One Last Test
The cold studio lights illuminated Jiho's face as he stood before the board of executives. He wore the trainee uniform like armor now — no longer a symbol of hope, but of endurance.
They watched him like vultures — clinical, calculating, cautious. The company had been shaken by scandal, but survival was its specialty. Now, they were rebuilding.
And Jiho?
He was both the warning sign and the weapon.
"Yoon Jiho," the interim CEO said, flipping through Jiho's revised profile. "Despite the... complications, your fanbase has grown. You've become a recognizable name."
Jiho said nothing. He didn't need to.
They continued, "We want to debut you. But understand — this is your final evaluation. Your first and only chance."
Jiho bowed slightly. "Then let's begin."
The Performance That Changed Everything
Jiho stepped onto the small stage. No audience. Just the executives and a camera. But this time, he didn't perform for them.
He performed for the boy he used to be.
He chose a self-written track — raw, rhythmic, mournful. The lyrics weren't polished, but they cut deep.
"They called me weak, called me sweet,
But never saw the wolves in my veins.
I wore a smile while bleeding out,
Now I rise, no longer sane."
His voice wavered, then sharpened — a dagger wrapped in velvet.
When he finished, the room was silent. The executives whispered to each other, already plotting.
The Offer
One week later, Jiho stood in front of the company's new branding team.
"You're debuting solo," they said.
Not a group. Not a team. Alone — just as he had always been.
"We're calling the project Monarch."
Jiho blinked.
"You'll be its face. Clean slate. Reinvented image. Mysterious, ambitious, beautiful but dangerous."
Jiho's lips curled into the faintest smile.
"Perfect."
Becoming the Villain
Months passed.
Jiho trained relentlessly, mastering vocal layers, dance routines, interviews, branding. Every public smile was calculated. Every gesture rehearsed.
The industry watched with fascination as a former "problem trainee" rose like a phoenix.
But Jiho remembered everything.
He hadn't forgotten Hyunwoo — now a backup dancer in a lesser agency.
He hadn't forgotten Seungmin — who left the industry entirely.
He hadn't forgotten K — who disappeared, but whose shadow lingered in Jiho's decisions.
And he hadn't forgiven.
The Last Message
On the night before his debut, Jiho received a text from an unknown number:
"You've become what they feared. I'm proud. But be careful. The spotlight burns."
There was no signature.
Jiho stared at the screen for a long time before locking it.
And So It Begins
At dawn, he stood before the cameras, makeup flawless, smile sharp.
Reporters called out, "Jiho-ssi, are you ready for your solo debut?"
He met their gaze, eyes cold and unreadable.
"I've always been ready," he said.
Then he walked into the flashing lights, knowing full well he was no longer the boy who entered the dorm with stars in his eyes.
He was something else now.
Not a hero. Not a villain.
Just the truth they refused to see.
Echoes of a Friendship
Seungmin's Point of View
After the Ashes
The old training building had been repainted, but the ghosts still lived inside.
Seungmin stood outside the glass doors, watching a new crop of wide-eyed boys filter into orientation. Their limbs were thin, their postures tense — hopeful and terrified in equal measure.
He hadn't walked through those doors in over a year.
Not since the showcase.
Not since Jiho.
A Career That Never Was
After the scandal, the agency offered him two options: sign an NDA, stay quiet, and they'd "reevaluate" his position — or walk away quietly with a small severance.
Seungmin chose silence.
He didn't want to. But his parents had taken out loans. His sister was still in school. His father had cried the night he came home.
So Seungmin let go of the dream before it killed him.
The Boy He Betrayed
He watched Jiho's debut from his living room.
Alone.
Jiho was mesmerizing — sharp movements, sultry eyes, a performance drenched in artistry and pain. But what haunted Seungmin wasn't the perfection of it.
It was the fury beneath it.
Jiho's lyrics didn't mention names. But Seungmin heard himself in every line.
"You said you'd stand by me.
But your silence was louder than their knives."
A Letter Unread
Sometimes, Seungmin wrote letters to Jiho he never sent.
I was scared. That's not an excuse, but it's the truth. They threatened my family, Jiho. You were brave enough to face them. I wasn't.
You're brilliant. You always were. I hope you burn bright — even if I can't stand next to you anymore.
I'm sorry.
He burned the letter in the sink. Watched the ash swirl, like his memories.
Seeing Him Again
Months later, Seungmin saw Jiho at a distance — at a broadcast station. Jiho was in full stage attire, makeup sharp, walking with a team of managers, stylists, and security.
Their eyes met for half a second.
Jiho looked away first.
No hesitation. No flicker of pain.
Just... nothing.
A Ghost of a Smile
Sometimes, Seungmin still danced alone at night. Just for himself. Just to feel something.
He imagined Jiho was there. Laughing. Correcting his angles. Telling him to push harder.
Those nights, Seungmin danced until his feet gave out.
Until the silence became bearable again.
K's Point of View
The First Star That Fell
His real name was Min Juhwan.
Before he was K — the ghost in the wires, the shadow in the halls — he had been a trainee too. A long time ago. Before the world turned sharp. Before he learned the cost of ambition.
Juhwan's younger brother, Min Junseo, had been the talented one. The one who could sing entire songs in a single breath, who made even the cruelest trainers go quiet when he danced.
But Junseo was gentle. Kind to everyone. He believed if he worked hard enough, the system would reward him.
He didn't understand that the system wasn't made for boys like him.
A System That Consumes
Junseo's light dimmed after just a year.
Coaches grew colder. Rumors sprouted from nowhere. His voice was "unreliable," his stamina "lacking," his aura "forgettable."
Juhwan knew what was happening. Someone with money and influence wanted another trainee in Junseo's place.
And the company obeyed.
Juhwan fought. He screamed at managers. He tried to go public.
But Junseo was too tired. Too ashamed.
One night, he left without saying goodbye.
They found his body two days later at the base of a building that never had cameras on the right floors.
The company said it was stress.
Juhwan knew better.
A Promise Carved in Grief
After Junseo's death, Juhwan disappeared.
He studied computers. Networks. Surveillance.
He learned how to dig into protected files, how to break encryption, how to see everything — every email, every schedule, every silent deal.
And then he waited.
He watched trainees come and go. Watched bright eyes get dimmed, kind hearts get broken.
Until he saw Jiho.
Why Jiho
Jiho wasn't the most talented. Not the most popular.
But he had the same fire Junseo once had.
And more importantly — he had the anger Junseo lacked.
The kind of anger that could burn the entire system to the ground.
Behind Every Step
Juhwan became "K."
He planted seeds.
Made sure Jiho got the right practice room at the right hour.
Leaked Hyunwoo's sabotage.
Coached him silently — what to say, what to hold back, what to weaponize.
He became the voice Jiho could trust when the world betrayed him.
But he never lied to himself: He wasn't doing it for Jiho.
He was doing it for Junseo.
Jiho was just the vessel.
But Then...
Somewhere along the way, something changed.
Jiho started making his own moves — smart ones.
He stopped asking for help.
He started challenging K's instructions.
And when he performed his debut song, Juhwan felt it:
That power, that sorrow, that fury — it didn't belong to Junseo anymore.
It was Jiho's.
Letting Go
After the debut, Juhwan stood outside the studio and watched Jiho through the glass.
His expression was unreadable, but his eyes — they had stopped searching for approval.
Jiho had become exactly what Juhwan needed him to become.
Which meant... his part was over.
A Final Note
He sent one last message.
"You've become what they feared. I'm proud. But be careful. The spotlight burns."
And then he deleted Jiho's contact.
Deleted the surveillance feeds.
Erased the folders.
Juhwan wasn't sure if he had created a monster or saved a soul.
But either way...
His brother could rest.