Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mira was tweaking Zoey’s stance for one of the dances on their next album when Bobby sidled into the studio. Rumi was (allegedly) taking a water break that looked an awful lot like just lying on the ground. It was fine, Mira had plans for her once Zoey had her feet wide enough to power into the jump Mira wanted her to do right before the beat dropped into the chorus. With the right visual effects, fans in the back would feel Zoey hit the stage and then pop right into her chorus rap. 

Something about Bobby’s body language made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She still made Zoey do another three reps before pausing the demo track they were working off of. Rumi was on her feet by then and frowning. It was rare for Bobby to bother them in a rehearsal unless he was bringing them snacks or lunch and his hands were empty. 

“Heeey girls!” Bobby said with a good attempt at his usual cheer. His hands were shoved in his pants pockets but his hair looked like he’d been running his hands through it. His shoulders were tense under his jacket— and it wasn’t the usual business casual blazer he wore but a tailored one he busted out for important meetings. He even had an actual tie on for once.

“Hi Bobby!” they responded in unison.

“What’s wrong?” Mira asked.

Bobby’s smile twitched but he held it. “Who said anything was wrong?”

Mira raised one eyebrow and gestured to his clothes. His shoulders slumped. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she said.

“I just need to borrow you for a quick meeting,” Bobby said.

All three Hunters exchanged a quick look. They were in the middle of finalizing an album—  Usually Bobby and the label kept meetings to a minimum. Hell, it even got them out of media appearances and reduced the number of fan signing events. “All of us?” Zoey asked, wiping her face with a gym towel.

His shoulders hunched further. “Just Mira,” Bobby said. “Technically.”

The hair on her arms joined their neck brethren in standing on end. Solo meetings were…unheard of. Huntrix was a group act and their contracts reflected it. Sometimes they had one-on-one medical appointments but even those got grouped together for ease of scheduling. 

“No,” Mira said. Whatever was about to happen, she wanted back up. “If Rumi and Zoey can’t be in the room, they can wait outside.” 

“That should be fine,” Bobby reassured her and then chewed his lip. “It’s kind of last minute. He’s waiting for you now but…You probably have enough time to change clothes. If you wanted.” 

Mira narrowed her eyes. One foot tapped out a measured 4/4 beat as she thought it over. Her gut reaction was to say fuck it. If some asshole was going to drag her out of the studio and into a conference room, he could cope with the fact that she was in actual practice clothes. She was currently in an old tour shirt chopped into a muscle tank and shorts that had been sweat pants originally before she had worn through both knees and applied scissors to the problem. Rumi and Zoey were in similar outfits— they saved the branded stuff for more public rehearsal spaces.

“Do you think I should change?” she asked. After so many years, she respected his opinions…even if she ignored them half the time.

Bobby rubbed his chin, thinking fast. “Yes,” he said and didn’t elaborate. “I’ll go entertain while you three slip into something a little less casual.” He flapped his hands. “Shoo, shoo, I’ll text you the conference room number.”

Mira tossed off a casual salute. 

“Is anyone else getting mega weird vibes from this or is it just me?” Zoey asked as they hustled into the elevator.

“Not just you,” Rumi confirmed. “What’re you thinking, outfit-wise?” she asked Mira. 

“Less fan-signing, more negotiating,” Mira said. “Maybe some leather or spikes.” She had a reputation to maintain after all. 

“You got it. Meet back here in three minutes?” 

Mira snorted. “Take at least five. Anyone who interrupts dance practice can chill. Bobby loves making small talk.” 

“I love how devious you can be,” Zoey said, clapping her hands as the elevator reached the penthouse. The three of them split off for their rooms without another word.

Mira rifled through her closet. A pair of her usual wide-legged slacks went onto the bed, followed by one of her sleeveless button-downs. She added a sleek, cropped jacket in a leather so dark blue it was nearly black. She changed, automatically hanging her norigae off its usual belt loop before digging through her shoe collection. As much as she loved her collection of stompy boots, they would be wasted under a conference room table. She found a pair of black flats and turned her attention to jewelry. 

She swapped her plain studs for golden shin-kal on chains (a birthday gift from Zoey) and added several gold necklaces of varying lengths. She was running her brush through her hair in front of her crowded vanity when someone tapped at the door. “Open,” she called and both Rumi and Zoey entered. 

Rumi and Zoey had kept it simple and understated. They both had on plain slacks but Zoey’s cropped short sleeve button-down was a deep red and covered in stylized drawings of hands in a variety of poses. 

Rumi’s button down was a pale grey with long sleeves she had rolled up to her elbows. She had left the top two buttons undone and Mira could catch a glimpse of opalescent patterns over her collarbones. 

Zoey caught her eye in the mirror and they shared a brief moment of silent (gay) thanks. Zoey pretended to wipe away a tear of joy. The past two years had seen Rumi settle into her skin, patterns or no patterns, and they had been reaping the benefits. 

“Almost ready,” Mira said. 

“No rush,” Rumi said. “Here, one of your pigtails is a little off.” She leaned over Mira’s shoulder and grabbed another brush. After so many years touring together, they could all help one another get camera-ready. Mira held still while Rumi removed, brushed out, and redid the errant pigtail. 

Gaaay, Zoey mouthed behind her. She wandered around Mira’s room, fingers brushing over a carefully scattered collection of items she had given Mira over the years— A snowglobe studded with pine trees from the 2018 Winter Olympics. A print of a winter scene from the Joseon dynasty, again featuring pine trees and snowy mountains. Several half burned candles, all with heavy emphasis on evergreen and fir tree top notes. It had started as a joke between her and Zoey, a way to try and manage their long-standing crush on their oblivious leader. (While Mira kept her collection small and discreet, Zoey’s took up several shelves in her room but was well-camouflaged amidst the general chaos.)

Mira narrowed her eyes in a silent promise of retribution but didn’t move a muscle as Rumi took over brushing her hair. If she arched into the brush strokes, well, no one could prove it in a court of law.

Rumi, focused on her self-assigned task, didn’t notice the byplay between bandmates. She pressed an affectionate kiss to the side of Mira’s head as she set down the brush and drew back, smiling. “You look great.” 

Mira nodded in thanks. She quickly applied a dash of perfume, adding just an extra touch at the base of her throat. “Let’s go,” she said and stood up. 

True to his word, Bobby had sent the conference room number in the group chat. It wasn’t on a floor high enough to be connected to the C-suite offices for the label but it wasn’t far below. Just a floor below Celine’s office, in fact. (Not that any of them had reason to visit that floor in the past two years.)

Zoey poked her head into the conference room next door. “Empty,” she reported with a grin. “We can wait for you here.” 

Rumi squeezed Mira’s hand. “You’ve got this,” she said.

Mira nodded, drawing on her mental armor. She’d faced literal demons, reporters, and hordes of fans. Some mystery meeting was nothing. “Yeah I do,” she said with her usual swagger, lifting her chin. She opened the door and strode in— 

Only to stutter to a stop after three steps. The door swung shut behind her with a quiet click but Mira barely noticed, too busy staring at the tall, lean figure looking out the window as Bobby pointed something out along the skyline.

“Sungjae,” she said.

Her brother turned and she was viciously pleased to see his eyes widen behind his thin wire-framed glasses. He was only four years older than her but she could see silver already to starting to show in his hair. “Mirae,” he said. “You look…well.” 

Mira didn’t respond to her birth name. She looked at Bobby. “Why is he here?” she asked. 

“He came in this morning and asked for a meeting. In person.” Bobby said and held up his hands. “Normally I would have checked with you first before he even got past the info desk in the lobby but…” 

“I’m not here for sentimental reasons,” Sungjae said.

“God forbid,” Mira deadpanned. 

“There’s no need to be quite so dramatic,” Sungjae said with a sigh that was a carbon copy of their father’s.

Mira kept her hands loose and relaxed. Calm. She could be calm. She was a grown-ass adult with a successful career. She could summon a magical nine foot polearm in the blink of an eye. She was not seventeen years old and being lectured about what did or did not constitute acceptable behavior.

“Why,” she asked again, “are you here?” 

Sungjae folded his hands in front of him. “It’s a family matter.”

Mira stared. 

He stared back. 

Dammit. The sooner she learned what he wanted, the sooner she could kick him out of the tower and her life. 

“A family matter,” she repeated slowly. “Everyone in our family has spent almost ten years ignoring me but you’re here about a family matter.”

Sungjae didn’t bother beating around the bush. “Father is dead,” he said. He drew in a shaky breath and let it out. “Your presence at the funeral and will reading is…requested.” 

Rumi wasn’t the only one who could shove emotions in a tiny box labeled “to be opened later.” She was tired of repeating everything he said as if that would help things make sense. Instead of responding, she narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. Observing. Even from this distance she could see the bags under Sungjae’s eyes and the tension in his shoulders. “What happens if I don’t show?” she asked after a minute.

Sungjae flinched and against her will, Mira felt a flicker of interest. “Father’s attorney has not shared the contents of his will,” he said with the air of a man walking along a crumbling cliff edge. “Legally, I do not think you can be compelled into attending. But they shared that you are listed as a benefactor of his estate.”

Fascinating. Mira had expected to be disinherited after that last, final, argument. “Hm.” She raised one eyebrow. “Because I’m clearly living on the ragged edge of poverty.” 

Bobby cleared his throat, smoothing a hand over his mouth but Mira had seen his lips twitch. “Nobody was implying that, I think,” he said to cover the slip. 

(If they had, Mira had a wall of platinum albums and music awards to cram down their throats.)

“And the funeral?” Mira prodded. 

“Can you not consider it a final gift?” Sungjae asked. His hands, still clasped in front of him, were white-knuckled.

“Ten. Years. Nobody is expecting anything resembling filial piety from me at this point.” 

There was more at play here than the dutiful son— and new head of the family— informing an errant daughter of her father’s death. Mira hadn’t paid attention to anything close to her family’s growing collection of businesses but Sungjae had been well on his way to securing his position as CEO-to-be when she had left. A business degree from a prestigious university. Internships at several friendly companies. An upper management role conveniently held ready for the treasured child.

She could have had something similar, if she had been willing to play by the rules. Mira didn’t shudder but it was a near thing. For the first time, she moved away from the door and stalked closer. Hunter-quiet, her feet made no sound on the plush carpet. Sungjae tensed at her approach but held his ground. He was shorter than her, a small part of her noted with the traditional glee of younger siblings everywhere. She had at least five centimeters on him. 

Up close, the exhaustion was even more apparent. His eyes were red but that could have been to lack of sleep as much as crying. 

“Father and Mother could not make me into the high society daughter they always wanted,” Mira said. Her voice was very soft and very even. “What makes you think you have a chance?” 

“I don’t. I have no interest in bringing you back into the fold, as it were.” Sungjae admitted. He spread his hands wide. “I can only ask. Please, come to the funeral.” 

“Mira,” Bobby said. “I know your family situation is difficult but—”

“Bobby,” she said, not looking away from her brother. “If the end of that sentence involves the word “closure” in any way, I will tell Zoey who used the last of her mom’s hot sauce.” 

Bobby’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

“You’re not telling me something,” Mira said. She kept her tone light. Media appearance appropriate. “Either tell me or I’m walking right out that door.”

“Father’s death was sudden. Unexpected.” Sungjae said. “A heart attack or aneurysm is the doctor’s best guess.” 

“What, did he drop dead in the middle of a board meeting?” Mira asked. “Were the quarterly profits below expectations? The stock market take a sudden dive?”

“I wish,” Sungjae muttered and flushed. He glanced at Bobby and then away, jaw tight.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Mira rolled her eyes. “Bobby, could you go check on Zoey and Rumi? Maybe if we’re alone my darling brother will give me an explanation instead of cryptic bullshit.” 

Bobby was unperturbed. “You got it,” he said. He clapped an arm on her shoulder as he headed for the door. “Just sing out if you need back up, the walls aren’t that thick.”

He was already moving and quick enough on his feet to get out of punching range. They both knew it. She would have to get him back for the pun later. (It was fine, she knew where several of his “secret” office stashes were.) The door clicked shut and Mira raised her eyebrows at her brother.

Sungjae rubbed his hands over his face. “He was working late with a new assistant director.”

He couldn’t meet her eyes and Mira knew. Knew without a shadow of a doubt the shape of what had happened. She had always been a quiet child and too observant for anyone’s comfort. She had seen the signs over and over again despite her parents’ attempts at “discretion.”

