Chapter Text
The gleaming grand piano in the corner of the room sat untouched. Instead, Aeri Uchinaga hunched over her textbook, the scratch of her pen the only sound disturbing the library's hallowed silence. Light streamed through the gothic arched windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing above her notes.
But beneath the crisp uniform and perfectly pinned hair, a different rhythm pulsed. Aeri tapped her foot against the mahogany table leg, a barely perceptible beat that mirrored the hip-hop track blasting through her earbuds, hidden beneath a curtain of dark hair.
A shadow fell across her textbook. She glanced up, her polite smile faltering slightly at the sight of her history teacher, Mrs. Sato, her expression pinched with disapproval.
“Aeri,” Mrs. Sato said, her voice a low admonishment. “Daydreaming again? I trust your essay on the Meiji Restoration is progressing well?”
Aeri removed one earbud, her smile returning full force. “Of course, Sato-sensei. I find the socio-political climate of the era fascinating.”
Mrs. Sato’s eyebrows rose slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Indeed. Well, do try to contain your…fascination. We wouldn’t want your focus to wander during next week’s exams, would we?”
Giselle inclined her head, the picture of obedient contrition. As soon as Mrs. Sato moved on, she discreetly adjusted her earbud, the insistent beat of the music a lifeline back to the world where she truly came alive.
Later that night, the bassline throbbed through the floor, vibrating up Aeri's legs and settling in her chest like a second heartbeat. The air in the club, thick with smoke, crackled with a different kind of energy than the refined atmosphere of her parents' dinner parties. Here, in this dimly lit basement club, she was just Giselle, another soul drawn to the magnetic pull of the beat.
She’d shed her school uniform, trading it for a black bomber jacket, ripped jeans, and a pair of chunky combat boots. Her hair, usually perfectly straight and smooth, was pulled back in a high ponytail, stray strands escaping to frame her face. Gone was the carefully cultivated image of Aeri Uchinaga, the diplomat's daughter. Here, in the heart of Tokyo's underground hip-hop scene, she was free.
Tonight was a special night. It was "Mic Check Monday," a weekly cypher where aspiring rappers and seasoned veterans alike took turns spitting fire on the stage. Giselle had been a regular for months, her skills honed through countless hours of writing rhymes in her bedroom, her flow perfected in the quiet solitude of her closet, which served as her vocal booth.
The crowd, a mix of university students, young professionals escaping the drudgery of their 9-to-5s, and die-hard hip-hop heads, roared their approval as the current rapper finished his set. Giselle felt a familiar surge of adrenaline, a mixture of excitement and nerves, course through her veins. She caught the eye of DJ Ryu, his dreadlocks bouncing as he nodded towards the stage. It was her turn.
Taking a deep breath, Giselle adjusted the microphone, the cool metal grounding her as she stepped into the spotlight. The beat dropped, a heady mix of trap and old-school boom bap.
Her flow was effortless, sharp and precise, her words a mix of Japanese and English as she weaved tales of societal expectations and the hypocrisy she saw around her. She rapped about the pressure to conform, the weight of legacy, the struggle to find your voice amidst the ocean of others' expectations.
The crowd, captivated by her raw energy and undeniable talent, swayed to the beat, their cheers fueling her performance. She fed off their energy, her confidence growing with each verse. This was her stage, her microphone, her voice. And she wasn’t about to let go.
As the last beat faded, the room erupted in a deafening roar. Giselle stepped back from the microphone, her chest heaving, sweat dampening her brow, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. This, this feeling of exhilaration, of connection, of pure unadulterated passion – this was what she craved. This was her truth.
A hand on her shoulder startled her out of her reverie. It was Hana, a fellow rapper and Giselle’s closest confidante in this world. Hana, with her bright pink hair and nose ring, was the antithesis of Giselle’s carefully curated public persona, yet they were kindred spirits, drawn together by their shared love of hip-hop.
“Killed it as always, G,” Hana yelled over the din, flashing a thumbs-up. “You’re on fire tonight!”
“Thanks,” Giselle shouted back, her voice hoarse but her smile genuine. “The crowd’s really feeling it tonight.”
