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Chapter Text

The bright lights of Haneda International Airport showed overhead, casting everything in a white glow that made Sakuya feel like he was already somewhere unreal, somewhere that wasn't home. He stood with his family near the departure gate, his single black suitcase at his feet, and tried very hard to keep his hands still.

His mother was crying. She'd been crying on and off since they left the house that morning, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief that had long since become useless. His father stood beside her with one hand on her shoulder as if showing emotion would somehow make this harder than it already was. His sister clinging tightly to his waist.

"You'll call us when you land," his mother said for the third time. It wasn't a question.

"I'll call," Sakuya promised, and he hated how his voice came out thinner than he wanted, almost wavering. He was fourteen years old. He was about to move to a foreign country to train as an idol. He couldn't afford to sound like a child.

But he felt like one. Standing there in the airport with his family, wearing the new clothes his mother had insisted on buying him for the trip, jeans and A-teen white t-shirt that somehow felt too new. Sakuya felt very, very young.

"And you'll eat properly," his mother continued, reaching out to adjust his collar even though it didn't need adjusting. "Korean food is different, but you'll get used to it. Don't just eat bread all the time. Make sure you eat vegetables-"

"Mom." Sakuya caught her hand gently. "I know."

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and her face crumpled. "You're so young," she whispered. "Too young to be going so far away."

Sakuya's throat tightened. He wanted to tell her that he didn't have to go, that he could stay, that passing the audition didn't mean he had to actually get on the plane. The thought had been circling his mind all morning like a vulture: You can still back out. You can still stay home.

But then he remembered that it was his mother who had always told him: if you’re passionate about something, chase it. K-pop had been that passion, the thing that made his chest tighten with longing. His friends from school had laughed while his sister shoved him toward the audition venue. “Just do it,” She had said. “I dare you. You’re always saying you could be an idol if you wanted to. Prove it.”

It had been a joke. The whole thing had been a joke. But then he had passed.

The email had come weeks later, very official and very real, and suddenly the joke wasn't funny anymore. Suddenly there were video progress updates, contracts and plane tickets and his mother crying in the kitchen while his father made phone calls to make sure everything was legitimate.

"I'll be okay," Sakuya said now, and he squeezed his mother's hand even though his own was starting to tremble. "I promise."

His father cleared his throat. "You'll make us proud," he said, and it sounded like a command and a plea all at once. "Work hard. Don't give up when things get difficult."

"I won't," Sakuya said automatically, but the words felt hollow. He didn't know if he could keep that promise. He didn't know if he wanted to.

The intercom spoke overhead, announcing boarding for his flight in Japanese. Sakuya's stomach lurched.

"That's you," his father said unnecessarily.

Sakuya nodded. He hugged his sister first, feeling her shake against him as she tried to hold back sobs. She grabbed his hand, her fingers trembling, and slipped something into his palm: a pink hair tie, warm from her wrist. “So you don’t forget me,” she said through hiccupping sobs.

His chest tightened. He bent down slightly, slipping the hair tie snug around his wrist. “I won’t,” he promised softly. Then, with one last squeeze of her hand, he turned toward his father, who gripped him tightly and said nothing. When they finally let go, Sakuya grabbed his suitcase and turned toward the gate before he could change his mind.

He made it five steps before his hands started shaking visibly.

He made it ten steps before he had to stop and take a deep breath.

He made it to the gate agent and handed over his boarding pass, and his hands were trembling so badly that he nearly dropped it.

"First time flying alone?" the agent asked kindly in Japanese, and Sakuya could only nod because he didn't trust his voice. She smiled at him, the kind of smile adults gave children when they were trying to be encouraging, and waved him through.

The jetway felt impossibly long. Each step took him farther from everything he knew, everything familiar and safe. By the time he reached the plane and found his seat, window seat 39A, he'd memorized it from looking at his boarding pass obsessively for the past week, his vision was starting to blur at the edges.

He sat down and immediately pressed his face to the window, staring out at the tarmac below. If he didn't think too hard about it, he could almost pretend this wasn't happening. The careful control he'd been maintaining all morning shattered like glass. His vision blurred, his breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, hot tears were spilling down his cheeks.

He turned his face harder toward the window, desperate to hide it, but his shoulders were shaking and his breath was coming in quiet, hitching gasps that he couldn't suppress. This was humiliating. This was pathetic. He was crying like a child, and he couldn't stop, couldn't pull himself together, couldn't-

But there was no one there to see. No one in the seat beside him. Just empty space.

So he gave up. He buried his face in his hands and cried, really cried, for the first time since he'd gotten the acceptance email. He cried for his mother's tears and his father's stoic goodbye. He cried for his sister who had lost her protection. He cried because he was terrified and alone and he didn't know if he was strong enough for what was coming.

When Sakuya finally managed to get himself under control, his face felt hot and swollen, his eyes aching. He wiped at them roughly with the back of his hand and stared down at his lap.

The rest of the flight passed in a blur. He ate the mediocre airplane food without tasting it. He dozed off in fits and starts, waking each time feeling more disoriented than before.

When the captain announced their descent into Incheon International Airport, Sakuya's hands had started shaking again: a mix of excitement and fear.

The airport was massive and overwhelming, all signs in Korean and English but nothing in Japanese. Sakuya felt immediately lost. He was supposed to meet someone: a manager, his mother had said. Someone from the company. He scanned the crowd near baggage claim, looking for anyone holding a sign.

He found his suitcase circling on the carousel and then stood near the exit scanning the crowd. It took a few minutes before he spotted it: a man in his thirties, dressed casually in jeans and an SM company jacket, holding a placard that read "FUJINAGA SAKUYA" in both English and Japanese.

Sakuya approached carefully. The manager looked up and his expression shifted from neutral to professionally welcoming. "Fujinaga-kun?" He spoke in Japanese with a slight accent. "Welcome to Korea. I'm Manager Kim. I'll be taking you to your temporary housing and getting you settled in the trainee dorms."

Sakuya bowed deeply. "Thank you for meeting me."

"Do you have all your luggage?"

"Yes."

They made their way through the airport and out into the early evening air. It was cooler than Sakuya had expected, a crisp breeze that carried unfamiliar smells: city smells, mixed with something he couldn't quite identify. The sky was grey, threatening rain.

The van was black and nondescript. Manager Kim loaded Sakuya's suitcase into the back while he climbed into the middle row of seats. As soon as they were buckled in and the van pulled away from the curb, reality hit him again with renewed force.

He was in Korea. He was really, truly in Korea.

Manager Kim glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "You'll have language lessons as part of your training. Most of our foreign trainees become fluent within a year or two."

Sakuya nodded, unsure what to say.

"Your temporary dorm is about thirty minutes from here," Manager Kim continued. "You'll be sharing with some of the other Japanese trainees. There's a convenience store on the first floor and another manager living separately in the building. Someone will meet you tomorrow morning to go over your schedule."

"Tomorrow?" The word came out smaller than Sakuya intended.

"The sooner you begin, the better. Time is crucial right now."

Sakuya's stomach churned. He'd known this would be intense, but somehow he'd imagined he'd have at least a day or two to adjust. To catch their breath. To process the massive life change he'd just undergone.

But of course not. This wasn't a vacation. This was work.

The drive stretched on. Sakuya watched the city materialize around them. Seoul was enormous, bigger than anywhere he'd been before, all towering apartments and glittering signs and cars everywhere. It was overwhelming. It was too much.

By the time they pulled up to a tall, narrow building wedged between two others in a densely packed neighborhood, exhaustion had settled deep in his bones.

"We're here," Manager Kim announced, killing the engine.

The building didn't look like much from the outside: grey concrete, a convenience store on the ground floor with a flickering sign, a door beside it that presumably led to the upper floors. But this was going to be home. At least for a while.