Late nights at the office. 

Private sessions with instructors in an astonishing variety of hobbies.

A rotating cast of personal assistants who seemed to do very little actual work.

At least two of her nannies. Each.

Mira had more than enough self-awareness (and years of therapy) to know exactly where her hatred of liars and hypocrites stemmed from. It was practically textbook psychology. A perfect family in the society pages. A broken marriage but divorce was out of the question— what would the neighbors think? A golden first born, shining bright enough to almost blot out the black sheep.

“You complete and utter asshole,” she breathed. “You need me there as a fucking distraction. So everyone focuses on how the great Yun Taesoo’s wayward daughter showed up to his funeral and not how he died.”

This time Sungjae didn’t flinch as he met her eyes. “Yes.” 

Mira drew in a slow, deep breath and let it out as a slow hiss from between gritted teeth. She had to marvel at her brother’s tenacity if nothing else. It would be a shame to let his efforts at growing a spine go to waste but she wasn’t about to be stupid about this. She tapped her foot, always keeping a perfect 4/4 beat. “Three conditions,” she said and watched her brother’s shoulders drop a solid ten centimeters. 

“Name them,” he said. 

Mira held up three fingers.

“You’re flying me out, first class, and putting me up in the fanciest penthouse hotel suite you can find in Busan.” One finger down. “You’re gonna keep every goddamn auntie, uncle, and third cousin removed from harassing me.” Another finger down. “Rumi and Zoey get invites.” She let her hand drop.

Sungjae who had been nodding along, looking relieved, froze. 

“Do you want a distraction or not?” she asked, saccharine sweet.

“That’s not a distraction, that’s chaos,” he protested. “All three members of Huntrix? There’d be a stampede of fans.”

Ah, so someone had been keeping tabs on her career. How thoughtful. 

“Isn’t it wonderful that Mira’s coworkers are supporting her in this difficult time,” she crooned, in the exact same tones as their (not-dearly) departed grandmother. “No one would be so gauche as to make a scene at a funeral.” She raised both middle fingers and smiled. 

This close she could hear his teeth grind. Maybe she could mail a bite guard to his office as something to remember her by. She folded her arms. “Tick tock, tick tock. I have an album to finish. Contractual obligations and all that.” 

“Fine,” he snapped. 

“A pleasure doing business,” she said, bowing with mock demureness. She turned and started walking towards the door. “You can give Bobby all the details, he’ll get it sorted.” She was out the door before he could respond.

Once the door shut behind her, she swerved right and fumbled the door of the conference room open. Rumi and Zoey caught her and wrapped their arms around her in a joint hug, squeezing tight. Mira dropped her forehead onto Rumi’s shoulder and breathed. If anyone noticed her trembling, they didn’t say a word. She raised her head at a light touch on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Bobby said, somber. “I can have him banned from the tower by the end of the day if you want.” 

“Don’t bother,” Mira said. “He needs to talk to you.”

Bobby’s eyebrows twitched up but just for a second. “Taking a trip then?”

Mira smirked. “Not just me.”

“Where are we going?” Zoey looked up at her, eyes wide.

“To meet my family.” 

Zoey’s and Rumi’s jaws dropped and Mira couldn’t help but cackle at the looks on their faces. She would explain everything in a moment, but for now she relax, safe and secure in the arms of her favorite people. 

Chapter Text

Mira stared at the doors of the funeral home. This was her last chance to back out. Run all the way back to the elegant penthouse suite her brother had rented for Huntrix for the week. Let her family experience the consequences of their actions without her presence there to distract the hordes of people. Mira savored the fantasy for another minute (or three) before she opened the door and stepped inside. 

Never content with anything less than the best, her brother had rented out an entire funeral home. The family had waited until the fifth day to hold the funeral. Not the standard three days, but making no pretensions at nobler status. She remembered her mother sniffing with disdain when they had heard of a family— never named directly, of course, but known in the relevant circles— who had waited a full week. 

Part of the delay was purely due to the logistics required. Bobby had passed along a rumor that her father had been cremated in short order but everything else had required a little more time. Mira eyed the massive flower arrangements, carefully arranged to direct people towards the main viewing room, and believed him. She could already smell whatever delicacies (all her father’s favorites, she was sure) the caterers had prepared for guests to enjoy. 

She was in full, traditional hanbok today, per her brother’s request. The jeogori and chima were all black and made of silk. She didn’t know how Bobby’s team had been able to source a silk with the Huntrix logo subtly embossed along the waistband and hem of the chima, small enough that to a casual observer it looked like simple knotwork. The silent show of support had almost made her cry. Someone had even sewn on a small loop on the inside of the waistband, for her to keep her norigae. (Now that had made her cry but Zoey and Rumi hadn’t been far behind.)

She smoothed the fall of her chima as she walked down the hallway. Her hair, while still its trademark pink, was pulled back in a simple, low, ponytail. Her makeup was simple but stage-grade in its quality and waterproofness. She didn’t anticipate any tears being shed but wasn’t ruling out the possibility of a drink being thrown in her face despite her brother’s assurances about managing their family members. She could hear the quiet murmur of conversation growing louder as she got closer, could see the groups of people clustered together.

They had decided (via careful negotiations conducted through Bobby’s inbox) it would be better for her to arrive later, separate from the rest of the family. To better sell the story. To up the drama. If she thought about it like a concert, a weird-ass challenge on a variety show, she could swallow down the bile.

Someone’s head turned at her approach. This far away, she couldn’t hear him gasp but she saw his eyes go wide. Saw the person next to him flinch as if struck by a sharp smack to the arm. Her chin tilted up, just a fraction of a degree. She didn’t let her pace alter, a measured 3/4 beat, even as she saw the news ripple through the crowd and more heads turned towards her.

By the time she entered the main viewing room, it was silent. A path had been cleared from the door to the table holding a surprisingly small, understated, marble urn. Two photos of her father flanked it. The first was his official portrait as CEO. The second…The second had been taken on one of the few family vacations she remembered enjoying. It had been a chartered cruise around the Mediterranean, when she was ten or so. 

In the photo, her father was leaning back in a deck chair, smiling for the camera. Sungjae was on the right, still gangly as a seventeen year old, but starting to grow into his long, narrow features. Mira had stood on the left, wrapped in a towel. They had both been swimming before their mother had called them out of the water for a quick photo. Photo-Mira’s smile was tiny but pleased. If she remembered correctly, she had just negotiated being able to stay on the ship by herself with no supervision while everyone else went ashore for some boring history tour. 

Mira stared at the photo and breathed, slow and measured, before folding forward into a deep, formal, bow. She held the bow for a count of five before straightening. 

“Mira.”

Mira turned her head and there was her brother. He was also dressed in full hanbok, with the traditional hemp arm band on his right arm. Behind him stood— Mira jerked her eyes back to Sungjae’s. One thing at a time. She let her lips curl up, just enough for him to see. Almost a decade apart and he could still recognize her shit-stirring smirk. His eyes widened and then she was bowing again. She hadn’t planned on doing another full bow but Sungjae’s hands were on her shoulders, halting her well before her planned half bow reached the proper depth.

“Don’t,” Sungjae choked out. “You don’t—” He drew in a breath, slid his hands down her arms to grasp her hands. Mira tensed but didn’t pull back or punch him. “You’re not an exile. He was your father too.” 

Sungjae moved slowly, as if she was a wild animal who might startle and flee at too sudden a movement. Mira saw the hug coming and forced herself to step into it. Sungjae was about the same height as Rumi but broader in the shoulder and far more out of practice at hugging. Mira could almost hear him counting out the seconds in his head before he pulled back. 

“I’m glad you came,” he said and the sincerity in his words made Mira strongly reconsider bolting for the door. His eyes flicked over her shoulder. “Your friends?” he asked in an undertone.

“Coming later,” she said. “Lower chances of a stampede occurring.”

“Ah.”

She was saved from having to think of something else to say by a cry of “Mirae!” 

Mira’s mother was done waiting. She bustled around her eldest child and had Mira’s hands in her own before Mira could blink. She did twitch this time, a reflexive start back from someone invading her space without warning, but her mother’s hands only tightened to keep her in place. There had been the bare bones of a plan sketched out in the emails. Mira would arrive fashionably late but not so late that the majority of guests didn’t see her. She would lurk until the viewing was over. Mira had been sure to specify that while she wouldn’t start any fights she would bite back if provoked. Sungjae said their mother knew she would be attending but hadn’t offered any other additional details. Mira was beginning to think that was mistake on somebody’s part.

“Oh, my daughter,” her mother cried, voice thick with emotion. (Mira noticed her cheeks were suspiciously smooth and her eyebrows didn’t seem able to move.) “My long lost girl, let me look at you!” She pressed one small hand against Mira’s cheek, tears shining in her eyes. Han Nayoung was short, compared to her children and late husband. She had never attempted to make up for the height differences in heels. They weren’t needed; when she made an effort, she could capture the attention of a room— like right now.

“I wasn’t trapped on a desert island,” Mira snapped, stepping back. With a quick twist of her wrist, she freed her hand from her mother’s grasp. “You could have found out where I was. There are fan sites dedicated to it, even.” She lifted both eyebrows, setting herself for the next attack.

“I see a decade hasn’t improved your ability to hold your tongue,” her mother said, pursing her lips. The tears had vanished, probably sucked right back into her tear ducts. Her head tipped back to better stare down her nose and the thin skin under her jaw was tight with tension. 

Mira hated how she could still read every twitch in her mother’s expression and body language. She shifted her weight and cocked a hip. She doubted anyone would have noticed the deliberate shift away from anything resembling a combat stance. “Yeah,” she drawled. “I’m kind of famous for it now.”

“Mira, I don’t believe you’ve had the chance to meet my fiancée,” Sungjae cut in with a forced smile. “Chung Dasom and I attended the same university.” 

The young woman in question stepped forward to stand next to Sungjae and bowed deeply. 

Mira and Nayoung stared at each other for another moment. Mira could feel the Honmoon rippling under her fingertips. She turned away from her mother and folded her hands in front of her before her gok-do could make an accidental appearance. She returned Dasom’s bow, careful to match the depth. Out of the corner of her eye, her mother glided away into the crowd, holding out her hands to some old acquaintance. 

“Sungjae didn’t tell me very much about you,” Dasom said with a slight smile. “At least not until I started sending him the worst paparazzi articles I could find.” She was dressed in Western style clothes, a skirt and blazer combo in dark colors for the occasion. Her hair was pulled back in a high chignon, with gold hair sticks holding it in place. The ring on her left hand was also simple in style, clean swirls of a pale rose gold that cradled half a dozen small diamonds. 

“Those reporters tripped and hit their faces on their cameras,” Mira replied automatically. It had only taken three such “accidents” in the first six months after Huntrix’s debut for the press to respect Mira’s long reach. Bobby’s right eye still twitched if he spotted too many telephoto lens at press events.

Small tables were scattered around the edges of the room for people to place their drinks or plates. Mira allowed Sungjae to steer the three of them over to one. Conversation was starting to pick back up now that the initial family “drama” was over. Mira set her back to the closest wall and watched as Sungjae pressed a kiss to Dasom’s cheek. “I should get back to greeting others,” he said. “Do either of you mind…?”

Mira shook her head. “Better her than Mother,” she said and was rewarded by Dasom’s lips twitching. 

“I’ll check in later,” Sungjae said. “They have to let me eat at some point or I’ll keel over.”

“Please don’t, the stock prices just started to recover from your father’s death,” Dasom murmured.

(Now it was Mira fighting to hide a smile.)

Sungjae didn’t bother responding, simply resettled the hemp armband where it was slipping down his sleeve and returned back to his position near their father’s urn. He looked like the perfect dutiful eldest son in every possible way. The set of his shoulders was tight but could have been explained away from the cut of his jeogori.

 “It was very good of you to come,” Dasom said, not looking at her. She was watching Sungjae still.

“If I was looking for your approval I’d say thanks,” Mira muttered and leaned against the wall. “It’s the fastest way to get him— and the rest of this bullshit— out of my life.”

Dasom was unruffled by her blunt reply. “Is it really so terrible?” she asked, glancing at Mira. 

Mira stared at her for a moment. “Yeah, no, we’re not doing this.” She waved a hand between them. “You babysitting me does not involve a deep and meaningful heart to heart.” 