“They always feel it when you spit fire like that,” Hana said, her eyes twinkling with admiration. “You know, you could really make something out of this, G. You’re good. Better than good. You’re special.”
Giselle’s smile faltered slightly. “It’s just a hobby, Hana. You know I can’t…”
She trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence.
“Don’t tell me you’re buying into that crap again,” Hana said, her voice firm. “Don’t let them dim your light, G. You’re meant to shine.”
Before Giselle could respond, a figure emerged from the throng of people, making his way towards them. It was a young man, dressed in a sharp suit that seemed strangely out of place in the club. He had a kind face, but his eyes held a sharp intelligence that belied his youthful appearance.
“Excuse me,” he said, ... his voice a calm oasis amidst the club's thrumming energy. "Aeri Uchinaga?"
Giselle froze, the unfamiliar formality of her given name jarring in this space where she was known simply as "Giselle," the rapper. Hana, sensing her friend's unease, stepped forward protectively.
"Who's asking?" Hana's voice, usually laced with playful sarcasm, was sharp, wary.
The man offered a disarming smile, extending a hand. "My apologies for the intrusion. My name is Jinwoo, and I'm with SM Entertainment."
Giselle's breath hitched. SM Entertainment. One of the biggest names in K-Pop, known for producing some of the most popular idol groups in the world. What could they possibly want with her, here, in this underground club?
As if reading her mind, Jinwoo continued, his gaze steady, "I saw your performance. Your energy, your flow…it's impressive. We're looking for talented individuals for a new group we're putting together, and I think you'd be a perfect fit."
The words hung in the air, heavy with possibility, with a future Giselle had only dared to dream of. A future that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. Hana, her initial suspicion giving way to surprised excitement, squeezed Giselle's arm.
"G, this is..." Hana stammered, at a loss for words.
Giselle, still reeling from the unexpected proposition, struggled to find her voice. "A K-Pop group?" she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper. The thought seemed absurd, impossible. Her life was carefully orchestrated, her future meticulously planned, and it didn't involve singing and dancing on brightly lit stages. Or did it?
Jinwoo sensed her hesitation, his smile softening. "It's a unique concept," he explained, his voice taking on an air of confidentiality. "We're pushing boundaries, exploring new sounds, a new kind of performance. We need someone with your raw talent, your edge, your voice."
He reached into his jacket pocket, retrieving a sleek business card. "Think about it," he urged, pressing the card into her hand. "This could be your chance to show the world what you're capable of. What you're truly meant for."
With a final nod, he turned and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving Giselle and Hana standing in stunned silence, the air buzzing with the echo of his words and the weight of the opportunity he had presented.
Giselle stared down at the card in her hand, the company logo, a sleek, futuristic design, seeming to pulse with a life of its own. It was a key, she realized, a key to a door she’d always dreamed of opening but never dared to believe existed.
The beat throbbed on around them, a persistent reminder of the passion that had brought her to this moment. But as Giselle looked at Hana, a new rhythm, the exhilarating beat of possibility, began to pulse in her veins. Could this be her chance? Could she really dare to dream this big?
The answer, clear and strong, resonated within her, as undeniable as the rhythm of her own heart.
The pre-dawn light painted the Tokyo streets in shades of gray and lavender as Giselle crept back into her house, her movements honed by years of sneaking back in after late-night study sessions. Except, tonight, textbooks hadn't occupied her time.
She slipped off her boots, the scent of sweat and beer clinging to them a stark contrast to the subtle floral fragrance that permeated her home. As she tiptoed up the grand staircase, each step felt heavy, laden with the weight of her secret.
"Aeri?"
Her mother's voice, sharp and clear, sliced through the quiet like a shard of glass. Giselle froze, her heart plummeting to her stomach.
Busted.
She turned slowly, plastering on her most innocent smile, the one that had gotten her out of countless childhood scrapes. It faltered, however, under the intensity of her mother's gaze. Her mother, clad in a silk robe, her face devoid of its usual composure, stood in the hallway, her arms crossed, a storm brewing in her eyes.
