Nicholas sat alone in the corner of the studio after everyone else had cleared out, his back pressed against the mirrored wall, breathing shallow and slow. The overhead lights buzzed softly above him, a mechanical hum too quiet to distract him from the thoughts circling in his head like vultures.

He ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair and let his head fall back against the wall with a soft thud.

He was tired. But not from the routines.

It was everything else—everything he couldn't stretch, spin, or dance his way out of.

Lately, practice had become a blur. He moved on autopilot. Hit his marks. Hit the beats. Hit the floor when necessary. But his focus? It was elsewhere. Or more specifically—on someone else.

EJ.

Nicholas had noticed it first in the way his eyes kept drifting during rehearsals. Watching the angles of EJ's form, the way his shoulders moved before a turn, how he always reset the room when things started spiraling.

He told himself it was respect.
Admiration.

But that excuse thinned the longer it went on.

The night EJ had corrected his form—hands light, voice steady—Nicholas had told himself he was just thrown off by the contact.

But the truth?

He remembered the warmth of it.
The steadiness.
And the way he'd felt seen, without being exposed.

Now, sitting here, with the lights buzzing and his hands clenched in his lap, Nicholas admitted something terrifying.

He cared.

Too much.
More than was safe.
More than made sense.

And it wasn't about Eunji anymore. He'd convinced himself he was protecting her. That maybe this pull he felt toward EJ was just some twisted reflection of that responsibility.

But it wasn't.
Not really.

He wasn't falling for a mission.
He was falling for him.

And he hated it.

Because he couldn't afford to care.
Not now.
Not when he was still being hunted by a name he hadn't used in years.

The note burned in his pocket like a brand:

You know how this ends, Wang Yixiang.

Nicholas found EJ on the second-floor terrace after practice the next day, elbows propped on the rail, eyes distant.

"Hey," Nicholas said, easing up beside him. "You got a minute?"

EJ glanced over. "Sure. Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just... strategy."

He could hear the lie in his own voice.

EJ didn't call it out. He just waited.

Nicholas leaned on the railing, watching the city blur beyond the school's walls. "Do-yun's not playing by the old rules anymore. You feel it, right?"

"Always have."

Nicholas nodded. "This... performance unit thing? It's not about talent anymore. It's about who stays loyal the longest."

"Or who breaks first."

There was a silence.

Nicholas shifted, arms folding tighter. "Did you ever think about walking away?"

EJ gave him a sideways glance. "Every day."

"So why haven't you?"

EJ's voice was quiet, but firm. "Because the moment I stop moving, people I care about get hurt."

Nicholas's throat tightened. "Same."

The moment sat between them—uneasy, heavy.

Nicholas turned toward him slightly. "I wasn't supposed to come back. I changed everything—my name, my life, the way I walked into a room. But now I'm back in it. And some days I don't even know who I'm supposed to be anymore."

It was closer to the truth than he'd planned to get.

EJ didn't press. He just said,

"I don't trust easily. But you haven't given me a reason not to."

It landed like a gut punch.
Gentle.
Unexpected.
Undeniable.

Nicholas had to look away.

He wanted to say something back. Wanted to ask—what if I give you one? What if I already did?

But the words stayed buried.

The next morning, the school looked different.

Slick new banners draped across the atrium walls.

"Final Showcase: Audition Opportunity with KDY Cultural Division"

Bright red. Branded. Aggressively clean.

Eunji, standing at the lockers, muttered, "It's not a competition anymore. It's a casting call."

Nicholas could barely look at the banners. His stomach turned.

The overhead speaker crackled.

"New scoring metrics are in effect," the voice of Coach Na announced. "Effective immediately, non-performance behavior will impact ranking status. Personal conduct, class participation, and public image now contribute to final evaluation."

Eunji stared at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed her.

"They're watching us off-stage too."

EJ's mouth was tight. "They always were. They're just done hiding it."

After practice, Nicholas lingered behind. He needed a minute. Maybe two.

The hallway was nearly empty when someone grabbed him by the arm and shoved him into the stairwell.

No struggle. Just precision. Controlled pressure.

The door slammed shut behind them.

The man was older. Sharp suit. Familiar eyes.
Not Do-yun.

But close enough.

Nicholas didn't speak.

He didn't need to.

"You've been off script too long," the man said calmly. "Come home, or someone else pays the price."

No name. No threat of punishment.

Just fact.
Just consequence.

Nicholas stared at him, heart pounding, but voice steady.

"You don't get to call it home."

The man stepped back without a word. Left the stairwell like nothing had happened.

Nicholas stood there for a long time.

Cold sweat down his spine.
The note. The name. The pressure.
And now this.

He wasn't being watched anymore.

He was being reclaimed.