The rehearsal studio was a box of mirrors. Every wall reflected Han Soojin back at herself: hair tied high and sleek, sweat glistening at her temples, her limbs moving with mechanical precision. The floor thrummed with the bass beat of the backing track, sharp counts echoing through the cavernous space.
"One more time, from the top," the choreographer barked.
Soojin bit back a groan and reset her stance. Her body ached from hours of practice, the thin fabric of her leggings sticking to her skin. She forced a smile for the mirrors—the kind of smile that had won her millions of fans, a mask so well-practiced it almost felt real.
Almost.
The music pulsed again, and she pushed through the routine, each movement sharp and polished. But her mind was elsewhere—on Jae's arms around her last night, the warmth of ramen, the sound of his voice when he whispered no one can ever know.
By the time the track cut off, she was breathless, her chest heaving. The choreographer clapped once. "Good. That's the energy we need for the showcase."
Before she could grab her water bottle, a new voice sliced through the room.
"Han Soojin."
Her spine stiffened.
Clara Kwon stood by the door, arms crossed, expression as cold and immaculate as her tailored blazer. She was the agency's senior PR executive—the kind of woman who could make or break careers with a single phone call. Everyone in the room straightened automatically. Even the choreographer bowed slightly.
Soojin forced a smile and dipped her head. "Clara-ssi."
"Outside. Now."
The words left no room for negotiation.
---
The hallway was quiet, the thump of music muted once the door closed. Clara's heels clicked sharply against the tiles as she paced in front of Soojin, eyes narrowed like a hawk circling prey.
"You've been sloppy lately," Clara began without preamble. "Sloppy on stage. Sloppy in interviews. And most importantly, sloppy in how you move outside these walls."
Soojin blinked, her throat tightening. "I'm sorry, I don't—"
"Don't play innocent with me." Clara's voice was ice. "Last week, paparazzi caught a photo of you leaving the broadcasting station at night. Alone. Hood up, face half-covered. That's suspicious enough. Do you know what I spent my morning doing? Putting out fires, because rumor blogs already started speculating you were sneaking off to meet a man."
The words slammed into her like a slap. Soojin kept her expression carefully blank, though her pulse raced. She knew exactly where she'd been that night.
Clara leaned in, voice low and cutting. "You're not a normal woman, Soojin. You don't get to sneak out. You don't get to make mistakes. Every step you take, every word you breathe—it belongs to the agency, to your fans, to the industry. Not to you."
The hallway suddenly felt suffocating, the air too thin. Soojin clenched her fists at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms.
"I understand," she said quietly.
"Do you?" Clara's eyes glittered. "Because if you did, you'd know better than to so much as smile at a male idol backstage. You'd know better than to look tired during rehearsals. You'd know that your career comes first—always. Romance, personal whims, selfish desires? Those are luxuries you cannot afford."
The words stabbed deeper with every syllable, each one a reminder of the chains wrapped tight around her life.
---
For a moment, Soojin's mask cracked.
"What about my worth?" she asked softly.
Clara blinked, as if the question itself was absurd. "Your worth is your image. The flawless, disciplined star the world worships. That's what we've built. That's what feeds you."
Soojin swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat. She wanted to scream: My worth is not a product. I am not a doll you polish and parade around. But she bit down hard, forcing the words back.
Clara stepped closer, her perfume sharp and suffocating. "Listen carefully, Soojin. Girls like you only stay at the top if they are untouchable. One rumor, one slip, and it's over. Do you want to end up like those actresses who vanish after one scandal?"
Soojin shook her head, barely breathing.
"Good." Clara's voice softened slightly, but her eyes stayed hard. "Then remember this: your fans don't want to know you're human. They want perfection. Give it to them."
She turned sharply, heels echoing against the floor, and disappeared back into the rehearsal room without a backward glance.
---
Soojin remained frozen in the hallway, staring at her reflection in the mirror lining the opposite wall. Her face looked pale under the fluorescent light, eyes too wide, mouth pressed into a thin line.
Perfection. That was all Clara wanted. All the world wanted.
But perfection left no space for Soojin Han, the woman. The wife.
She pressed a hand to her chest, where the ache had begun to settle.
No one can ever know. Jae's words echoed in her head, heavy as chains.
For a moment, she wondered if he and Clara were on the same side—two voices telling her to silence herself, to hide, to give everything to a career that might never love her back.
---
When she re-entered the studio, the music was still blaring, the choreographer shouting counts. Nari caught her gaze in the mirror, eyes filled with quiet concern. Her friend's lips barely moved, but Soojin could read them: You okay?
Soojin forced a smile, though her stomach churned. She nodded, stepping back into formation, lifting her chin.
The music started again, and she danced, every movement sharp, perfect, flawless.
On the outside, she was the untouchable star.
On the inside, cracks had already begun to form.
---
That night, when she collapsed onto her bed, she replayed Clara's words again and again until they blurred with Jae's.
Your career comes first.
No one can ever know.
And in the silence of her darkened room, Soojin whispered the question no one would ever hear:
"But what about me?"