[Kei]
Years ago—
before NOCTIS.
Before the debut.
Before the interviews.
Before the cameras.
Before everything became complicated.
There was just a practice room.
A small one.
The mirrors were old.
The speakers crackled sometimes.
The air conditioner barely worked.
But it was theirs.
Or at least—
that was what it felt like.
Kei collapsed onto the floor.
Face first.
A dramatic groan escaped him.
"I can't feel my legs."
"That's because you have legs."
Kei lifted his head.
Jae-Won was sitting against the mirror.
Sweaty.
Exhausted.
Holding a bottle of water.
Yet somehow—
still smiling.
Kei narrowed his eyes.
"You're annoying."
"I know."
"Extremely annoying."
"I know that too."
Jae-Won's grin widened.
Kei threw a towel at him.
Unfortunately—
Jae-Won caught it.
Because life wasn't fair.
"Seriously."
Jae-Won laughed.
"You're acting like we're dying."
"We practiced for eight hours."
"Nine."
"That doesn't help."
Jae-Won shrugged.
Then tossed him a bottle of water.
Kei caught it.
Barely.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
Silence settled.
Comfortable silence.
The kind that only existed between people who spent nearly every day together.
Eventually—
Jae-Won looked up at the ceiling.
"Do you think we'll make it?"
Kei followed his gaze.
"The debut?"
"Yeah."
A pause.
Then:
"I don't know."
It was the truth.
Neither of them knew.
No trainee ever did.
One day you were practicing.
The next day you were gone.
That was how the industry worked.
Unpredictable.
Unforgiving.
Cruel.
Jae-Won nodded.
Like he'd expected that answer.
Then suddenly—
he grinned.
"We're definitely making it."
Kei stared.
"Didn't you just ask me?"
"Yeah."
"Then why are you answering your own question?"
"Because my answer is better."
Kei rolled his eyes.
Jae-Won laughed.
Then—
without warning—
he held out his fist.
Kei looked at it.
Confused.
"What?"
"Pinky promise."
"That's not a pinky."
"Details."
Kei sighed.
Deeply.
Because this was his life.
Unfortunately.
"What are we promising?"
Jae-Won's smile softened slightly.
"We debut together."
The words were simple.
Yet somehow—
they felt important.
"We've worked too hard not to."
A pause.
"Right?"
Kei looked at him.
Then slowly bumped his fist against Jae-Won's.
"Right."
Jae-Won's grin returned immediately.
"See?"
"What?"
"Now it's legally binding."
"That's not how anything works."
"It is now."
Kei laughed despite himself.
And for a moment—
everything felt possible.
Everything.
☆ ☆ ☆
The evaluations arrived three months later.
Nobody smiled anymore.
Nobody laughed.
Nobody talked.
Not much.
Because everyone knew.
Cuts were coming.
Someone would leave.
Maybe several people.
The atmosphere changed overnight.
Trainees stayed later.
Practiced harder.
Slept less.
A few stopped eating properly.
Others barely spoke.
The pressure was everywhere.
Kei hated it.
Jae-Won hated it too.
Though he hid it better.
Or maybe—
he just tried harder.
One night—
long after most trainees had left—
Kei remained in the practice room.
Alone.
Again.
His ankle hurt.
His shoulders hurt.
Everything hurt.
He kept practicing anyway.
The music started.
Stopped.
Started again.
Then—
the door opened.
Jae-Won entered.
Holding two convenience store sandwiches.
"You skipped dinner."
Kei groaned.
"How do you always know?"
"Because you're predictable."
"I am not."
"You absolutely are."
Jae-Won tossed him a sandwich.
Kei caught it.
This time successfully.
Progress.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
Kei opened the wrapper.
The room became quiet again.
Then—
Jae-Won spoke.
"You know you don't have to carry everything yourself."
Kei looked up.
"What?"
Jae-Won shrugged.
"The pressure, the evaluations, everything."
A pause.
"You don't have to do it alone."
Kei stared.
Because somehow—
Jae-Won always knew.
Not everything.
But enough.
Enough to notice when something was wrong.
Enough to notice when Kei was pretending.
And that was dangerous.
Because being understood was terrifying.
Kei looked away first.
"I'm fine."
Jae-Won immediately laughed.
"Sure."
"I am."
"Sure."
"I mean it."
"Sure."
Kei threw the sandwich wrapper at him.
Jae-Won dodged it.
Still laughing.
For a brief moment—
everything felt normal.
Like it always would.
Like nothing could change.
Like tomorrow would be exactly the same.
Neither of them knew it was one of the last times they'd ever sit together like that.
☆ ☆ ☆
No-Ah listened quietly.
The café suddenly felt very far away.
Very small.
Because Jae-Won's voice had carried her somewhere else.
Somewhere years ago.
Somewhere she had never seen.
A version of Kei she had never known.
A younger Kei.
