Eva is an abused schoolgirl who lost her will to live. But her repeated attempts of suicide were unsuccessful and after each attempt her abuse kept multiplying. During one such attempt, she gets an message from an unknown id in her dm - "Pixieuwu":...
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I was just minding my own business, perched on the practice room chair, when suddenly—oh wait! Let's pause for a moment. Allow me to introduce myself properly. Ahem.
This is your Bokkie speaking! Yes, that's right, the one and only! And if you're wondering why I sound like I'm narrating a soap opera, it's because I am a master of the dramatic flair. But I digress...
So there I was, gracefully perched like a majestic bird on a very uncomfortable chair (seriously, who designs these torture devices?), when it hit me: my dear author—bless her little heart—forgot to inform you of a crucial detail.
POV Change Alert! 🚨
Yes, folks, we've switched perspectives faster than a cat on a hot tin roof! Now, instead of my author's slightly neurotic, caffeine-fueled ramblings, it's me, your Bokkie, ready to regale you with tales of my misadventures in the practice room.
Picture this: a dimly lit space filled with the aroma of desperation and stale coffee (it's the practice room, after all). I'm in my element, twirling my long hair like a dashing romeo , fully prepared to charm the unsuspecting audience of... well, nobody, because it's just me and my overzealous dreams of becoming the best idol.
And then there's the chair. Oh, this chair! It's as supportive as a soggy napkin. I swear, every time I sit down, I hear it creak like it's auditioning for a horror movie.
But who needs comfort when you've got the soul of a performer, right? So here I am, preparing to dazzle the world (or the walls, if we're being honest), and thinking about how to break out into a spontaneous interpretive dance that nobody asked for.
Just as I was about to launch into an epic solo performance worthy of an Oscar (or at least a participation trophy), the door swung open, and in walked Minho hyung, his trusty video camera clutched in his hand like a prized possession.
"Hyung! You hang out with that camera more than you do with Jisung, who is your boyfriend!" I pouted dramatically, crossing my arms and giving him the most exaggerated puppy-dog eyes I could muster. I mean, come on! The poor guy could be on a romantic date, but instead, he's here filming my potentially life-altering chair-staring contest.
Minho smirked, adjusting the camera strap over his shoulder like a true professional. "Well, this camera has never stolen my fries or hogged the blanket," he shot back, grinning. "And it doesn't complain about my 'artistic vision.'"
I gasped in mock horror. "Are you saying Jisung is a blanket hog? That's a scandalous accusation, hyung! I demand evidence!"
Minho rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his laughter. "You should be grateful! I'm just capturing your 'moments of brilliance.' Who wouldn't want to document your pouting face forever?"
"Hey! My pouting face is a work of art! It's the face that launched a thousand memes!" I retorted, leaning back in my chair like a diva, completely ignoring the fact that I looked like a confused potato in this position.
"Sure, Bokkie, whatever you say. But if it were up to me, I'd rather record some actual talent," he teased, aiming the camera at me. "Maybe you can impress the world with your dramatic expressions?"
I flicked my hair back, a little too dramatically, and struck a pose. "Watch and learn, Minho hyung! I'm about to give the performance of a lifetime right here and now. Jisung will be jealous he missed this!"
And with that, I launched into an impromptu monologue about the struggles of a chair-bound performer, complete with overly exaggerated gestures and a faux-serious tone. Minho, meanwhile, chuckled and raised the camera, probably contemplating whether he was capturing a masterpiece or a complete disaster.
But hey, at least I had the spotlight—camera or not!
As I wrapped up my dramatic monologue, Minho set the camera down on the nearest surface (a stack of sheet music that looked suspiciously like it hadn't been touched in ages) and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
"Alright, enough of the award-winning performances, Bokkie," he said with a grin. "I need your help with something serious."
My heart raced. Serious? What could be more serious than the high-stakes world of spontaneous chair performances? I tilted my head, curiosity piqued. "What's going on, hyung?"
He took a deep breath, clearly channeling his inner news anchor. "So, JYP just announced a new audition, and I have to go through all the online submissions. There are a ton of them—way more than I expected! They want to find fresh talent, and I need to narrow it down."
"Ah, I see," I nodded sagely, pretending to stroke my imaginary beard. "So you need my expert opinion on who has what it takes to become the next K-pop sensation?"
Minho chuckled. "Exactly! I need someone with taste, someone who can spot talent like a hawk spots a particularly shiny object."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, hyung," I replied with a cheeky wink. "But just know, my standards are high. If they can't do a backflip while singing 'I Will Survive' in Korean, I'm out."
"Maybe you should audition then," Minho said, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, your backflipping skills might be questionable, but your talent for commentary is legendary."
I leaned forward, feigning deep thought. "Hmm, you might be onto something. Do you think Jisung would support my decision to become a world-famous idol while simultaneously being a chair-bound performer?"
"Only if you promise to bring him along for the fame and fortune," Minho joked.
"Deal! Now let's get to this audition stuff. Where do we start?"
Minho pulled out his laptop, its screen illuminated like a portal to the next dimension of K-pop stardom. "I've got a few submissions pulled up. We can watch them together and decide who gets the golden ticket—or in this case, the chance to be judged by you and me."
"Let the games begin!" I declared, dramatically throwing my arms up like I was about to summon a storm of talent. "But remember, if I'm not impressed, I might just launch into another dramatic performance as my final critique."
"Please, no," Minho laughed, shaking his head as he clicked on the first video. "Just stick to constructive criticism, okay?"
"Fine, fine. But only if they don't sing like a cat in a blender."
As the first audition video started playing, we both leaned in, ready to judge the future stars of K-pop. Who knew that my afternoon of melodramatic pouting would lead to a judging panel of two? And I was totally ready to put on my most serious face while secretly plotting my next chair-based performance.
(A/N: This chapter is cringe according to me. My friend says it looks like i wrote it on chatgpt - and i am hurt. Do you guys think so too? Cuz i rarely use chatgpt. I use chatgpt ONLY for school essays.
But seriously, i need y'all to tell me the truth:
Is this chapter ok?
Vote ⭐ & Comment 💬 to my each chapter please... :) )
