The late-summer air in Seoul carried a thin coolness, enough to make Benedict, aka Ben,  pull his sleeves down as he walked beside his mother. He adjusted the strap of his bag as they made their way toward the main gate of the KPT University. Ben pulled out the university brochure from his jacket pocket and flipped through it without actually reading it, until a page caught his eye. A photo of a wide, mirrored room filled with people mid-movement.

The Dance Studio.

The caption read. His eyes lingered on the photo for longer than required, drawing his mother’s attention.

“You should be looking at the Economics Department, Bennie, not that,” she said lightly, though her tone carried a familiar edge.

Ben smiled faintly. “I am concentrating on my studies. That’s how I got into one of the best Universities in Seoul.”

Mrs. Ahn Minseo gave him a sideways look. “You stubbornly entered every dance competition for the last three years, without listening to anyone. If you had worked a little harder, we would have been walking towards Seoul National University.”

Ben straightened, speaking defensively, “KPT is still in the Top Ten. And I made it even after competing in all those dance contests.”

His mother sighed but didn’t argue. She reached up, brushing her hand over his head; she had to stretch a little even with her heels, making Ben feel like a twelve-year-old. “I’m not scolding you, Bennie. I just want what’s best for you. Dance is fine as a hobby, and I’ve never stopped you, but now you’re an adult. You need to think about your career. Dance doesn’t make for a stable one.”

Ben’s shoulders dropped. “I know.”

She smiled gently. “Don’t look so defeated. I’m not punishing you. I only want you to have a secure future.”

“I understand,” he said quietly. “Can I take a part-time job?”

Mrs. Ahn laughed, the tension easing from her voice. “If you can keep your grades up, I don’t mind. But it won’t be easy to balance work and study.”

By the time they reached the front gate, the sight before them stopped Ben in his tracks. The university stretched out in grand symmetry: tall buildings, tree-lined paths, and the faint buzz of students hurrying between orientations.

“Wow,” he breathed.

His mother’s expression softened with pride. “It’s bigger than I expected,” she admitted. She handed him a small bag. “There’s some homemade food, extra clothes, and the things you’ll need. Your paperwork’s all set, you just need to visit the admin office and collect your student ID.”

Ben took the documents with a nod. “Gomawoyo.” [Thank You]

She patted his arms affectionately. “Take care of yourself, alright? I’ll head back this afternoon.”

“Have a safe trip, eomma,” he said, forcing a smile.

He watched as she turned and disappeared through the crowd, the noise of the campus swallowing her figure. For a long moment, he stood still before taking a deep breath and walking inside.

***

At the administration office, he received his student ID, class schedule, and dorm assignment. His courses wouldn’t start for another week, which means it was time to settle in and get used to the place.

His dorm room was big enough to fit three, but was for two. It was clean, with pale walls and a window overlooking the back courtyard. It turned out he didn’t have a roommate, which, for an introvert like him, felt like a small victory.

The next few days passed quietly as he unpacked, arranged his things, and took a walk around the area to familiarize himself. On one such afternoon walk, something slipped out of his jacket pocket when he rummaged through it for bills and fluttered to the street.

The University Brochure.

He bent to pick it up, and the image of the dance studio immediately caught his eye again. 

His fingers traced it as his mind drifted off to the time when it all began…

He’d been seven when he first saw someone dance. His parents had taken him to a cultural program, and a woman had stepped onto the stage. He didn’t know who she was or what style she performed, only that her movements were mesmerising. Even after they left, he couldn’t get her dance out of his mind. He’d tried to copy her steps at home and failed, but that didn’t stop him.

In middle school, he joined the dance club against his parents’ wishes. The first time he completed an entire routine, the rush that filled him was like nothing else. He started watching idol performances, copying steps, and experimenting with different styles. He wanted real lessons, but his father dismissed the idea as foolish.

His mother, quietly sympathetic, gave him extra money to take classes. For a year, he trained in urban hip hop dance until his father found out and ended it with a long lecture about “realistic futures.” The lessons stopped, but Ben didn’t.

Later, he met a self-taught dancer who introduced him to underground dance battles. The thrill of those nights—the music pounding through his chest, the crowd’s shouts, the blur of motion—remained vivid in his memory. That friend had pushed him to compete formally.

His parents were against it, especially with exams coming up, but after much pleading, they agreed on one condition: his grades couldn’t drop.

Ben promised it won’t and kept it. In the meantime, he entered five competitions in three years, winning two. He didn’t mind the losses; dancing itself felt like victory. But deep down, he knew the moment he stepped into university, that part of his life would have to end.

***

A voice cut through his thoughts. “Annyeonghaseyo, are you new here?”

Ben blinked. It took him a few seconds to realize that he had walked straight to the campus. His eyes landed on the girl standing a few feet away, holding a stack of books. She looked like a senior.

“Um–Annyeonghaseyo. Yes, I am new,” he said, giving a slight bow.

“Want a tour? I can show you around.” The girl asked cheerfully.

He shook his head quickly. “No. It’s okay. I’ll look around myself.”

She smiled in amusement as he walked off.

Ben wandered aimlessly through the campus, feeling the occasional glance follow him. He was used to it. People often called him pretty, which always felt more like a tease than a compliment. His black hair brushed just below his ears, his skin held a faint, sun-warmed glow, and his frame was lean rather than muscular. His lips were too soft, and his features too delicate for his liking. He fit the mold of the ‘classic pretty boy,’ something he didn’t exactly find flattering.

He ignored the looks and kept walking. Without realizing it, his steps carried him toward the building he’d been thinking about all week: Dance Studio.

He stopped at the doorway and peeked inside. The room was empty. Wooden floors gleamed under the light, the mirrors spotless. Ballet barres lined the walls, speakers sat neatly in the corner, and a shelf held folded towels and bottles of water. Everything was clean and orderly, waiting for movement to fill the space.

Ben stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over every detail. His fingers brushed the barre, and he smiled faintly at the memory of sneakers squeaking against the floor, of rhythm pulsing through his body.

He caught his reflection in the mirror. Dressed casually in jeans and a hoodie, his sneakers looked worn out. For a brief second, the urge to dance overtook him. His hand lifted, just about to move to an inaudible beat, when he heard footsteps echoing from the hall.

Ben froze.

He spun toward the door just as it opened. Two girls entered, laughing mid-conversation. Startled, he stepped back so quickly that one of them blinked in surprise.

“Who’s that?” the first girl asked.

Before the other could answer, her friend nudged her with an excited grin.

“Forget it, did you hear? Daniel sunbae’s leading the showcase this year—”