Chapter Text
The practice room echoed with silence, broken only by the rhythmic tap of Winter's foot against the hardwood floor. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. The digital clock on the wall blinked mercilessly, each new number fueling the fire building in her chest.
Winter snatched her water bottle, crushed it in her grip. "That's it. I'm done waiting."
"She'll be here," Giselle said, stretching her hamstrings with mechanical precision. "Traffic, maybe."
"Right. I forgot that the laws of humanity applied for a coward like her." Winter kicked the wall, leaving a scuff mark on the pristine white surface. "She walks out in the middle of practice 48 hours ago and suddenly traffic is the problem?"
Ningning huddled in the corner, scrolling frantically through her phone. "Still no response to my texts."
"Because she's avoiding us." Winter stalked to her bag, yanking out her water bottle. "One argument and she bails completely."
"Don't be like that," Giselle said, voice gentle but firm.
Winter spun around, water sloshing over the rim of her bottle. "Don't be like what, Giselle? Angry? Hurt? Human?"
"I just mean—"
"I know exactly what you mean." Winter's voice dropped dangerously low. "Poor Winter, always overreacting. Poor Winter, so emotional."
Giselle stepped back, hands raised. "That's not what I said."
"You didn't have to." Winter slammed her bottle down. "If this was Karina having feelings, you'd all be tripping over yourselves to comfort her. But me? I'm just being difficult."
Ningning shrank against the mirror, eyes darting between them.
"That's not fair," Giselle protested.
"Fair?" Winter laughed, the sound sharp as breaking glass. "You want to talk about fair? For three years—three years—I've been Karina's shadow. Her backup. Her support system."
"I get that, I'm not denying it," Giselle said, hands raised placatingly. "I'm just saying, we're not gonna get anywhere like this."
Winter closed the distance between them in two swift strides, backing Giselle against the mirror. "Then tell me, two days ago, where did you want to go when you were up in Karina's face telling her that we should 'fight back,' that we should protect our 'identity,' huh?"
Giselle's mouth opened, then closed. Her reflection multiplied the silence.
"That's what I thought." Winter's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You were right there with me. You pushed just as hard."
Ningning shifted uncomfortably in the corner, knuckles white around her phone.
"That was different," Giselle finally managed.
"How?" Winter demanded. "How was it different when you questioned her leadership?"
Giselle's gaze dropped. "I didn't make it personal."
"Of course you didn't. Not when you talked about bringing Jimin back. Or when you wanted to leave 'Aeri' in Japan." Winter's words landed like precision strikes, each one finding its mark.
Giselle's head snapped up, color draining from her face. "That was different."
"How?" Winter pressed, stepping closer. "How was it different when you told her to stop hiding behind her stage name?"
Ningning's eyes widened. She shifted her weight, edging toward the door.
"I was trying to help," Giselle insisted, voice thinning. "The company was pushing her too hard."
Winter's laugh held no humor. "Right. And I'm sure she felt so helped when you suggested she was losing herself."
"That's not what I meant." Giselle's back hit the mirror.
"No?" Winter tilted her head. "Funny, because I remember exactly what you said. 'Jimin's disappearing, and I don't like who's replacing her.'"
Giselle flinched. "I was worried about her."
"You wanna talk about being worried about her? I've been worried for her three years sick. And I've known her since we were teenagers." Winter's voice cracked, the first real fissure in her armor. "I watched the company strip away everything that made her Jimin until all that was left was Karina."
Giselle stepped back, caught off guard by the raw emotion.
"I was there," Winter continued, words rushing out now, "when she stopped eating because a producer called her chubby. When she practiced until her feet bled. When she cried because they told her to be sexy but not too sexy, cute but not childish, confident but not arrogant."
Ningning huddled against the wall, eyes wide.
"Winter—" Giselle started.
"No." Winter cut her off. "You don't get to play the concerned friend card. Not when you've known her for what? A year?"
"That doesn't mean I care less," Giselle countered, finding her voice.
"Doesn't it?" Winter challenged. "Because I don't remember you staying up all night when she got that panic attack before monthly evaluations. I don't remember you holding her hair back when she threw up from exhaustion."
Giselle's expression hardened. "We can't all be Winter, the perfect friend."