Manager Kim helped him carry his suitcase up three flights of stairs (no elevator, Sakuya noted with dismay) to a door marked 3B. He unlocked it and gestured him inside.

The dorm was small. Brutally small. One main room with a tiny kitchenette in the corner, a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in, and two doors leading to what Sakuya assumed were bedrooms. The walls were white, the floor was wooden, and the whole place smelled faintly of cleaning products. It was empty, the other trainees were clearly still out.

"It's not much," Manager Kim admitted, "but it's clean and close to the company building. You'll spend most of your time practicing anyway." He handed Sakuya a key. "Try to get some rest tonight. Someone will collect you at seven tomorrow morning."

Seven. In the morning. After flying all day.

"Thank you," Sakuya managed.

Manager Kim nodded, gave him a few more instructions about not making too much noise and keeping the place clean, and then left. The door clicked shut behind him, and suddenly Sakuya was alone in this strange, small space that was supposed to be home.

For a long moment, he didn't move.

Then he dragged his suitcase toward the bedrooms. Both rooms were tiny, barely bigger than closets, each containing two sets of bunk beds and a standing wardrobe. The windows were small and looked out onto the side of another building about two feet away.

In the first room, both bottom bunks were clearly occupied. Blankets, phone chargers, clothes. Only one top bunk was empty but made up: waiting.

In the second room, it was a similar situation except all the beds were occupied. 

Sakuya chose the first room arbitrarily and went inside, closing the door behind him. Then he climbed up to the top bunk, sat on the edge of the thin mattress, and stared at the wall.

This was his life now. This tiny room in this tiny dorm in this massive city in this foreign country. This was real. This was happening.

He sat there for a while. Long enough for his legs to go numb from dangling over the edge of the bed. Long enough for the light outside the small window to shift from grey to dark.

That's when it hit him.

The crying came suddenly, without warning. One moment he was sitting there numbly, and the next his vision was blurring and his breath was catching in his throat. He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to stop it, but that only made it worse.

He thought about his mother at the airport. About his room back home that wasn't his room anymore. About how he'd chosen this, wanted this, and now that he had it he felt like he was drowning.

The sobs were quiet but they shook his whole body. He curled forward, forehead nearly touching his knees, and let it happen. There was no one to see him. No one to tell him to pull himself together.

It lasted maybe ten minutes. Maybe longer. When it finally subsided, he sat there feeling hollowed out and exhausted, his face hot and damp.

Then he heard it, the sound of the front door opening. Voices in the hallway. Multiple people, speaking Japanese, their words overlapping and indistinct. The other trainees were back.

Sakuya froze, holding his breath, hoping they wouldn't come into his room. But one of them did, one of his roommates probably, and then kept walking past to the bathroom. Running water. More voices from the common area.

"Did another trainee arrive?" someone asked.

"Yeah, Manager Kim mentioned it earlier," another voice responded. "From Japan. Really young, I think."

"How young?"

"Thirteen? Maybe fourteen?"

There was a pause. "Like Ryo?"

"Yeah. Someone should probably check on him. Make sure he's okay."

"Send Ryo. They're the same age, right?"

"I don't know if that's–Ryo's barely been here two days himself."

"Exactly. He'll get it."

A longer pause, then a quieter voice, uncertain. "I guess I could... I mean, if you think I should?"

"You'll be fine. Just say hi. You wanted a friend your age anyway."

"Yeah, but–okay. Okay, I'll go."

Footsteps approached his door, slower and more hesitant than Sakuya expected. A soft knock.

"Um. Hello?" The voice was quiet, almost apologetic. "Are you... are you awake?"

Sakuya climbed down from the bunk and wiped his face quickly, though he knew it was obvious he'd been crying. He opened the door.

The boy standing there was probably around his age, with bright eyes that looked nervous despite his attempt at a smile. His hair was a mess and he was still wearing oversized practice clothes.. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Oh," the boy said, his expression immediately shifting to concern when he saw Sakuya's face. "I'm–sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. The others said I should–I'm Ryo. "

"Sakuya," he managed.