There was a flicker of irritation in Dasom’s eyes but she inclined her head. “As you like,” Dasom said. “I was only trying to make conversation. It’ll be a very long day regardless.”

Mira couldn’t help it. She stabbed a finger towards her. “That. That right there,” she said. “That polite society bullshit. I know this sucks, you know this sucks. But god forbid we allow it to show.”

“It would be disrespectful to the dead,”  Dasom said with a frown. 

Mira snorted. “Right, because we both know my father was an absolute paragon of virtue. I’m not talking about this particular event,” she said. “I’m talking about the broader picture. Everyone pretending like they aren’t playing by a secret set of rules or even acknowledging that the rules exist.”

Dasom lifted an eyebrow. “One could argue that being an idol is very similar.” 

“Being an idol is my job,” Mira said. “No one expects me to be on every second of every day. I can get out of the stage costume, wash my face, go home, and eat five bowls of altang.” She flicked her eyes around the room. “There’s no off from this. Ever.”

Dasom hummed. “I see your point. I don’t necessarily agree with it but we’re very different people.”

"Fucking mood,” Mira said.

Dasom didn’t reply and Mira let out a slow breath that definitely wasn’t a sigh of relief. 

After the first hour, things settled into a quiet rhythm. Guests would arrive, bow, and greet Sungjae and Nayoung. Mira could tell those who had already been planning to come apart from those who had received quiet texts about her presence. Those who had been alerted would either refuse to look in her direction or would circulate the room in such a way that they could ogle her (somewhat subtly) by facing her direction as they chatted. The younger kids who had been dragged along were refreshing in how they didn’t bother hiding their fascination until an older relative hissed in their ear or gripped a shoulder.

She wondered if they had snuck in anything for her to sign. It would be relief— She knew how to handle fans. Unfortunately the children were kept well away from her and she wasn’t about to venture out from her safe, quiet, corner. 

With Dasom standing as an obvious buffer, only a few people had dared approach their table. A couple of her father’s oldest friends who remembered her as a young child, one of her more distant cousins. They murmured polite fictions about how wonderful it was to see her, they understood she was doing quite well for herself, who would have guessed, etc. Mira made a game of how few words she could get away with in her responses before they retreated to the larger crowd. 

Far more people approached to talk with Dasom directly. Dasom would introduce her, to be polite, but Mira didn’t offer anything to those discussions beyond inclining her head. One such group— classmates from university, Mira had gleaned— had just left when Dasom’s stomach growled. 

“You’re not trapped here—” Mira started to say and then her own stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten a very large breakfast despite the best efforts of Rumi and Zoey combined. 

“Shall we brave the crowd together then?” Dasom offered. “Or I could bring you back something.”

Mira rolled out some of the tension in her neck, shifted in some subtle stretches for her legs under the wide chima. “I can take them on,” she said, cracking her knuckles. 

Dasom chuckled as they swept out from their table and across the room. And then just think murder, and walk, Mira thought to herself, striding forward. Zoey had that ancient Charlize Theron gif set saved to her favorites for a reason. She wanted to laugh at how the people parted before her but settled for smiling just enough for her teeth to show. Dasom kept pace, her face serene as they approached the chafing dishes lined up against one wall. 

Mira had years of experience at all-you-can-eat buffets with Zoey and Rumi. She glanced down the line of dishes on offer and stacked her selections accordingly. One plate held skewers of chicken, stacked just so, to contain japchae. Her father (thankfully) had had a weakness for mung bean pancakes and the plates were large enough to form a flat layer. She stacked kimbap atop the pancakes, careful to keep everything level. A third and final plate held slices of pork belly, with a small pyramid of grilled rice cake soaked in syrup on top. She considered trying to get a drink but grabbing chopsticks made her tower of food wobble. Someone gasped behind her but Mira rebalanced everything with a practiced jiggle.

Mira didn’t wait to see if Dasom was finished loading her own plate but walked back to their table. She had everything spread out and a slice of pork belly in her mouth by the time Dasom got back, two plates in hand. Sungjae trailed behind her with a makeshift drink tray with cups and a bottle of soju. Mira finished her mouthful of pork and commandeered a second table, carrying it over without so much as a grunt of effort. Sungjae looked like he didn’t know whether to be appalled at her feat of manual labor or appreciative of the extra space. 

Behind him their mother had taken over greeting guests but she spared a moment to glare at Mira’s spread of food. Mira saluted her with a kimchi kimbap roll, making sure to take an extra large bite. She wasn’t “No Gag Reflex” Rumi but well over half the roll ended up in her mouth.

“Must you?” Sungjae sighed as he passed her a small cup of soju.

“Yeth,” Mira mumbled around her mouthful. Years of practice kept her from spraying rice across the table.

Sungjae knocked back his shot of soju and Dasom poured him another. By the time Mira had finished chewing, they had fallen into a quiet discussion of who had shown up and when and the implications. Dasom had been tracking the flow of people around the room, Mira had noticed that much, but her analysis was terrifying in its details.

Mira shuddered— family dinners had often consisted of similar discussions for her parents after asking her and Sungjae about their days. Or, as she had gotten older, pointed lectures on expectations, familial duties, and (as always) proper behavior. She tuned them out with an effort, focusing on her spread of food. While she had the alcohol tolerance of any twenty-something working in the entertainment industry, she didn’t touch the cup of soju. She polished off the final rice cake with a sigh and surreptitiously loosened the belt of her chima. The urge to lean back and settle into food coma was shattered by a light touch on her arm. 

“There’s a few people Dasom and I need to speak with…” Sungjae said.

“Go, go,” Mira replied and waved her hand. “I’ll keep myself entertained. Maybe someone will finally start some more drama. Really get you your money’s worth.”

Sungjae made a protesting noise in his throat but Dasom slid her hand into the crook of his elbow and steered him away, off towards a group of men with silver and white in their hair and sour, wrinkled expressions.

Mira stacked all of the now-empty plates. The catering staff had been making the rounds, dressed in unobtrusive-yet-expensive uniforms, whisking empty plates and forgotten cups away from the tables, swapping out fresh trays of food for full bus bins on industrial carts. Dangling the soju bottle under the dishes, Mira eeled her way through the crowd, radiating her usual “don’t fuck with me” vibe. Some people gave her side-eye but she gave it right back until they turned back to their conversations.

“Here,” she told the young man standing by the cart.

He flushed a painful looking red and accepted the plates, nestling them in an overflowing bin. “You’re too kind,” he said. His voice didn’t crack but it was near thing.

“I’m really not,” she said and held up the bottle. “Barely touched. Share it with your coworkers once you get off work.” She smirked. “Or don’t. I won’t tell.”

“I don’t know if we’re allowed—”

They were right next to the drinks. Mira plucked up two unopened bottles. She could feel the thickness and weight of the label. Knowing her father’s tastes, the bottle was worth the waiter’s monthly wages at least. “Compliments of the family.”

The young man gaped at her for a second but she had said the magic words. His jaw snapped shut and the bottles were whisked out of her hands, tucked out of sight on a lower shelf. He bowed to her over the handle of the cart and grunted as he shoved it into motion. A coworker opened a service door and they vanished out of sight. 

Mira watched them go. It was immature and petty as fuck but that small act of “rebellion” was a balm to her wire-tight nerves. She snuck a glance at her phone as she started back towards her table. There weren’t any notifications in the group chat but Bobby had texted her a small army of pink heart emojis. She had just run her fingers over her norigae when she felt a small tug on her chima. 

She looked down and smiled: One of the younger kids had managed to escape his guardian. He looked to be about eight. Old enough to be forming opinions about the world, young enough not to care what other people thought. Yet.

“Hey,” Mira said, kneeling down so that she wasn’t towering over the poor kid. 

His eyes were huge and he stared at Mira in a familiar starstruck silence. Mira propped her arms on her leg, keeping her body language relaxed and her smile easy. Finally he whispered, “You’re Mira.”

“Sure am,” Mira agreed. “What’s your name?”

“Shin Chiwon.” He hadn’t been stuffed into hanbok, just a suit on the edge of being too big for him. Huntrix shoe charms peeked out from under the hems of his slacks.

She nodded at the charms and lifted her eyebrows. “You like Huntrix?”

Chiwon nodded like one of those bobble-head figurines Zoey had been banned from collecting. (Mira and Rumi knew from long experience that if they didn’t stop her early, Zoey’s collection-of-the-moment would take over every flat surface in the penthouse. There was probably a small warehouse dedicated to storing her previous collections at this point.) “Your dances are super cool,” he said, fidgeting with the buttons on his jacket. 

His cheeks were slowly turning red but Mira ignored it. One time at a meet-and-greet a fan had been so nervous they passed out without a single word. The video of Rumi catching them had gone viral. (Mira and Zoey had gotten the PR department to blow up a still of Rumi’s panicked expression into a poster and hung it on Rumi’s door. The bruises during their next sparring session had been worth it.)

“Thanks,” Mira said. She lifted her eyebrows. “You know any of them?”

“Some,” Chiwon said and frowned. “I can’t get the moves right on This Is What It Sounds Like. But me and my friends can do How’s It’s Done as a group!”

“Heck yeah, those are bomber friends you got,” Mira said, offering her fist. 

Chiwon beamed, showing off a missing tooth as he bumped his knuckles against hers. 

“You’ll get the moves for This Is What It Sounds Like,” Mira said and leaned forward. “Bobby, our manager, usually gets the choreo down wicked fast.”

“’Cuz he used to be an idol?” Chiwon asked, leaning closer.

Mira nodded. “Yup. But he’s still working on it, too.” She had leaned into the battle vibes, using backup dancers as stand-ins for the demon hordes they had fought at Namsan Tower, incorporated more martial arts than normal. She and the other Hunters were accustomed to fitting their attacks to a beat, knew how to speed up or slow down a kick or takedown without sacrificing power. Others, not so much. “Watch some taekwondo videos,” she offered. “I borrowed a lot of moves from that.”

Chiwon pumped a fist in victory. “I knew it! My brother didn’t believe me—” A heavy hand dropped onto his shoulder and he froze. All the excitement drained out of him as his posture snapped back to perfection. He went from an excited little kid to a tiny marble statue in the space of two breaths and Mira’s heart ached for him.

She unfolded from her easy crouch and stared down at the offending relative, a middle-aged woman in a deep indigo hanbok. The woman folded forward in a stiff bow. Chiwon bowed as well, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor when he came back up

“I am so sorry Mirae,” the woman said. “I don’t know how he got away from me.” Her hand tightened on Chiwon’s shoulder. “He was told not to bother you.” 

“He wasn’t bothering me,” Mira said. “We were having a conversation until you interrupted.”

Someone from behind Mira snorted. “A conversation about what?”

Mira turned to face the new threat. Behind her, she sensed the strategic retreat of Chiwon and his minder, but didn’t look away from the eldest of her paternal aunts. Yun Eunbi had been married several times over. After the third husband had passed away from cancer, she had given up on changing her name. She had been a fixture of family dinners, events, and holidays to the collective dismay of anyone under the age of forty.

“I asked you a question, girl,” Eunbi said, stepping closer.

Mira could smell the soju on her breath. “Just talking to a fan,” she said. 

“A fan,” Eubin sneered. “As if you’ve done anything worth admiring.”

Mira distantly felt the bite of her nails digging into her palms. “Tell that to the platinum albums and awards on my wall,” she said. “Or to Sunlight Entertainment’s finance department.” She bared her teeth. “They can tell you how much money I bring in and my annual salary.” The number was on the tip of her tongue. Out of the three of them, she kept an iron grip on her finances.

Rumi’s literal mountains of money had been under the watchful eye of Celine’s financial planner for decades. After some discussions with Bobby, Zoey kept her money out of sight, out of mind to keep herself from going on too many hyperfixation shopping sprees. (Mira had seen Bobby’s Zoey Budget once. Turtles was its own dedicated category.) Mira had ridden the elevator down from signing their initial contact to the finance department. It had taken her the better part of a month to find someone she trusted to do what she wanted with her signing bonus. Her continued independence had not been something she was going to leave to chance. 

“Money,” Eubin said with a sniff. “Anyone can make money. What happens when your precious star fades? What will you have to show for years of making a spectacle of yourself on stage?” she pressed. Her fingers flicked out, indicating the room. “There’s no replacing the connections built up over generations.”

“I didn’t realize you were still so concerned with my prospects,” Mira said, folding her arms. 

