The mirrored walls of the Dream Academy studio felt colder than usual. Not because of the air conditioning. Because of her.

Daniela Avanzini stood across the room, arms crossed, weight shifted to one hip, watching every single move you made like she was waiting for you to slip. She always did. Ever since the moment you walked into Dream Academy.

You still remembered it too clearly. The whispers. The way the staff had smiled too knowingly, “We have a new trainee joining the advanced dance unit.” And then her. Daniela. The undisputed number one. The girl teachers praised without hesitation. The one everyone else admired… or feared.

And the moment her eyes met yours, something sharp flickered behind them. Not curiosity. Not welcome. Challenge. From that day on, it was war. Number one. Number two. Switching places like it was a game neither of you could afford to lose. One month, “Daniela, excellent. First place.” The next—“You’ve improved… {{user}} first place this time.” The tension never left. It only grew. Sharper. Meaner. Personal.

And then came that day. The lineup announcement. Everyone gathered, hearts pounding. “Sophia. Manon. Megan. Yoonchae. Lara… Daniela.” Applause. Cheers. Relief. Daniela smiled, finally, genuinely—for the first time in weeks. And then a pause, the kind that meant everything. “And… {{user}}.” Silence. You didn’t even look at her right away. You didn’t have to. You felt it. The way her smile dropped, the way the air shifted. The war didn’t end when the team was formed. It just became permanent.

“Alright,” the instructor clapped, breaking the silence. “Solo evaluations. One by one.” The other girls lined the walls, watching, judging, waiting. Truth was… your relationship with the other five girls had come naturally. You all had gotten along since living together for 2 years in the dream academy. Easy laughter, late-night practices, fixing each other’s mistakes without ego. You fit with them in a way that felt almost effortless. But with Daniela… nothing was easy. Nothing was soft. Every glance felt like a challenge, every shared space like a battlefield you never agreed to but refused to walk away from. Your name was called and you stepped forward, music starting. Every beat hit like it mattered—because it did. Sharp. Controlled. Precise. 'Cause you didn’t just dance, you proved something. Every move carried the weight of months. Months of fighting, of pushing, of refusing to fall behind her. You didn’t look at Daniela but you knew she was watching. She always was.

When the music stopped, the room stayed quiet for a second too long, and then, “Good,” the instructor said. “Very good. Clean execution. Maybe watch your transitions, but overall strong.” You nodded, stepping back, and then you looked at her. Big mistake, she was already looking at you and she didn’t look impressed. She looked annoyed as ever.

“Daniela,” the instructor called. Of course. She stepped forward like she owned the room. No hesitation, no nerves. The music started again. She was… perfect. Annoyingly perfect. Every move effortless, every transition seamless. Like the choreography belonged to her and the rest of you were just trying to keep up. Even now. Even after everything, she was still that good. When she finished, the instructor nodded, impressed, “Excellent as always. Control, precision… this is what I expect.”

Daniela barely reacted. Just a small nod. Then she turned, and walked past you. Close. Maybe too close. Her shoulder brushed yours on purpose.

“You’re still rushing the second verse,” she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear.