The next two weeks passed in a blur of sweat, sore muscles, and takeout containers.

Every morning started the same — the alarm blaring at 6:30, Jiahao banging on doors like a military officer, and the twins groaning dramatically from under their blankets.

By the time we stumbled into the practice room each day, our bodies were still half-asleep, but the moment the speakers crackled to life, instinct took over.

The same beat. The same mirror. The same chorus that haunted my dreams.

“Again from the top,” Renji’s voice echoed, calm but merciless.

I glared at him through the mirror. “You said that six times ago.”

He tilted his head slightly, smirking. “And yet your left arm is still half a beat late.”

“I’ll show you late.”

Geon snorted from the floor, where he was lying spread-eagle in pure defeat. “Please don’t kill each other before debut. I don’t have the emotional energy to be the new main dancer.”

"Hyungy, you are the main dancer." 

Boom was already laughing too hard to breathe, while Yujun muttered something about defecting to another group. Jiahao, meanwhile, had entered his “silent rage” phase — where he said nothing, just adjusted his cap and pressed replay again.

The days blurred together after that.

Morning practice. Lunch. Afternoon practice. Vocal warm-ups. Dinner. More practice.

The mirrors had seen us at our best and our absolute worst — from synchronized precision to the kind of chaotic mess that would make choreographers weep.

Somewhere between exhaustion and madness, we started finding our rhythm.

There were small moments that stood out.

Like the time Boom slipped during a turn and took Bang down with him, creating a human domino effect that nearly wiped out half the formation.

Or the time Jiahao fell asleep mid-break on the studio floor, and Geon covered him in sticky notes that said things like “Please do not feed the leader.”

But then there were quieter moments, too.

Renji and I started walking back from practice together more often. Sometimes we talked — about music, about how surreal debut still felt — but other nights, we just walked in silence, our steps falling in sync without trying.

It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t awkward. It just was.

Once, during a late-night practice, the others had already gone home, and I stayed behind to perfect one transition that kept tripping me up. Renji stayed, too, claiming he “didn’t trust me not to sprain something.”

He didn’t say much — just sat against the wall, watching quietly as I repeated the move again and again until I finally nailed it.

When I turned around, sweaty and breathless, he smiled faintly.

“Told you you’d get it.”

That simple sentence stuck with me longer than I wanted to admit.

By the second Sunday, the exhaustion had carved itself into our bones — but so had the music. Every beat felt natural now, every step automatic.

Garam dropped by the studio that evening with takeout boxes and a tired smile.

“Congratulations, boys,” he said, clapping his hands once. “We’re done with choreo corrections. Tomorrow, we move on to final checks and camera rehearsals for the MV shoot.”

Boom and Bang let out matching cheers and immediately collapsed onto the floor like soldiers finally granted leave.

Yujun just stared at the ceiling. “If I dream about this song one more time, I’m filing for mental compensation.”

Geon raised his drink can. “To eternal suffering and killer abs.”

We all laughed — too tired to be loud, but still loud enough that the sound filled the whole room.

Renji sat beside me, resting his chin on his knee, eyes still glued to the mirror.

“Feels different now, doesn’t it?” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “Like it’s finally real.”

He glanced at me, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Then let’s make sure it’s worth it.”

When the others went to sleep that night, including Renji, I stayed awake, staring at the faint ceiling light that flickered with the rhythm of the city outside. The sound of the twins snoring through the walls was oddly comforting, like white noise against the storm inside my head.

I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this way — not just tired, not just drained, but... alive.

The rhythm of practice, the burn in my legs, the laughter, even the stupid arguments about takeout — it all felt so real.

Too real.

Somewhere along the way, I’d started to forget what I came here for.

Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw the idol version of myself resurfacing — the one who wanted to smile for cameras, the one who sang his lungs out because he believed music could fix everything.

The one I thought I buried years ago.

But this wasn’t supposed to be me anymore.

This was supposed to be revenge.

A carefully planned infiltration. A quiet, invisible war against the company that ruined lives.