Eubin raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you?” 

As if Mira couldn’t name a dozen different careers she could fall into if Huntrix announced their retirement tomorrow. As if Mira hadn’t built “connections” of her own. As if the past ten years meant nothing. “None of your fucking business.” 

Eubin stepped forward, well into Mira’s personal space. Her hand shot out to grip Mira’s jeogori by the collar. “It is my business if you think swanning in here will be enough to overcome a decade’s disrespect. If you think you’ll get a single won—” 

Mira knocked her hand away and took a single, long, step back. “The only reason I’m here is because Sungjae asked me to come.” Her lip curled. “Do you know why he asked?” 

Eubin flinched back. “Keep your voice down,” she hissed. 

“I’m not the one picking a fight at her brother’s funeral,” Mira said, her voice even. She didn’t do anything so obvious as look around the room, but she could feel the collective weight of covert glances. She clicked her tongue against her teeth and shook her head. “Such a pity. Seems like money can’t buy everything or I’m sure someone would have gifted you manners a long time ago.”

Even as the words left her mouth, she knew it was a step too far. Her aunt changed color faster than Rumi’s patterns, going from a pale white to furious red in the space of a heartbeat. Movement, bodies pushing through the crowd, flickered at the edges of Mira’s vision but she kept her eyes fixed on her auntie, on the upraised hand. She was a dancer and a Hunter, she wasn’t about to let a single middle-aged woman land a single hit— 

Manicured fingernails, painted the same color as Mira’s hair, wrapped around her auntie’s wrist. “Forgive the intrusion,” Rumi said into the stunned silence. Her voice was bland, as if intervening in family fights at funerals was something she did every other Tuesday. She looked at Mira and her eyes were a deep, burnished gold. Mira suspected her nails, underneath the easy camouflage of nail polish, were much sharper than usual. 

Belatedly, Sungjae appeared from the crowd, Dasom and Nayoung right behind him. Rumi’s gaze slid over to him and Mira heard him stutter to a stop and swallow. After a beat, Rumi released her grip on Eubin’s wrist. The woman, never short on self-preservation, didn’t move beyond lowering her hand to her side. 

Rumi, Zoey following alongside her, stepped out from behind Eubin. 

“My condolences, Yun Sunjae, on the passing of your father,” Rumi said. (Behind her, Eubin slunk back into the crowd. Mira didn’t bother hiding a smirk as she watched her go.)

“Th-Thank you,” Sungjae said, still sounding half-stunned. 

The traditional phrases jarred the room from its avid not-watching. Conversations sparked back to life, an initial wave of too-loud comments and nervous laughter settling back down to…well, not the same gentle lull as before, but close enough. This time Mira could see phones in hands as people shot off frantic texts. She made sure to glare, let her elbows jostle anyone stupid enough to be within range as she trailed after her bandmates. The show wasn’t over yet.

Once again, a path had opened up through the center of the room to her father’s urn and photos. Mira angled herself towards her table in the corner but Sungjae snagged the sleeve of her jeogori on one side and her mother gripped her elbow on the other. Mira let out a thin hiss from between clenched teeth but watched as Rumi and Zoey bowed to her father’s urn. They held the bows for a full eight count before rising and turning towards Mira and her family.

Like Dasom, both of them were in formal Western-style clothes but that was where the similarities ended. Zoey was devastating in an over-sized, tailored pantsuit, shoulder pads wide enough to block out the sun and sleeves slouched over her hands. Rumi was in a sleek wrap dress, a narrow asymmetrical knot tying it shut at one hip. Both outfits were black, fitting for the (allegedly) somber occasion. 

Mira knew those clothes. Had collaborated and modeled them for two different high couture fashion brands. While no one in the room would acknowledge it if they even noticed, those outfits were a unspoken declaration of who they were actually here for. 

Rumi’s hair was still drawn back in a braid but it was a looser, more intricate fishtail than her normal fauxhawk, laced with golden chains. Zoey had abandoned her traditional twin buns for a single, high bun, studded with at least 5 hair sticks, also all gold. The ends looked very sharp and pointy.

Rumi’s lips twitched in the barest flicker of a sympathetic smile. Mira could read the silent we’re almost done, keep breathing, in the tilt of her chin. Zoey didn’t bother with subtlety and dropped a quick wink that made Mira huff out a silent laugh. Again, in perfect unison, Rumi and Zoey bowed to Mira and her family. They held it for another full eight count before coming back up. Mira’s heart swelled with pride at the sight of them and she jerked her elbows free, stepping forward. 

They were still in public, still on stage, so she couldn’t pull them into the hug she wanted. She had to settle for taking their hands in hers and squeezing. Something in her chest shuddered and relaxed as the Honmoon curled around their hands, invisible to everyone else in the room. “Thank fuck you’re both here,” she murmured to them. “I was about to break out my gok-do on Auntie Eubin.” 

“She wouldn’t be worth the effort,” Rumi muttered, lip curling up to reveal a flash of fang. The gold was fading from her eyes, shifting back to their usual warm brown. Her nails against Mira’s skin were smooth and blunt, not a prickle to be felt. 

“Then you’d have to attend another Mira family funeral,” Zoey reminded her, stroking Mira’s knuckles in silent reassurance. “Let’s not repeat this happy adventure, please?”

Mira drew in a deep breath, nodding, and— 

Fuck. 

Her breath did not catch in her throat. Not a bit. All three of them had partnered with a boutique perfume house to design their own signature scents in the last year. Hers was the heaviest of the three, with notes of frankincense and amber and basalm. 

Both of them were wearing it.

Mira had more than enough experience in ignoring the part of her that gibbered mineminemine and wanted nothing more than to shove her nose in the crook of Rumi’s jaw or set her teeth against the base of Zoey’s neck. She forced herself to let go of their hands and took a step back. For all that she hated the finer intricacies and sheer stupidity of high society etiquette, it gave her a pre-established out. 

She turned back towards her brother. (Somehow her mother had contrived to have vanished back into the crowd after the requisite moment of familial unity had been achieved and (probably) documented.) “Sungjae,” she said. “Allow me to introduce you to my friends: Park Zoey and Ryu Rumi.” 

Zoey and Rumi flanked her, close enough that the sleeves of their clothes brushed up against hers and bowed again. 

“An honor to meet you both,” Sungjae replied, bowing back. He gestured to Dasom. “My fiancée, Chung Dasom.” 

“A pleasure,” Dasom said with her own bow. “It’s unfortunate to meet you in such circumstances. I’ve greatly enjoyed your work.” 

“Thank you. It’s always wonderful to meet a fan,” Rumi said, flashing her a quick smile. “Chung…Would it be a horrible assumption that your family is affiliated with the Hyundai group?”

“Yes,” Dasom said, sounding more than a little faint. “Through the insurance side of things.”

That was more than enough for Rumi. She asked Dasom another question, something about what university degrees were bested suited for insurance and the conversation continued from there. Sungjae looked like he had been smacked in the face with a fish. 

Mira listened to Rumi charm Dasom and felt some of the tension leech out of her muscles. They had tentative plans for a spa trip after the will reading but maybe she could get away with letting Derpy sprawl over her back for a while instead of booking a massage. (The giant spirit tiger was better than any weighted blanket, if a little prone to drooling when he started to purr.)

Mira caught Zoey’s eye and they shared a familiar of course she did smile. Mira was sure she could ask and get a ranked listing of the top ten conglomerates in Korea most likely to be present in the room. She, Zoey, and Bobby had a plethora of Rumi bingo cards saved in hidden folders on their phones. (There were also Zoey and Mira bingo cards but only Bobby had access to all of them.) If an industry event was a day or longer, they busted out the drinking games. Today was well under the drinking game limit. Which was for the best time, if she was honest with herself.

A soft nudge against her hand from Zoey pulled her from her thoughts. Charm campaign complete, Rumi and Dasom were bowing to each other again. Zoey was eyeing the buffet tables with unabashed interest. 

“Try the mung bean pancakes,” Mira suggested and Zoey’s eyes lit up. She didn’t need a second invitation and hustled off, sliding around people. Mira watched for a couple seconds, holding her breath to see if the suit’s massively padded shoulders (which were definitely not inspired by how invincible Rumi and Zoey made her feel) collided with anyone else but— no, Zoey knew exactly where she was in space at all times.

“Should we get you anything?” Rumi whispered in her ear, close enough for her breath to make Mira’s earrings stir. Mira was too tired to do more than twitch. She turned her head just in time to catch Rumi’s tiny, self-satisfied smirk. (The debate over whether or not Rumi’s ridiculous stealth was due to her demon blood or Celine’s lifelong training was ongoing.)

“You’re such a fucking troll,” Mira said. “Bells. Nothing but bells for your birthday, I swear to god.”

“It’s cute you think that will help,” Rumi said, her smirk widening into a full shit-eating grin.

“Go, get some food,” Mira said with a sigh. “I already ate but won’t say no to more pork belly.” 

Rumi squeezed her arm and set off, nodding politely to people as she passed. Mira noticed that all the Huntrix fans in the room (especially the kids) were unabashedly watching. At least two had broken away from their adults and were whispering to each other, their eyes bouncing from Rumi to Zoey to Mira. Mira winked at them the next time they looked in her direction and watched the resulting blushes flare up. 

Unlike certain purple-haired bandmates, Sungjae had the courtesy to not sneak up on her. He cleared his throat and waited for her to turn towards him. “I think I can already hear the stampede,” Sungjae said.

“Nothing spreads faster than hot gossip,” Mira agreed. There were no clocks within the viewing room and she refused to look at her phone again. “How much longer do you need me here?”

Sungjae tugged absently at the hemp armband from where it was slipping down, again. "There’s only another couple—”

“Not happening. Auntie Eubin picking a fight gave you more than enough fodder to cover my leaving early.”

Sungjae winced. “I’m sorry about that. I thought she was talking to someone else and didn’t see—”

“Rumi handled it,” Mira said, cutting him off. “Just sit on her for the will reading, she’s going to be pissed I’m there, period.” 

“Of course. You and your friends can leave once they’re done eating.” His eyes flicked to the hopeful fans. “Hypothetically, if any autographs were to happen…” 

“We’d do them in the lobby,” Mira told him. She glanced towards the buffet tables. Unlike her, Zoey and Rumi were being polite and only taking a plate of food each. “Hypothetically, I’d say anyone wanting such a thing should be in the lobby in about twenty minutes or so.” 

“Do you need anything for that?” he asked.

Mira reached into a pocket and produced several permanent markers. “First rule of idol life: Always carry something to write with. Fans will ask you to sign anything, anywhere.” 

Sungjae chuckled. “Of course.” He looked up at her. “Thank you, again for coming.” 

“Like I told your fiancée: This is the quickest way to get you out of my life.”

“And here I was planning to invite you to Christmas dinner,” Sungjae deadpanned.

Mira snorted. “Don’t make threats unless you intend to act on them.” She smiled down at him. “Can you imagine the damage I could do?” 

Sungjae shuddered. “No. No, thank you. You’ve made your position clear.” 

Mira had started to turn, more than ready to rejoin Zoey and Rumi. She closed her eyes and drew in a slow breath for a count of six. Held it for four. Let it back out for a full eight. Reopened her eyes. “I couldn’t stay,” she said, not facing him. “It would have killed me. One way or another. And we both know he would have been fine with either outcome.”

Sungjae didn’t reply and after a moment, Mira walked away. Rumi and Zoey had taken over a table. No one had dared approach them yet and Mira flashed a warning look at the one young man who had been visibly steeling his nerves to try. He melted back into the crowd. Rumi slid her a spare pair of chopsticks while Zoey nudged her plate closer to the center. “We’re free to leave after you two finish eating,” Mira said. 

Rumi, already working through a small pyramid of kimbap rolls, lifted her eyebrows in a silent question. 

Mira picked up a slice of pork belly. “We may or may not have to sign some autographs in the lobby,” she admitted. “But I’ve done enough for the day. Distraction accomplished.” 

Rumi eyed the room over Mira’s shoulder. “Good,” she said. Her eyes glittered, pinpricks of gold bleeding and fading from view as she tracked something— or someone— in particular. “I don’t want you here any longer than you have to be.”

Zoey nodded vigorous agreement and stuffed two slices of pork belly into her mouth, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk’s.

“Thank you,” Mira said softly and helped herself to the remaining pancakes on Zoey’s plate. The will reading would be held in three days’ time. After that, they could all go home.