"This isn't about being perfect!" Winter slammed her palm against the mirror, the impact echoing through the practice room. "This is about being there. Which is exactly what she's not doing right now."
"I wouldn't want to see you right now if you were this angry either." Giselle crossed her arms, standing her ground.
Winter's eyes narrowed to ice-cold slits. "Had you been in her shoes, you'd have done the same, wouldn't you?"
Giselle opened her mouth, but Winter cut her off before she could form a word.
"That's something Karina never learned. Actions have consequences." Winter's voice dropped dangerously low. "You don't just walk out mid-practice because you can't handle criticism."
Ningning edged toward them, hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "Maybe she had a reason—"
"What reason?" Winter spun toward her. "What reason justifies abandoning your team months before debut?"
"We don't know—"
"Exactly!" Winter threw up her hands. "We don't know because she didn't tell us. She just left. No explanation. No goodbye. Nothing."
Giselle stepped closer, voice measured. "People break sometimes, Winter. Even Karina."
"We all break." Winter's laugh held no humor. "The difference is the rest of us pick up our pieces and keep going."
"Maybe she's trying to," Giselle suggested.
Winter shook her head, disgust twisting her features. "By hiding? By running away? That's not trying. That's quitting."
"It's been one day," Giselle reminded her.
Winter opened her mouth to retort when the practice room door swung open. Karina slipped in, cap pulled low over her face, shoulders hunched beneath an oversized hoodie.
The room froze. Three pairs of eyes locked onto her.
Winter's expression transformed, anger igniting like a match to gasoline. "Hey, you! You running sack of shit!"
She launched toward Karina, each step vibrating with fury.
Karina remained motionless, eyes fixed on the floor, hands buried deep in her pockets.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Winter demanded, stopping inches from Karina's face. "One fight and you bail? One criticism and you disappear?"
Karina didn't raise her head.
"Winter—" Giselle started, moving forward.
"Stay out of this!" Winter snapped without looking back. Her focus drilled into Karina. "What, nothing to say? No excuse? No apology?"
Karina's silence only fed Winter's rage.
"You know what you are?" Winter circled Karina like a predator. "A coward. Running home to mommy and daddy because things got hard."
Ningning edged closer, concern etched across her face. "Unnie, please—"
"No." Winter cut her off with a slashing motion. "She doesn't get to walk in here like nothing happened. Not after ghosting us."
Karina finally moved, shifting her weight slightly. Still, she didn't look up.
Winter grabbed Karina's shoulder, forcing her to turn. "Say something!"
Karina's head snapped up. Her eyes, cold and unfamiliar, locked onto Winter's. "I'll be the first to tell you, stay away from me." The words came out low, almost a whisper, but edged with unmistakable threat.
Winter's grip faltered, then tightened. "Oh, is that so? That's how you're gonna act, you ungrateful piece of shit?"
Giselle lurched forward. "Winter—"
"Quit it." Karina shrugged off Winter's hand, stepping back to create distance between them.
"Quit it?" Winter's laugh verged on hysterical. "After all the hell I've been through for you? After tiptoeing around your damn insecurities?"
Karina's jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath her skin. "You don't know anything about what I'm going through."
"Because you won't tell me!" Winter stepped closer, eliminating the space Karina had created. "That's the problem. You never tell me anything!"
"I shouldn't have to!" Karina's control slipped, voice rising. "I'm not your responsibility. I'm not your project."
Winter recoiled as if slapped. "Project? Is that what you think this is?"
"I don't want to talk to you." Karina turned away, shoulders rigid.
"Like hell you're going to avoid what's coming to you." Winter's voice dropped to a dangerous growl. Something snapped behind her eyes—control, restraint, reason—all vanishing in an instant.
She lunged forward, fist connecting with Karina's jaw in a sickening crack.
Karina stumbled backward, hand flying to her face. Shock replaced anger in her eyes.
"Winter!" Giselle screamed, rushing forward.
Ningning froze, hands covering her mouth.
Winter stood motionless, staring at her own fist as if it belonged to someone else. Horror dawned slowly across her face.
Karina straightened, blood beading at the corner of her lip. "Feel better now?"
The question cut deeper than any scream.
"I—" Winter started, voice strangled.
"Don't." Karina wiped the blood with the back of her hand. "Just don't."
