The air inside the club was thick and electric, the energy almost predatory as midnight bled toward morning. With most of the Korean team gone, the lounge felt suddenly looser, the line between celebration and surrender dissolving in neon and bass. Min-kyung crossed her legs on the sofa, stretching out with the satisfied ease of someone who'd lived too many afterparties to care about the hour. Alina sat half on, half off Joon-ho's lap, running her finger along the rim of his glass, the gesture absent but calculated, a lazy dare to anyone who might be watching.
