The songwriting studio wasn't what I expected.
"Start wherever you want," a woman beside him said. "Talk like it's 2 a.m. and you've given up pretending you're fine."
That part was too easy. I stared at my hands. The room quieted. As I talked, the writers leaned in a little, scribbling something.
I felt tears welling in my eyes, thinking back about the thoughtful moments Min Soo showed me what love was. They got to work after that, murmuring ideas, tapping out melodies, looping words I hadn't realised would cut so deep when repeated out loud.
Later, I found my way back to the dance studio. Fang was already there, sitting on the floor with a protein bar and that look he wore when he was pretending not to worry.
"You look like someone scraped your heart out and called it character development," he said.
"Thanks. That's poetic."
He studied me as I slid down next to him. I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
"I'm fine." I sighed.
"Liar."
He didn't push further. Just sat there, shoulder to shoulder with me.
"You don't have to tell me anything," he said. "But if you ever want to…"
"I know."
We sat in silence. I stood, grabbing my towel and water bottle, swallowing it all down. Rehearsals blurred into days.
The final week didn't feel real, more like a countdown. Every minute was choreographed. Every second timed. Sleep barely existed, meals were inhaled, and the rest of the contestants started disappearing. Voted off. Eliminated in quick, brutal cuts. By the time we reached the last stage rehearsal, there were only four of us left. Only the sharpest, the ones with skills that stuck, had survived the cuts. Fang and I stood backstage, waiting to be called for the last full dress rehearsal.
"You good?" he asked, not looking at me.
It wasn't.
The pain had nowhere else to go. Fang heard it in rehearsals. He didn't say anything. Just nodded once, like he understood something I hadn't said out loud.
My makeup was perfect. My throat was raw. My heart felt like a drum. I stood near the back of the dressing room, eyes fixed on my reflection, the one I still hated. Fang walked in. He didn't say anything for once. He just reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. Not mine. He placed it in my hand without a word. I looked down.
A number lit up the screen. Not saved, just digits. But I knew them. Numbers I had memorised. I met Fang's eyes, heart stuttering. He didn't smile.
"Answer it."
I stared at the screen, frozen.
I didn't know if I was ready. But I was going to find out. The phone rang in my hand like a heartbeat. I looked at Fang, but he stayed still.
"Scarlett?"
His voice was like the purest sound love could produce, as all of the stitches holding my broken heart together had disappeared, my wounds felt like they had been healed in my chest.
"Min Soo," I said, almost afraid to breathe.
He laughed softly. "You picked up."
"Of course I did." My throat was dry. "I… I wasn't expecting this."
"Neither was I," he admitted. "I just wanted to hear your voice."
Silence followed.
"Where are you?"
I froze. The truth was complicated. So instead, I said, "Safe."
"Good," he said after a pause. "That's all I needed to know."
We talked about nothing for a while. Then he went quiet. Long enough for something to shift.
"Min Soo?"
"I should've said this earlier," he said, his voice distant now. "But I think this needs to be the last call."
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
"I know it's not what you want to hear, but… you're not here anymore. And I don't even know at this point when, and even if, you're coming back..."
"I'll come back, no matter what it takes." I swore
"But when? He asked.
"Min Soo..."
And just like that, he was gone. The call ended. I stared at the screen for a long moment. One tear slipped out. Then another. But I didn't let it last. There wasn't time. The stage manager shouted from the hallway.
"Foreigner! You're on in two!"
I dried my face and walked toward the light. The performance was how I showed my heartbreak. The mask was on. The lights were blinding. The crowd roared. I gave them everything. The heartbreak. The silence. The goodbye I didn't get to say. Applause erupted. But inside, I was hollow.
Fang found me by the back exit. He didn't say anything. Just held out his hand.
"Come on."
"Where?"
"Anywhere but here," he said.
He didn't ask what happened. Just came out with a variety of drinks, hoping I'd like one, and handed me one without comment. We sat on the curb, silent. I stared at the can in my hand. Then, I broke the silence.
"He broke up with me."
Fang didn't react. I looked down at my hands. I blinked hard, head tilted back to keep the tears from falling again.
"I thought he'd be forever."
"He was," Fang said. "Just not in the way you wanted."
I finally took a sip. It tasted like sugar and regret.
"Does it ever stop hurting?" I asked.
He looked up at the sky. "No. But it changes."
I leaned against his shoulder. Just for a second. And for the first time since the call ended, I allowed my tears to fall.
The morning after felt like a lie. The sun was too bright. My phone was too loud. And the world had already decided who I was. My stage name was everywhere.
Clips of the performance had already racked up millions of views. There were fan edits, slowed replays of the final line, and conspiracy threads trying to guess my real identity. They called it powerful. They didn't know it was the moment I broke down.
I scrolled, numb, barely registering the words. Next to me, Fang was sprawled out on the floor of the dorm's common area, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other still loosely holding a half-eaten onigiri.
"You're trending," he mumbled.
I grunted. He peeked out at me.
"People are obsessed. They're calling you 'China's masked heartbreak.'"
"Perfect," I muttered. "Just what I want to be known for."
He sat up, squinting at the light.
"You killed it last night."
I didn't answer.
Leo Chen stood at the head of the long glass table, arms crossed, coffee in hand like always.
"You four are the last, you're not trainees anymore. From this point on, you're artists under the company's name. And the world is watching."
I felt Fang glance sideways at me, but I didn't move. Someone raised a hand.
"When will we know our placements?"
Leo smiled a vicious smile.
"When the rest of the country does."
I found a quiet corner of the rooftop later. No cameras. No stylists. Just wind. The city stretched out below like a giant I couldn't wake up from. I sat there for a long time. Fang joined me. He didn't say anything. Just dropped a hot can of vending machine coffee next to me and sat down with his legs stretched out. We didn't talk for a while. Finally, I asked him.
"Why'd you give me the phone?"
He didn't look at me.
"Because you needed to hear it. Even if it broke you."
Two days before the finale, the company scheduled a solo shoot for each finalist. Backstage, Fang was sitting with his feet kicked up on a folding chair, drinking a neon green juice like it had secrets. I dropped into the seat next to him and stole a sip.
"So, how was it?"
He waited.
I knew what he was really asking. There was a lot of pressure for me to take off my mask.
"I kept it on."
"That's okay."
I glanced at him. "You're not disappointed?"
He shook his head. "Scarlett, whether you wear it or not, doesn't change the fact that the world already sees you. Some just don't know what to call you yet."
"Anyway," he added, standing up and stretching, "they don't get to decide who you are."
I looked at him.
"I didn't say I wore it because of them."
He smiled. "Exactly."
Each finalist had to pick what we'd sing on finale night. Most were playing it safe, choosing the songs that made them popular. But the company left a blank box at the bottom. For those willing to risk it.
The mask, still waiting on its hook in the dressing room.
I filled in my own title...