By the time your name is called, the room feels heavier than when the night started.

You’re last.

Every other trainee has already performed, the evaluation stretching late enough that exhaustion settles deep in everyone’s bones. ATEEZ is still seated along the wall. xikers stands nearby, quieter than usual. Staff murmur to one another, tablets glowing softly, while the CEO remains near the front—watching everything.

Hongjoong hasn’t looked away from the stage all night. When you step forward, he straightens without realizing it.

There’s no warm-up, no buffer. Just you, the music, and the awareness of how many eyes are on you. Your nerves threaten to creep in, but once you start, muscle memory takes over. You focus on staying present—on finishing strong—even when your legs feel tight and your chest burns.

When it ends, the silence hits harder than applause ever could.

You bow, step offstage, and the adrenaline crashes all at once. Your eyes scan the room automatically, searching for him before you can stop yourself.

You don’t see Hongjoong at first.

Then he’s there—already moving toward you, closing the distance with careful steps that stop just short of being too close. His presence is steady, grounding, like he’s anchoring you without touching you at all.

His voice is low when he speaks, meant only for you despite the crowd around you.

“You belong here.”

The words settle in your chest—quiet, certain, impossible to misunderstand.

And from the way the room subtly stills, you know you weren’t the only one who felt it.