"Okaa-san," Giselle began, her voice trembling slightly, "What are you doing up?"
Her mother’s gaze swept over Giselle, taking in her daughter’s dishevelled appearance, the lingering scent of the club, and the barely concealed excitement that shimmered beneath her facade of nonchalance.
“Don’t play coy with me, Aeri,” her mother said, her voice dangerously quiet. “Where have you been?”
Giselle considered feigning ignorance, concocting a story about a study session with friends. But she knew it would be futile. Her mother, despite her sheltered upbringing, was nobody's fool.
"I went out," Giselle admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Out?" her mother echoed, her voice rising in disbelief. "Out where? With whom? Aeri, it's four in the morning!"
Giselle looked away, unable to meet her mother's gaze. Shame, hot and uncomfortable, prickled at the back of her throat. She hated lying to her parents, hated the disappointment that clouded their faces whenever she deviated from the path they had so carefully laid out for her.
"It wasn't anything bad, Okaa-san, I promise," Giselle pleaded, her voice gaining a sliver of confidence. "I was with Hana, at a…at a poetry slam."
It wasn't a complete lie. There was poetry in the rhymes she spun, in the stories she told through her music. But she knew her mother would never understand, would never see the value in the gritty, underground world she found so intoxicating.
As expected, her mother's expression softened slightly, but the concern remained etched on her face. "A poetry slam?" she repeated, her tone skeptical. "Aeri, you know how I feel about these…distractions. You have responsibilities, expectations to live up to."
Giselle clenched her fists, her mother's words, though spoken with love, felt like a cage closing in around her. She longed to scream, to shout her truth, to tell her mother about the music that burned within her soul, about the opportunity that had presented itself, about the future she dared to dream of.
But the words remained trapped in her throat, silenced by the fear of disappointing her parents, of shattering their world.
So, instead, she offered a small, conciliatory nod. "I know, Okaa-san," she murmured, her voice laced with a weariness that belied her eighteen years. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
Her mother studied her for a long moment, her gaze searching Giselle's face as if trying to decipher a secret code. Finally, with a sigh of resignation, she nodded.
"See that it doesn't," she said, her voice laced with a weariness of her own. "Now, go to bed, Aeri. We have a lot to discuss in the morning."
Giselle retreated to her room. The business card, tucked away safely in her pocket, felt like a beacon of hope, a reminder that there was another world out there, a world where she could be free, a world she was determined to reach, no matter the cost.
----
The aroma of her mother’s breakfast usually brought Giselle a sense of comfort, a familiar rhythm to her day. But this morning, the scent of green tea and grilled fish did little to ease the knot of anxiety twisting in her stomach.
She sat across from her parents at the table, a battlefield disguised as a breakfast nook. Her father, hidden behind his newspaper, sipped his tea, his brow furrowed in concentration. He wasn't usually one for lengthy silences at the breakfast table.
Her mother, however, didn’t bother with such pretenses. Her gaze, sharp and unwavering, followed Giselle’s every move, silently demanding an explanation, an apology, a promise to conform.
Giselle poked at her food, her appetite vanished. The business card, tucked safely in her pocket, felt heavy, a tangible representation of the choice she needed to make. The time for half-truths and white lies was over. She had to tell them.
"There’s something I need to tell you," Giselle began, her voice barely a whisper, her throat constricting with nervous anticipation.
Her father lowered his newspaper, his eyebrows raised, concern etched on his face. Her mother remained silent, but her gaze intensified.
"Last night, at the…poetry slam," Giselle continued, hating the way the lie felt on her tongue, "I met someone."
Her mother's lips tightened, a hint of disapproval flickering across her features. “And who was this someone?” she asked, her tone clipped. “Another one of these…artistic friends of yours?”
Giselle took a deep breath, steeling herself for the storm she knew was coming. “He was a scout,” she said, the words tumbling out in a rush, “from SM Entertainment.”
The silence that descended upon the room was deafening. Her father’s teacup hovered in mid-air, forgotten. Her mother’s carefully controlled composure faltered, a flicker of genuine surprise momentarily replacing her mask of disapproval.
