ɴᴏᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ✦ ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴊɪꜱᴜɴɢ

30

Half a year later

*Jisung POV*

Jisung leaned his head back against the cold wall of the wide hallway, exhaling a long, shaky sigh. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, a sound that only worsened the restless rhythm of his thoughts. It had been six months since everything fell apart, half a year since the day Haeun had left—and still, nothing felt right.

On the surface, life had returned to normal. Training sessions filled his days, missions came and went, and his friends remained by his side. But Jisung despised the way things felt ordinary again. Because the truth was, his world hadn't returned to normal at all. His world had been missing ever since she walked away.

Every day since, he carried the hollow ache of her absence. He tried to tell himself to move on, to let go, but the memory of her lingered like a wound that refused to heal. He thought he could have done it—if only she hadn't kissed him that day. That single moment, fleeting and desperate, had hooked him even deeper. It replayed over and over in his head, leaving him restless, haunted, unable to breathe without remembering the warmth of her lips and the sting of her goodbye.

His friends noticed, of course. They tried to cheer him up, pulling him into jokes and late-night meals, but nothing worked. His focus wavered, his appetite vanished, his laugh disappeared. He knew he was dragging them down, and the guilt only twisted the knife deeper. But he couldn't bring himself to care enough to change. He was selfish now. Selfish in his grief, selfish in his longing.

That was why he poured everything into training. For months, he refused to leave the grounds, pushing himself until his body ached and his lungs burned. He wasn't sure what he was chasing—strength, distraction, or perhaps punishment—but it carried him through. Against one hundred hopefuls, he had clawed his way forward, passing every brutal test.

Now, only twenty-one remained.

Among them were six of his closest friends, each one carrying the pride of surviving trials meant to break them. It was a victory, but Jisung felt little joy. His stomach twisted instead, because today they were meeting someone important—someone who would supposedly define their futures.

When Taeyong's voice cut through the low murmur of the hallway, everyone straightened at once. "Alright, listen up!" he barked, his tone sharp enough to silence the room. "This is a very important day for all of you. Do not do anything reckless. Don't get yourselves killed. And above all—don't be too shocked by who's waiting on the other side of those doors."

A ripple of unease spread through the group. Jisung frowned, confusion flickering in his chest. Shocked? What could possibly be that surprising?

Taeyong's warning only reminded Jisung of the rumors that had whispered through the ranks for months. Nobody knew the identity of the true leader of NCT. The only facts were that this leader had been training at headquarters in Busan, and their strength was unmatched. Whispers claimed they had outperformed every man and woman before them, excelling in every combat style and tactical measure. Some even said the leader was younger than Taeyong himself.

Jisung tried to push the speculation aside, but when Taeyong's gaze swept across the group and lingered on him longer than anyone else, his unease deepened.

"Alright. Let's go."

The massive double doors creaked open, revealing a cavernous room inside. The recruits filed in silently, shoes echoing against the polished floor. The chamber was bleak and austere, its gray walls broken only by towering columns that lined the sides. No furniture filled the space except for the raised platform at the far end.

Atop it sat a massive desk of dark wood, solid and imposing. Behind it rested a single chair, its back turned to them. Whoever sat there remained hidden, and the anticipation thickened with every step forward.

The recruits came to a halt in three neat lines, the air heavy with silence. Then came the sound—sharp, grating—two blades scraping against one another. The metallic ring reverberated through the room, sending a shiver down Jisung's spine.

And then a voice.

"Hello, everyone."

Clear. Strong. Female.

Jisung's heart stuttered in his chest. Something about the tone tugged at his memory, sparking recognition he wasn't ready to face. He kept his eyes on the chair, breath caught in his throat, as it slowly turned.

The figure revealed was small, delicate even, with her posture composed and her hands resting lightly on the desk. Her legs crossed casually, as though she owned not only the chair, but the room itself.

Jisung's world collapsed in an instant.

He knew that face. He knew those eyes, that voice, that presence. He had memorized them in dreams, carried them like a ghost in his chest for half a year.

Haeun.

His first reaction wasn't joy. It wasn't relief. It was dread, raw and suffocating.

His mind scrambled for explanations—perhaps a doppelgänger, a twin, a cruel trick. He prayed silently to any god that would listen, begging for it not to be her. Not her, sitting on that throne, wielding authority none of them could challenge.

But all hope shattered with her next words.

"My name is Lee Haeun," she said, her lips curling into a smirk. "And I am the leader of NCT."