The End of the Competition 3

Backstage was a whirlwind of activity: models and student designers bustled about, a flurry of fittings and last-minute adjustments. Ae-cha, accompanied by her quiet cousin Jun-seo—a tall, strikingly handsome freshman from the theater arts department with a mixed-race heritage—stood observing the chaos. Mia peeked from the edge of the stage, noticing a number of unfamiliar, distinguished guests arriving alongside the students.

 "Hey, a ton of big names from the fashion industry are here!" a student announced, sending a wave of excitement and nervous energy through the room. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation. 

Sang-ho and Ji-goon entered with an air of confident swagger, trailed by a group of stunning models. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the participants recognized the famous faces. A flurry of excited squeals followed as students rushed towards their idols; some greeted their fans with warm smiles, while others maintained an aloof, almost icy demeanor, captivating their admirers from a respectful distance.

Sang-ho and Ji-goon exchanged triumphant smiles; this win was an easy victory. The stiff competition had left them exhausted, and they could sense the dejection of some of the other participants. Mia cheered, and added, 

 "We may not have Korea's most famous faces, but our designs will speak for themselves." 

Ae-cha's smile was strained, but her confidence was undeniable. Sang-ho smirked at the defeated expressions before returning to his station, where Korea's top stylists prepped the models for the final runway show.

"Welcome, everyone, to the most anticipated show of the century!" the hostess announced. A ripple of laughter followed her playful exaggeration. "We're honored to have some of Korea's most prominent figures in the fashion world gracing our little show tonight." She gave a mock curtsy, eliciting nods from some dignitaries while others remained impassive. The student audience and other attendees buzzed with excitement, whispering among themselves as they took in the presence of the distinguished guests.

Chin-sun nervously peered out from behind the curtains, her eyes sweeping over the sea of people before her. Flashes from countless cameras blinded the place, capturing every moment. Half of Korea's most prominent figures in the fashion industry were gathered here, ready to watch the runway unfold. 

Why was Ji-hoon and his circle more important? 

Walking amidst the student body and the crowd was already a big deal for her. Now, with Korea's top names and paparazzi in the mix, the pressure felt even heavier. Chin-sun's heart pounded as she took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, knowing that tonight could change everything. Chin-sun was taken aback when they announced a red carpet event. She had thought it was just a fun photo opportunity to capture college memories, but it was all live across popular streaming platforms. Big influencers were mingling with the top names, streaming the event on their handles and vying for attention.

Noticing Chin's nervousness, Bai approached her with a gentle smile. 

"Chin, breathe. Just breathe," she said softly, Chin-sun took a deep breath.

Min-sun was growing increasingly frustrated. His nosy friends kept bothering him, ruining the quiet moment he wanted to spend with his girlfriend. Just as he reached for his phone to watch the live stream of the show, Daeyeon snatched it away.

"Come on, man," Daeyeon whined. "We all agreed it was a boys' night."

Jae-hyun chuckled, steering the car. "Yeah, champ. Your girlfriend isn't going anywhere."

Woohyun grinned, joining in. "We're about to have a wild night!"

Suddenly, the host's voice boomed through the speakers. 

"Our first student designer is…" 

The host announced the next student designer as models took to the runway. Some walked with barely any confidence, stumbling nervously, while a few exuded a quiet, assured presence. Overall, the designs from the student creators were eye-catching and innovative. 

Chin sat on the backstage left stairs, staring into space, lost in thought. Mia wandered nearby, searching for her, until her eyes landed on Chin sitting quietly alone. With a soft smile, Mia approached her. Mia reached out and gently held Chin's hand, offering a warm smile. 

"I remember the first time I decided to become an influencer," she said softly. 

That's pretty much how it all started for me. Mia — with a capital 'M' — because my life had always been almost too perfect. Diamond-studded perfection. From the penthouse overlooking the city to the meticulously plated avocado toast (probably designer, of course), Mia's world was a carefully curated masterpiece long before Instagram was even a thing. 

I was the kind of girl who'd hop on a plane to Paris for lunch if the craving struck — no big deal. 

I already had the aesthetics. My life looked like an influencer's dream. One afternoon, as I scrolled through feeds filled with perfectly tanned travel bloggers and impossibly chic fashionistas, a thought took root in my perfectly coiffed mind. 

"I could do that. I'm already living it, aren't I?" 

And so, @Mia,theITgirlie was born. Cute, right? Catchy. 

My first posts were exactly what you'd expect: sipping champagne on a yacht in Santorini, casually tossing my latest designer handbag onto a marble table, my flawless face bathed in golden hour light in front of some historic monument. 

"Living my best life!" the captions chirped. 

Mia said it with a grin, and Chin chuckled, joining in the lighthearted moment.

At first, it was fun. My friends followed, liked my posts, and a few thousand initial followers trickled in—mostly people curious about my lavish lifestyle. I felt… validated. This was easy.

But then, the first real hurdle appeared: the comments. Not "OMG, gorgeous!" messages from my close circle, but the harsher ones. 

"Must be nice to have daddy's money." 

"Another rich kid showing off." 

"So out of touch." 

Ouch. I had never really faced direct negativity before. My world had always been so insulated, so polished. I'd been admired, never judged quite so bluntly. It stung. Deeply.

I started trying even harder. Much harder. I'd spend hours staging a single shot, researching trending hashtags, analyzing what "successful" influencers were doing. They seemed so relatable, so vulnerable. I thought I should try that too. 

I posted a photo of my morning coffee, aiming to make it look "cozy" and "authentic." 

The comments? 

"Is that organic, single-origin, ethically sourced coffee served by a butler?" 

I laughed, a little hysterically, but inside, it felt like a punch to the gut. With a growing knot of despair tightening in my chest, I realized that authenticity wasn't something you could buy or fake. I was trying to emulate lifestyles that weren't mine, stories that weren't real. I watched influencers talk about their "struggles"—balancing work and life, finding affordable fashion, decorating tiny apartments—and I had none of that. 

How could I relate to someone when my biggest dilemma was choosing between the Maldives and Bora Bora? 

The joy evaporated. This wasn't fun anymore. It had become work—soul-crushing, exhausting work. I was glued to my phone, chasing likes, refreshing comments, feeling my heart sink each time a post flopped. In my desperation, I even started buying followers, hoping to inflate my numbers. But the engagement remained hollow, like shouting into an empty room.

One evening, after a particularly brutal day of trying to be "relatable"—including a DIY craft project that ended in a glitter explosion and a ruined designer top—I finally broke. I sank to the floor of my enormous, silent living room, clutching my phone in trembling hands. I scrolled through the carefully curated feeds of people who seemed to have it all—the fame, the fortune, the genuine connection. 

"What am I even doing?" I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible. The words felt heavy, sinking into the emptiness that had been growing inside me. 

"I have everything, and I've never felt more hollow." 

It was a strange, hollow feeling—this poverty of genuine connection, this desperate craving for validation from strangers, even though my life was overflowing with material wealth. All my money couldn't buy me a single sincere comment, a true connection, a sense of belonging in this digital world. I felt like a fraud, living a lie. The effort was draining me, slowly eroding who I was. I was losing myself, sacrificing real moments for staged ones, all for an intangible prize that kept slipping through my fingers. 

In my obsession with perfection, I hadn't even called my best friend, Nelly, in weeks—too busy planning my next "content drop." 

"Nelly," I croaked, voice trembling, "I... I think I'm quitting. I hate this. I hate myself when I do it." 

Nelly, bless her, didn't say "I told you so," even though she probably could have. She just listened, patient and understanding.

That conversation was a turning point. I took a step back—big one. I deleted most of my influencer posts and changed my handle to just "@YourregulargirlieMia"—my real self. I stopped pretending to be someone I wasn't. Instead, I started sharing what I truly loved: my passion for styling and fashion, my appreciation for art, my surprisingly good eye for photography, and those quiet moments of reflection. I even began posting my attempts at cooking—burnt edges and all. The numbers dropped—significantly. My follower count dwindled. But the comments? They changed. 

"This is so refreshing." 

"I love your insights." 

"You're actually real." 

One day, I received a message from someone—a young woman who said, "I used to think your life was unattainable, but your new posts… they make me feel like we're just people figuring things out. Thank you for being real."

I smiled. It wasn't the millions of followers I'd initially chased. It wasn't brand deals or sponsored posts. But in that moment, I felt something far more meaningful—a genuine connection, a warmth I hadn't realized was possible. I wasn't an "influencer" in the way I'd first imagined, but I was influencing something even more important: my own sense of self. And maybe, just maybe, I was helping others find a bit of real humanity in a world of perfect filters. 

I understood then that true success isn't about being seen by everyone; it's about being seen—authentically—by the right ones. And more importantly, it's about seeing yourself clearly in the process.

"So you don't have to be scared or nervous about embarrassing yourself. You don't need to be a Korean A-list model to walk the runway—just be yourself on stage. And whatever happens, we've got your back," Mia encouraged, her voice warm and reassuring.Chin smiled nervously, chuckling at Mia's words, then suddenly burst out laughing. Mia joined in, and they shared a genuine hug. Chin's smile widened, a spark of confidence shining through.

"Our last but not least student designer next is Sang-hi and Ji-hoon," the announcer's voice echoed, signaling the next act.

A sudden hush fell, then the first deep, resonant beat dropped from the speakers. The lights shifted, bathing the runway in an ethereal glow, and then she appeared: –HoYeon Jung, a name synonymous with catwalk royalty. Her gaze was fierce, her stride a symphony of power and grace. She was draped not in the expected heavy silks or structured wools, but in something fluid, almost alive. It was a gown of bio-luminescent mesh, seemingly woven from starlight itself, that shifted through hues of deep indigo to vibrant sapphire with every ripple of movement. It wasn't just fabric; it was a living canvas, utterly refreshing in its departure from traditional couture. The collective gasp from the front row was audible.

Next came Soo Joo Park, her buzzcut gleaming under the lights. She exuded an effortless cool, perfectly embodying the next design: an architectural suit of crisp, recycled denim, meticulously tailored yet deconstructed at the seams, revealing flashes of vibrant, unexpected. 

Sang-ho slipped quietly to Ae-cha's station, peering around cautiously as she and her cousin discussed their runway routine, just a few meters away from the collection. His eyes caught sight of a stunning white masterpiece—absolutely breathtaking. It was elegant, flawless, and almost surreal in its beauty. 

A cold smile spread across his face. Narrowing his eyes, he flashed an evil grin, placing his left hand on his waist and holding a pair of scissors in his right. He snapped them a few times, the sharp sound echoing in the quiet.

"Goodbye, dear," he muttered softly, walking steadily toward the design. Suddenly, a voice interrupted him: "What are you doing?" 

Sang-ho froze for a split second, then whirled around quickly, hiding the scissors behind his back. "Nothing," he muttered, trying to sound nonchalant. Bai folded her arms, giving him a mocking stare.

 "You stole her designs and didn't feel any remorse about it, and now you want to sabotage her work too?" 

She shook her head with a mixture of pity and disdain. "Poor you. Must you feel so threatened to pull off this stunt?" 

Sang-ho snorted dismissively. "This cheap imitation doesn't have anything on me. I'm going to win, with or without this," he said coldly, dropping the scissors to the ground. He turned on his heel, walking away with his nose held high, as if victory was already his. 

Bai shook her head as she went to the makeup station, its surface cluttered with brushes, palettes, and half-empty tubes of foundation as the bright lights reflected in the large mirror that dominated the space. 

