When Monday rolled around, Yone's team hit rehearsals running—and they never slowed down.
Ideas bounced off the walls like sparks. Someone tried something new? Immediate hype. Someone stumbled? Five hands reached out to pull them back up. Every voice mattered. Every suggestion was heard. And when it was time to lock in, they locked in—laser-focused, disciplined, hungry.
They worked hard. They worked smart. They worked together.
It was honestly beautiful to watch.
So beautiful, in fact, that every time other trainees passed by their practice room, they couldn't help but slow down. Some lingered. Some stared. Some watched with that particular brand of jealousy that tasted bitter on the tongue.
The Ravengers looked unstoppable.
Until midweek check-ins arrived.
And the professional assigned to evaluate them was none other than Luca himself.
The moment Luca stepped into the room, all six trainees snapped to attention, greeting him with respect.
"Well, well, well…" Luca said, eyes sweeping over them slowly. "Looks like I've found our powerhouse team."
He smirked faintly.
"I keep hearing whispers that the Ravengers were assembled here. So… I'm expecting a lot." A pause. "No pressure, though."
That earned a few light chuckles. The tension didn't quite land—because honestly? They weren't nervous. Not even a little.
They believed in what they'd built.
So they showed him.
They danced with confidence, with fire, with the full weight of their creativity on display. When the music ended, they were breathing hard but smiling—glancing at one another like yeah… we did that.
But Luca didn't clap.
He didn't smile.
He just stood there—silent, brows knit, expression troubled.
That alone was enough to make the air go cold.
The six trainees lined up, hearts beginning to thud a little louder.
"I can see why people call you the Ravengers," Luca finally said. "All six of you are incredibly talented."
A beat.
"But what you showed me today?" He exhaled slowly. "It's far from what I expected. To be honest… I'm disappointed."
It felt like being drenched in ice water.
Their high shattered instantly—crashing straight into the floor. Stomachs dropped. Chests tightened. None of them spoke, none of them moved. Because how could this be wrong when it felt so right?
"Don't misunderstand me," Luca continued. "I see what you're trying to do. I really do. But you've crammed so many ideas into one performance that instead of being exciting—it's overwhelming."
He gestured vaguely around the room.
"Someone's spinning here. Someone's rolling on the floor there. Someone's jumping in the back, while another's commanding the front. There's so much happening that I don't know where to look."
His voice stayed calm, measured—but it cut all the same.
"And instead of appreciating your creativity, I end up with a headache."
The words landed heavy.
"I do think this can be salvaged," Luca added. "In fact, it could still be the best performance in the upcoming evaluations."
That flicker of hope barely had time to breathe.
"But you need to learn how to edit. Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should."
He looked at them, one by one.
"Step back. Look at your work from the outside. Strip it down. Polish it. Don't be afraid to cut things—even good things."
A pause.
"Sometimes, less really is more."
Silence followed.
"Yes, sir," Yone said finally, shoulders squared even as his chest ached. "We'll do our best not to disappoint again."
Luca nodded, approving but gentle.
"Good. And don't dwell on this. It's just a bump in the road. Trust each other. Trust your instincts. And trust what you're capable of."
Then he turned and left.
The door closed softly behind him.
And with it, the room changed.
The once-bright, electric atmosphere sagged—heavy, tense, filled with thoughts no one dared say out loud. The Ravagers were still standing…
…but for the first time, they felt shaken.
****
Silence swallowed the room.
No music. No joking. No bouncing ideas. Just six young men standing there, each trapped inside their own spiraling thoughts after Luca's words carved straight through their confidence.
The first one to break was Nikola.
"Fuck!" he snapped, raking a hand through his hair.
It wasn't aimed at anyone. Not at Jordan. Not at Yone. Not at the team. It was raw frustration—at the situation, at himself, at the cruel irony of believing they were doing great only to be told it was a mess.
Anyone would've felt that way.
But for one person, that single word landed like a gunshot.
Jordan flinched violently.
His entire body locked up, shoulders curling inward as if bracing for impact. His eyes went unfocused, breath hitching—then breaking completely.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Then again. Louder. Faster.
"I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I'm sorry—"
His hands started shaking. His chest tightened. His breathing turned shallow and frantic as tears spilled down his face. It spiraled fast—too fast—until it was clear this wasn't just crying.
Jordan was having a panic attack.
Before anyone else could even process what was happening, Eli was already moving.
He crossed the space in two strides and pulled Jordan into his chest, firm but gentle, grounding him like an anchor in a storm.
"Hey. Hey—shhh," Eli murmured, one hand pressing warmly against Jordan's back, the other cradling his head. "It's okay. You're safe. This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault."
He kept repeating it. Steady. Calm. Like a mantra.
Jordan clutched Eli's shirt as if it was the only thing keeping him upright, sobbing quietly as Eli rocked him just enough to steady his breathing.
Slowly—agonizingly slowly—Jordan's breaths began to even out.
Once he could stand on his own again, the rest of the team stepped in without hesitation.
Isaac spoke first. "Hey. No. Don't even think that way. This is on all of us."
Monarch nodded immediately. "Yeah, dude. We all threw ideas in. You don't carry this alone."
Nikola swallowed hard, guilt written all over his face. He stepped closer, voice softer than anyone had ever heard it.
"Jordan… I wasn't mad at you. At all. I was just pissed at the situation." He hesitated, then bowed his head slightly. "But I'm sorry. Truly. If it came off like I was blaming you."
Jordan nodded shakily, wiping his face. "I—I know. I'm sorry too. I just—"
"You don't need to apologize," Yone cut in gently. "Not for this. Ever."
A beat passed before Yone exhaled and straightened.
"I think we're all running hot right now," he said. "How about we take an early lunch, clear our heads, then come back and tackle this with fresh eyes?"
Isaac nodded immediately. "Yeah. Pushing through like this won't help anyone. Let's reset."
No one argued.
So the team everyone thought was untouchable—the so-called Ravengers—packed up quietly and headed for the cafeteria, bruised but not broken.
When word spread, other trainees whispered.
They're human after all.
As they walked, Yone slowed just enough to fall into step beside Eli. He gave him a soft clap on the back.
"Hey," Yone murmured, low enough that only Eli could hear. "Good job back there. You probably saved us from a full-blown crisis."
Eli shrugged, eyes forward. "It's nothing."
Yone studied him for a moment. "Still… you didn't hesitate. How did you even know what to do that fast?"
Eli's expression softened, something distant flickering in his eyes.
"My younger brother used to get really bad panic attacks," he said quietly. "I was the only one he'd let near him." A pause. "He's better now… but yeah."
Yone nodded, understanding settling in.
"Well," he said lightly, bumping Eli's shoulder, "good job, big bro."
Eli snorted, the tension finally cracking just a little.
"Fuck off."
And for the first time since Luca left, it almost felt like they'd be okay.