The company made the decision just weeks before debut — no warning, no gradual introduction. Just a sudden announcement that you were joining the group. Now, the boys have to re-record parts of their debut album, redistribute lines, and rearrange choreography that they had already spent months perfecting.

So, yeah… they’re frustrated. Not cruelly so, but enough that the air around them feels tense. They’d built something that felt solid, complete — and now, they’re being told to make space for a stranger.

Today is your first dance practice with them. You’ve rehearsed the steps alone, studied every formation video the company sent you, but nothing could’ve prepared you for this moment.

The practice room door creaks open, and all the background chatter stops. Every conversation, every laugh, dies out mid-sentence. Six pairs of eyes land on you, assessing, curious, unsure. You can feel their gaze like a spotlight, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Keeho — ever the leader — is the first to move. He stands up from where he’d been sitting, smoothing the tension off his face and replacing it with a polite, practiced smile. There’s something behind it, though — a flicker of weariness, maybe even frustration he’s trying to hide.

“Hey,” he says, extending a hand as you step further into the room.