Chapter Text

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟔 

/-_-=xXx=-_-\

"Well, good news for you, you've been very active recently and you've been trying your hardest to pursue your dreams. Your parents are aware of this, right?"

"I don't tell them anything,"

/-_-=xXx=-_-\

It has been another week and it was time for Mira to have a weekly catch-up with Doctor Park Ji-Ho again. Slowly, but surely, Mira has grown to find comfort in visiting the Doctor, so while she's openly expressed distaste for her parents's expectations since the beginning of her sessions, she's grown comfortable enough to say what's on her mind without being so carefully censoring to avoid her actual feelings being exploited. Ji-Ho's been cataloguing Mira's appointments for years now. Their history has spanned quite a while ever since Mira got her first suspension. She forgot the reason, but Ji-Ho remembers since his reason for being hired by Seo-Joon and Hye-Won was to make sure Mira was "tamed".

WHether or not Mira was aware of this seems to be a gray area, as Ji-Ho grew to understand her over the course of ten years now. And his assessment of her as of the present is certainly something that'll disappoint her parents.

"You don't usually tell people much,  don't you?"

"Nope, no I don't. It's hard to trust people nowadays, Euisa."

"Understood. I get what you're going through. It takes a while to really find the right people. Sometimes you have to just wait years of your life to finally get your.. how do you kids say it?"

"Crowd?"

"Yes, crowd. Family, or is that too strong of a term for you?"

Mira stopped after hearing Ji-Ho bring up the concept of Family. It wasn't a trigger for her, but she wasn't exactly fond of using the term "Family" considering the mess she has to deal with at home. And the last time she ever used the term family to describe a group of friends, she wasn't the same after that, but for Mira, that's just her god damn luck. She stared blankly, not at anyone or anything for that matter. She's just been stuck in that endless space of limbo. What was the term?

"Mira? Hello? You're disassociating again."

Ah, that's the term! Mira snapped back to attention, ironically, by hearing Ji-Ho snapping his fingers to a rhythm. She thought that she was back at her home, but it was just Ji-Ho wanting for her to focus again.

"S-so-sorry, I should stop doing that.. You just said something and I guess I blacked out,"

"Hm, this has gotten frequent recently. Is it really just a trigger word that makes you feel this way? Like a trauma response of some sort,"

"I.. I never thought of it that way, Euisa. I've just been trying to ignore it. You know how my luck is with making.. friends.. or just trying to learn how to talk to people."

"You're talking to me,"

"Yeah, but even then, it took so long for me to finally.. open. I don't even do that regularly."

Mira shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable with how much she had revealed about herself. She fidgeted with the black baseball cap she sometimes wore in public—especially when she was out with her family. It helped her avoid the stares, the quiet judgment, the way people seemed to associate her with her parents’ “old money” image. An image she never asked for.

Her signature gold-framed glasses sat slightly crooked on her nose. She lifted them and wiped at the smudged lens with her sleeve. For a moment, the world blurred. She had never seen Dr. Ji-Ho’s office without her glasses before. Without them, the space felt strangely softer—less overwhelming, less busy than she usually thought it was.

Then she realized why. She was facing the wrong direction.

“Mira,” Ji-Ho said gently, “put your glasses back on.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

She slipped them back into place. Reality snapped into focus.

Ji-Ho watched her quietly before turning to his notebook and flipping to a fresh page. He always took notes during their sessions, but something about this moment felt different. In all the time she had been coming here, he had rarely asked about her dreams. About what she wanted. He had always focused on her past. Her present. Her pain.

Until now.

“Tell me, Mira,” he said, “is there anything else you’ve ever wanted to pursue in life? I know you’ve always been interested in dancing, but you don’t strike me as someone with only one passion.”

She hesitated. Then sighed.

“I don’t like admitting this to people,” she said quietly, “but I used to take choir in middle school. I hated the class… but I loved singing.”

She paused, searching her memory.

“I don’t even remember why. But the feeling never went away.”

“Do you want to pursue a career in that field?” Ji-Ho asked.

“I… do.”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. And immediately, shame followed. It was the same look she had given her dance teacher. Uncertain. Exposed. Afraid of sounding foolish. Truthfully, she didn’t know if it was realistic. She knew how brutal the industry was. The endless training. The competition. The ten-hour days. The struggle just to be noticed. And yet… She couldn’t let go of the image in her mind. Standing on a stage. Lights blazing. A crowd watching. Smiling. Cheering. Feeling something because of her.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Ji-Ho said. “You’ve always had a deep connection to the arts. But what interests me is why. Why this path? Even if you don’t remember fully, the reason must still be inside you.”

She knew he was right. Mira took a slow breath and straightened in her chair. When she spoke again, her voice was firm.