Then, the legendary Sora Choi emerged, a vision of earthy elegance. Her ensemble was a testament to conscious luxury: a flowing, multi-layered dress crafted from organic hemp and upcycled vintage lace, dyed with natural pigments in shades of ochre and forest green. It moved with her like a second skin, each layer hinting at intricate hand-stitched details. It wasn't about revealing skin, but celebrating the body's natural form, a refreshing ode to sustainable beauty that felt both ancient and futuristic. She didn't just walk; she glided, a forest nymph commanding the urban jungle.

The parade continued, each A-lister bringing their unique magnetism to the stage. Hyundai Ji Shin, appeared in a breathtaking, gravity-defying top crafted from laser-cut vegan leather, resembling abstract wings, paired with tailored trousers that blurred the line between masculine and feminine.  Irene Kim owned the runway in a sharply tailored, almost clinical white coat, but its shocking inner lining of iridescent feathers, shimmering with every turn, revealed an unexpected playfulness, a minimalist tunic of interwoven metallic threads that caught and reflected the spotlights, creating a dazzling, ever-changing aura around her.As the final model exited and as Sang-Ho and Ji-hoon stepped out for their bow, a resonant applause erupted. 

After the announcement, the lights dimmed. A hush fell over the expectant crowd, a sea of faces illuminated by the glow of camera flashes. The air crackled with anticipation. This wasn't like a fashion show anymore ; it was a theatrical experience, a journey through the four seasons, promised the enigmatic designer, known only as "Ae-cha". 

Then, darkness. A complete, unsettling blackout. Whispers rippled through the audience. Had there been a power failure? Was this part of the show? The confusion was palpable. Then, just as quickly as it arrived, the darkness vanished. The stage had transformed. Gone were the sleek, minimalist lines. In their place stood a breathtaking theatrical set: a frosted forest, complete with towering, snow-laden pines and a shimmering, artificial snowfall gently drifting onto the runway. The temperature at the venue seemed to drop several degrees, a subtle but effective touch underscoring the arrival of winter. The distant, rhythmic sound of marching boots echoed through the hall.

From the runway's entrance, on either side, emerged four figures. They were not merely models; they were glacial warriors, their costumes intricate and breathtaking. Their long, flowing coats were composed of layers of sheer, ice-blue fabric embroidered with thousands of tiny, meticulously crafted silver sequins arranged in intricate snowflake patterns. Each snowflake was unique, shimmering with delicate detail, some incorporating tiny, strategically placed crystals that caught the light. Beneath the coats, they wore tight-fitting, obsidian-black leggings and boots fashioned from a material that resembled polished onyx, giving the impression of movement even when still. Their faces were painted with frosty hues, their lips a deep, almost bruised purple.

The models marched with measured precision, each footstep echoing the dramatic rhythm of the marching music. Their movements were sharp, precise, and powerful, creating a sense of chilling elegance. The contrast between the soft, ethereal snowflake details and the harsh, military-inspired silhouette created an arresting visual effect.

Then, she appeared. Bai.

Her entrance was less a walk and more an emergence. She moved with a regal slowness, her demeanor a study in icy nonchalance. Her costume, the pièce de résistance of the winter segment, was a masterpiece. It was a long, sweeping gown of pristine white silk, seemingly sculpted from ice. Thousands of tiny, flawlessly hand-stitched crystals, ranging from clear to icy blue to deep glacial white, were embedded within the fabric, creating the illusion of a moving glacier. A magnificent, diamond-encrusted circlet, resembling a frozen crown, crowned her head.

Bai's expression was captivating. Dangerously cold, yet undeniably sexy. She exuded an aura of aloofness, of power, of captivating mystery. Her gaze, distant yet piercing, swept across the audience, lingering only briefly on each enthralled spectator before continuing on her glacial path. She possessed an icy, captivating beauty that held the audience mesmerized, transfixed by her powerful grace. Every movement was deliberate, every glance sent a shiver down their spines. She was not simply walking; she was ruling, and the room was seemingly bowing to her cold, commanding presence. The audience was completely captivated by her aura of frigid power, leaving them breathless and yearning for more. The Winter Queen had arrived, and her reign was absolute.

