Daniel’s version of “practice” involved showing them a one-minute video, giving them ten minutes to learn it, then demanding a perfect performance, rinse and repeat.

What was terrifying was how Daniel remembered every move, every detail, and expected nothing less from them.

After three hours of this torment, even Sean’s expressionless face had taken on a ghostly pallor.

Ben lay flat on the studio floor beside Kai, who looked like his soul had left his body. 

Sean huffed, exhausted. “I see what you mean now. He is a sadist.”

Ben let out a lifeless laugh. “When it comes to dancing, hyung doesn’t just go hard, he loses his mind.”

Sean just sighed. Kai remained unresponsive. Terrence sipped water with trembling hands.

Daniel beamed. “That’s all for today! We’ll continue tomorrow. You all did okay.”

Terrence and Sean looked ready to commit homicide. Kai looked close to committing self-homicide.

And yet,  Ben found himself smiling. That was the unrelenting, passionate, and annoying Daniel he knew. He’d been worried that the injury might change him. But if anything, Daniel seemed more determined than ever.

Kai, Terrence, and Sean bolted from the studio like they were fleeing the ghost of Christmas Past.

Ben stayed behind to pack up when he noticed Daniel standing in front of the mirror.

He was still, eyes closed. A moment passed before he started dancing. Ben was about to tell him to stop until he realised what he was watching.

Daniel was going through all twenty routines they had practiced that day. His movements were controlled and less explosive, but his precision was flawless.

He remembered everything.

Ben stood stunned.

As the last routine ended, Daniel collapsed onto the floor, his legs trembling violently.

“Hyung!”

Ben rushed over, but Daniel was grinning. A soft, childlike smile spread across his face.

“Gibuni neomu joa,” he whispered. “Fifteen days, and I finally danced.” [I feel great.]

Ben helped him sit. “Don’t push yourself. No one else at the NDC has your talent. You don’t need to prove anything.”

Daniel laughed, flopping onto his back. “You say that, but the world’s full of talent. I can’t afford to slack.”

Ben looked at his face, so open and filled with joy, and felt a strange ache. “Hyung,” he said gently, “There’s more to the world than dancing—”

Daniel cut in. “If it doesn’t have dance, it’s meaningless to me.”

Ben’s chest tightened. He already knew that. But still, something about Daniel’s refusal to see anything outside his tunnel vision hurt in a way Ben didn’t fully understand.

Softly, he said, “If you only look in one direction, you’ll miss out a lot.”

Daniel’s eyes opened slowly. He looked at Ben, genuinely puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Ben didn’t know. All he knew was that he wanted Daniel to break out of that bubble before it swallowed him whole.

“This world,” he said hesitantly, “is both ugly and beautiful. Dance is part of it. But without the people, the experience, the memories, the good and the bad, even dance would lose meaning.”

Daniel stared at him blankly. 

Ben sighed and changed the subject.

“Come on. Let’s go before security kicks us out.”

Daniel sprang up, or tried to. His leg gave out, and he collapsed directly onto Ben. Normally, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. But recently, everything around Daniel had become complicated.

Ben’s heart rate spiked. His face flushed. 

Daniel groaned. “Mianhae, mianhae, my leg.” [Sorry, Sorry]

Ben clenched his jaw, forcing his voice to stay level. “It’s fine.”

He helped Daniel up. 

As they walked out together under the night sky, Ben found himself asking silently:

Why is this happening every time he is near Daniel?