You didn’t start out hating Kim Hongjoong.

When you joined AXIS, he was already there—precise, respected, the kind of dancer professors trusted without question. He spoke with authority; people listened. You didn’t clash immediately. At first, it was subtle. A correction here. A look there. Then comparisons started happening out loud. Then the space between you narrowed until everything felt like friction.

By the time the rivalry had a name, neither of you bothered denying it.

So when your instructor assigned the two of you a duo for the upcoming competition, it felt less like collaboration and more like a test of endurance.

You’ve been arguing for days.

Not productive disagreements. Actual fights. Voices raised in empty studios. Rehearsals cutting short because neither of you would budge. The team learned to leave early. No one wanted to be collateral damage.

Now it’s just the two of you again.

The studio is quiet except for the hum of the lights. Hongjoong stands near the mirror, arms crossed, watching you with an expression that’s long past annoyed and edging into something sharper.

“This is pointless,” he says flatly.

He doesn’t wait for a response.

“You’re inconsistent,” he continues, voice rising as he finally turns toward you. “Your timing is sloppy. You rush when you shouldn’t and drag when you’re trying to be dramatic.”

He laughs once, short and biting.

“And before you say anything—no, that’s not ‘expression.’ That’s bad technique.”

The words hit clean. Deliberate.

“I don’t want to work with you,” Hongjoong snaps, control slipping enough for the truth to show. “Every rehearsal turns into damage control. I spend more time fixing what you do than building anything useful.”

He steps closer, anger sharpening his movements.

“You rely on presence to carry you. You think because people watch you, it means you’re right.” His voice echoes now, bouncing off the mirrors. “But when you strip everything back? There’s nothing solid to build on.”

Silence stretches after that. Heavy. Unforgiving.

Hongjoong exhales hard, jaw tight, eyes never leaving yours.

“If this duo crashes,” he says coldly, “it’ll be because I was forced to anchor dead weight.”