The lights flickered, plunging the audience once more into darkness, the sudden shift heightening the anticipation. When the stage illuminated again, the icy landscape of winter had melted away. In its place, a breathtaking autumnal scene unfolded: a sprawling orchard bathed in the warm, golden light of the setting sun. Crimson, gold, and russet leaves drifted gently from the branches of ancient apple trees, creating a breathtaking carpet on the runway. The air hung heavy with the scent of ripe apples and decaying leaves, a bittersweet perfume that filled the venue . A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, creating a symphony of whispering sounds that complemented the soft, melancholic music now playing. The overall feeling was one of serene decay, of beauty in the face of inevitable change, of a quiet contemplation of the season's end.

From the shadows of the orchard, Jun-seo emerged. He was not simply an autumn prince; he was the embodiment of autumn itself. His costume was a masterpiece of rich, layered textures. A long, flowing coat, the color of burnt umber, was crafted from a luxurious velvet, its surface subtly shimmering with threads of gold and copper. Underneath, he wore a fitted waistcoat of deep crimson silk, intricately embroidered with falling leaves in shades of ochre and russet. The leaves seemed almost three-dimensional, created with painstaking detail and shimmering with subtle gold highlights. His trousers, the color of dried leaves, were crafted from a supple leather, and his high-top boots were elegantly laced with intricate patterns. His hair, long and flowing, cascaded down his back in loose waves, the rich brown color mirroring the fallen leaves surrounding him. He carried himself with a languid grace, his movements fluid and suggestive of a gentle breeze. His eyes, dark and intense, held a hint of melancholy, reflecting the bittersweet beauty of the season.

Flanking Jun-seo, three models on each side appeared, each representing a different facet of autumn's nature. They were not uniformed; rather, their costumes reflected the display of colours that the season offers. One wore a dress that resembled a fiery sunset, a flowing gown of vibrant oranges and reds, capturing the intense beauty of a late afternoon sky. Another was dressed in earthy tones of brown and gold, resembling a forest floor rich with fallen leaves and earthy scents. A third model was attired in a flowing dress of deep amethyst, a rich colour that reflected the ripening of grapes and the deep hues of late autumn skies.

Each of the six models moved with a deliberate grace, their costumes flowing and swaying in the gentle breeze, like the leaves of autumn themselves, echoing the feeling of quiet contemplation and the beauty of the season's slow decline. The autumn prince, Jun-seo, watched over them, and they all together painted a serene and haunting picture.

The stage plunged once more into darkness, the anticipation building with each passing second. When the lights returned, the autumnal orchard had vanished, replaced by a vibrant, sun-drenched beach scene. The air shimmered with heat, the sound of gentle waves lapping against the shore a comforting backdrop to the upbeat, summery music. Brightly colored beach umbrellas dotted the landscape, casting playful shadows on the golden sand meticulously recreated on the runway. The overall feeling was one of carefree joy, of vibrant energy, of sun-kissed skin and salty air – a perfect summer day.

From the shimmering expanse of sand, Mia emerged. She wasn't just a summer model; she was summer. Her appearance was a burst of vibrant energy. Her long, flowing dress was crafted from a lightweight silk, a display of sunny yellows, brilliant oranges, and deep turquoise blues, mirroring the colours of a summer sky and sea. The fabric seemed to ripple and flow with an almost imperceptible movement, like a gentle sea breeze. Tiny, iridescent sequins, sewn into the fabric, caught the light, adding a touch of playful sparkle. She wore minimal jewelry—only a delicate seashell necklace and a pair of large, ornate earrings that resembled sunbursts. Her hair, long and wavy, was loosely braided with vibrant wildflowers woven into the strands, and her makeup was bright and natural, enhancing her sun-kissed glow. Her smile was radiant, infectious, and completely effortless, radiating a joyful energy that captured the spirit of summer perfectly. She moved with a light, airy grace, her steps as effortless as the tide rolling onto the shore.

