Divinity ~ Male KPOP Idol

Past Memoirs III

The newly renovated practice rooms of Smoke and Mirrors Entertainment felt like an entirely different world. Gone were the cracked mirrors, the worn-out floors, and the dim lighting that made it feel more like a survival game than idol training. In their place stood bright, gleaming spaces filled with new equipment and sleek interiors that screamed potential. Everything had changed.

Minho took it all in as he walked through the door, his eyes wide with awe. "This place doesn't even feel like the same company," he muttered, a mixture of excitement and disbelief in his voice.

Beside him, Wei gave a slow, contemplative nod, his eyes sweeping the room, assessing every inch of the new space. "This is what Atlas brought with their investment."

Sei followed behind them, his feet hesitant, as though each step felt foreign in the newly polished room. "Yeah, it's great and all, but... it feels like we just stepped into someone else's world."

Jaehyun, the natural leader, clapped Sei on the shoulder, his smile confident though there was a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "That's because we did. But now, it's our world. Let's make it ours."

The energy in the room shifted slightly as his words sank in. They weren't just trainees at Smoke and Mirrors anymore—they were standing at the precipice of something much larger, something with far greater expectations. The weight of those expectations pressed down on them like an invisible force.

Before they could settle in, the door to the practice room swung open, and their new choreographer—a man brought in by Atlas—strode inside. Tall, with a commanding presence, he didn't waste any time on introductions. His eyes barely flicked to the group before he clapped his hands, setting the tone for what was to come.

"Positions," he barked, his voice carrying authority and impatience.

Minho, Jaehyun, Wei, and Sei scrambled to get into place. The new atmosphere was suffocating; there was no room for mistakes. The old practice room might have been cramped and dilapidated, but it had felt like home. This was different. It was cold, clinical, and judging.

The choreographer moved swiftly, demonstrating complex movements with ease, but his pace was relentless. Every time they fumbled or fell behind, he would stop and show the move again, but there was no encouragement in his eyes—only expectation.

"Again," he commanded, after another failed attempt to keep up with his instructions.

Minho wiped the sweat from his brow, his breathing heavy. He shot a glance toward Sei, whose face was a mask of concentration, his body trembling with the effort to keep up. They all knew Sei was still learning, still finding his rhythm, but in this environment, there was no room for sympathy.

Jaehyun stepped forward, trying to take the lead. "We're getting there. Just give us a few more tries."

The choreographer's gaze landed on him, unimpressed. "Getting there isn't enough anymore," he said flatly, his tone harsh but matter-of-fact. "You're good, but good doesn't cut it in this industry."

Minho's chest tightened as he watched the group struggle under the new pressure. They had always pushed themselves hard, but this... this was different. They weren't just trying to improve—they were trying to survive.

After what felt like hours, the choreographer finally relented, his expression still hard. "We'll stop here for today," he said, though his tone didn't sound like much of a concession. "But remember, this isn't the same game anymore. Atlas has expectations now, and so do I."

With that, he left, and the room fell into an exhausted silence.

Minho collapsed onto the floor, his legs shaking. "What the hell just happened?"