secrets (little taeyong)

Chapter 18

Taeyong's POV

The dance routine for "Fact Check" had become a meticulous symphony of movements, perfected through hours of relentless practice. Yet, beyond the surface of synchronized steps, an insidious darkness lurked. The choreography teacher's cruelty, once confined to words, now extended its reach into the shadows of physical and emotional abuse.

As each practice session concluded, the teacher would call me aside, ostensibly for additional coaching. The routine, which had brought the members together in shared passion, became a pretext for the teacher's hidden agenda.

"Stay back, Taeyong. We need to work on your performance," he would declare, the seemingly innocent words masking the malice that lay beneath.

Alone in the dimly lit practice room, the air thick with tension, the teacher's true intentions unfolded. His criticisms, once confined to verbal attacks, now manifested in physical forms. The bruises, hidden beneath clothing, bore witness to the hidden darkness that festered in the corners of our shared artistic space.

Time skip💃

The routine, once a celebration of creativity, had become a stage for a silent struggle. The members, unaware of the hidden torment, continued to support and encourage each other. Their camaraderie, though genuine, couldn't penetrate the veil of secrecy that shrouded the teacher's abuses.

During those private sessions, the teacher's hateful words found a physical counterpart. His actions, fueled by a twisted desire for control, left marks on both my body and spirit. The dance, once an expression of joy, became a battleground where resilience clashed with the weight of silent suffering.

Days turned into weeks, and the hidden abuses persisted. The teacher's calculated maneuvers left me grappling with a sense of isolation. The practice room, once a sanctuary, now held the echoes of pain that reverberated long after the music had faded.

Time skip 💃

One evening, as the routine reached its final crescendo, the teacher's brutality took a particularly vicious turn. "You're such a disappointment, Taeyong. Maybe a little pain will motivate you to do better," he sneered, his words dripping with malevolence.

The members, oblivious to the torment unfolding in the shadows, departed after practice, leaving me alone with the looming specter of the teacher's cruelty. As the door closed, the practice room transformed into a dark stage where the hidden abuses would play out.

The bruises, both physical and emotional, bore witness to the silent struggles that unfolded behind closed doors. The teacher's disdain, once confined to words, had escalated into a cycle of abuse that seemed impossible to escape.

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Weeks turned into a month, and the hidden darkness persisted. The teacher's calculated maneuvers continued, leaving me with a sense of dread that eclipsed the joy I once found in dancing. The members, blissfully unaware, continued to share moments of camaraderie, their support unable to breach the walls of secrecy.

One evening, as the routine for "Fact Check" approached its final stages, the teacher's actions took a sinister turn. "You think you can escape criticism, Taeyong? Maybe a reminder will keep you in line," he muttered, his hands delivering blows that left an indelible mark on my spirit.

The room, once a haven for artistic expression, became a theater of silent suffering. The bruises, concealed beneath layers of clothing, became a hidden testament to the hidden darkness that festered in the underbelly of our shared passion.

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As the routine neared perfection, the teacher's abuses reached a breaking point. The physical and emotional toll weighed heavily on me, the facade of strength slowly eroding. The members, still unaware, continued to invest their energy in the final stages of our performance.

One evening, after the members had left, a fellow member returned to retrieve a forgotten item. The door creaked open, revealing a scene that had been concealed in the shadows for far too long. The teacher, unaware of the intrusion, continued his onslaught of abuse.

Horror and disbelief painted the fellow member's face as they witnessed the brutality unfolding. The silent suffering that had festered in the hidden corners of the practice room was laid bare, leaving both of us suspended in a moment of shock.

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Ten had their gaze locked with mine, he took a step forward, interrupting the teacher's calculated assault. "What the hell is going on here?" Ten demanded, the tone laced with a mix of disbelief and anger.

The teacher, caught off guard by the unexpected intrusion, attempted to deflect. "This is none of your business. Taeyong needs extra coaching to improve his performance," he retorted, his attempt at justification falling flat in the face of the unfolding reality.

The bruises, hidden beneath layers of clothing, became visible to the fellow member. The truth, concealed for too long, now hung in the air, a silent accusation against the teacher's heinous actions.

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Ten fueled by a mix of concern and anger, intervened to put an end to the torment. "This is not coaching; it's abuse," ten asserted, their words cutting through the atmosphere of fear that had gripped the practice room.

The teacher, realizing that his actions had been exposed, attempted to retreat. "You don't understand. This is how you get results," he feebly argued, his justifications crumbling in the face of the undeniable truth.

Ten undeterred, confronted the teacher, demanding an immediate end to the abuses. The practice room, once a silent witness to suffering, became a battleground where the cycle of abuse was challenged by the unwavering stand of one brave member.

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The confrontation with the fellow member marked a turning point. The teacher, faced with the undeniable truth.