*Haeun's perspective during the week

Haeun found herself sitting alone in one of the practice rooms, the faint hum of music filtering in from another part of the building. The team assignments had been posted earlier, and her chest still felt tight with anxiety. She had tried to focus on rehearsing the choreography, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Jihoon. She had seen the way he’d looked at her when the team list was announced. He’d smiled, his confidence unnerving yet oddly comforting.

Her phone buzzed with a notification. She glanced down to see a message from Jihoon.

"Can we talk? Meet me in the second-floor lounge."

She hesitated but finally stood, wiping her hands on her sweatpants. She told herself it was just team business. Maybe he had suggestions for their routine. That’s all it was.

When she arrived, Jihoon was already there, lounging against the armrest of a worn leather couch. His dark eyes met hers, and he flashed the easy, disarming grin that always seemed to make her defenses falter.

"Hey," he said, straightening as she approached. "I’m glad you came."

"What’s up?" she asked, crossing her arms, trying to appear composed.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Look, you know how these shows work, right? The producers aren’t just looking for talent—they’re looking for drama, for storylines. Something to hook the audience."

She nodded slowly, unsure where he was going with this.

"I’ve know how they’re editing the episodes," he continued. "They’re setting us up. The judges keep commenting on our chemistry, the producers are feeding into it… They want us to be the ‘it’ pair for the season."

Haeun’s stomach twisted. "And what are you suggesting?"

Jihoon smiled again, softer this time. "I’m saying we play along. Let them think there’s something between us. We’ll get more screentime, more attention. It’ll be good for both of us."

She looked away, conflicted. She thought of Minjae, how much he had supported her, how she had promised him that he was the only one she’d ever love. But Jihoon’s words made sense. In this competition, visibility was everything.

"Just for the cameras," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Just for the cameras," he echoed, though there was a glint in his eye that made her uneasy.

Over the next week, Haeun found herself spending more time with Jihoon than she’d anticipated. They practiced together, their moments of collaboration increasingly natural, even playful. During breaks, they sat together, and he always found ways to make her laugh, his charm seeping into the cracks of her resolve.

The producers noticed, of course. They featured them prominently in rehearsal footage, lingering on their interactions, their shared smiles. The other contestants began to whisper, some teasing them openly about their supposed "relationship."

Haeun told herself it was all part of the plan. She was just playing her role. But there were moments when her heart betrayed her—a flutter when Jihoon brushed against her, a warmth when he complimented her on a particularly difficult routine. She hated herself for it, for letting her feelings blur the lines she had drawn.

One afternoon, after an exhausting rehearsal, Jihoon approached her in the hallway.

"You’ve been working hard," he said, his tone casual.

"Everyone has," she replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

"You need a break," he said, his smile turning mischievous. "Come with me."

She hesitated but followed him as he led her toward the booths—the only place in the competition building where the cameras didn’t follow them. The booths had been intended as private spaces for contestants to collect their thoughts, but they had quickly gained a reputation for other uses. As they walked past a booth, an unmistakable moan emanated through the door. She thought she recognized the voice. A deep blush crept up her cheeks, and she felt Jihoon’s hand on the small of her back.

When they reached the booth, Jihoon held the door open for her. She stepped inside, the small space feeling even smaller with him standing so close.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

He leaned against the wall, his eyes meeting hers. "No cameras. No producers. Just us."

Her pulse quickened. She told herself to leave, to walk away before this went too far. But she didn’t move.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You’re incredible, Haeun. You know that, right?"

Her breath hitched. She knew this was wrong. She thought of Minjae, of everything he had done for her, of the promises they had made. But in that moment, with Jihoon’s eyes on her, his voice soft and coaxing, the weight of her guilt felt distant, almost abstract.

When he leaned in, she didn’t pull away.