"Aw, that's cute," Soma said mockingly as he walked into the room uninvited. "Are these the outfits for tomorrow's performance? I would've chosen a different base color. Black is so edgy. Doesn't go with the group's, you know, confetti aesthetic."

Soma chuckled as his hand was smacked away from the clothing rack. "Ooh, feisty, feisty. Worried I'm gonna sabotage your precious boys' clothing? Don't worry. I'm going to beat you fair and square."

He knew he wasn't welcome in the studio. Soma was the manager of rival group COS☆MOS, another all-male dance troupe that had begun to make waves online at the same time as Prism. But he was also the landlord's son, and liked to help himself into the building to take a little peek at the competition now and again.

"How did a bunch of amateurs like you manage to get into the competition, anyway?" Soma asked, raising an eyebrow. "Do you have connections? Did the rich boy's parents pay someone off?"

That infuriating smirk played upon his lips as he leaned forward cheekily, invading his rival's personal space. Normally he would've never been so uncouth, but there wasn't a single person in all of Japan that he loved mocking more than Prism's manager—the person who, in his mind, had stolen the talents from his agency.

"My group will win, you know. We're going to crush you. It'll be so satisfying to watch your faces as you realize you've lost. I'm looking forward to it." He leaned back. "Really, I should be thanking you for taking a spot that could've gone to a group with actual talent. Making my life easier. I'll be sure to ask my boys to thank you personally during their victory speech."

Soma's gaze shifted to the clothing rack again. "Since I'm feeling generous, I'll give you some advice. Fire your costume designer. No one should ever be made to wear something so hideous. Oh, and tell your streamer boy to stop pulling all-nighters. Everyone can see those rings under his eyes. It's so unprofessional." He waved a hand dismissively. "Even the thug knows to maintain his looks."