Chapter Text
The cityscape had transformed. Glass towers stretched toward the sky, slicing clean lines across the horizon like the ambitions of the people who built them. One such tower gleamed in the sunlight—a masterpiece of steel and vision. Its foundation, both literal and metaphorical, was the combined genius of two minds.
At its summit, Chan—now known in business circles as Bang Christopher—reached for a wet tissue on the office table and gently wiped his fingers still stained with graphite from sketching blueprints late into the night. He never relinquished the habit. He never let the architects beneath him do all the dreaming. Blueprints sprawled across the table. Prototypes. Models. Contracts.
Leaning against his chair, Seo Changbin scrolled through backlogged construction schedules. His eyes were sharp, his words fewer than ever. Time had sculpted him into a man of discipline, carrying respect and silence in equal measure.
The quiet was broken as their assistant entered.
“The new contracts from Seoul City Council have arrived, Mr. Bang and Mr. Changbin. If it’s convenient, shall I arrange the meeting? They’re requesting a proposal for the riverbank renewal project.”
Chan nodded and rose.
“Ready?” he asked Changbin.
Changbin pushed his chair back with a soft squeak and replied, “Let’s take a look.” He stood up, straightened slightly and adjusted the lapel of his coat—a small gesture of control amid his busy day of meetings.
Known for their dedication and expertise, their priorities had quietly shifted from youthful dreams to practical realities over time.
Between them lay a table cluttered with documents, topped by three glossy magazines stacked just so. The topmost featured Lina Lee—calm and serene, exuding quiet confidence and grace as one of the most capable and elegant businesswomen around. Draped in tailored luxury, she stood proudly before one of her signature hotels. The headline read, “Empire in Heels: Lina Lee Redefines Hospitality and Humanity.” The photo zoomed in on her hand—a new, subtle diamond ring that was impossible to ignore.
In downtown Seoul, a convoy of sleek black luxury sedans glided to a halt outside the towering mall. From the lead car, Lina Lee emerged like royalty—the center of an unspoken ceremony. Her flawless makeup and composed smile made it clear—her life was polished from the outside, every inch of it.
Her executive team and trusted confidants moved with precise choreography: one opened the door, while the others followed closely behind as she walked through the marble halls of her mall like a queen in her domain. Staff bowed. Clients whispered. Her presence was magnetic—calm, commanding, untouchable. Her phone buzzed relentlessly—notifications stacking like skyscrapers—but none matched the flashing news updates on the massive screens mounted throughout the building.
As Lina stepped into the elevator alone, her key team stayed behind—one pressing the button and holding the door open, waiting patiently for their turn. They paused silently in the lobby, giving her space before following after.
Lina looked flawless—except when the elevator doors slid shut, leaving her alone with her reflection in the mirrored walls. Her face was a perfect mask, betraying nothing. But beneath that calm exterior, something quietly shifted—in that private moment, her shoulders slumped just slightly, and the serene mask faltered for a heartbeat—unseen by the world.
On the screens, the reporter’s voice echoed softly:
“Vlinder's global fashion icon trends again as she unveils her second art collection in London. Critics hail her as ‘the eye of modern emotion in motion.’”
Across the sea, in London, camera shutters clicked like clockwork. The newly unveiled Vlinder campaign glowed with warm, intimate lighting. Crowds whispered and gasped as models glided past, draped in garments that married sculptural precision with poetic grace. The collection spoke not just of fashion, but of philosophy—every line, every texture reflecting a singular vision: bold unapologetic, and utterly transformative.
For the first time, every piece—clothing, handbags, accessories—was the work of one mind. One muse. One creator. Every detail was marked with a name that now echoed through the fashion world like a legend : Hwang Hyune.
Her designs were a study in contrasts: angular silhouettes softened by fluid drapes; rigid collars melting into sheer sleeves; threads woven with stories of rebellion, resilience, and reverence. Each piece carried not just beauty, but meaning.
And then—she arrived. Hyune walked through the hall like a storm dressed in flame—unreachable, untouchable.
Her icy blue dress, flowing like liquid frost, sculpted her frame as if crafted just for her. Platinum blonde hair shimmered like spun silver, while delicate chandelier earrings swayed gently—whispers of elegance in motion.
The cameras didn’t follow her—they obeyed her. And at the end of the night, a prestigious fashion journalist finally caught her in the glow of the gallery. The questions could wait. The world had just witnessed a woman become a legacy.
“Miss Hyune,” the reporter beamed. “There are whispers that your dream is to open a museum entirely for your private collection. Are the rumours true?”
Hyune smiled, lips barely lifting. “Who knows?” she said smoothly. “Let’s see where the wind takes me.” The crowd adored her detachment. They didn’t know it wasn’t crafted. It was armour.
Later, in the car, Hyune leaned back against the leather seats, eyes closed, letting the city blur past the window. Her manager, Nancy, scrolled through her phone, stopping at a reel—a fan-made edit of four young, brilliant lawyers walking into a courthouse like a cinematic dream. Sharp suits. Sharper minds. Their recent case win had gone viral—once again.
“Are they even real?” her manager muttered with a grin. “Beauty and brains all in one package. Life’s just not fair sometimes. Honestly, I can’t even pick a favorite—each one’s stunning.” Hyune didn’t stir, already resting and peacefully asleep as the car hummed softly through the night.
The heavy courtroom doors swung open with a deliberate finality, their echo rippling through the marble halls like the opening note of a symphony. Seungmin, Jisu, Felix, and Innie stepped inside—four figures moving as one, a seamless force forged by years of friendship and battles won together. Their presence filled the room quietly but unmistakably, like a cool breeze sweeping through a heated arena.
Seungmin led with measured steps, the calm anchor of the group. His gaze swept the courtroom with steady resolve—calculated, unshakable. Behind him, Innie’s sharp eyes scanned the opposition with a flicker of unspoken challenge, a strategist’s mind already several moves ahead. Felix moved with quiet intensity, his every gesture precise, betraying the weight of relentless preparation. Jisu brought an effortless grace, the team’s steady heartbeat—an unyielding calm beneath the storm.
The air thickened as the weight of their reputation settled over the room. Cameras clustered outside the heavy doors, waiting for a glimpse of the legal powerhouses who dared to face one of the city’s most ruthless corporations—an empire notorious for bending law and ethics with equal ease.
Their client, a whistleblower cloaked in nervous hope, glanced at the team. In their eyes was a fragile trust, a lifeline tossed into the storm.
Hours passed in tense silence, broken only by the rhythm of arguments carefully laid and deftly dismantled. Seungmin’s voice, calm but commanding, turned the courtroom into a battlefield where every word was a calculated strike. Jisu’s incisive questions left the opposition stumbling, while Felix’s unwavering logic fortified their case. Innie’s poised presence anchored the team, her quiet confidence radiating calm assurance.
The opposing counsel faltered, their practiced facades cracking under the relentless precision. Judges leaned forward, absorbing every move, every pause.
When the verdict was finally delivered, it resonated far beyond the courtroom walls. It was more than a win—it was a quiet reckoning.
As the team stepped out into the waiting light, murmurs of admiration trailed behind them like a shadow. They weren’t just lawyers—they were warriors in tailored suits, champions not only of justice but of loyalty and unbreakable bonds.
Nine years had passed.
Some rebuilt empires.
Some ruled dreams of their own.
Some healed wounds that ran too deep to see.
Some were left behind by time’s unforgiving hand.
And one—standing tall in the quiet glow of her gallery—had forged her suffering into art that would outlive all the wounds.