Winter stepped forward, hand outstretched. "Karina, I didn't mean—"
"Stay away from me." Karina backed up, putting distance between them. Her voice remained eerily calm. "We're done."
"No." Winter's voice cracked. "No, we're not. I lost control. I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't fix this." Karina gestured between them. "Nothing fixes this."
Giselle positioned herself between them, arms spread wide. "Both of you, stop. Right now."
"She hit me," Karina stated, the simple fact hanging in the air.
"I know," Giselle acknowledged. "And that was wrong. Inexcusable."
Winter's face crumpled. "Karina, please—"
"If you tell management," Karina continued as if Winter hadn't spoken, "we're all finished. You know that, right?"
The implication stunned them all into silence.
"I won't tell," Karina added after a moment. "But I won't forget either."
Giselle stepped between them, hands raised like a referee. "Everyone needs to take a breath. Right now."
"There's nothing to breathe about," Karina said, touching her jaw gingerly. A bruise was already forming, dark against her pale skin.
"We can't practice like this," Giselle insisted. "We need to talk—"
"This is exactly why I don't want to be close to any of you." Karina's words sliced through the room, sharp and final.
Ningning flinched. Winter remained frozen on her knees.
"What?" Giselle asked, voice barely audible.
"You heard me." Karina straightened, shoulders squaring. "This—" she gestured between them all, "—is a job. Not a family. Not a sisterhood. A job."
Winter found her voice, cracked and raw. "You don't mean that."
"Don't I?" Karina challenged. "Look at us. Look what we've become."
"One fight doesn't define us," Giselle argued.
"It's not one fight." Karina's laugh held no humor. "It's every fight. Every passive-aggressive comment. Every competition. Every time we tear each other down instead of building each other up."
Winter pushed herself to her feet, legs unsteady. "That's not fair."
"Life isn't fair," Karina shot back. "Neither is this industry. And pretending we're something we're not just makes it worse."
Giselle shook her head. "So what, we just give up? Treat each other like strangers?"
"We treat each other like professionals," Karina corrected. "We dance. We sing. We smile for the cameras. And we stop pretending that means something it doesn't."
Ningning stepped forward, tears streaming silently down her face. "But we're friends."
Something in Karina's expression cracked—a momentary glimpse of the girl beneath the armor. "Were we? Or did we just need each other to survive?"
Her gaze hardened again, finger jabbing toward Winter. "Look at her. She can't control herself. She's done what I wouldn't have done in a thousand years."
Winter flinched, the accusation landing like a physical blow. "You're the one who left everyone to their own demise. You disappeared without a word!"
"Is it?" Karina tilted her head, studying Winter with clinical detachment. "Or you're just trying to blame someone for your shortcomings?"
Winter opened her mouth, then closed it. The question knocked her off-balance, leaving her searching for solid ground.
"What?" she finally managed.
"I was the weaker one between us two," Karina continued, voice dropping lower. "You always were far better than I was. But when I tried to step up my game, you blamed me for not staying at yours."
The practice room went silent. Ningning and Giselle exchanged bewildered glances.
Winter shook her head, struggling to process. "That's not—"
"Not what?" Karina challenged. "Not true? Every time I made a decision without consulting you first, you questioned it. Every time I changed something about myself, you took it personally."
"Because we're a team!" Winter's voice cracked. "We decide things together!"
"No." Karina's laugh held no humor. "You decide, and I'm supposed to follow. That's not a team. That's a hierarchy."
Winter stepped back, stung. "Is that really how you see us?"
"How else should I see it?" Karina gestured to her bruised jaw. "You literally just hit me for daring to have boundaries."
Shame flushed Winter's face. "That was wrong. I know that. But don't twist everything else."
"I'm not twisting anything," Karina insisted. "I'm finally saying what I should have said years ago."
Giselle moved between them, hands raised. "This isn't productive. We need to—"
"Stay out of it," Winter and Karina snapped in unison, then glared at each other for the synchronization.
Karina recovered first. "For three years, I've been trying to become the person everyone expects me to be. The perfect leader. The perfect dancer. The perfect friend."
"No one asked you to be perfect," Winter countered.
"You're right about that. I was the only one that asked to be perfect. I was the one trying to get exactly where I am right now." Karina's voice hardened, each word precise as a knife cut. "And you weren't happy about it, not one step of the way here."
