Hana stood outside Yuna's practice room, her heart pounding.
Through the small glass window, she watched as Yuna performed effortlessly, her movements precise, her voice captivating. Her tutor circled her, offering occasional corrections, but Yuna didn't seem to need them. She was perfect, born to be an idol.
Hana felt a lump in her throat.
Why had someone like Yuna ever chosen to hang out with her?
She had followed her all the way from school, desperate for an explanation. She wanted to ask why—why Yuna had done this to her.
Was it her fault?
Hana's hands clenched into fists as she stared at the shoes on her feet—the shoes Yuna had bought for her. Her vision blurred with tears, and she turned to leave.
"Excuse me," a voice called out.
Hana froze, turning slowly to see a tall man in a simple outfit standing a few steps away. His kind smile contrasted with the phone he held up, showing her something.
"This is you, right?" he asked, tilting the screen toward her.
Her breath hitched. It was a video—one Yuna had taken of her last night. It was trending on Instagram.
She gasped, her voice trembling. "How... how did you get that?"
The man swiped to show her another clip, this one of her dancing. "If you don't mind..." He pulled out a sleek business card and handed it to her. "Would you like to join our agency?"
Hana blinked in disbelief, pointing to the scar on her cheek. "You can see this, right?"
The man smirked and raised his phone again, this time showing a photo of a famous idol. He held it up next to her face, studying her intently.
"Yes," he said, his voice firm. "And I can see the vision."
Hana bowed politely, her heart racing. "Thank you for the offer, but... I'm good. Thank you."
She walked away quickly, clutching the card in her hand, her thoughts swirling.
---
Later that day, she sat in her room, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was uneven and ruined, her cheek still marked by a faint bruise. The scar she'd hidden for so long seemed even more pronounced now.
She sighed deeply, trying to push the memory of Yuna, the whispers, and the laughter out of her mind. She needed a distraction—something to keep her from falling apart.
Turning on her laptop, she filled the room with music. Heavenly, soulful notes poured from her speakers, wrapping around her like a warm embrace.
Hana stood, closing her eyes as the rhythm took over. She began to move, her body swaying naturally, her hands gliding through the air. She sang softly, her voice blending with the melody as she danced.
Here in her room, no one could judge her.
No one could mock her.
No one could hurt her.
This was her sanctuary—a place where she could be herself.
She moved with abandon, her body following the music's every twist and turn. The rhythm felt alive, possessing her very being. Her movements were fluid and hypnotic, each step more freeing than the last.
For a moment, she forgot the pain. She forgot Yuna's cold words and the cruel laughter of her classmates. She forgot the scar and the ruined hair.
Here, she was just Hana.
Dancing to her heart's content.
---
Outside, on a rooftop across from her window, someone sat with their phone out, recording every moment.
They leaned forward, eyes fixed on her as she swayed and spun, a look of obsession in her gaze.
"So fucking beautiful," she whispered to herself, unable to look away.