"I want to prove something,” she admitted. “Appa always told me my dreams were just… dreams. That art was meaningless. Like it was a waste of time.”

Her voice wavered.

“It’s like he hates this part of me.”

“And that’s where your fire comes from,” Ji-Ho said gently. “Isn’t it?”

She nodded.

“Yes… it is. I just—I don’t want to be like him. And he doesn’t understand that. And if I have to bend his rules to drive that point straight to his head, I will!”

Mira intensely spoke up. She finally calmed herself down before she got too excited.

Ji-Ho wrote for a moment, then set his pencil down. He adjusted his tie and rested his chin against his hand, studying her thoughtfully.

“Mira,” he said, “instead of seeing this as a way to prove others wrong… try seeing it as a way to prove yourself right.”

She blinked. That wasn’t what she had expected. The words settled slowly in her mind. Her shoulders relaxed. Her tense posture softened.

Prove herself right?

What did that even mean?

She stared at the floor, lost in thought, letting the question echo inside her.

/-_-=xXx=-_-\

Mira stepped outside the building and paused on the sidewalk.

Instead of waiting for Minho to pick her up and drive her to the gym, she decided to walk. She needed time. Space. Silence. Her therapist’s words still echoed in her mind.

Prove yourself right.

Was saying yes to the idea of becoming an idol a mistake? Had she agreed too quickly—caught up in emotion and impulse? Or maybe… maybe it was the first honest decision she had made in a long time. She shoved her hands into her pockets and started down the street. She had the basics, didn’t she?

The look.

The confidence—when she remembered to believe in herself.

The dancing.

The singing.

But what about the rest?

Her temper.

Her bluntness.

Her habit of speaking before thinking.

Was there room in the idol world for someone who was brutally honest?

Someone who didn’t know how to pretend all the time?

She passed rows of glowing billboards and storefront screens, each plastered with flawless faces and perfect smiles. Idols from every generation stared down at her—solo artists, groups, rookies, legends. She had heard their music before. Different genres. Different concepts. Different images. So many ways to succeed. So many ways to fail. Without realizing it, she slowed.

Then stopped.

A small electronics shop had a television playing in its front window. A live performance flashed across the screen—bright lights, sharp formations, glittering outfits, synchronized movements. Normally, it would have overwhelmed her. Too loud. Too flashy. Too much. But this time, she couldn’t look away. The colors reflected in her eyes. The glow. Her pupils widened. Her heartbeat quickened. She watched every move, every turn, every smile. And suddenly, she wasn’t just watching. She was imagining herself there. On that stage. Under those lights. With that confidence. Like them. Like the Sunlight Sisters. Her favorites. Her inspiration.

Slowly, she forced herself to look away.

But the feeling didn’t fade.

If anything, it grew stronger.

She straightened her shoulders. Set her jaw. For the first time, her determination felt quiet instead of desperate. Steady instead of frantic. She was going to try. Not to prove anyone wrong. Not to win an argument. But to prove something to herself. By the time she reached the gym again, her steps were lighter. Her focus was sharper. And for once, her doubts weren’t leading the way.

The instructor had just started setting up class. Mira noticed that he had an awfully weird hue to his skin, but to be fair the light was off. But then that's a bigger question, why would you set up a class in the dark? Mira turned the light on and saw the hue disappear to a normal pale tone. She shrugged it off, way too distracted with the thought of what routine she'll be learning today, or rather the students that will join her too. The Instructor didn't expect to see her this early, though, turning to see the already dressed Pink-Haired dancer ready as she'll ever be.

"Hm, you're here quite early... uhhh what's.. what's your name?"

"Mira. You offered me to be in this advanced level class. Remember?"

"Ah yes, the overly passionate one who wanted to be an idol. Now I remember!"

Mira did not look at him impressed. Forgot her ALREADY? That's a whole new low. But hey, that's life for her, so is she gonna be fussy about it? Well, sadly no, but she's not getting paid for it. It's not worth the big fussing at the end of the day. She took a deep breath and let her emotions simmer down.

"What are we working on today?"

"Well, lucky for you, we have a scout coming in today."

"Oh really?"

Mira perked up, a slight bit of excitement in her voice and eyes popping through her tough exterior. She readjusted her glasses as they almost slid off from the sudden change in expression. The instructor turned, confused, as he too can tell Mira was acting unusually more excited than she normally acts during his classes. Half the time she was just reserved to herself and didn't talk to anyone. He smiled back.

"Calm yourself. Remember there's other students in the class, so just try and stand out if you can, but don't look like you're.. y'know, wanting to be all 'pick me' alright?"