Winter shook her head, disbelief etched across her features. "That's not true."
"Isn't it?" Karina stepped closer, eyes burning with something raw and long-suppressed. "Tell me, were you ever near me to share my joy whenever I improved at something? Or were you just mourning 'Jimin'?"
The name—her real name—hung in the air between them. Winter flinched as if physically struck.
"That's not fair," she whispered.
"Fair?" Karina laughed, the sound brittle as breaking ice. "Was it fair when you cried after my hair appointment? When you said you 'missed the old me'? When you kept calling me Jimin in private even after I asked you to stop?"
Ningning's eyes widened. Giselle shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling like an intruder.
Winter's face drained of color. "I was trying to—"
"To what?" Karina challenged. "Keep me grounded? Remind me where I came from? Or remind me that you knew me before all this, so I should listen to you?"
"I was trying to protect you!" Winter's voice cracked. "From losing yourself!"
"I wasn't losing myself." Karina's voice dropped dangerously low. "I was becoming myself. The self I chose. Not the one you wanted me to stay."
The practice room went silent, the accusation echoing off mirrored walls.
Winter stepped back, shaking her head. "That's not how it was."
"That's exactly how it was." Karina pressed her advantage, stepping forward. "Every milestone I reached, every change I embraced, you treated like a betrayal. Like I was leaving you behind."
"Weren't you?" The question escaped before Winter could stop it.
Something flickered across Karina's face—surprise, perhaps, or vindication. "There it is. The truth."
Winter's shoulders slumped. "I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did." Karina's voice softened slightly, almost pitying. "That's the problem. You've never been able to separate us. In your mind, we succeed together or not at all."
"Because that's what we promised!" Winter's eyes glistened. "Back when we were trainees. Together or not at all."
"We were kids," Karina said simply. "Kids make promises they can't keep."
"You know what that promise meant to me?" Winter's voice cracked, raw emotion bleeding through her carefully constructed walls.
Karina touched the swelling bruise where Winter's fist had landed, wincing slightly. "I can see it now."
The gesture—so small, so damning—silenced the room.
Karina's hand dropped, her eyes hardening. "You only stood by my side because it benefited you. Not once did I hear you complain about how everything had gone wrong for you. It was always about me, I was the one who changed."
Winter recoiled as if slapped. "That's not—"
"True?" Karina finished for her. "When I got picked for the center position, who spent three days giving me the silent treatment? When they increased my parts in the showcase, who suddenly needed 'extra practice' with the vocal coach? When the trainers started praising me in evaluations, who started whispering I was getting special treatment?"
Each accusation landed like a physical blow. Winter's face drained of color.
"I never—"
"You did." Karina's voice dropped dangerously low. "Maybe not consciously. Maybe not maliciously. But you did."
Ningning shifted uncomfortably. Giselle stared at the floor, suddenly fascinated by her shoelaces.
Winter shook her head, desperation creeping into her voice. "I was proud of you. I am proud of you."
"Are you?" Karina challenged. "Or are you proud of what you think you made me?"
The question hung in the air.
Winter's shoulders slumped. "When did we become this?"
"When you decided I was yours to control." Karina's words were soft but final. "When I let you."
Winter opened her mouth to reply, but the practice room door swung open. Their trainer strode in, clipboard tucked under his arm, expression hardening as he scanned the room.
"Eight weeks to showcase and you're standing around arguing?" He checked his watch with exaggerated precision. "This is exactly why the other trainees are advancing faster."
Winter stepped back, creating distance between herself and Karina. The trainer's eyes narrowed, catching the movement.
"Is there a problem?" he demanded.
"No," they answered in unison, the synchronized response a muscle memory neither could break.
Karina stepped closer to Winter, her voice dropping to a whisper as the trainer busied himself with the sound system. "We're still teammates. I'm no longer your friend."
The words sliced through Winter's defenses, precise as a surgeon's knife. She flinched, unable to mask the hurt.
"Karina—" she started.
"Don't." Karina cut her off, already moving towards her position. "It's better this way."
"For who?" Winter challenged, keeping her voice low.
Karina's eyes met hers, tired beyond her years. "For both of us."
