The girl was still talking to the four boys when someone else joined them. But the moment he approached, all five fell silent.
The girl was chatting quietly with the four boys, her shoulders beginning to relax for the first time since entering the training hall. But the atmosphere changed the second a familiar presence approached them.
Taeyong slowed his steps when he noticed the sudden silence. He had expected them to at least acknowledge him normally—but the way their bodies tensed told him everything:
They were positioning themselves between him and the girl.
A faint sting ran through his chest.
He knew why they reacted like that… but it still hurt more than he wanted to admit.
“Why did you stop talking?” he asked. The girl looked down at her lap, while the boys stared at him. One of them placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her a little closer.
“Why did you stop talking?” Taeyong asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.
The girl lowered her gaze immediately. The boys didn’t answer—not verbally.
But their posture spoke loudly:
Don’t come closer. She’s scared of you.
Another boy’s hand wrapped around her shoulder protectively.
Taeyong exhaled silently.
He didn’t blame them—he blamed himself. Ever since the night he had yelled, ever since Hendery had been carried in bleeding… he had projected his fear and anger onto the wrong person.
And now, even after apologizing, they acted as if he were a danger to her.
“Okay guys, seriously. How long are you going to keep doing this? She’s still alive, isn’t she? I would never hurt an innocent—you know that.” He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.
His voice came out sharper than intended.
The boys exchanged glances—none of them moving.
Taeyong crossed his arms not out of authority, but to keep himself from rubbing the tension out of his face.
I would never hurt her.
He wished they would believe it as easily as he said it.
The boys copied their leader’s posture, staring at him questioningly. Taeyong rolled his eyes in annoyance.
He couldn’t help it — their mirrored stance was almost mocking.
But behind the annoyance was something else:
Guilt.
Guilt for how he had treated her.
Guilt for the fear still lingering in her eyes.
And that guilt was becoming harder to ignore.
“Alright, enough chit-chat. Go do your training. Now.” he ordered, his voice dropping into a firm, darker tone.
The boys straightened instinctively.
That tone—deep, controlled, and commanding—was one they all obeyed without hesitation.
Even if they didn’t like it.
Taeyong didn’t raise his voice often, but when he did, it carried weight.
The boys immediately scattered, leaving the girl and the leader alone.
Their footsteps echoed harshly through the training hall, and she flinched hard at the abrupt movement when they suddenly ran off.
