Chapter Text
The rehearsal studio was strangely, suffocatingly quiet.
On any normal day, the room would have been alive, bursting with a chaotic symphony of overlapping voices and music.
Sophia and Lara would usually be locked in a playful sing-off—the two main vocalists effortlessly riffing off each other or mindlessly humming whatever melody was stuck in their heads.
Over on the couch, Yoonchae and Megan would be curled up together, either giggling over TikTok videos or playing Roblox, the audio blasting carelessly from their screens.
And then there were Manon and Daniela, always ready to spark a sudden dance battle, dragging their choreographers into the madness whenever the energy in the room hit just right.
Most of the time, these duos would shift and blend, filling the studio with a unique noise where they didn’t compete to be the loudest, but instead complemented one another. It was a beautiful, chaotic harmony.
But Manon was not here. That was the gaping hole in the room.
Left with an odd number of members ever since the forced hiatus, the balance had shattered. The harmony was completely gone.
Now, the noise felt hollow and incomplete. It was like listening to a rough demo of a song still in production—uncomfortable, because your ears desperately twitch for the missing pieces.
Everyone had retreated into their own isolated worlds. Some had even plugged in their earphones, erecting walls to protect what little comfort they had left.
It was weird. Utterly, terribly weird.
Deep down, everyone was grieving their missing piece. To make it worse, a wave of internet hate was crashing down on them, and for what? It wasn't even their fault. It was the company’s doing—the result of a terrible, heartless PR job.
These girls were being pushed to their breaking points, without a single moment to breathe.
Still, it wasn't their fault. Manon knew that. Yet, the guilt or the pain made it too hard to reply, leaving her girls' texts sitting on read, making her seem impossibly distant.
It wasn't their fault, and she knew that. She really did.
Manon was just drowning in her grief, processing it the only way she knew how. After all, this was her dream, too.
But seeing those girls—her girls—became a painful, living reminder of everything that had just been ripped away from her. Everything she would probably never get back.
Manon had spent the majority of her twenties bleeding for this. She had trained and fought for a spot in a room where most people whispered that she would never make it, sacrificing for a company that never truly wanted her. She had left her family, her childhood friends, and her entire homeland behind, all for a single shot at her dream. She had spent every agonizing second fighting for it.
And now? Manon had lost respect from both sides. On one side were the people she once worked shoulder-to-shoulder with—managers, choreographers, and the staff she used to pass in the hallways every morning. On the other side were the fickle "fans" praising the hiatus, labeling her as "lazy," while the parents of her own groupmates badmouthed and unfollowed her without ever bothering to learn the truth.
But worst of all, she had lost her sisters. Lara, Megan, Yoonchae, Daniela, and Sophia—all of them.
She hadn't lost them to death, but corporate contracts felt just as final, practically prohibiting her from making any public contact or appearing with them. Heck, she was still roommates with one of them, living in a ghost town of a shared space.
Text messages still existed, sure. But with a new era exploding, Coachella on the horizon, and a world tour looming, she knew the girls would barely have time to breathe, let alone look at their phones.
Manon knew how the industry worked. She knew that under the pressure of such a crushing schedule, their bonds would only grow deeper and stronger with each passing day.
And she didn't know how to survive the thought of that happening entirely without her.
With the silence stretching between them, the girls didn't know how to feel about this new world moving forward without her, either.
All of them could only try to hold on for now.
At least, that was the lie they whispered to themselves.
Because when you are forced to handle a tragedy in your own way, you end up doing it entirely alone.
So, when the girls are left completely by themselves in the dark, with no one else to lean on, they desperately tell themselves to just hold on.
Because right now, that is the only choice they have left.