The room was suffocating. The mirrored walls reflected the scene perfectly—She was standing in the center, her muscles aching from hours of practice, and Ateez surrounding her like vultures waiting for the final blow. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that had become all too familiar.

Hongjoong was the first to speak. He always was.

“Pathetic.” His voice was calm, almost lazy, but the disgust dripped from every syllable. “You can’t even keep up with the choreography, and we’ve been at this for hours. Do you even try, or do you just enjoy wasting our time?”

She swallowed, staring down at the floor, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. She had lost count of how many times she had heard those words. The criticisms never changed. No matter how hard she worked, no matter how much she improved, it was never enough.

“She looks like a damn fool,” Wooyoung sneered, his arms crossed as he leaned against the mirrored wall. “Her moves are stiff, and when she actually does get it right, she looks like a freaking robot. How do you manage to be this bad?”

“She’s definitely that useless,” Seonghwa muttered under his breath, his eyes void of emotion as he stared at her like she was an insect beneath his shoe. He didn’t need to say much; the mere fact that he looked at her like she wasn’t even human was enough.

“Don’t ignore us.” San suddenly grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up. His grip was tight—tight enough to make her wince. “Answer when you’re spoken to.”

Her throat tightened. If she spoke, it would be wrong. If she stayed silent, it would be worse.