Yet now, when I saw the members laughing together, when Jiahao offered me water between takes, when Renji glanced at me across the studio with that calm, grounding look... it all started to feel like maybe I didn’t belong to that anger anymore.

Maybe I was letting myself forget what SDR truly was.

I pressed my palms to my eyes until the darkness bloomed red behind them.

It was pathetic. I was pathetic.

I couldn’t afford to enjoy this.

Not when I knew what hid beneath all the glamour — the contracts, the manipulation, the exploitation dressed up as “discipline.”

I joined this group to expose SDR. To peel back the layers and show everyone what kind of monster this industry really was.

But now, two weeks in, I was starting to feel like one of them again.

It scared me more than I wanted to admit.

Maybe I was losing focus.

Maybe Renji’s quiet steadiness was getting under my skin.

Or maybe I was just lonely — and this new beginning felt too much like home to resist.

Either way, the line between mission and music was blurring.

And the closer I got to these people, the more it felt like betraying them would mean betraying myself, too.

I reached for my phone and opened the photo album. The first picture that came up was Minsung’s little school portrait, his shy smile looking up at the camera. My chest tightened. He didn’t deserve any of this mess, any of the pain I carried with me. I typed a quick message, fingers hovering over the screen before sending: “I’m doing okay. I promise.”

I didn’t need an answer. Just seeing his face reminded me why I was here, why I had to keep moving forward — for him, for our future, for the truth I had to uncover, and to find justice for the victims of SDR.

Even if it hurt.

Even if it made me feel like I was losing pieces of myself along the way.

The morning sunlight hit the company van like a spotlight on our little circus. I barely had time to blink before Jiahao’s calm voice echoed through the car.

“Alright, everyone. Today’s the first day of the MV shoot. Focus, stay hydrated, and don’t accidentally kill each other before we get on set.”

The twins, of course, didn’t even hear him. Boom was bouncing in his seat, trying to balance a notebook on his knees, while Bang was explaining some overly complicated “strategy” for not falling during the choreography. Geon, predictably, was leaning back like he owned the world, one eyebrow raised, silently judging everyone.

Renji sat across from me, eyes half-closed, looking annoyingly serene. The more I glanced at him, the more my stomach twisted in that way it did when he did absolutely nothing at all and still somehow had this unexplainable effect on me.

We pulled up to the studio, a sprawling space decorated with sets for the MV. Today, we’d be shooting the Garden of Eden scenes. Huge artificial trees, golden apples (fake, thankfully), and a soft mist rolling across the floor like the heavens themselves were judging us.

As we stepped out, Jiahao immediately began barking orders in that calm but commanding way he had — the kind that somehow made chaos feel organized.

“Hair first, makeup second, outfits last. Move!”

I followed Renji into the hair and makeup room, passing Yujun and the twins already arguing over whose apple prop was bigger. Geon sidled in behind us, pretending to stretch but actually eavesdropping on the argument.

“Can someone explain why the twins are holding a fruit like it’s the Holy Grail?” I muttered to Renji.

He smirked faintly, his lips just curving. “Because they’re dramatic. And possibly idiots.”

I snorted, trying to keep the sound quiet so I wouldn’t draw attention.

The stylists attacked us immediately. I got a slight wave added to my black hair, just enough to look soft and elegant. Renji’s hair was lightly tousled, the golden-brown highlights subtly catching the light — the perfect mix of cold and approachable.

“Minjae, careful! Don’t get that product in your eye again,” one stylist warned. I raised my hands defensively.

Last time I’d blinked too hard and somehow ended up looking like a raccoon.

Geon, of course, was already leaning over his chair, instructing the stylist on exactly how his silver highlights should shimmer. “Yes, yes, perfect. More edge. Make me a visual goddess,” he purred.

Yujun was trying to sit still, but his chair kept spinning slightly because Boom insisted on “helping” him balance. Boom’s hair was sticking up in weird angles, and every time Yujun yelped, Bang scolded him while secretly laughing.

Once our hair was done, makeup came next. I got a subtle dewy glow and a faintly darker eye shadow to emphasize the sultry yet innocent vibe we were going for — Lust, after all, was my sin. Renji’s makeup was minimal but sharp, the kind that made him look like he just stepped out of a high-fashion magazine.

