It had been three days since they changed the choreography.
At first, everything felt rough — messy counts, clashing timing, too many near-collisions. But by the third night, something had finally started to click. The members of Dorm D-401 were moving as one again, their rhythm steadier, their transitions cleaner. They were starting to look like a team.
"Again from the bridge!"
Chanho's voice echoed across the studio.
Almost.
The sound of sneakers sliding against the wooden floor filled the air. Sweat dripped, heavy breaths filled the room, and every face was masked with determination. No one dared to stop.
Daehyun threw himself into the moves with his usual sharp precision — every angle clean, every expression on point. Across from him, Seojun matched the pace, but there was something stiff about his movements — like he was holding back on purpose.
And Hanuel, caught between them, could feel the tension crackling in the air.
"Five, six, seven, eight—!"
They hit the ending pose.
The room fell silent except for the sound of heavy panting.
Daehyun broke the silence first. "You missed your cue again, Seojun."
Seojun shot him a glare. "No, you sped up."
"I followed the beat," Daehyun retorted.
"The beat? Or your ego?"
Hanuel winced. Here we go again.
During his stay these past months, Hanuel had realized something — Daehyun and Seojun were natural enemies. Sure, everyone had someone they didn't get along with, but those two? They had an unspoken history, a bond beyond enemies.
"Alright, that's enough," Chanho said, rubbing his temple. But the two didn't stop.
"Don't start acting like you own the choreography," Seojun snapped, stepping closer. "You always think you're right."
"And you always think the world's against you," Daehyun fired back. "Maybe try keeping up for once instead of complaining."
That did it.
Seojun's jaw tightened, and he gave Daehyun a light shove — not hard, but enough to make Chanho explode.
"Hey—!"
"Enough!"
Chanho's voice thundered through the room.
Everyone froze.
For a moment, the only sound was their heavy breathing and the faint buzz of the studio lights.
Chanho rarely raised his voice — but when he did, it silenced everyone.
He stepped forward, eyes sharp, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Do you two ever stop?"
Neither answered.
"You've been at each other's throats since your early trainee years," Chanho continued. "I ignored it, thinking it'd burn out — but apparently, you both enjoy setting flames."
Seojun looked away, jaw tight. He clicked his tongue.
Daehyun said nothing.
Chanho sighed. "You think this is just about choreography? No. This is about image. About teamwork. About whether we're capable of standing on the same stage without looking like we hate each other."
Hanuel glanced at the others — Eunjae looked nervous, Jiho awkwardly scratched his neck, and Hyun pretended he wasn't there at all. No one dared move.
"If we ever win that competition," Chanho went on, his tone calm but cutting, "you'll have cameras in your faces every single day. Interviews, fans, press — all waiting to see a crack. And when they find it? That's it. One rumor about internal fights, one viral clip of you two arguing — and the group's done. It affects everyone. One scandal from you two is all it takes."
Silence enveloped the room.
Even Daehyun's usual defiance wavered.
Chanho sighed, lowering his voice.
"We're not idols yet, but we're training like we are. And if we can't tolerate each other now, how the hell will we survive when we actually debut?"
Seojun's fists clenched. "He keeps acting like—"
"I don't care who started it," Chanho cut him off. "What I care about is who ends it."
He looked between the two of them.
"I'm not asking you to be best friends. I'm asking you to be professionals. That means, for now — truce. Understood?"
Neither replied.
Chanho's eyes narrowed. "Say it."
"…Fine," Seojun muttered.
Daehyun crossed his arms. "…Yeah. Truce."
"Good." Chanho's tone softened — barely. "Now shake hands."
Both of them looked like they'd rather swallow hot coals than shake hands.
Hanuel shifted awkwardly, tempted to say something to ease the tension, but Chanho's glare made it clear this wasn't up for negotiation.
Finally, Seojun extended his hand.
Daehyun stared at it for a moment, then took it.
"Congratulations," Chanho said dryly. "You've just proven you're not complete idiots."
A few weak laughs escaped from the others, and the tension eased slightly.
"Now," Chanho said, "take ten. Cool off. And when we start again — try not to kill each other."
The group slowly dispersed. Daehyun and Seojun avoided eye contact, retreating to opposite corners of the studio. Hanuel lingered near the mirror, pretending to stretch while observing them from the corner of his eye.
Eunjae leaned close and whispered, "You think that'll last?"
Hanuel smiled faintly. "Maybe not. But at least it's a start."
As the others rested, Hanuel caught his reflection in the mirror — his eyes tired, a small bruise still faintly visible on his arm.
The ache from the fall earlier in the week still lingered, but so did something else — a quiet worry he couldn't name.
He looked at Daehyun and Seojun again.
Somewhere deep down, he hoped that when their group finally stood on that stage, none of them would still be fighting ghosts — whether from pride, pain, or guilt.
Because if they did… it wouldn't be just a performance that broke.