The next evening, Monarch reconvened in the practice room. The space smelled faintly of sweat and coffee, instruments stacked neatly to the side. But Min couldn't focus on anything except the flicker of shadows at the edge of his vision.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, hands hovering over the piano keys. "I… I see him again," he murmured.
Jiwon immediately leaned in, his expression hard but concerned. "What does he want, Min?"
Min shivered. "I don't know… but I can feel him moving through the city. Watching. Waiting. He's tied to Yul… and to me, somehow."
Zayn, pacing along the mirrored wall, gritted his teeth. "We need specifics. His appearance, his energy, something we can track. Min, focus."
Min nodded, inhaling sharply. His vision sharpened: he saw the man as a silhouette in a dim alley, eyes glowing faint gold, long coat fluttering in the wind. Every step he took left a subtle distortion in the air, a ripple of something not quite human.
"I see him near… the broadcast center," Min whispered. "He's searching… for someone. Yul, maybe. Or Jiwon. He remembers. He remembers Yul."
Kai whistled, uneasy. "Well, that's… ominous. Any chance he likes parties? Or do we just hide under the floorboards?"
Jiwon ignored the sarcasm, his mind already working. "No. We prepare. Min, keep seeing. Track him as much as you can. Zayn, start the drills—we're going to need every trick in the book if this gets physical. Kai, EO, help Min record any vision cues. Every detail matters."
Min's eyes fluttered open, sweat beading on his forehead. "I can… show you more. But it's… it's hard. The closer I get, the heavier it feels… like I'm carrying the weight of Yul's fear."
Jiwon's jaw tightened. "Then we carry it with you. Together."
As the group gathered around, Monarch shifted their focus. They had a new song in mind—a ferocious, sharp-edged track that mirrored the tension buzzing through their veins. They called it "Shadowtrace," a song about tracking the unseen, confronting what haunts you, and standing strong even when fear claws at your chest.
Kai banged out a rapid-fire rap pattern, heavy bass rolling underneath, echoing the heartbeat of someone stalking in the dark. Zayn built a choreography around defensive, striking movements—sharp angles, spins that mimicked evasion, leaps that cut through imaginary attacks. Min added haunting melodies on the piano, intertwining minor chords with staccato bursts of electronic distortion. EO layered harmonies that sounded almost like whispers, the echo of unseen eyes watching.
Jiwon guided them all, correcting angles, suggesting breaths between lines, ensuring the performance would feel alive, immediate, dangerous. "Every beat, every motion, has to carry the tension. We're telling a story—not just singing a song."
By the end of the session, Monarch collapsed into a sweaty, exhausted heap. But the energy was different now—charged, focused. Their fear had been transformed into something tangible, something they could wield on stage.
Min, breathing heavily, whispered, "I saw him again… and this time, he stopped. Just for a moment. Looking right at me."
Jiwon's hand rested briefly on Min's shoulder. "Then we'll be ready. When he comes… we'll face him. Together."
The room hummed with quiet determination. Outside, the city lights glittered, oblivious to the storm approaching.