A happier one.
A less guarded one.
"...we were stupid."
Jae-Won smiled faintly.
No-Ah blinked.
"What?"
"We thought hard work guaranteed success."
His gaze lowered.
"It doesn't."
The smile disappeared.
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds.
Then No-Ah asked softly:
"You were really that close?"
Jae-Won laughed once.
Quietly.
"We practically lived together."
The answer came so naturally.
So honestly.
That No-Ah believed it immediately.
No exaggeration.
No bitterness.
Just truth.
And somehow—
that made everything sadder.
Because if they had been that close—
what happened?
What could possibly destroy something like that?
Jae-Won looked out the café window.
People walked past outside.
Completely unaware.
Completely normal.
Lucky.
"You know."
His voice was calm.
"Before I contacted you, I looked into you."
No-Ah froze slightly.
"What?"
"I was curious."
The honesty caught her off guard.
"You work here."
"You attend university."
"You volunteer."
"You don't have any scandals."
No-Ah stared.
Jae-Won smiled apologetically.
"Sorry."
"That's creepy."
"Fair."
At least he had the decency to look embarrassed.
Then his expression became serious.
"Do you know what happens if people find out about you two?"
No-Ah's stomach tightened.
Immediately.
Because she already knew where this conversation was going.
Jae-Won continued.
Not cruelly.
Not mockingly.
Just matter-of-factly.
"An idol meeting the same girl repeatedly."
No-Ah stayed silent.
"Private conversations."
Silence.
"Phone calls."
Silence.
"Late-night meetings."
The park flashed through her mind.
The swing.
The pinky promise.
Kei.
Jae-Won watched her reaction.
Then sighed.
"The scary part is..."
He looked away.
"...none of those things are lies."
No-Ah's chest tightened.
Because he was right.
Every single thing he listed had happened.
People could take those pieces.
Twist them.
Turn them into something ugly.
The internet had done it before.
To strangers.
To celebrities.
To ordinary people.
Jae-Won looked back at her.
"I'm not threatening you."
No-Ah frowned.
"Then why tell me?"
A pause.
A long one.
Then—
"Because someone should."
His voice was quieter now.
More tired.
"I don't think Kei realizes how much he has to lose."
The answer surprised her.
Because for a moment—
he didn't sound angry.
He sounded worried.
And somehow—
that was worse.
Jae-Won stood.
Slowly.
"I'm not your enemy, No-Ah."
No-Ah wasn't sure she believed that.
But she wasn't sure she didn't, either.
Jae-Won pulled his phone from his pocket.
Looked at the screen.
Then froze.
Just for a second.
A reaction so brief most people wouldn't have noticed.
But No-Ah did.
His eyes scanned the message.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
something changed.
Not fear.
Not surprise.
Something else.
A smile.
Small at first.
Then wider.
Satisfied.
Almost triumphant.
No-Ah frowned.
"What happened?"
Jae-Won didn't answer immediately.
His gaze remained fixed on the screen.
As if he was reading something he'd been waiting for.
Something he'd expected.
Something he'd wanted.
"What is it?"
No-Ah asked again.
This time—
Jae-Won looked up.
And the smile was still there.
That was what unsettled her.
Because throughout their entire conversation—
he had looked tired.
Sad.
Regretful.
But now—
he looked relieved.
As though a missing piece had finally fallen into place.
"What happened?"
For a moment—
he simply stared at her.
Then quietly laughed.
Not loudly.
Not mockingly.
Just once.
A short breath of amusement.
"I knew it."
No-Ah's stomach tightened.
"Knew what?"
Jae-Won's gaze drifted toward the café window.
Toward the people walking outside.
Toward the city beyond.
Then back to her.
"He finally moved."
No-Ah frowned.
"What?"
The smile didn't disappear.
"If I'm right..."
He slipped the phone back into his pocket.
"...things are about to get very interesting."
No-Ah stared.
Completely lost.
"What are you talking about?"
Jae-Won looked at her for a long moment.
Then said quietly:
"The Kei you know."
A pause.
"The one who keeps running."
His smile softened slightly.
"He won't be able to do that anymore."
No-Ah's heartbeat quickened.
Because suddenly—
she wasn't sure whether that was a good thing.
Or a very, very bad one.
Jae-Won turned toward the door.
As if preparing to leave.
Then stopped.
Just before reaching it.
Without looking back—
he said:
"You should answer when he calls."
No-Ah froze.
"What?"
Jae-Won glanced over his shoulder.
The smile had vanished.
But the certainty remained.
"He'll call."
Silence.
"He always does when he's afraid he's running out of time."
No-Ah's chest tightened.
Before she could ask what that meant—
Jae-Won opened the door.
And left.
Leaving her standing alone.
Confused.
Uneasy.
And with the strange feeling that whatever game Jae-Won had been playing—
it had just entered its next stage.
☆ ☆ ☆