"Positions!" the trainer called, clapping his hands for attention. "From the top. And this time, try to look like you actually want to be here."
Four girls moved to their marks, muscle memory overriding emotion. Winter took her place beside Karina, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body, yet separated by a chasm wider than the inches between them.
The music started. Bodies moved in sync, faces transformed into masks of concentration. In the mirror, Winter watched Karina dance—perfect as always, even with a bruise blooming on her jaw. No hint of pain, no crack in the facade.
When the music stopped, the trainer sighed. "Better. Not great, but better. Karina, what happened to your face?"
"I fell," she answered smoothly. "Hit the speaker."
He frowned, clearly skeptical. "Be more careful. We can't have injuries this close to showcase."
"Yes, sir." Karina nodded, gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder.
"Take five," he ordered. "Water break."
Karina headed for the door without a backward glance.
"Where are you going?" Giselle called after her.
"Bathroom," Karina answered without turning.
The door closed behind her with a decisive click.
Winter sank to the floor, back against the mirror. "She's right."
Giselle knelt beside her. "Winter—"
"No." Winter cut her off. "She's right about everything. I've been... I've been sabotaging her. Resenting her. All while telling myself I was protecting her."
The practice room door opened again. Their head trainer entered, expression grim.
"Where's Karina?" he asked, scanning the room.
"Bathroom," Giselle answered. "Why?"
He checked his watch, frowning. "When she gets back, tell her I need to see her. Immediately."
"Is something wrong?" Ningning asked.
The trainer hesitated. "Just tell her to find me."
He left, the door closing quietly behind him.
Winter pushed herself to her feet. "I need to find her."
"Winter, don't—" Giselle warned.
"I have to fix this," Winter insisted. "Before it's too late."
She rushed out, leaving Giselle and Ningning staring after her.
In the hallway, Winter paused. Left toward the bathrooms? Right toward the trainer's office?
She turned left, each step heavy with the weight of three words that had shattered everything: "No longer friends."
Outside the bathroom, Winter hesitated, hand raised to push the door. From inside came a sound that stopped her cold—soft, muffled sobbing.
Winter's hand hovered at the bathroom door, frozen between action and retreat. The muffled sobs from inside transported her three years back, to another bathroom, another moment when everything changed.
She'd found Jimin—not yet Karina then—huddled in the corner stall, scissors in hand, chunks of long black hair scattered around her like fallen dreams.
"What are you doing?" Winter had demanded, horror rising in her throat.
Jimin had looked up, eyes wild, tear-streaked. "Becoming what they want."
Winter had knelt beside her, gently taking the scissors. "This isn't the way."
"They said I look too ordinary," Jimin had whispered. "Too forgettable."
"Then we'll prove them wrong," Winter had promised, gathering the fallen hair. "Together."
The next day, they'd gone to the salon together. Winter had held Jimin's hand as the stylist transformed her into someone new—someone with sharp edges and striking features. Someone who wouldn't be forgotten.
That night, Winter realized later, was when Jimin began to fade and Karina started taking her place. Not because of the haircut, but because Winter had inadvertently confirmed what the trainers had implied: Jimin wasn't enough.
Now, standing outside another bathroom door, Winter recognized the truth. She hadn't protected Jimin that night. She'd helped erase her.
The sobbing quieted. Water ran. Winter stepped back, unable to face what she'd helped create—and then resented.
She turned away just as the bathroom door swung open.
"Winter." Karina's voice, steady despite the redness around her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
Winter couldn't meet her gaze. "The trainer's looking for you."
"Is that all?" Karina asked, the question layered with meaning.
Winter's courage failed her. "Yes. That's all."
Karina nodded once, already moving past. "Then I should go."
"Karina—" Winter started, then stopped. What could she possibly say now?
Karina paused, not turning back. "What?"
"I'm sorry." The words felt pathetically inadequate. "For everything."
"I know." Karina's voice softened slightly. "That's what makes it worse."
She walked away, shoulders straight, head high—every inch the leader she'd become, with or without Winter's help.
Winter watched her go, suddenly understanding that she'd never lost Jimin to Karina. She'd lost both of them to her own need for control, her own fear of being left behind.
In the empty hallway, Winter faced a truth three years in the making: the person who had changed the most wasn't Karina.
It was her.