"Artist"

Dancing - Chapter 6

You retreated to your room to prepare for Paesyeon, the upcoming modeling meeting already humming at the back of your mind. After a moment's deliberation, you chose an outfit that struck a careful balance between sharp and alluring—a crisp, cropped white button-up layered beneath a tailored black vest, paired with a sleek black mini skirt. Thigh-high tights hugged your legs, disappearing into a pair of black stilettos that added just the right amount of height and confidence. A structured black dress coat completed the look, draped effortlessly over your shoulders.

At the vanity, you gave yourself a final once-over. A touch more powder, a precise sweep of mascara—small adjustments that made all the difference. You reached for a bold red lipstick, applying it with practiced care, the color instantly sharpening your expression. Finally, you curled your hair, each soft wave falling into place as if it had always belonged there.

When you stepped back, the reflection staring at you felt composed, intentional—ready.

By the time you arrived, the building stood before you—six stories of stark white, its wide windows gleaming in the light like polished glass. Inside, the space opened into a showroom, airy and immaculate. Racks of clothing were arranged with deliberate precision, each piece spaced as if it were part of an exhibit rather than something meant to be worn. Along two of the walls, large photographs stretched in neat rows—models captured mid-motion, draped in the newest collection, their expressions distant and untouchable.

A checkout desk sat off to the side, pristine and unused, while a line of dressing rooms ran along the back wall. Beyond them, a single glass door caught your attention. It felt quieter there, more purposeful—like the rest of the building existed for display, and whatever lay past that door was where things actually happened.

Trusting your instinct, you pushed through.

The atmosphere shifted immediately.

The hallway beyond was just as white, but colder somehow—sterile, almost clinical. The floors shone beneath the overhead lights, reflecting your steps in faint, distorted echoes. Halfway down, a sleek white desk stood alone, and behind it sat a girl.

Her long black hair framed her face in soft contrast to the stark surroundings, straight bangs resting just above her brows. She had a round face, her features delicate, her wide, doe-like eyes lifting as you approached. For a brief moment, something unreadable flickered across her expression—surprise, maybe, or confusion—before she spoke, greeting you in Korean.

You offered a polite nod, steadying your voice. "I'm here for the class," you replied in Korean.

She barely looked up as she responded, her voice even, efficient. "Fourth floor," she said in Korean, already turning back to her computer.

You nodded and made your way to the elevator, the soft hum of it filling the silence as you ascended. When the doors slid open, you were met with a long, open space that resembled a waiting room—though far more pristine than any you'd seen before. White leather chairs were arranged in neat rows, occupied by a mix of girls and guys, all dressed with an effortlessly natural sense of style that felt intimidatingly natural.

You spotted an empty seat toward the back and slipped into it, preferring the distance, the quiet observation it allowed. The low murmur of conversation drifted through the room, but it didn't last long.

Not even ten minutes passed before a door at the front opened.

The energy shift was immediate.

Heads turned. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. A ripple of excitement spread through the room as two figures stepped out.

The first—instantly recognizable—was Jung Ho-yeon, a name that carried weight in both the modeling and acting world. Beside her was Do-yun, one of the models involved in the training program.