“SM Entertainment?” her father finally echoed. “The music agency? What would they want with you?”
Giselle straightened her back, drawing strength from the memory of the scout’s words, the weight of the opportunity he had presented. “They…they want me to audition,” she said, her voice gaining confidence. “For a new girl group they’re forming.”
Her mother’s facade finally crumbled. “A girl group?” she exclaimed, her voice laced with disbelief. “Aeri, this is absurd! You’re going to be a diplomat, like your father and I. This…this singing and dancing, it's frivolous. A phase.”
"It's not a phase, Okaa-san," Giselle countered. “This is what I want to do. It’s my dream.”
Her father, silent until now, finally set down his newspaper, his gaze steady as he met Giselle's eyes. "Aeri," he said, his voice surprisingly calm amidst the turmoil, "Your mother is right. This life…it's not easy. The competition, the scrutiny…it's a different world from the one we've raised you for."
"I know it won’t be easy, Otou-san," Giselle pleaded, her voice softening, "But I'm willing to work hard. I can do this. I need to do this."
She looked from her father to her mother, her heart pounding in her chest. The weight of their expectations, of their crafted plans for her future, felt suffocating. But beneath that weight, burning bright and strong, was the fire of her own ambition, her own yearning for something more.
The breakfast table became a battleground of words and emotions. Giselle's parents, their initial shock giving way to a desperate need to protect their daughter from what they saw as a dangerous, unpredictable world, launched into a campaign of persuasion.
They spoke of the sacrifices she’d have to make, the grueling training schedule, the relentless pressure of the K-Pop industry. They painted a picture of a life lived under a microscope, where privacy was a luxury and individuality was often sacrificed at the altar of a constructed public persona.
“Aeri, this life…it’s not for you,” her mother pleaded, her voice laced with a concern that bordered on desperation. “It’s a world of fleeting fame, of constant scrutiny. You’re not cut out for that kind of pressure.”
“Your mother is right,” her father said, his voice heavy with worry. “This industry…it chews people up and spits them out. You’re our daughter, Aeri. We can’t stand by and watch you throw your future away on a pipe dream.”
Their words, though well-intentioned, stung. Did they really have so little faith in her? Did they not see the fire that burned within her, the passion that fueled her every move when she stepped onto a stage, even the one in that club?
“It’s not a pipe dream, Otou-san,” Giselle countered, her voice trembling. “This is real. This is me.”
She reached into her pocket, retrieving the SM Entertainment business card, offering it to her parents as if it were a shield, a symbol of her defiance. “This is my chance,” she said, her voice gaining strength with each word. “My chance to prove myself, to show the world what I can do.”
Her parents exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them. Giselle held her breath, her heart pounding in her chest, a frantic prayer echoing in her ears.
Finally, her mother sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as if a great weight had settled upon them. She looked at Giselle, her gaze softening, a flicker of something akin to resignation, perhaps even begrudging admiration.
“Aeri,” her mother began, her voice softer now, “You’ve always been headstrong, determined to forge your own path, even as a child. We knew we couldn’t keep you in a gilded cage forever, no matter how hard we tried.”
Giselle’s heart soared.
Her father reached across the table, taking her mother’s hand in his, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles. “We want you to be happy, Aeri,” he said, his voice resonating with a father’s love. “Even if that happiness lies on a path we don’t fully understand.”
Tears welled up in Giselle’s eyes, hot and bright, blurring her vision. She had their blessing, hesitant and conditional as it may be. It was more than she had hoped for, a testament to the power of her dream, of the fire that burned too brightly to be extinguished.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I won’t let you down.”
Giselle clutched the phone to her ear, her heart hammering in her chest, a frantic counterpoint to the ringing tone. The business card, slightly crumpled from where she’d clutched it for hours, lay on her desk, the company logo seeming to pulsate with a life of its own.
After the tense truce, she’d retreated to her room, the weight of her parents’ reluctant blessing both exhilarating and terrifying. Now, alone in the sanctuary of her room, surrounded by the trappings of the life she was about to leave behind, she was about to take the next step, a step into the unknown.