Chapter Text

Officially, the will reading of the Estate of Yun Taesoo had begun at 7:00 am the day before. 

In a final show of calculated malice, her father had detailed his will in reverse order. Her brother had (wisely) not forced her to attend the first day at all. Skimming the agenda Bobby had forwarded made Mira want to take a nap. It had been third and second cousins, lesser business partners, a smattering of personal friends, and a great many philanthropic organizations.

Today they had finally cracked the third degree of consanguinity after the first morning break, with her oldest uncle Hanbin receiving…something or other. Mira had circled her own name on the agenda (after the catered lunch, before the first afternoon break) and had stopped paying attention beyond ticking off names on the agenda. While the estate’s legal team had stopped short of confiscating everyone’s phones, it had been “politely requested” that phones were only to be accessed during breaks and lunch. 

Even on silent, Mira’s phone had buzzed in sporadic bursts, almost walking itself off the conference room table. The attorney ignored the distraction with the ease of long practice but everyone seated near her twitched. (Even in the crowded room, she enjoyed a two chair buffer of personal space.) Mira had put on her emptiest idol smile when glared at and continued to doodle on the complimentary legal pads provided. 

Zoey had been sending her countdown memes and screenshots of Huntrix subreddits trying to figure out why they were being spotted out in Busan. Rumi had been less effusive in the group chat but reacted to Zoey’s offerings. Her last message had read just say the word and Bobby will get us home ASAP, with a screenshot of the itinerary for their trip home attached.

“…Which finally brings me to the matter of my youngest child, Yun Mirae."

There was a chorus of creaks from the leather clad executive chairs as everyone in the room sat up straight and shifted to look in her direction. Mira, for her part, didn’t bother shifting from the calculated slouch she had slid into as the day wore on. She lifted one eyebrow and twiddled her fingers in a mocking wave of acknowledgment. 

She had shown up in her fuck-you-all best: Her usual crop top paired with black leather pants and heavy boots with exposed and battered steel toes. The only denim visible on her jacket was the sleeves— everything was covered in a protective layer of shining silver studs. When she had slung it over her chair upon arrival, the weight of it had made the chair dip back. All her jewelry bristled with spikes, just in case someone missed the memo, and tried to touch her. Against the black backdrop of her clothes, her pink norigae stood out as a singular point of color.

The senior attorney (one of the firm’s founding partners, naturally) cleared his throat and Mira’s eyes snapped to his face. While it was stuffy as all hell in the crowded conference room, his face was shiny with fresh sweat. He refused to meet her eyes, intent on flipping through his small mountain range of folders and paperwork. Junior attorneys and paralegals had been in and out all day, ferrying the relevant materials back and forth. They must have chopped down an entire forest for all the paper her father’s will apparently required. 

Mira’s eyes narrowed as he separated out two folders— one much thicker than the other. He double checked the contents and then returned to the master binder he had been reading from. He cleared his throat again and took a sip of water. By the time he set his glass down, she was sitting up straight, weight eased forward to balance on the edge of her chair. Mira could sense everyone watching her but she kept her eyes fixed on the attorney. 

“A parent never knows how a child will grow up,” the attorney read aloud, “as Mirae has dedicated most of her life to proving.” Mira could hear her father’s measured cadence in every word. His voice had been deep, rumbling across rooms like a tidal wave when he wanted it to. “While I always hoped she would mature beyond her habit of rebellion, I must be pragmatic. The wealth of this family was built upon duty, responsibility, and acting for the betterment of all family members. I will not see it frittered away for mere personal gratification or spite.

“To that end, I have entailed Mirae’s inheritance. Three conditions must be met for her to receive her full inheritance.”

The attorney took another drink of water. A distant part of her mind wondered if anyone else noticed how his hand trembled. No one else in the room moved or even seemed to be breathing. 

“One: Mirae must resign from her current career as an idol with the music group Huntrix, under Sunlight Entertainment Industries. While she has enjoyed extensive professional success and public adulation it has often come at the expense of our family.”

Mira’s heart thudded in her chest. Every beat felt like it was slamming against her ribs, felt like it should be shaking the table as it started to pick up speed. She didn’t know why she was so surprised. Even from beyond the grave, her father was trying for force her back into the mold she thought she had shattered.

“Two: Mirae must submit to an arranged marriage to a spouse of the appropriate station within two calendar years of my passing. I trust in Sungjae’s ability to find a matchmaker who relishes the challenge.”

Her hands, hidden safely under the table, curled into white-knuckled fists. Her fingerless gloves protected her palms but the pressure of her nails against worn leather and the ache in her knuckles gave her something else to focus on. A challenge. As if she was nothing more than a puzzle to be cracked and solved.

“Three: Pursuant to the previous condition, Mirae and her husband must have at least one child within five calendar years after their wedding. If previously unknown medical conditions prevent this, adoption will also be acceptable. Children are our family’s future and I dream that Mirae will one day recognize and accept her role to that end.”

Mira was a Hunter and an idol. She had spent years honing her body’s ability to do what she wanted. Right now, she forced herself to breathe. Just breathe. If she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t do anything else. While it wasn’t quite at the same level as Rumi’s or Zoey’s, her breath control was still exquisite. It could take her a whole minute to fill her lungs. Another to empty them. 

“If the conditions outlined above are not met, Mirae will only inherit her elective share as determined by law. If she has grown enough to submit to the duties and responsibilities of a Yun, I will be pleased for her to inherit—”

Mira stood.

The attorney stopped mid-sentence and looked at her. There was an apology in his eyes but whatever he saw in her face made him blanch and drop his eyes to the table without another word. Mira stared at the two folders— one for each scenario, carefully drafted and executed according to her father’s desires. 

It had been years since she felt this level of rage. Celine had spent the better part of two years breaking her free of it. Anger was a useful tool in battle. Rage got you— and only you, if you were fortunate, Celine had lectured her time and time again— killed. A Hunter could not afford to give into rage. Two years, countless hours being ground to a fine paste in the sparring ring and then forced to run laps afterwards, and six different therapists. 

She had forgotten how it felt: As if everything she touched should have caught fire. The inferno licking up the inside of her ribs and belly, smoking off her skin in silent warning. For all the tension locked into her muscles, she felt oddly loose and detached. Like she was drifting, two steps removed from her body. 

Mira dragged her eyes away from the folders. She let her eyes slide over everyone else in the room. Like the attorney, most could not meet her gaze for more than a second. Auntie Eubin wore a smug smile that vanished when Mira looked at her. Next to her, Dasom mouthed a silent apology before glancing away. Finally, Mira looked at her mother and brother. 

Yun Nayoung did not flinch or look away. If Mira was a raging forest fire wrapped in a fragile container of blood, bone, and skin, her mother was a glacier. Cold and impenetrable, something to be admired only from afar. Next to her, Sungjae was a pale reflection of their father— fine suit, high cheekbones, not a hair out of place. Someone suited to this world where what was said (or not said) could be deadlier than the starlight-forged steel of her gok-do. He rose to his feet, hands half-lifted in front of him. Whether in self-defense or to try and calm her, Mira didn’t know. Either way, she wanted to break his wrists. “Mirae,” he said softly and then corrected himself. “Mira.”

She didn’t respond. Didn’t let her lip curl into the snarl ready and waiting, vibrating at the base of her diaphragm. Anticipation rippled around the room, everyone waiting to see what would happen next. How she— known across the entire fucking world for her temper— would react. They didn’t get to see that. Didn’t deserve to know how her father’s final ultimatums felt like acid, etched into her memory against her will. So she breathed and said nothing. She stared at her brother until uncertainty flickered in the back of his eyes. 

The senior attorney shifted in his seat and a single spring creaked with the motion. 

Sungjae looked away, a reflexive twitch towards new stimuli, and Mira moved. She stepped back from the table, sliding her arms into her jacket. The weight of studded denim settled over her shoulders, comforting and familiar. Reflex had her phone tucked into a pocket as she slipped out the door and into the universal bland decor of corporate hallways everywhere. She strode towards the elevators, her boot heels thudding against plush carpet.

“Mira!”

Her brother’s voice behind her. Mira didn’t hesitate, swerving away from the elevators. Red neon marked the path to the stairs. The stairwell door was too well built to slam against the wall but that didn’t stop her from trying. The fire inside her was licking at her fingertips, a wordless cry for destruction. She groped for the Honmoon, ready to fling herself down the stairs and escape, but the strands slipped through her mental fingers— 

A hand closed around her shoulder.

The fire inside her roared and she whirled, hands coming up to grab her brother’s jacket. She shoved, slamming him back against the closest wall and pinning him there. His feet might have left the ground, just for a few seconds. It was a good thing she hadn’t had the Honmoon bolstering her strength or she might have done real damage. Right now, she wouldn’t have minded if she had. 

“How dare you?” she ground out. “I swear to God, if you knew about that before today there’s about to be another death in the family.” It’d be so easy, the stairs were right behind them.

“No!” Sungjae choked. “I had no idea, I swear!”

“Then why are you here right now?” She shook him, hard enough to make his head bounce off the wall.

His hands closed around her forearms, avoiding the spikes of her bracelets. “Just— take a moment.”

“To do what? Exactly?”

His eyes were wide behind their glasses. “I know you’re angry. I never thought he would do something like that. You can walk away with the elective share,” he said. “God only knows how much you’ll lose to the inheritance tax but it’s still enough—”

She shook him again, teeth bared in wordless fury, and he closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. 

“Imagine what you could do with your full inheritance,” he said. “You left before they read it out but— You know what he wanted, what his plans were for us, for the family. What if it’s not just money or properties? There could be enough shares in the company for you to have a real stake. Think of what you could do with that power. You could set up trusts or nonprofits. Throw your social capital into whatever causes matter most to you.”

Mira’s jaw dropped, stunned beyond words. 

Sungjae swallowed and pressed his advantage. “I’m sure we can work around the entailment conditions. I know you love your job but— well, idol careers are finite. There was nothing about cutting off contact with your friends or continuing to receive income from royalties.” 

“And the other two?” she asked through numb lips. “The ones demanding a suitable marriage and children?”

“Weren’t you listening?” Sungjae said, earnest. “I don’t know if he did it on purpose but it just said spouse. Not husband. You could marry a woman.” 

Mira froze. She stared down at him but her mind was ten years and fifty kilometers away.

“I should not be surprised at how you continue to surpass the limits of my patience, Mirae.”

Her father’s voice was soft and even. He stared at her, the fingers of one hand tapping the edge of his desk. She stared back, arms crossed and only half paying attention while she stood in front of the desk. Two months wasn’t the longest she’d gone without a lecture but she hadn’t been trying to avoid one. Her father seemed to be waiting for a response and how could she disappoint him? It was practically required of her, as the seventeen year old “problem child” of the family.

“I’m sorry, was there a question in there?” she drawled. She waved a hand in the air. “Press A to skip the rest of this little cut scene please.”

“That’s enough,” he said, a muscle jumping in one cheek. “You’re not a child any longer. As you seem…determined to prove.”

“Again, not a question.”

He stood up from his chair and she shut her mouth. He opened a drawer and retrieved a thin manila folder. His movements were precise as he flicked it open and set out a series of photos on his desk top. Mira glanced down at them and felt her stomach drop away into emptiness.

They were grainy, blown up to capture the relevant details. 

They were all of her. 

The first few weren’t bad shots, all taken mid-competition. Her grin wild and unfettered, long pink hair a blur of movement. But the fact that they existed at all— when everyone at those dance battles knew she didn’t want her photo taken, ever— was a blow.

The others…She swallowed. “How did you get these?” she asked, her voice rough.

“I had you followed,” he father said, calm and matter of fact. “Or did you think we didn’t notice your little midnight outings?”

There were only three of them on the table. Mira had the ugly suspicion that there were more, somewhere. God, if she ever found out who had taken them, she was going to beat their ass to hell and back.

The first photo showed her kissing a girl. Mira hadn’t even caught her name. She’d been in one of the other groups and Mira hadn’t been able to take her eyes off her the entire time they had been performing. In the photo, one of Mira’s hands was buried in her hair, tilting her head just so. Mira could remember the feeling of the girl’s hair under her hand, the sticky smack of lip gloss against her skin. 

The second photo showed them up against a wall, pressed shoulder to thigh. Mira’s lips against the girl’s throat and hands curled around her hips to keep her in place against Mira’s thigh.