He glanced at me once when the makeup artist dabbed on a little bronzer. That small, almost imperceptible nod of approval made my heart skip.

Finally, we got into our outfits. Mine was a sheer white shirt with delicate golden accents — suggestive but still elegant. The twins were outfitted in matching leafy green tunics, looking like they’d just rolled out of some magical jungle. Yujun’s outfit had a vibrant red trim that screamed mischief, perfectly complementing his angry-pomeranian personality. Geon’s dark silver ensemble clung to his edges in the most dramatic way possible.

Renji’s outfit… simple, yet terrifyingly effective. Black and gold, sleek and almost regal. The kind of outfit that didn’t need any extra — he was extra.

As we lined up for the director to check us, I caught a glance at Renji. He tilted his head slightly, eyes briefly meeting mine, and for a second the entire Garden of Eden, all the props, all the lights — none of it mattered.

It was just him.

The director clapped his hands. “Alright, V1ne. Let’s get some test shots first. Move naturally, but remember—this is the Garden of Eden. You’re the embodiment of the seven deadly sins. Own it.”

I swallowed, adjusting the golden accents on my sheer shirt. Lust and innocence. Easy enough in theory, terrifying in practice.

“Positions!” Jiahao called, and we lined up according to the camera’s angles. Minjae front and center, check. Renji slightly behind me, shoulder brushing mine, check. Geon squatting provocatively near my feet like a theatrical cat, check. The twins whispering something incomprehensible, check. Yujun was already pouting because someone accidentally nicked his apple prop.

The music started, the MV beat I had practiced to in the studio now filling the enormous set.

“Action!”

Geon, of course, was completely in his element. He spun, posed, then proceeded to twerk while the camera wasn't rolling, just because. And once the camera rolled again he managed to hit every beat perfectly while looking like he didn’t even care.

Bang and Boom? Disaster. They kept bumping into Yujun, knocking over the props, and once Boom literally tripped over a fake vine and fell onto his twin. Yujun screamed, the twins argued, and Geon just stared at them, expressionless. “Honestly. I deserve a bonus just for surviving this set and those three feral rats.”

Yujun, red-faced and furious, shoved Boom off him. “You’re supposed to look natural! Not like a confused animal in the forest!”

Boom pouted. “I am natural!”

Renji’s hand brushed mine for the tenth time during a complex turn, and my chest betrayed me by tightening painfully. He didn’t comment. He didn’t smile. But the faint tension in his fingers… it lingered.

I tried to focus. My legs moved on instinct, my arms fell into place, my expression… well, I hoped it looked seductive enough. I caught the director giving a thumbs-up, and somehow that small validation made me feel like I was almost holding my own.

Between takes, Jiahao whispered, “Careful. Renji keeps brushing your arm like that on purpose.”

I glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “On purpose?”

Jiahao smirked faintly. “You’re reading it right.”

I didn’t have time to dwell because the twins were again tumbling into Yujun, Geon was dramatically flipping his hair, and Boom had somehow gotten a leaf stuck in his mouth.

By noon, we were exhausted, dripping in sweat, and tangled in vines that were apparently “essential for the Eden vibe.”

During a break, I watched Renji quietly adjusting his jacket, the sun highlighting the subtle tones in his hair. He glanced at me briefly, just long enough to make me feel seen. A small smile played on his lips — just enough to stir something in me, something I didn’t want to admit out loud.

“Minjae, you good?” he asked softly.

I blinked, caught off guard. “Y-Yeah. I’m fine.”

He didn’t press. Just nodded and turned back to the set. But that brief, subtle moment lingered.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of takes, props, and unintentional chaos. By the time we wrapped the first day, the Garden of Eden looked lived-in, chaotic, and somehow perfect. My body ached, my arms were sore from the repeated movements, and my brain felt fried.

Renji walked beside me as we exited the set, quiet as always. His hand brushed mine just slightly — again. And this time, I let my fingers linger a moment longer.