On either side of Mia, two models walked in perfect synchronicity, their costumes equally evocative of a perfect summer's day at the beach. Their attire was a mix of vibrant, breezy fabrics that suggested a sunny afternoon spent relaxing by the ocean. They wore airy sundresses and light, flowing skirts in a range of tropical colours – hibiscus pinks, leafy greens, and sunny yellows – paired with simple espadrille sandals and wide-brimmed straw hats. Some wore beach-ready kaftans over their swimsuits. Their hair flowed freely, and their makeup was natural and sun-kissed. They carried large, woven beach bags, and a few casually held surfboards. Their entire ensemble projected a relaxed, happy vibe, embodying the effortless beauty and carefree attitude associated with summer days spent by the sea. Their movements were fluid and carefree, mirroring the easy rhythm of the waves and reflecting the summery atmosphere of the runway.

The stage plunged into darkness once more, the anticipation thick enough to cut with a knife. When the lights returned, the beach scene had vanished, replaced by a breathtaking spring meadow. Delicate wildflowers in a riot of pastel colours carpeted the runway, their fragrance subtly filling the air. A gentle spring breeze seemed to ripple through the meadow, carrying the scent of fresh earth and blossoming flowers. The air itself felt lighter, imbued with the promise of renewal and rebirth, reflecting the soft, hopeful melody now playing.

Two models, ethereal in their beauty, graced the runway. Their dresses, fashioned from layers of sheer silk and organza, were a study in delicate pastel shades of lavender, rose, and mint green. Embroidered with tiny flowers and sparkling crystals, the dresses seemed to shimmer with an inner light. Most striking were their gossamer wings, crafted from layers of translucent silk, embroidered with shimmering dust, and delicately edged with iridescent feathers. The wings seemed to catch and reflect the light, creating an illusion of weightlessness. As they walked, they appeared to almost float, their movements light and airy, like butterflies dancing in a gentle breeze.

Then, the lights dimmed further, all but one spotlight focusing on the runway's entrance. A hush fell over the audience, and from the shadows, Chin emerged. She wasn't just a model; she was a vision, an ethereal being who seemed to belong to another realm. Her appearance was nothing short of breathtaking. She was the embodiment of spring's innocence and otherworldly beauty.

Chin's dress was a masterpiece. It was a flowing gown crafted from spun moonlight; a shimmering, iridescent fabric that seemed to change color with every movement. The bodice was delicately embroidered with silver thread, depicting a mixture of interwoven vines and blossoming flowers. The skirt, multiple layers of translucent silk, billowed around her like a cloud, catching the single spotlight and reflecting it in a dazzling display of shimmering light. Tiny, hand-sewn pearls and crystals, delicately interspersed with real wildflowers, adorned the hem, adding a touch of ethereal magic to the ensemble.

She walked slowly, her steps dainty and light, her movements as fluid and graceful as a butterfly's flight. She barely seemed to touch the ground, as if she were floating above the meadow, propelled by an unseen force. Reaching the front of the runway, she paused, her face a mask of mystical serenity, her gaze sweeping over the captivated audience. Her expression held a delicate blend of wonder and a hint of mischievousness, as if she were sharing a secret only she understood. But then, a flicker of fear crossed her face. With a sudden, startled movement, she gathered the front of her dress, spun on her heel, and fled back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly and mysteriously as she had appeared.

Before the single spotlight could even fully extinguish, a thunderous standing ovation erupted from the audience. The energy in the venue was electric, a testament to Chin's mesmerizing performance and the magical journey through the four seasons that Ae-cha had orchestrated.