The last photo had been taken later, after Mira had been flipped so that it was her back to the wall. Her head was tilted back, eyes squeezed shut, and her mouth open. It had been a blur of sensation at the time but the other girl’s hand was up her shirt, exposing a flash of pale skin. She was clearly groping Mira’s tit, her mouth pressed up against the underside of Mira’s jaw.

Her father stared down at the photos for a long moment, jaw tightening even further. 

“There are limits,” he said. “And then there are limits.” He stabbed a finger down at the last photo. “You are a Yun. You are destined for greater things than back alley dance competitions and hormone-addled…experiments.” His lip curled before he smoothed out his features into its standard “I’m disappointed in you” expression.

“So if I got caught kissing one of Sungjae’s old classmates, you’d be perfectly fine with it?” she snapped. “What, do I need to ask for a curriculum vitae of anyone who wants to make out with me?”

Her father blew out a short, sharp breath. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said curtly. “But we’ve indulged you for far too long.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a shiny brochure. “There’s a boarding school,” he said, holding it out. “I’ve made discreet inquiries but they seem well-equipped to handle your…difficult attitudes.”

She took it but didn’t bother looking at it. “My attitudes,” she repeated. A familiar fire was sparking to life, curling up towards her heart. “Spoiler alert, father dearest, in case the photos weren’t clear enough: The day I let a man fuck me is the day I die.”

“I’ve already had offers for your hand,” her father informed her as if she hadn’t spoken. “Naturally I’ll wait until you graduate university before deciding but—”

“Oh, naturally,” she sneered. The brochure crumpled in her hand. “How generous of you to wait before auctioning me off like some sort of prized sow.” 

“If you thought anything other than an arranged marriage was in your future you’re more of a child than I thought. I will not leave this family’s future to chance.”

Mira’s temper caught, heat surging through her body in a flash. She stepped forward and dropped the brochure on the blotter before sweeping her hands across the entire expanse, scattering everything— photos, a calendar, stray pens, a tray of paperclips and sticky notes— to the floor.

“If you think I will ever give a damn about this family’s future,” she managed, heart pounding in her chest. “You’re crazier than I thought.”

Her father hadn’t moved. He surveyed the small-scale destruction of his desk and shook his head. “Go to your room,” he said. “I suggest you start packing. The admissions officer I spoke to said they accept students at any point in the academic calendar.” 

Oh, she’d started packing a long time ago. Mira whirled around and stalked out of the study, slamming the door behind her before breaking into a run. It was satisfying, movement and a purpose taming her anger down to a dull throb. 

Her father’s study was on the opposite end of the mansion, far away from any possible distractions that he didn’t bring in himself. She was panting by the time she careened around the final corner and into her room. Sungjae was still at work so no one was around to hear her door slam shut. It still felt good to do so, to hear the heavy wood rattle against the frame with the force of it. Mira eyed her punching bag in a corner but took a deep breath. 

Calm. She had to be calm if she was actually going to pull this off. She threw herself onto her bed, covering her face with a pillow. She thought she had known the best routes off the estate without getting caught but if she’d been followed to dance battles…She screamed into the pillow. Sue her, she was only human. 

She was seventeen. The age of majority was nineteen. She’d been ferrying out a steady stream of essentials (and the occasional piece of jewelry or small objet d’art) for the past year, year and a half. Half the dance team had offered her a spot on their couches and floor. She guessed it was time to see if they had meant it or not. Her team captain, Insoo, had given her a beat up burner phone, already loaded with minutes from a pay-as-you-go card. Call and text only, no smartphone capabilities at all.

She didn’t know if her family knew about it or not but— She groaned and flung the pillow across the room. It was this kind of bullshit that drove her fucking nuts. Trying to guess and counter-guess what everyone in this mansion knew and how they would act in response. How everything revolved around what it would look like to their so-called “peers” in high society.

For better or worse, she had a deadline now. Her father hadn’t given a explicit date but she wasn’t about to wait for one. She’d wait until after dinner and then make her move. She was getting out.

Mira uncurled her fingers from her brother’s suit, one at a time. Her hands ached but she ignored the pain. This time when she stepped back, he didn’t try to stop her, hands falling to his side. She didn’t know how much he knew about what driven her to run away from home. It didn’t matter either way. That fact that he stood there and suggested she even entertain the notion… 

“In what universe,” she whispered. “Did you actually think that would work?” 

Sungjae shook his head. “You don’t have to answer today or tomorrow but I just— I wanted to make sure you’d think before doing anything impulsive,” he pleaded.

Seventeen year old her would have broken his nose, just to show him how impulsive she could be. As it stood…she lunged forward and gripped the collar of his shirt, yanking him off balance with an easy twist. He staggered with a gasp, arms flailing. He tipped towards the stairs but she opened the stairwell door with her free hand and swung him around. She planted one heavy boot in front of his ankle and released him with a final shove. He tripped and crashed to the thick carpet of the law firm’s lobby with a groan. She let the door swing shut and turned around. 

She flexed her fingers and felt the Honmoon catch in her mental grip this time. It thrummed under her as she threw herself down the stairs, clearing entire flights at a time, grabbing stair railings long enough to sling her momentum around and into the next jump. 

Her focus narrowed as the floors flew past. Get out. Call a driver. Get back to Rumi and Zoey. She hit the ground floor landing and bounced off the wall, bleeding off her extra velocity into the Honmoon to cushion the impact. She took a moment to catch her breath, smoothing her hair back into some semblance of order with hands that shook. 

She carded her fingers through the strands of her norigae, her tiny Rumi and Zoey charms a solid anchor amidst everything else. Her throat ached, but she took another deep breath. And another. With the third, she pushed open the stairwell door and pulled her phone out of her jacket.

Later, she had to concentrate to try and remember how she had gotten back to the hotel. There was the vague sense of sliding into a backseat, a car in motion, and then taking the elevator up…it was all blurry, buried underneath the rage still coiled around her heart. God, she was still so furious— They had never been the closest of siblings but she thought Sungjae knew her better. Had she not been clear enough, how much she hated everything about the lifestyle her family enjoyed? Did he think she exaggerated how returning to that world would be the end of her?

And her father’s will. The “conditions” he had set, as if that would actually— It was probably a good thing she didn’t know where they planned to put his ashes. She wanted to take a baseball bat to the delicate marble urn and watch it shatter.

Her fingertips were numb and buzzing. Her teeth ached to bite into something— anything. She felt like she could chew through steel. The elevator doors slid open and she stepped into the open living room that wasn’t home. She stopped, just past the elevator threshold. She stood there, heart still pounding against her ribs and tried to breathe. Safe. She was safe now. 

“Mira? Is that you?” 

Mira’s head snapped back up to see Zoey peering over the back of a padded armchair at her. Whatever Zoey saw made the chair hit the ground as she vaulted over it, intent on reaching Mira as fast as she could. She knew Zoey, knew she only wanted to help but the idea of being touched, being gentled or soothed, made her jerk back until her jacket hit the elevator doors with a sharp clack. 

Zoey froze but her socked feet kept going on slick tile. She stopped, just out of arm’s reach. 

Mira tried to open her mouth but her jaw was too tight. She stood there and trembled, a fire greedy for more fuel for the flames. She didn’t want to burn her girl, not like this. She tried to remember if Zoey had ever seen her like this during training. The rapper had been the final addition to Huntrix, catching up to Mira’s two years and Rumi’s literal lifetime under Celine’s tutelage. Rumi though…She had had a front row seat to it all.

As if she could read her mind, Zoey turned her head and shouted, “Rumi!”

Zoey’s tone brought Rumi out of one of the other bedrooms at a run. “Zoey? What’s wrong?” She skidded to a halt, braid whipping back and forth as she looked between Mira and Zoey. Zoey didn’t answer and Rumi’s eyes flicked up and down them both, looking for some kind of injury. Mira met her gaze, saw a spark of recognition in Rumi’s eyes, her mouth forming a silent ah of understanding. 

Rumi stepped closer but didn’t touch her. “Are you hurt?” Her voice was cool and calm. Professional. 

Mira shook her head.

“Is anyone else hurt? Any property damage?” Rumi pressed. “Do I need to call Bobby, have him warn Legal or PR about anything?”

Another head shake. Rumi let out a slow breath, nodding. “Good,” she murmured. Mira shivered but didn’t otherwise move. Rumi placed a hand on her shoulder and Mira went perfectly, utterly, still. 

“Gym,” she said. “Now.” As if there was no possibility of Mira doing anything except what she ordered. When Rumi spoke in that tone of voice, they listened. There was no room for arguing in a fight and Mira trusted her to lead without question. (Well, when she wasn’t sprinting ahead of the others.)

But for once— Mira balked. She closed her eyes. “Can’t,” she choked out through gritted teeth. “I’m not— not safe.” 

Less than a heartbeat later, there was a hand twisted in the collar of her shirt. Mira gasped, tried to pull away, and stopped as Rumi’s other hand cupped her face, fingers gripping under her jaw even as her thumb stroked Mira’s cheek. “I’ll decide that,” Rumi said, implacable as the sun rising. Behind her Zoey made a choked little noise but didn’t speak. 

Something cracked and gave way inside Mira’s chest, muscles unlocking, just a fraction. She leaned into Rumi’s hand with a shuddering sigh. Rumi released her shirt, fingers smoothing out the wrinkled fabric. Mira swallowed and didn’t wish for her hand to slid a little higher, to place her fingers on the pulse thundering in Mira’s carotid artery and squeeze. Just a little. She didn’t. 

Another slow sweep across her cheekbone. “Change your clothes first. Then gym,” Rumi repeated and stepped back, eyes softening. “Go. I’ve got you.”

Mira went. She heard Rumi saying something to Zoey but ignored it. Bedroom. Clothes. Gym. It took longer than she liked, to manage the laces and zippers of her boots. She carefully set aside her norigae on the bedside table but dumped the rest of her jewelry on the ground to be sorted out later. She peeled out of her leather pants with a sigh relief as air hit her sweaty skin. A loose t-shirt, compression bra, and pair of bike shorts came out of her suitcase.  She didn’t bother with socks or shoes. 

She came back out of the bedroom and slipped down the hall to the gym. While it wasn’t tiny like some of the so-called “private gyms” offered, it was still small by their usual standards. Enough room to spar hand-to-hand if they were careful. A rack of free weights, a weight bench, and some yoga mats stacked into a pyramid. She suspected the full wall of mirrors and ballet barre bolted to the wall is what made her brother pick this particular hotel. 

Rumi caught her eye as she entered and nodded towards the barre before returning to partnered stretches with Zoey. They had been waiting for her to get back, already dressed for a lazy day in tank tops and yoga pants.

She went to the barre and started to warm up. More of her muscles unlocked, routine overriding everything else churning inside her. Zoey finished her own warm up first and took up a position against the wall, arms crossed. Rumi paced a meditative circuit of the room, rolling out her neck and shoulders. 

Mira rose out of a final grand plié and stepped forward. Rumi settled in a ready stance, hands raised to protect her face. They all had training in a variety of martial arts. Rumi had even tested for some, a collection of rank belts on display in her room at Celine’s estate. Mira matched her stance. 

Zoey started to hum, a wordless tune that wasn’t part of their discography but something much, much older. The Honmoon curled into view, circling around the room under Zoey’s command. Unless Rumi or Mira reached for their own power, they couldn’t pass the threshold Zoey had established. 

Rumi smiled, lazy and confident as a tiger. She didn’t say anything, just crooked two fingers at Mira, a silent Bring it on, then.

Mira lashed out with a side kick, aiming for the hand with those mocking fingers. Rumi blocked the kick with one forearm, caught her foot and twisted, sending Mira crashing to the ground. Zoey’s Honmoon barrier cushioned the blow but not very much. Mira rolled back to her feet with a snarl and tried again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

To suggest her moves had any kind of technique or strategy behind them was generous. If it weren’t for Zoey and the Honmoon, Mira would have been bounced up one side of the gym and down the other half a dozen times. Rumi alternated between letting Mira attack first before taking her down to the ground and going on the attack, punching through the openings Mira knew better than to leave her. Sparring with Rumi was a challenge at the best of times and this did not qualify as the best of anything.

But fuck, it was such a relief to let go and let the fire spill over. 