"Do you need anything? Water or something?"

Before Sakuya could answer, another trainee appeared behind Ryo, older, maybe sixteen or seventeen, with an expression that was fond but watchful.

"Everything okay?" The older trainee looked between them. "I'm Aito. Ryo, you're doing fine. Don't look so nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Ryo said, which would have been more convincing if his voice hadn't cracked slightly.

Aito's expression softened. "Fujinaga-kun, if you need anything tonight, we're all just down the hall. And Ryo's in the other room, so you've got someone your age around. You two can figure things out together."

"The instant ramen is in the left cabinet," Ryo added quietly, then seemed to gain a bit of confidence. "If you're hungry. And there's extra blankets in the closet. The shower's kind of weird too, you have to turn the handle all the way left for hot water."

"Thanks, Ryo," Aito said. "Come on, let's let him rest."

Ryo nodded, and gave Sakuya an awkward little wave. "Um. See you tomorrow? We start training at the same time, I think."

"Okay," Sakuya said.

After they left, he could hear their voices fading down the hall.

"Did I do okay?"

"You did great. See? Not so scary."

"He looked really sad though."

"He just got here. Give it time. You'll both settle in."

Sakuya closed the door and stood there for a moment, processing.

Ryo had only been here two days. He was probably just as lost as Sakuya was, just as scared. And somehow that made it feel slightly less overwhelming.

He climbed back up to his bunk and lay down, staring at the ceiling. Through the wall, he could hear muffled sounds of the other trainees.

He tried to sleep. He really did. But every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was his mother's face at the airport, his father's stiff wave, his sister clinging to his arm. He rolled onto his side, then his back, then his other side. The mattress was thin and unfamiliar.

His roommates came in eventually, two older trainees who offered him quiet greetings in Japanese before climbing into their bunks. One of them asked if he needed anything. Sakuya said no. They exchanged a few words between themselves, something about tomorrow's schedule, and then the lights went out.

The room fell into darkness. The sounds of the dorm gradually quieted, shower running, then stopping. Muffled voices through walls, then silence. Someone's alarm being set. The creak of bed frames as people settled in.

Sakuya lay there in the dark, listening to his roommates' breathing even out into sleep.

An hour passed. Maybe more. Maybe less. He wasn't keeping track.

The weight of the day pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. He couldn't do this alone. Not tonight.

Sakuya climbed down from the bunk as quietly as he could, careful not to wake his roommates. He stood in the dark hallway for a moment, his heart pounding. This was stupid. This was embarrassing. Ryo barely knew him.

But he couldn't go back to that empty bunk and stare at the ceiling for another hour.

He walked to the other bedroom door and opened it slowly and quietly, so softly he almost hoped no one would hear. He didn't want to wake the other trainees, didn't want anyone else to see him like this.

The room was dark except for the glow of a phone screen. Ryo was lying on the top bunk in pajamas scrolling through something. He must have heard the door because he looked up, squinting in the darkness.

Sakuya stood there for a moment, frozen. He could still leave. Could still pretend he'd gotten lost looking for the bathroom or something.

But then Ryo sat up slightly, his expression shifting from confused to concerned. He lowered his phone, the light casting shadows across his face.

"Sakuya?" he whispered. "You okay?"

Sakuya shook his head. He couldn't get words out.

Ryo glanced toward his roommates' bunks, both occupied, both still, then back at Sakuya. He seemed to understand the need for quiet. He waved him over to ask what's wrong.

Sakuya meant to say something. Meant to explain himself, to say he was fine, just wanted to ask something stupid, never mind, forget it.

Instead what came out, barely above a whisper, was: "Can I sleep here tonight?"

Ryo blinked. "In my room?"

"In your bed." The words felt ridiculous as soon as he said them. "Just for tonight. I don't-" He stopped, trying to find an explanation that made sense. "I don't want to be alone."

