The rehearsal studio smelled like lemon disinfectant and nervous energy. A new scent, a new team, a new chance. Haru sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor, adjusting his mic pack and glancing around the room that somehow felt too big and too small at the same time.
He'd been here before. In other teams. In other contexts. But this one was different.
Because this time—it was the final team.
The real one.
Minju drifted just above the lights, silent. No clipboard. No teasing. Just observation. Just him.
"You're weirdly calm," she said eventually, voice soft and private.
"I think I'm too tired to be nervous," Haru murmured under his breath. "And also… I think I kind of missed them."
That was true.
Minhee had bounded into the studio like a puppy discovering its favorite toy had returned from the dead. His hug had knocked the air out of Haru's lungs.
Then came Riki—cool and quiet, with a look that said more than his words ever could. A nod. A pause. A blink that lingered. That was all.
And Seojun—well, Seojun didn't do reunions. He gave a grunt, a once-over, and a clipped: "Try not to slow us down."
"Still charming," Minju muttered, only for Haru to hear.
"He is trying," Haru replied, though it sounded more like a question than a defense.
It was the four of them again. Almost.
Only one piece missing.
"So who's the last member?" Minhee asked later that afternoon, spinning lazily in a chair as the team wrapped up an orientation video briefing. "It's weird they haven't introduced him yet."
"Maybe he's sick," Riki offered.
"Or a secret weapon," Seojun added, tone skeptical.
Haru glanced toward the door, something in his chest tightening—not dread, not hope, just… something.
Minju's voice came again, a soft hum near his shoulder."Ooooh, imagine it's some mysterious underground trainee with a scar and a tragic backstory…"
The door burst open.
"YOU!" Haru shouted before he could stop himself.
Everyone jumped.
Minhee's chair screeched. Riki flinched. Seojun turned with the slowest head swivel known to man, one eyebrow raised like it had better things to do.
In the doorway stood a boy—tall-ish, lean, dressed in an all-black airport-chic fit like he'd just walked off a fashion runway instead of a plane. His hood was pushed back, revealing platinum-blonde hair that looked either expensively bleached or recklessly home-dyed.
He pulled down his sunglasses with dramatic flair and grinned.
"Nice seeing you again, Haru."
Riki blinked. "Wait. You know him?"
Minhee gasped. "You have secret friends?!"
Seojun scowled. "Is this the rapper?"
"Shiro," Haru muttered.
The name hit like a flicker of static through old wires.
"You two are friends?" Minhee asked.
"We're not," Haru said, just as Shiro brightly replied, "Childhood friends!"
Haru groaned. "I wouldn't call him that."
"He used to ignore me all the time," Shiro said breezily. "But I adored him anyway. Kind of a one-sided rivalry-slash-love-hate situation. Mostly hate. On his side."
Seojun raised an eyebrow. "So this is the group's maknae?"
"Maknae and rapper," Shiro confirmed with finger guns. "But don't worry, I'm fully house-trained."
Minhee leaned over to Haru, voice low. "He's like you. But if you were extroverted. And on energy drinks."
Riki actually chuckled.
Haru narrowed his eyes. "How did you even know I was here?"
Shiro flopped into the empty chair beside him, grinning. "Your mom told mine."
"…Seriously?"
Shiro nodded. "They've been friends since forever.Like 'matchmaking us in diapers' level friends. She said you were finally doing something big. I told my manager, and well—here I am."
Haru rubbed his face. "Of course she did."
From the ceiling corner, Minju whispered only to Haru, "Your mom is more powerful than the CEO."
The coordinator clapped from the doorway. "Group introductions done? Great. Let's start rehearsals."
As the five of them moved into formation, the room shifted. The energy cracked—not quite harmony, but something close. Something potential.
Minhee messed up the first step.
Riki got the count wrong.
Shiro rapped half a verse too early, then winked like it was intentional.
And Haru?
Haru laughed.
Not fake. Not forced.
Real.
Because somehow, against all odds—This chaotic mix of ghosts, rivals, underdogs, and past lives felt right.
For the first time in a long time, he wasn't chasing light alone.
He was standing in it.With them.