Mira gasped as her knees hit the ground, breathing ragged as Rumi held her in an arm lock. “You want this to stop?” Rumi asked. She was breathing a little harder than normal but still under control. Barely sweating, just enough to make her patterns shine. “Land a hit. Take me down. Prove your control.” 

Mira nodded and Rumi released the arm lock. Mira had started crying at some point during the fight, ragged gasping sobs that robbed her attacks of power, weakened her blocks. The tears mixed with sweat to spatter on the floor but Rumi didn't stop coming, her jaw set with determination. Zoey's humming wavered but didn't stop and Mira couldn't spare the time to look in her direction. Mira scrubbed at her face with one arm before she staggered to her feet and turned to face Rumi. 

She was solidly in her body now, no more vague feelings of detachment to disguise how much her muscles ached. Her hands were the worst, unable to fully close into fists at this point. There was nothing of the hyper-focused clarity from the conference room. Her rage was well and truly gone, guttered out into a bone-deep exhaustion.  

Rumi surged forward and Mira cursed as she dodged out of the way of a hook kick followed by flurry of quick punches. Mira swung down into a sweep kick in an effort to try and break the rhythm of Rumi’s attack. Rumi jumped over it but one foot slipped as she came back down, skidding off one of the gross tear-sweat puddles Mira had left behind. Mira didn’t try for anything fancy, just threw herself forward as Rumi fought to regain her balance. Rumi grunted as Mira’s shoulder hit her stomach but it was too late.

They tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs and Mira groaned. Her head had ended up on Rumi’s stomach and she was disinclined to move despite the knee jabbing into her own stomach. A warm hand settled on the top of her head and she went still.

“There you are,” Rumi murmured. “Welcome back.”

“Yeah,” Mira managed. “…Thanks.” 

Rumi slid her hand down to the back of Mira’s neck and squeezed, just once. Mira prayed the noise she made was quiet enough to be muffled by Rumi’s shirt otherwise Zoey would never let her hear the end of it.

Quiet footsteps gave enough of a warning that she didn’t jump when Zoey touched her shoulder. “Dumb question but are you okay?” she asked.

“Not in the slightest,” Mira said. She forced herself to roll off Rumi and grimaced as her back found more puddles on the ground. She had sweat less wearing leather and doing an entire concert in July. “Can I shower first at least?”

“Probably for the best,” Zoey mused, looking down at her. “Like, I love you and all, but girl, you are rank.” 

“There’s the love and support I know I can count on,” Mira said with a sigh. She considered her limbs and the distance to the bathroom. “Help me up?” 

Zoey reached down to give her a hand up but Mira’s grip was too weak. Zoey’s eyebrows rose but she sank into a deeper squat and grabbed Mira’s forearms without a word. It wasn’t pretty by any stretch of the imagination but they got Mira up and on her feet in stages. Rumi applauded softly from where she was still lying on the ground. Zoey offered her a hand but Rumi rolled to her feet with an ease that made Mira jealous. At least she hadn’t done a full kip-up. Mira might have had to kick her for that level of showing off. 

“Shower and then couch?” Rumi asked. 

Zoey pouted. “It’s not our couch.” 

Rumi looked at Mira. “Should I call Bobby about getting home faster?”

“Tempting but no.” Mira shook her head as she massaged first one hand and then the other. “I’m not going to let them run me out of town with my tail tucked between my legs.”

Rumi nodded before shooing them all out of the gym. 

Chapter Text

Mira didn’t deny that wealth had its advantages. An hour under a rainfall shower head and targeted body jets went a long way towards making her feel human again. She flexed her fingers as she emerged into the living room. They still ached but nothing a little Tiger Balm and ibuprofen couldn’t handle. Handling chopsticks would be fun but she was pretty sure she could manage. Probably. She was not above scarfing her food with her bare hands or asking one of the others to feed her.

Rumi and Zoey were waiting for her on the couch. It was tiny compared to the one at home but Mira wasn’t going to complain as she settled between them with a groan. Zoey burrowed under one arm while Rumi was content to just lean her head against Mira’s shoulder. Mira let her head drop back and took a moment to breathe.

“Not to point out the obvious,” Rumi said after a few minutes of peaceful silence. “But you haven’t been that angry in…a while.”

Mira let out a slow breath. “Yeah,” she said. “I don’t know what I was expecting today but…” Her fingers twitched and she breathed through the flicker of anger. Every word her father had written had been designed to hurt and it had worked. 

“That bad, huh?” Zoey said, her voice soft.

Mira stared straight ahead. The suite had a beautiful panoramic view of the Gwangan bridge and the Korea Strait beyond. The sun was starting to set, long streaks of color sliding across the sky. “My father,” she said and her voice was very even, “in his infinite, paternal wisdom, placed conditions upon my inheritance. An entailment.” 

She could feel Rumi and Zoey stiffen on either side of her and she waited. Kept her breathing slow and measured. In for six. Hold for four. Out for eight. Her rage had had its time to burn. She was back in control, dammit.

“Like what?” Zoey finally asked.

Mira waved her free hand. “Oh, just some minor things. Tasks to prove I’m worthy to receive my full portion of the Yun family fortune.” 

“Mira,” Rumi said. There was no command in her voice now, just a gentle request that made Mira shiver.  

Better to get it over with. Like ripping off a bandaid or reducing a dislocated joint. “Leave Huntrix. Get married to a family-approved spouse. Have kids to continue building the familial dynasty.” She ticked off each condition on a finger and then let her hand fall back down into her lap.

Next to her, Rumi had gone very still. 

Even if the hair at the back of her neck hadn’t prickled, hindbrain screaming predator, Mira had enough experience to know what came next. When Rumi lunged to her feet, Mira moved with her. She missed her grab for Rumi’s wrist but thankfully Rumi didn’t go far. Two short steps and then she swung back around, drawing in a deep breath as she stared at Mira.

Rippling patterns, check.

Golden eyes, check.

Claws, check. 

“If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him myself.” 

Mira’s heart squeezed in her chest, breathless at the venom in Rumi’s voice. There was no demonic rasp to her voice, just plain human fury. Rumi continued, “It’s been almost ten years after you left. How dare they try and take you back after letting you go without a fight.”

“Celine did have to stall them,” Mira felt compelled to point out. “Just until I was nineteen but…” 

Rumi’s lip curled up in a silent snarl and, oh, her fangs were very much present. “I looked them up,” she hissed. “I saw how much influence they hold. They’re not a chaebol yet but they’re close. If they had really wanted to, they could have taken you back.”

For all of her myriad personal failures, Celine had not batted an eye when Mira had laid out her personal situation after her final audition. She had been bundled off to Celine’s rural estate outside of Seoul to start training with Rumi. How tragic, such poor cell phone reception, barely any internet service, and neighbors who knew exactly when to gossip (or not) about newcomers lurking around town. 

“Boarding school or idol training. Same difference.” Mira forced herself to shrug. “Out of sight, out of mind. I imagine they wanted me to come crawling back. Once I was desperate enough.”

“Then they never knew you at all.” Rumi stepped close and cupped Mira’s face in her hands. “You’re Mira. Our Mira. You never back down from a fight. You know exactly what to do in any given situation whether it’s dealing with paparazzi or a minor army of demons. You’ll spend hours teaching me and Zoey choreo until we nail it, never losing your temper. Almost never,” she amended when Mira opened her mouth to protest.

Mira could feel her cheeks heating up under Rumi’s touch but she couldn’t pull away. Arms slipped around her waist and Zoey pressed her forehead against her back. “I know disowning family isn’t a thing here like it is in the States,” Zoey said, muffled. “But they don’t deserve you. They really, really don’t. And it’s nobody’s fault but their own for not realizing it.” 

Mira shuddered and Zoey’s arms tightened. “If they could have disowned me, they would have. Get rid of the horrible stain upon the Yun family name.”

Rumi smoothed a thumb over Mira’s cheek. “I’d give you my last name in a heartbeat,” she murmured and then froze, eyes going wide. Mira watched the gold vanish from Rumi’s eyes even as her cheeks turned bright red. “Not like that! I mean— Everyone knows you don’t use your last name unless it’s legally required.” 

It was true. If names were required for teleprompters or interview banners, she was Mira of Huntrix. It was the same for Rumi and Zoey. Maintaining a unified brand was the PR department’s official reasoning. Distancing them from the Sunlight Sisters, as much as possible after their debut. Only two or three media outlets had been blacklisted for trying to pry into Mira’s past beyond the bare bones copy PR department provided. She could only imagine what her father would have done to any reporter who had gone sniffing around the company for anything juicier.  

Zoey was shaking with silent laughter as Rumi just. Kept. Talking. It was like a watching a train wreck. Literal years of media training, wasted. 

“—I’m sure we could get the court records sealed, nobody would have to know, and even if they did, we could explain it! If we don’t treat it like a dirty little secret then it can’t be used against us. The fans would have our back, I’m sure—” 

At some point, Rumi had pulled away, hands waving as she tried and failed to dig herself out of the conversational sinkhole her casual offer had opened up. Mira could watch Rumi go around in circles for hours but she didn’t need Zoey’s soft head butt to recognize the opening Rumi had given her. Given them. 

Mira placed a single finger over Rumi’s lips and Rumi stopped, hands frozen mid-air. “Hey,” Mira said. Couldn’t stop her lips from curling into a fond smile as she took Rumi’s hands. They were callused, years of training with sword and playing guitar leaving their mark. “It’s okay.” She took a deep breath and stepped off the ledge. “I’m already yours and Zoey’s. I have been for years.” 

Rumi’s fingers tightened under hers but she didn’t otherwise move. There was nothing predatory about her stillness now, brown eyes wide and fixed on Mira. 

Mira stepped a little closer, Zoey still clinging to her back. “You could hurt me so much it terrifies me,” she whispered. She’d handed over her heart a long time ago. Ages before the Saja Boys and the disastrous International Idol Awards. “My family is…whatever, their loss, like you said. They don’t matter. Not like you and Zoey.”

Zoey didn’t say anything but Mira felt her fingers curl tighter around her waist. They’d had time, over the years, to settle into a comfortable orbit with each other. One centered around Rumi, whether or not she knew it.

“I’d never hurt you,” Rumi said. “Not after—”

“I know,” Mira reassured her. They had forgiven each other for that awful night over and over again. “Zoey and I have waited this long. We can wait a little longer while you figure things out.”

“Can we though?” Zoey muttered. Mira swung a foot back and caught her shin without looking away from Rumi. “I mean yes! Of course we can. Super patient, that’s me. Us.” She peered around Mira’s arm and smiled at Rumi.

Rumi’s gaze flickered between the pair of them. A small wrinkle formed between her brows and Mira wanted to smooth it away. “I don’t— Both of you? Waiting for…me?”

One of the consequences of the Namsan Tower fight was Rumi finally (finally) starting to meet with a therapist. They had even found one who knew about the Honmoon and Hunters, with the help of Zoey’s mom. The fact that Rumi’s voice was that small, that disbelieving, after two years…Mira added another “Celine-based punching bag” session to her mental schedule.

“You’re Rumi,” Mira said. “You once delayed an entire fan meet and greet because a kid lost their plushie and couldn’t stop crying until we found it. You didn’t pass it off to security, you got everyone in the room organized, and looked for the plushie yourself.”

Zoey detached herself from Mira’s back and stepped forward. “You know the names of everyone on our crews and ask them how they’re doing after ten hours of tech rehearsal.”

“You never ask us to do anything you wouldn’t do yourself.” 

(Rumi’s tendency to try and shoulder any burden instead of asking for help was a topic for another day. Mira often added an extra set to her Celine bag sessions because they all knew exactly where that bad habit had originated.)

“You love what you do and it shows.” Zoey shook her head. “The fact that you’re just, like, insanely hot while doing so is almost rude to be honest.” 

Rumi choked out a laugh. “Zoey!” The tips of her ears were turning a deep pink. There had been a brief trend of fans getting autographs tattooed in a variety of places. Most had taken written autographs and transferred them. Others had gone directly from the meet-and-greets to a tattoo shop. Mira had once watched her sign a fan’s hip without batting an eye, asking which of the band’s albums was her favorite and why. 

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Mira admitted, just to see if the blush would spread. No luck. “But that dedication? The passion? How could we not fall in love with you?”

Rumi closed her eyes and Mira watched her chest rise and fall in a familiar, structured, pattern. But she didn’t move away, didn’t reject them out of hand. Mira swallowed around the hope rising in her chest and waited. Zoey, normally the first of them to give into nervous movement, was still as a statue next to her. 