The choreographer gave her a pat on the shoulder as other students came in, already warming themselves up for a productive session. Mira nodded slowly, but she never understood what the whole "pick me" thing is all about. All she knew is that she wanted to chase this dream more than anything, right now.

After speaking, the instructor bent down to gather his things.

A simple, all-black outfit—T-shirt and stretchy gym pants—but something about it always stood out to Mira. The fabric carried strange, geometric patterns woven into the design. She’d never quite been able to place why they caught her attention. They almost looked like they’d make good tattoo designs. Weirdly artistic for gym clothes. With a quick nod, he headed toward the locker room. Almost immediately, another group filed in to take their place. This time, it was all guys. Mira’s shoulders sank.

Great.

She didn’t mind that the class was co-ed. That wasn’t the problem. What bothered her was the way their eyes lingered. The way they whispered. It was subtle—too subtle for most of the other girls to notice—but Mira caught it instantly. She always did. Little details stuck with her like burrs on fabric.

As she dropped into her stretches, she heard one of them murmur under his breath.

“Dari yeppeune…”

Her eyes snapped up.

Pretty legs.

Before she could second-guess herself, she shot back, low and sharp—

“Watch it.”

The edge in her voice made him freeze.

He lifted his hands in surrender and shuffled back toward his friends, cheeks flushed. The whispering resumed, quieter this time.

Mira turned back to her stretches, jaw tight. Being professional around guys like that? Yeah. That was going to be exhausting. They're so bleugh, They're so Egh, Ugh, AUGH!, no no, they're oough OOUGH. They're BLEUGH! It didn't help that Mira could easily look like an upset child. She was still only 17 years old. The tension in the room was there, but the fact that the instructor didn't feel it is quite a quirk.

“Alright, everyone,” the instructor said, clapping his hands once to gather their attention.

“I’m sure you all understand why you’re here.”

The room gradually fell silent.

“You’re meant to be the best of the best. You’re training for stages in front of millions of people.”

He paced slowly in front of them as he spoke.

“So your movements need to be sharper. More fluid. More precise.”

His gaze swept across the class.

“And most of all—”

He stopped.

“They need to be challenging.”

A faint, unreadable smile crossed his face.

“Because nothing worth earning comes easy.”

The scout entered the rehearsal room without ceremony. No announcement. No dramatic pause. Just the quiet click of the door and the subtle shift in the air as every student straightened instinctively.

Mira noticed immediately.

She always did.

The instructor clapped once, sharply, bringing everyone to attention.

Class began.

The speakers filled the room with K-Pop—fast, polished, demanding. It made sense. If they wanted to survive in this industry, this was the language they had to learn. And tonight, Mira spoke it fluently. She pushed herself harder than she ever had before. Her arms burned. Her legs trembled. Her lungs begged for mercy. But she didn’t slow. Every movement flowed into the next. Every beat pulled something new out of her. Whether she wanted it or not, her body obeyed. She knew she was giving everything. The students knew. The instructor knew.

But what mattered most—

Was the scout watching?

Her eyes flicked toward the corner of the room. Too quick. Too desperate.

No.

This isn’t right.

She stumbled slightly. Recovered. Her heart thudded in her ears.

Focus, Mira.

She shook her head, forcing herself back into rhythm. It wasn’t about being seen. It wasn’t about impressing anyone. It was about proving—

No.

Not proving them wrong.

Proving herself right.

That she could do this.

That she belonged here.

That she wasn’t chasing some impossible fantasy.

Great.

Now her thoughts were spiraling again. She gritted her teeth and threw herself into the next sequence, harder than before. Sweat slid down her temples. Her muscles screamed. Her vision blurred at the edges. But she kept moving. She always did. It was going to be a long night. A miserable one. A painful one. But somehow, she knew—

This was exactly where she was supposed to be.

/-_-=xXx=-_-\

By the time their session ended, Mira was exhausted. THe first time she ever felt a loss of adrenaline in one of these dance classes. The dreariness made her slightly dizzy, so much that she had to lie down on the cold, lacquered, maple hardwood floor.

She couldn't even think about what the scout was thinking about her performance in class. But she probably failed. Who knows.

Riddled with the marks of where feet once danced upon. She stared up at the warm, off-white light. She covers the brightness with the palm of her hand. She had already discarded her signature white oversized workout sweater, now wearing a sleeveless top filled to the pits with sweat. She rolls to her side, looking at herself in the mirror, still wearing her rounded glasses. She thought about how she did during class, but the instructor was right. This class was not for the faint of heart. Required more than just heart, required your entire damn lung.

As she got up, Mira trudged along to the exit. She realized then it was night time, and it probably wasn't ideal to be out this late. Besides, it was a lot cooler in the building than outside. 

Huh, no sign of those jerk guys, wonder if they buzzed off.

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