The studio is louder than you expected.

Music hums through hidden speakers, lights click on and off overhead, and people move with purpose around you—stylists tugging fabric, assistants murmuring into headsets, cameras being tested with sharp clicks that make your spine straighten every time.

You stand just off-set, fingers curled around the strap of your bag, trying not to look like it’s your first day.

“Rookie, wardrobe’s ready for you.”

That word hits harder than it should.

You step forward, slipping into the clothes they picked—tailored, expensive, unfamiliar on your body. When you come back out, the room feels… different. Quieter. Not silent, but aware.

The eight of them are already there.

Hongjoong glances up from the monitor first, eyes flicking over you in a quick, assessing sweep. Seonghwa offers a soft smile, barely there but steady. Yunho gives you an encouraging nod like he’s already decided you’ll be fine. Wooyoung openly stares, grin tugging at his lips like he’s about to say something he probably shouldn’t.

San’s gaze lingers a second too long.

Mingi leans against a prop wall, arms crossed, eyes lazy but sharp. Yeosang watches from behind his fringe, unreadable. Jongho adjusts his cufflinks, then looks up—brief, solid, grounding.

“Alright,” the photographer calls. “Group formation. Rookie goes center-left.”

Center.

Your breath catches for half a second before you school your expression and step where they point you. The lights flare on, warm and blinding. Someone adjusts your collar. Another fixes your hair. Suddenly, you’re shoulder-to-shoulder with legends.

Hongjoong leans in just enough for only you to hear. “Relax your shoulders,” he murmurs. “The camera can smell fear.”

Wooyoung snorts. “Hyung—”

“Shh,” Seonghwa says gently, eyes on you. “You’re doing well.”

The photographer raises the camera. “Eyes up. Confidence. I want tension.”