“How long?” Rumi asked, eyes still closed. The furrow between her eyebrows was still there but it had softened.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mira said, as if Zoey didn’t have the exact date saved in both their phones as a cryptic mishmash of pine tree, heart, and sparkle emojis.

Zoey stepped forward. “You kind of had other things on your mind.” She stole one of Rumi’s hands from Mira, brushed a thumb over the patterns wrapped around Rumi’s knuckles. “I was wondering if we needed to drop more hints. Just in case you were still in the closet.” 

Rumi’s eyes flew back open. She gaped at Zoey. “What— What closet?” she spluttered. “Zoey, my concert eyeshadow is literally the bi flag! We’ve been to pride parades!”

Mira shrugged one shoulder. “We didn’t want to assume,” she said, lips twitching. “Maybe you’re just a really, really, good ally of the queer commun—”

Rumi yanked her forward into a kiss. Mira’s lips stung from the force of impact but she steadied herself on Rumi’s shoulders. If Rumi had ever kissed anyone, she hadn’t told Zoey or Mira about it. That was fine, Mira would be more than happy to offer whatever remedial kissing lessons Rumi might require. There wouldn’t be many, Mira thought as Rumi tilted her head to one side and leaned into her. Mira pulled back, just a hair, and Rumi followed, lips soft and warm against her own. She would have been content to stay there for hours, maybe days. At some point, one of her hands had crept up into Rumi’s hair. Rumi pulled back, breath catching in her throat as Mira tugged, testing a theory. Mira chased her lips, opening her own to swallow the moan Rumi let out as she tugged again, a little harder. 

“Oh, that’s not fair,” Zoey said, sounding more than a little breathless next to them. “You got her glowing.”

Mira stepped back, reluctantly pulling her hand free. Sure enough, Rumi’s patterns were brighter in the dimming living room, a kaleidoscope under warm skin. “Don’t worry, baby,” she said. She licked her lips and watched Rumi follow the motion with half-closed eyes. “I think it’s your turn now.” 

Zoey didn’t need to be told twice. Her fingers caught Rumi’s chin and Rumi went, swaying towards the shorter girl with a sigh. Zoey kissed like she sang, all short bursts interspersed with the occasional longer interlude that left people breathless. She didn’t repeat the hair tugging but trailed kisses down, under Rumi’s jaw and along her throat until she hit patterns. Mira didn’t see what she did exactly but it made Rumi shiver, tilting her head back with a gasp. 

“Be nice,” Mira chided Zoey. 

“I am nice,” Zoey mumbled against Rumi’s skin. “Ask anyone, I’m the nicest person ever.” 

“Uh-huh,” Mira said, watching Rumi try to catch her breath, fingers clutching at Zoey’s waist. “Gonna share that niceness with me at some point?”

Zoey didn’t let go of Rumi’s hips but she turned and fluttered her lashes at Mira. “Come find out,” she teased.

Mira stepped forward and curled an arm around Rumi’s waist before bending down to capture Zoey’s lips. 

There might have been some kisses shared in years past but they had quickly agreed: It was better to wait for Rumi. It had been hard enough with Rumi’s self-imposed isolation. So they didn’t kiss each other, consoling themselves with regularly scheduled pining sessions at the bathhouse. After Namsan Tower, when Rumi had started experimenting with shorter sleeves and shorts, they had been very, very, tempted but managed to hold out. (It turned out Derpy’s fur was great for muffling screams of gay frustration.)

But the waiting was over. Mira hummed as Zoey’s lips parted under hers. She caught a bottom lip and bit down, just to hear Zoey squeak. Zoey, the traitor, wrapped a hand around the back of Mira’s neck and squeezed, sending electricity zinging down her spine. Mira groaned but didn’t pull away, tracing her nose over Zoey’s cheek to capture an earlobe, teeth tugging at the piercings there.

Rumi had always been a quick study. She pressed her lips to the corner of Mira’s jaw, dragging up to a cheek and temple. Mira pulled away long enough to offer a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to Rumi before turning her attention to Zoey’s other ear, leaving plenty of room for Rumi to come in. The other girl worked her way down to Mira’s collarbone, making Mira shudder as she experimented, soft kisses giving way to the drag of tongue and teeth against her skin. Mira had to stop and fight to keep from panting into Zoey’s ear, fingers tightening around Rumi's waist and Zoey's shoulder.

Rumi hummed, deep and satisfied in her chest, and Mira felt her smirk against her skin before she turned her attention back towards Zoey, working her way back up her neck to kiss her again. Mira watched them, content to wait her turn. It wasn’t long. Years of working together had them establish an easy rhythm, trading kisses back and forth. 

A distant part of Mira knew they should stop, should probably slow down. Zoey had an entire Poly 101 slideshow prepped and ready to go. Hell, it had a full annotated bibliography, painstakingly formatted. There were communication worksheets and lists of suggested readings. Fanart might have been included despite Mira’s best efforts. But Rumi’s hand was fisted in her collar, keeping her in place, while Zoey had snuck a hand under her shirt and was dragging blunt nails over the skin of her lower back.

“We’re going up, up, up, it’s our moment, gonna be, gonna be golden!”

Rumi’s phone buzzed against Mira’s hip. All three of them jumped apart, stumbling a little as limbs untangled and they caught their balance. They stared at each other, wild-eyed and panting, as Rumi dug her phone out of her pocket. She showed them the screen— It was Bobby. 

Mira glanced at the time and winced. Right. She had scheduled a check-in call with him for after the will reading. Which would have ended about thirty minutes ago, according to the calendar alert in Rumi’s notifications. Mira reached over and tapped the answer button. (Audio-only, she could only imagine what they looked like right now.)

“Hi Bobby!” 

Their chorus was a little slower and more ragged than usual. If Bobby noticed, he didn’t let it show in his voice. “Heeey girls,” he said and cleared his throat. “I tried Mira’s phone first but she didn’t answer.”

Rumi steered them all back to the couch, wedging Mira back in the middle.

Mira scrubbed her face with one hand. Did not get distracted by the feeling of cool air sliding over spit-slicked skin. “Shit. I’m sorry, Bobby,” she apologized. “Left my phone in my jacket in the other room.” 

“No worries,” he said. “I’m glad to hear you made it back to the hotel all right.” He paused and she could almost hear him chewing on his lower lip. “How did it go?” he asked. 

Zoey pressed a kiss to her shoulder as Mira let out a shaky breath. “Not great,” she admitted and tried to think.

“I have someone from Legal on another line. We could do a quick conference call,” Bobby offered. “But you sound pretty wiped.”

“You don’t have to,” Rumi said. Her patterns had settled down to a dim, steady glow but her ears were still pink. Her lips were definitely swollen from kissing. It was a very good look on her. 

Mira shook her head and tried to think professional thoughts. “Let’s just get it over with,” she said, leaning over to rest her head on Rumi’s shoulder. She felt like she could eat an entire buffet and then sleep for a week. Zoey and Rumi could take turns waking her up with kisses. 

“Okay,” Bobby said. “Give me a minute, the latest update moved things around, stupid phone...”

“Here,” Rumi murmured, tugging at Mira’s shoulder. Mira allowed herself to be coaxed down, ending up with her head pillowed on Rumi’s lap and her legs across Zoey’s. She stroked Mira’s hair, working her fingers deep to massage at her scalp. Mira bit her lip to keep from groaning. They did not need to traumatize Bobby within the first day of…whatever this ended up being. Rumi settled her phone on Mira’s stomach and smiled, looking very pleased with herself. 

“Kinam, are you there?” Bobby asked.

“Here, Bobby,” came a brisk voice. “Mira, Bobby’s been forwarding the relevant emails with your brother so we’re somewhat up to date. Unfortunately, your father’s estate attorneys have been less forthcoming.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Mira said, rolling her eyes. “It was nothing but family drama.” 

Kinam hummed. “Inheritances can bring out the worst in people,” they observed. “Do you have any specifics for me?” 

“I might have left before getting a copy of the will,” Mira muttered. “But I’m pretty sure you can get one from Sungjae.”

“Sure thing,” Bobby said. “I’ll email him right now.”

“Is there anything you know you do or don’t want done?” Kinam asked. 

“I don’t want any of it,” Mira said, throat tightening. “Is that a thing?” 

“Yes,” Kinam said without hesitation. “That actually simplifies things a great deal. We can file a renunciation of inheritance as soon as we have a copy of the will.”

A massive weight dropped off Mira’s shoulders. “Thank fuck,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. Some tears escaped but Rumi wiped them away with gentle fingers. “That. Do that. Do that, like, yesterday.”

Bobby made a slight noise of surprise. “Sungjae already forwarded a copy,” he said. “That should hit your inbox right about now, Kinam.” 

“Thank you,” Kinam said. “Was there anything else you needed from me?” 

“Mira?” Bobby prompted. “I know we never talked about it but restraining orders are a thing. Just in case they ever try to blindside you with something else down the road.” 

Mira shuddered. Sungjae's earnest expression haunted her, so much worse than her mother's glacial disdain. She didn't think he'd try to reach out again any time in the near future but…“Let me think about it,” she said. “Rumi also had an idea.” She smirked at the look of horror on Rumi’s face and frantic head shaking. She continued without skipping a beat. “We need to discuss it more.”

“Sounds good, just let me know," Bobby said, distracted as he typed something out. "Kinam, I’ll let you do your thing.”

“Happy to help, Bobby. Mira, I’ll email you once the renunciation goes through.” 

“Thank you, have a good night,” Mira said and the phone beeped as Kinam left the call, leaving them with Bobby.

“Is there anything else I can do?” Bobby asked. “I know you weren’t scheduled to leave for another couple of days but under the circumstances…” 

“I already told the girls, I’m not letting them run me out of town,” Mira said with a scowl. 

Rumi dropped a gentle kiss onto her forehead and Mira paused. “There is one thing you could do,” she admitted. She could do it herself but Bobby was offering and the man loved being able to help. He had all the relevant details and clearances in any case.

“Anything,” Bobby reassured her. 

“Set up an appointment for me with Hyojin?” she asked. She hadn’t had regular therapy sessions scheduled for a while, just a few here and there as needed. She’d been doing well but as she reminded Rumi, healing wasn’t linear. “Probably should have done it after Sungjae came to the tower but…” 

“You thought you could handle it,” Bobby said, sympathetic. “No worries. Urgent appointment or will you be okay for a couple days?”

Mira leaned into Rumi’s touch, felt Zoey’s hand wrap around her calf and squeeze. “I should be okay until we get back home,” she said. “I’m sure there are all sorts of things we can charge to my brother’s account between now and then. For purely therapeutic reasons, of course.” 

“I’ll send you a list of suggestions,” he said with a laugh. “Call me if anything changes, okay?”

“You got it, Bobby.”

Zoey pressed the end call button. Mira passed Rumi her phone back but didn’t move beyond that. Rumi resumed her scalp massage and Mira let her eyes slide shut with a contented sigh. “What do we want to do tomorrow?”

“Spa day,” Rumi announced. She prodded one of Mira’s shoulders and Mira hissed. “Two-hour deep tissue massage for you, at least. Your knots are gonna have knots tomorrow.” 

“Make it a couple’s massage and you’ve got a deal,” Mira said, cracking one eye open. 

“What about me?” Zoey asked, pinching Mira’s thigh.

Mira hummed, pretending to think about it. “I don’t know,” she said. “I am the one who got proposed to…” She batted her eyelashes at Rumi. “We need to celebrate, honey. Maybe look at ring designs after?” 

Rumi groaned, leaning her head back. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?” she asked the ceiling. 

“Absolutely not,” Mira said.

“Never,” Zoey agreed. “Marriage proposal before your first kiss? Damn, girl, I think you set a new world record for u-hauling.”

“We already live together,” Rumi grumbled. “There’s nothing to pack.” 

Mira sat up with a groan. Rumi definitely had the right idea about massages. She pressed a kiss to Rumi’s cheek, lingering long enough to feel the blush spread under her lips before pulling away. She turned to Zoey and offered her a similar kiss, slow and sweet. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m sure a “couple’s massage for three” is one of the easiest things to accommodate.” 

Her stomach growled and Zoey laughed, shoving her back. “Let’s order room service. Have you seen how much they upcharge?” 

Mira smiled, slow and wicked. “No, but we’re about to find out.”