𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒「KIM YOUNGJO, RAVN」

𝐎𝐍𝐄

"𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆".

𝟷𝟼𝟶𝟷 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳𝚂.

𝙿𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝟸𝟽𝚝𝚑 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟶.

Grasping my ringed fingers in her soft hands, 𝐁𝐈𝐘𝐔 dragged me through the stub hallway of the Lotte Hotel, the persistent sound of our rolling suitcases dominating the silence resting between us. The entrance hall in front was big and rectangular, leather and marble furniture spread across the perimeter to give off an exclusive vibrance, and by the furthest wall stood two female receptionists who were continuously averting their attention from the stationary computers to a blinking phone.

Their intentions lied in attempting to organize the chaos present before them, with near a hundred teens and young adults stood huddled in groups, chatting and laughing in loud voices. Suitcases of various sizes and patterns could be seen all over the area, and upon our arrival to the main hall, Biyu and I both took our time to observe each and every individual, before slowing our pace and sitting down in one of the couches furthest away.

I could make out that my best friend and I were not singularly intrigued in what kind of people were here to begin the initial stages of the competition, as eyes were zooming from face to face countless times within singlehandedly a minute. It was interesting, because it assured me that there was not a single individual present, that was confident in their potential spot on 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐄: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞-- everyone had doubts about making it, but they were showcasing it excessively clearly.

Despite the knot sitting stub in my stomach, the coming experience and my own presence in the hall of the Seoul, Lotte Hotel, did not feel real. It did not feel extensive and exciting, I simply felt there and nearly disassociated from reality, and I believe that Biyu could read those vibrant emotions on my face, because she took it upon herself to smack my right cheek in a soft motion, as an act of waking me from my trance.

"You good?"

"Yeah." I answered hastily, jerking my chin to face my best friend sat to my right.

Biyu was a very beautiful girl. Her long, dyed hair was a shade of rosé wine, and her pale, glimmering skin persistently reminded me of blinding jewels reflecting the light of the sun. Her lips were plump, and her nose small, her almond brown eyes drowning in the appearance of innocence her whole body, likewise, portrayed.

She was a kind of girl you would not hesitate to encourage to become an idol, or at least participate in a competition like Produce: The Future, and in opposition to her kind demeanor and gentle acts of always attempting to make me feel well about myself, it was primarily Biyu that shot at my confidence. And those wounds had not healed since the day I first met her, near ten years ago.

Some would say that my thoughts regarding my best friend were narcissistic, and that I did not return the attempt of enlightening Biyu on her outer beauty, but it was instead an act of self-pride. One that I knew I had to cover, if I were to make it onto Produce: The Future as a contestant placed in a competition without allies.

Who knew, maybe my closest friend would turn to become my greatest enemy, in this selfish world.

"Why are there only girls here?" Biyu mouthed audibly, and in slow, drowsy response, I simply averted my gaze from the silver, lion statue placed in the furthest, right corner of the hall only an inch away from us, to the girl beside me.

"Don't know. Maybe the guys are running late." I muttered those words in more of a structural statement, rather than a suggestion, and Biyu bit her inner cheek as if contemplating my saying.