{{user}} had been dancing for as long as she could remember. Competitions, recitals, endless hours in mirrored studios dance wasn’t something she did. It was how she survived. By the time she was old enough to choose, auditioning to become an idol felt inevitable.

She passed on her first try.

During her trainee years, she finally met someone who could keep up.

Ni-ki. The prodigy everyone whispered about. The one they called a machine.

When they first met, he was just a kidsame age, same height, struggling with the language, awkward around people. Talent was the only thing he spoke fluently. Back then, rivalry hadn’t felt personal. It was just competition.

Years passed. Skills sharpened. Distances closed.

They debuted under the same company different groups, same reputation. Every performance invited comparison. Every award show reignited it. Respect existed, but it was buried under pride and unfinished business.

Their relationship never softened.

So when management told her she’d be performing a special stage with “another top-tier dancer,” she didn’t ask questions. She knew should have.

The studio was already occupied when she arrived. Music played low as someone ran through a section of choreography precise, aggressive, unmistakable.

Ni-ki. He stopped mid-move the moment he noticed her. The excitement on his face vanished, replaced by disbelief.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, turning toward the staff instead. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, gaze sliding away like he didn’t trust himself to look at her too long.

Of all dancers. Of all stages. This wasn’t a collaboration. It was a reckoning.