The ringing stopped. “SM Entertainment, how may I direct your call?”
“Um, yes,” Giselle stammered, her carefully rehearsed introduction flying out the window. “My name is Aeri Uchinaga. Jinwoo Han gave me this number. He said to call about…”
She trailed off, suddenly self-conscious. What if Jinwoo had forgotten about their encounter at the club? What if this whole thing had been a cruel tease, a fleeting glimpse of a future that was never meant to be?
As if sensing her doubt, the voice on the other end softened. “Ah, yes, Miss Uchinaga. Mr. Han has been expecting your call. Congratulations, you’ve been shortlisted for the next stage of auditions.”
Relief, sweet and heady, washed over Giselle, leaving her momentarily speechless. She’d done it. She’d taken the first hurdle, defied her parents’ doubts, and stepped onto a path that could lead her to her dreams.
“The next stage will be held in Seoul,” the voice continued, bringing Giselle back to the present. “You’ll need to be here in three days. Can you make those arrangements?”
Three days?
Giselle’s mind raced. Three days to pack, to say goodbye to her friends, to prepare herself for…for whatever awaited her in Seoul. It felt both impossibly soon and a lifetime away.
“Yes,” she breathed, her voice trembling with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. “Yes, I can be there.”
“Excellent,” the voice said, a hint of warmth seeping through the professional veneer. “We’ll send you the flight details and accommodation information via email. Please make sure your affairs are in order, Miss Uchinaga. Once you arrive in Seoul, your life will become our curriculum.”
The line went dead, leaving Giselle staring at the phone in her hand. Three days. Three days until her life would change forever.
She thought of her parents, their faces etched with concern and reluctant acceptance. She thought of Hana, her eyes bright with encouragement and vicarious excitement. She thought of the stage, the microphone, the music that pulsed within her soul, urging her forward.
Three days. It wasn’t a lot of time, but it was enough. Enough to say her goodbyes, to gather her courage, to prepare herself for the most exhilarating, terrifying, and potentially life-changing journey of her life. The countdown had begun.
------
The air hung thick, the weight of imminent departure pressing down on the Uchinaga family as Giselle wheeled her suitcase down the grand staircase. It wasn't the largest suitcase she owned, not by far, but it felt heavier than any she'd carried before.
Her mother, stood by the entrance, her face carefully neutral. Her father, seemed smaller somehow, his usual cheer dimmed by a quiet sadness.
"Aeri," her mother began, her voice carefully measured, "Are you sure about this? This path…it's not too late to reconsider."
Giselle paused at the foot of the stairs, her hand tightening on the handle of her suitcase. "Okaa-san, we've talked about this. This isn't just some whim. It's what I want to do."
Her father cleared his throat, stepping forward. "Aeri, your mother is right. This life…it's not easy. The sacrifices…" His voice cracked, and he looked away, unable to finish the sentence.
Giselle's heart ached. She knew her parents meant well, that their concerns stemmed from a place of love. They'd envisioned a different future for her, one filled with diplomacy dinners and international conferences, not flashing lights and screaming fans.
"I know it won't be easy," Giselle said, her voice softening. "But I'm willing to work hard. I want to show you, show everyone, that I can do this."
She met her mother's gaze, a silent plea for understanding. For a moment, a flicker of something akin to pride flashed in her mother's eyes, quickly masked by her usual stoicism.
"Just promise me you'll be careful," her mother said. "And promise me you won't forget who you are, Aeri."
Giselle smiled, a genuine smile that reached her eyes. "Never, Okaa-san. I'll make you proud."
She stepped forward, embracing her mother in a hug. Her mother stiffened momentarily before returning the embrace.
Her father pulled her into a hug next, his grip tight. "You have your grandmother's spirit," he whispered into her hair. "She would have understood."
Giselle pulled back, her heart full.
She turned towards the door, the pre-dawn light painting the world outside in warm hues. Taking a deep breath, Giselle stepped out, leaving behind the only life she had ever known. The path ahead was uncertain, a journey into the unknown, but with each step, she could feel the rhythm of her own beat guiding her forward.