Yuna’s mind was still tangled in doubt, but avoiding Jiwon only seemed to make things worse. The tension between them grew thicker with every passing day, and her frustration reached its peak during rehearsal.

“Yuna, focus,” the choreographer barked after she missed a step for the third time.

“Sorry,” she muttered, her cheeks burning as the other trainees exchanged glances.

Jiwon, who had been watching from the side, stepped in. “Let’s run it again. I’ll help her with the timing.”

The choreographer nodded, stepping back, and Jiwon took his place beside Yuna. She tensed as he leaned in.

“You’re distracted,” he said quietly. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she replied curtly, refusing to meet his eyes.

Jiwon sighed but didn’t push further. Instead, he demonstrated the sequence, his movements precise and fluid. Yuna followed along, but her mind was still racing.

Later that evening, Yuna stayed behind in the practice room, hoping the solitude would help her clear her head. She was mid-stretch when the door opened, and Jiwon stepped inside.

“Are you avoiding me?” he asked, crossing his arms.

Yuna froze, caught off guard by his directness. “No,” she lied, looking away.

Jiwon walked closer, his expression unreadable. “You’ve been distant ever since the showcase. If I’ve done something wrong, just tell me.”

Yuna hesitated, the memory of his conversation from the other day gnawing at her. Finally, she blurted, “Why are you even here, Jiwon? What are you trying to prove?”

Jiwon blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… you act like you care about this team, about me, but do you? Or is it just some strategy to make sure you succeed?”

Her words hit like a slap, and for a moment, Jiwon didn’t respond. Then, his expression shifted—hurt, frustration, and something deeper flickered in his eyes.

“Is that what you think of me?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“I don’t know,” Yuna admitted, her voice trembling. “I overheard you talking to someone. You said… it doesn’t matter, as long as you get through this program.”

Realization dawned on Jiwon’s face. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yuna, that conversation… it wasn’t what you think.”

“Then what was it?” she pressed, her arms crossed defensively.

Jiwon hesitated before sitting down on the floor, motioning for her to do the same. Reluctantly, Yuna joined him, her curiosity outweighing her anger.

“When I said those things,” Jiwon began, “I wasn’t talking about you or us. I was talking about myself.”

Yuna frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

Jiwon stared at the floor, his shoulders tense. “My family’s been struggling for a long time. My dad’s business went under when I was in middle school, and since then, we’ve barely been getting by. I became a trainee because I thought… if I could debut, if I could make it big, I could fix everything. I could take care of them.”

Yuna’s eyes softened as she listened.

“But this program—it’s ruthless. Every day, I feel like I’m walking a tightrope, and one misstep could ruin everything. So, yeah, sometimes I say things like that because I have to remind myself why I’m here. Not because I don’t care about you or the team, but because the stakes are so high that I can’t afford to lose focus.”

Yuna’s heart ached at his words. “Jiwon… why didn’t you tell me?”

He looked up at her, his eyes filled with vulnerability. “Because it’s not something I like talking about. And honestly, I didn’t want you to see me as weak.”

“You’re not weak,” Yuna said firmly. “You’re human. And you’re carrying so much more than anyone realizes.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of Jiwon’s confession settling between them. Then Yuna reached out, placing a hand on his.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” she said softly. “We’re a team, remember? That means I’m here for you too.”

Jiwon looked at her, a faint smile breaking through his somber expression. “Thanks, Yuna. That means a lot.”

As they left the practice room together, Yuna felt a sense of clarity. The shadows that had clouded her trust in Jiwon were beginning to lift, replaced by a deeper understanding of who he was—and why they needed each other to succeed.