Xingguang Entertainment's headquarters sat in a sleek glass building in Pudong. Too clean. Too cold. Everything smelled like floor polish and pressure. Training was a whole new kind of hell. My face hurt. My feet hurt. My throat burned. But I didn't stop. I couldn't. I bit back every insult I'd learned. Every sarcastic comeback. Instead, I repeated the lines. Again and again until my mouth obeyed.
My entire existence here made me feel out of place. I had one backpack, a broken heart, and a voice. Even the stage name wasn't mine. Fang had mumbled it under his breath as a joke, but the company loved it.
But when I put the mask on… something shifted. I felt less like the girl who missed home, and more like the girl who might actually become something.
I sat on the practice room floor, legs aching, heart heavier than usual. I heard footsteps. Then a familiar voice.
"You look like shit."
"Lovely as always, Fang."
He plopped down beside me, tossing me a water bottle. "I know, right?"
I opened it and took a sip. "How do people do this every day?"
"Same way you did." He shrugged. "One step at a time. With a lot of swearing."
I let out a tired laugh. We sat there in silence. Then he broke the silence.
"You know, when you put the mask on today, you looked like you believed in yourself for the first time since you got here."
I stared at the floor. "Maybe I believed in someone else."
"Then be her, until she becomes you."
If someone told me a month ago that I'd be debuting on national TV in a black mask and leather pants, I would've laughed. But here I was. The mirrors in the dance studio reflected everything I wasn't. Graceful. Polished. Confident. Today, I couldn't get a single move right. My rhythm was off, my voice cracked.
I was exhausted, sore, and painfully aware that I didn't belong here. Fang picked that exact moment to show up. He leaned against the studio door with his usual smug look, arms crossed, earphones in. He hadn't even knocked.
Fang whistled. "Yeah… you kinda suck today."
"Wow. Thank you, you're always so kind with your words."
He walked over, not smiling anymore. "You want the truth?"
"No, I want a fan letter and a nap," I snapped.
"You're not special just because you're broken. That heartbreak you carry like a crown? You think it makes you better. But it's not working today. So either fix it, " He turned toward the mirror, "or quit pretending."
The next part happened in a blur. He started mimicking the choreography. Not seriously, he was being a little shit about it, all exaggerated and dramatic. My coach stepped forward slowly.
"Do it again." The coach said flatly.
"What?"
"Now."
Fang turned to me making a face. I grinned, still catching my breath from earlier. Thirty minutes later, Fang was signed up for a trainee trial program. He complained nonstop.
"Just admit you like it." I taunted him.
"I'd rather choke on a glitter pen."
Fang became popular fast, mostly by accident. Something had shifted between us. He hadn't said sorry for what he said that day. And I hadn't either. But it did push me even harder. Two days later, our manager called us in.
"We want to try something new. A collab performance," he said. "Fang. Foreigner. Live stage. Big reveal. We want the audience to feel the tension. The mystery. The chemistry."
I coughed. "There is no chemistry."
"None," Fang agreed. "Zero percent."
"You literally called me a walking heartbreak."
"Motivationally."
"You called me dramatic!"
He grinned. "Well. That part's still true."
Except this time… it wasn't Fang who talked.
I turned. Leo Chen was standing in the doorway. For a second, the room went quiet. Even Fang looked caught off guard, and that never happened. Leo never came to rehearsals, unless someone was about to get Destroyed or discorvered..
He strolled in like he owned the building. Half the industry owed him their careers, and he was known for speaking in either one-word commands or career-defining decisions. And now he was here. Looking right at me.
"You two argue like a drama. It's addictive."
Fang muttered, "...thank you?"
Leo ignored him. "We're staging a collab. Live. Foreigner. Fang. Together. You've got tension. Use it."
"Wait, " I started, but he kept going.
"The concept is duality. His overall chaos would really suit in contrast to your quiet mystery.
Fang made a face. "I'm not chaotic."
"You fell off the stage last week," Leo reminded him.
"I was pushed."
"You tripped on a foam prop." I reminded him.
Leo didn't blink. "You went viral. Let's use it."
The next morning, rehearsal started at seven. No warning. No mercy. Fang was already there, lying on the floor like he'd been murdered by choreography.
"Morning, heartbreak," he groaned as I walked in.
I rolled my eyes, stepping around him. Leo was standing by the mirrors, arms folded, coffee in hand. Like he owned the air in the room.
"Scarlett. Walk with me."
It wasn't a request.
I followed him toward the back hallway, where the sound didn't echo so loud and the mirrors stopped judging. He sipped his coffee, then looked me over like I was a project with untapped potential.
"I heard about your boy," he said.
My pulse stopped.
"What?"
"The one you left behind. Mason? Min Soo?"
Leo kept going.
"Love at first sight, right? One of those 'meant to be' stories."
I looked away, jaw tight.
"Scarlett," he said, calling me over like he was about to hand me a verdict.
"I don't care why you left. But I care that you haven't used it."
I stared at him, trying to steady the storm rising in my throat.
"This duet is about pain. Distance. Longing. You've got it in you, and you're wasting it."
He stepped closer.
"I want that ache in your voice. The goodbye you never gave him. The version of you he never got to see. If you want the audience to feel something real, then start with yourself."
Then he walked off. Just like that. Leaving me alone with the memory of Min Soo.
I collapsed against the mirror, trying not to cry or throw up or do both. Fang handed me a towel.
"You looked like you saw a ghost."
I didn't answer. Fang dropped down beside me with a dramatic sigh.
"I think I might be dead."
"Don't threaten me with a good time." I shot back.
He didn't laugh. Instead, he watched me.
"What?" I muttered.
"You sang like you were trying to burn the place down."
I shrugged. "That's what Leo wants, right?"
"Sure." He leaned his head back against the wall. "But that wasn't acting. That was how you were at home, but better"
I didn't answer. He waited. When I didn't speak, he exhaled through his nose and said.
"It's about him, isn't it?"
My stomach turned.
I tensed, the motion too small for most people to notice, but not Fang. He was quiet for a second. "I watched you sing and…" He turned his head toward me. "You don't look like that unless you're still bleeding."
I swallowed.
"I'm fine," I said too quickly.
Fang raised an eyebrow. "That's a lie."
"You don't know that."
He didn't argue.
"You don't have to tell me. Not yet."
I blinked, surprised.
He looked back up at the ceiling.
"But if you ever do, I'll listen."
The words hit softer than I expected. I didn't want to talk about Min Soo. Not now. Maybe not ever. Because what would I even say? That I still wore the hoodie he gave me when no one else was looking? That I still cried myself asleep over him? That sometimes I still reached for my phone in the middle of the night, half-asleep, half-hoping? Fang bumped my shoulder with his.
"I won't ask again," he said, "unless you want me to."
The break ended. Rehearsals picked back up. The lights came back on.
I put the mask back on, too. But this time, it wasn't to hide. It was to keep something safe. Because my heart wasn't healed. It was haunted. And I wasn't ready to let anyone see the whole ghost just yet.
As the rehearsal wrapped and the music faded out, I barely had time to catch my breath before Leo appeared again. Just stood near the door, eyes unreadable behind tinted lenses.
"Scarlett," he said. "With me."
No explanation. No room for questions. I wiped my face with my sleeve, pulled myself together, and followed him out of the studio.