Chapter 9 – Not Ready for the Light

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## **Chapter 9 – Not Ready for the Light**

It was just a 12-second clip.

No music. No edits.

Yet it burned its way across the private corners of the internet—forums, chatrooms, group messages between idol trainees.

And still, **no one knew his name**.

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> "We need to know who he is," said **Hyun-joo**, a junior scout under Joon-seok.

She had found the clip early, tucked between endless videos of wannabe dancers.

> "This isn't just some random kid."

Joon-seok didn't answer. He was already staring at the footage—eyes glazed, mind calculating.

> "I've met him," he said eventually.

Hyun-joo's head snapped toward him.

> "You what?"

> "Three times now. He won't even give me a name."

> "Then how do you know it's the same person?"

He didn't answer right away.

Instead, he rewound the video again and froze the frame at the end.

That face.

That stillness.

Eyes like ice. Skin paler than any light. A kind of beauty that didn't make sense in the real world.

> "Because once you see him," Joon-seok said, voice low, "you can't forget."

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Across the city, the boy sat on the floor of a studio at dawn.

His hoodie was soaked with sweat, his legs folded loosely, breathing slow but steady.

He'd trained for six hours.

Alone.

No coach. No guide.

Just mirrors and silence.

He reviewed footage of himself on his phone—not out of vanity, but calculation.

Each flaw was marked. Every detail noted.

It wasn't enough to be better than the best.

He had to be perfect.

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In the same building, a group of trainees passed by the studio.

They caught a glimpse of him inside through the window.

One of them stopped.

> "Hey… isn't that—?"

> "No way," another said, tugging him forward. "You think *that* guy would train *here*? Come on."

But one of them lingered just a second longer.

He looked through the glass.

And the boy looked back.

Even through the distance, it felt like his eyes could cut through steel.

The trainee looked away first.

He didn't even know why—but his heart was racing.

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Back at the agency, Joon-seok pinned a blurry screenshot of the boy onto his wall.

There were already six others, all from different days, different angles—each one more haunting than the last.

> "You'll give in," he whispered.

> "Eventually."

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But the boy?

He didn't even remember the man's name.

Because names didn't matter.

Only movement.

Only control.

Only silence.

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**End of Chapter 9.**

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