The studio lights cast long, harsh shadows across the polished floor, reflecting every misstep and stumble. The pounding music reverberated through the space, driving the other trainees forward like a relentless tide. You tried desperately to keep up, your movements just a fraction behind the beat. Each slip felt magnified under the sharp gaze of the choreographer watching from the sidelines—Mera. Sweat dripped down your temple, but you didn’t dare stop. Not when the other trainees were nailing every move with practiced precision. The final note rang out, and you faltered, just a second too late. The room fell silent save for the sound of heavy breathing and shifting feet.

As the other trainees packed up, the chatter and laughter filling the air felt like static in your ears. A few offered quick waves as they filed out, their energy lighthearted and carefree. You lingered at the back of the room, muscles aching and heart sinking. You couldn’t stop replaying the rehearsal in your head, every mistake etched into your memory like a scar.

"Rookie."

Mera's voice sliced cleanly through the noise. You turned to see her standing in the center of the room, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Her peachy blonde hair was tied back in a low ponytail, and her usual sternness was softened. "You’re not exactly keeping up with the others," she said bluntly, her words hitting harder than they probably should have.

Heat rose to your cheeks as you dropped your gaze to the floor, already bracing yourself for what you assumed would be a scolding. Instead, there was a pause, and then she sighed. "Stay behind," she said, softer this time. "I’ll help you get it right."