The practice room was empty except for the sound of Klan's ragged breathing and the echo of music that had stopped minutes ago. He was still on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, sweat dripping down his temple. His fingers trembled as he clutched his phone.
Another hateful comment flashed on the screen.
"Klan is the weakest dancer. How did he debut?"
"LUMINA should have chosen someone else for the visual."
"He looks awkward next to Kael."
He'd stopped counting after the first hundred. Each one felt like a blade carving away the little confidence he had left.
Klan bit his lip so hard it tasted like iron. His chest burned, his throat ached, and before he realized, his vision blurred. He pressed his forehead to his knees, silent sobs shaking his small frame.
Why am I even here?
He'd trained for years, sacrificing school, friends, even family dinners—just for this dream. But debut didn't feel like a dream. It felt like drowning.
The door creaked open.
"Klan?"
The voice was low, firm—and too familiar. Kael.
Klan scrubbed at his face quickly, but his eyes were red, his cheeks wet. He didn't look up as footsteps approached.
"What are you doing here at 1 a.m.?" Kael's tone was calm, but underneath, there was steel.
Klan swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. "I… just wanted to practice."
Kael crouched in front of him, tilting his head to catch Klan's eyes. Amber met gray-blue, and Kael's brows knit together.
"You've been crying."
Klan flinched, his throat closing up. "No, I—"
"Don't lie to me." Kael's voice was sharper now. "What happened?"
Klan broke. The words spilled out, raw and jagged. "I'm not good enough, Kael! Everyone sees it—they all say it. I'm holding the group back. I should just—"
"Stop."
The single word cut through Klan's spiral like a blade. Kael's hand shot out, gripping his chin gently but firmly, forcing Klan to look at him.
"Don't you dare say that again."
Klan's breath hitched. Kael's amber eyes burned into his, fierce and unyielding.
"You trained for years. You bled for this. You think I'd let someone weak stand next to me on stage?" Kael's voice dropped lower, softer, but no less intense. "You're here because you belong here."
Klan stared at him, trembling. His heart pounded so hard it hurt. No one had ever spoken to him like that—like he wasn't a failure, like he mattered.
"But… what if they're right?" Klan whispered. "What if I'm just… not enough?"
Kael exhaled slowly, his hand sliding from Klan's chin to his shoulder, warm and grounding.
"Then I'll make you enough," Kael said. "As long as I'm here, you don't give up. Do you understand?"
The room was quiet except for the pounding in Klan's ears. His throat tightened, and before he could stop himself, he whispered, "Why… why do you care so much?"
Kael froze for a moment. His gaze softened, just a fraction, like a crack in his armor.
"Because you matter to me," he said simply.
Klan's breath caught. The words settled deep inside him, burning hotter than any spotlight.
Kael stood, extending his hand. "Come on. Practice with me."
Klan hesitated, then slipped his trembling fingers into Kael's. The leader's grip was firm, steady—like a promise he didn't know how to break.
As Kael pulled him to his feet, Klan realized something terrifying.
It wasn't just the stage he wanted to stand on.
It was by Kael's side.