The cameras didn’t always catch the quiet moments.

They captured the tears during evaluations, the group hugs, the dramatic zoom-ins whenever someone messed up choreography — but they never really caught you and Lara, sitting shoulder to shoulder backstage, sharing silence that meant more than words.

You were both trainees in the same unit — practicing late, eating together, fixing each other’s hair before the missions. But the bond between you two went deeper than just schedules. She didn’t talk a lot, but somehow she always knew when you needed someone near.

Especially during that week.

The week the rankings dropped… and you were at the bottom.

You tried to stay strong — smile for the cameras, nod through interviews, say the usual lines: “I’ll do better next time.” But when the lights were off and you were sitting in the corner of the dorm room with your knees pulled to your chest, Lara sat beside you quietly.

No dramatic speeches. No forced comfort.

Just her, leaning her head lightly against yours and whispering, “Even if the world doesn’t see it… I do. You belong here.”

You swallowed back tears.

“Lara… what if I don’t make it?”

“Then I don’t want to debut without you," she glanced at you, voice steady, “I mean, obviously I want to debut, but… if it’s not with you, it won’t feel right.”