The rehearsal hall thundered with bass before a single voice rang out. Monarch stood under the floodlights, sweat slicking their skin, the air charged with the raw electricity of performance. They weren't just practicing anymore; they were preparing for war.
In the back rows of the private audience section, Equinox sat together. No cameras. No fans. Just them, the managers, and a few staffers allowed into the rehearsal. Their expressions carried a tension far heavier than the music pulsing through the speakers.
Yul leaned forward in his seat, eyes fixed on the stage. The others glanced at him more than once, because something in his focus was too sharp—like a knife honed to perfection. But Yul wasn't just watching. Deep inside, Vatu's voice slithered like smoke through his veins.
Look at them. Monarch thinks they shine brighter. Soon, they'll bow to you. They'll bow to us.
Yul's jaw tightened. He forced a smile when Rex nudged him with his shoulder. "You okay?" Rex whispered.
"Yeah," Yul said, voice low, calm. Too calm. "Just… watching."
Onstage, Jiwon moved to center, hair damp with sweat, eyes locked straight ahead. His lines cut through the beat like glass, his voice rising, raw and alive. His solo had always been powerful, but now it felt like he was aiming every word at Yul—challenging him, daring him, almost confessing.
Min spun into the chorus, his footwork impossibly sharp, his vocals threading with Zayn's harmony. The choreography carried an edge Monarch hadn't shown before, aggressive yet hypnotic. Every gesture screamed: We are unshakable. We are unstoppable.
Rin's rap break hit like thunder, his words spilling fast and venomous, each syllable pushing the energy higher. The other members closed ranks around him, their movements sharp enough to slice the air.
The song ended with Jiwon's final note, stretching long, breaking into the hall with such brightness it almost hurt.
Silence. Then the managers and staff burst into applause.
But Equinox didn't clap. Not yet.
Instead, Rex exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Damn," he muttered. "They're leveling up. Again."
Kai nodded slowly, though his eyes weren't on Monarch—they were on Yul. "What do you think, Yul?"
Yul blinked, as if coming back to himself. For a moment, his lips parted, words forming that weren't his own.
Pathetic. Their light will crumble when yours rises. Tell them. Tell them who owns the stage.
He forced the thought back, a bitter taste burning his mouth. Finally, he said, "They're good. Really good." His tone was flat, unreadable.
The others exchanged a glance. Yul's praise wasn't praise—it was evaluation, cold and distant.
Onstage, Jiwon's eyes swept the room, just for a second. They met Yul's. The world seemed to stop, the noise and lights falling away. There was a flicker there, a flash of something unspoken. Pain. Longing. A warning.
And Yul looked away first.
Rex leaned forward, whispering close so only Yul could hear. "You're hiding something. I don't know what, but don't think we can't tell."
Yul's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You worry too much."
Don't listen. He'll betray you. They all will.
Vatu's whisper curled into his thoughts again, coiling tighter, like a hand around his throat. And though Yul sat in the dark, surrounded by his brothers, he had never felt so alone.