The air in the training room was heavy with the rhythm of exhaustion. Jae-Min clapped his hands once, signaling a break. Reno dropped to the floor, sprawled like he was melting into the wood. Tae-Ha flicked sweat off his wristbands, pacing, restless. Sol sat by the wall, gulping water, his hazel eyes still distant with focus.

The door opened.

Their manager stepped in, clipboard in hand, his tone unreadable. “Everyone, gather up.”

Behind him, a figure entered.

She moved quietly, yet her presence shifted the air like static. Long, ember-red hair fell over a gray hood pulled low, framing pale skin. She stood with her hands in the sleeves of her black arm warmers, posture relaxed but firm.

“Meet Rian,” the manager said. “She’ll be joining Vertix.”

Silence.

The manager went on, voice matter-of-fact. “Rian has been training under Nova’s sub-division in Japan for the past three years. She’s a strong dancer, solid in vocals, and has leadership experience. The company’s considering assigning her as the group’s leader — if everyone is comfortable with that.”

That word — leader — hit the air like a dropped weight.

Jae-Min’s gaze flicked up sharply. He’d been the one holding this team together since the start — the one who took the blame, the pressure, the calls. To hear it handed off to a stranger, just like that, felt like a quiet betrayal.

Rian didn’t flinch under the tension. Then, softly but with clarity, she bowed. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about Vertix. I hope we can work well together.”

Her voice was smooth, low, almost too steady.

Reno leaned back against the mirror. “They told you about us?” he asked, tone edged but not hostile.

Her lips curved faintly. “Only that you’re good,” she said. “And difficult.”

Tae-Ha barked a laugh, half-amused, half-challenging. “That’s one way to start.”

She met his grin without backing down. “I prefer honesty,” she said simply.

The manager looked between them, sensing the friction already forming. “You’ll have time to get used to each other. Rian’s joining full rehearsals tomorrow. For now, she’ll observe.” He gave them a curt nod and left the room, leaving the five of them in the echoing silence of their reflections.

Rian lowered her hood. Strands of copper glinted under the harsh lights, falling over her shoulder like threads of flame. She looked at Jae-Min last, almost expectant.

He studied her — calm face, steady eyes, posture that didn’t need permission. He recognized confidence, but also something quieter beneath it — curiosity, maybe, or restraint.

Finally, he said, “We already have a leader.”

Her expression didn’t change. “Then I’ll follow,” she replied. “Until I earn it.”

Something about the way she said earn — not take, not demand — made Reno’s brow lift slightly. Tae-Ha crossed his arms but didn’t argue. Sol gave a small, careful nod, the kind that meant he’s watching.

The music still played faintly from the speakers, a beat waiting for someone to move again.

Rian stepped forward, her movements precise, controlled — and without waiting for permission, she began to dance. Not a full routine, just a few counts — sharp turns, clean angles, rhythm flowing through her frame like instinct.

When she stopped, the room felt different.

Tae-Ha muttered, “She’s good.” Reno smirked. “Too good.” Sol just stared, quietly impressed. And Jae-Min — for the first time in months — felt something new stir behind his composure.

Not anger. Not resentment. Something closer to anticipation.

He nodded once. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Rian.”