There was a beat of silence. Sakuya waited for Ryo to laugh, or make a joke, or ask what was wrong with him.

Instead, Ryo just scooted over toward the wall. "Yeah, okay. There's room."

"Okay." Sakuya stood there for another second, then climbed up the ladder toward the bed. It was narrow, clearly meant for one person, and they had to lie on their sides to fit. The mattress dipped under their combined weight.

"Can we talk?" Sakuya whispered.

"Sure.” a moment pass

"Is this about your family?" Ryo asked quietly.

Sakuya stared at the wall. "I don't know."

"It's okay if it is."

"I don't know what it's about." His voice came out rough, still thick from crying. 

"It's okay." Ryo was quiet for a moment. "I get it."

Time passed. Sakuya wasn't sure how much. Could have been ten minutes. Could have been an hour. The darkness made it impossible to tell, and neither of them moved to check their phones. 

Sakuya's eyes had adjusted to the dark. He could make out the shape of the window, the outline of the wardrobe, the edge of the bunk above them. His breathing had steadied. The tightness in his chest had loosened, just a little.

He didn't realize he'd been lying there so long until one of Ryo's roommates shifted in their sleep, the bed frame creaking softly.

"Thank you," Sakuya said after a while.

"It's just a bed."

"Still."

"Yeah," Ryo said. "Anytime."

Sakuya didn't fall asleep for a long time. He lay there in the dark, listening to Ryo's breathing slowly even out into sleep, and tried to imagine a future where this tiny room felt like home. Where this foreign city became familiar. Where he stood on a stage and performed for thousands of people and felt like he deserved to be there.

He couldn't quite picture it.

But for the first time since deciding to get on that plane, he thought maybe, just maybe, he wanted to try.

Outside the window, Seoul glittered in the night, indifferent to the two boys who had just arrived. Indifferent to their fears and hopes and promises. The city was vast and the future was uncertain and the path ahead was terrifying.

And that, Sakuya thought as sleep finally began to pull him under, would have to be enough.

恋焦がれる

The alarm went off at six thirty.

Sakuya woke to unfamiliar sounds, Ryo's phone blaring some upbeat K-pop song from the next room, the boy himself groaning and fumbling to turn it off. But there were other sounds too. Footsteps in the hallway. Running water. Voices speaking rapid Japanese that weren't Ryo's.

For a disorienting moment, Sakuya didn't know where he was. The ceiling was wrong. The sounds were wrong. Everything was-

Korea. He was in Korea.

He climbed down from the top bunk carefully, trying not to make too much noise. Below him, one of Ryo’s roommates was already awake, sitting on the edge of his bed and scrolling through his phone. He glanced up when Sakuya's feet hit the floor.

"Morning," the boy said in Japanese. He looked a few years older, maybe nineteen or twenty.

"Morning," Sakuya replied.

"You're one of the new ones, right? From yesterday?"

"Yeah."

The boy nodded. "Bathroom's probably occupied. There's like eight of us sharing one." He said it matter of factly, then went back to his phone.

Sakuya grabbed his towel and opened the door. The hallway was busier than he expected, trainees moving between rooms, someone brushing their teeth in the kitchen sink because the bathroom was indeed occupied. He recognized Ryo's voice coming from one of the rooms, talking to someone in enthusiastic but broken sentences.

A trainee passed him in the hall, gave him a quick nod. "New?"

"Yeah."

"Good luck today." He kept walking.

Sakuya waited his turn for the bathroom, standing awkwardly near the door while two other trainees had a conversation around him in Japanese. They didn't exclude him exactly, but they didn't include him either. They were talking about some vocal coach, someone named teacher Han (?)  who apparently "didn't accept excuses."

When the bathroom finally opened, Sakuya slipped inside. He brushed his teeth and washed his face in silence, staring at his reflection. He looked exhausted; he had shadows under his eyes and his hair was a mess. He looked like someone who'd cried themselves to sleep and then barely slept at all.

He looked exactly how he felt.

By the time he was dressed, jeans and a hoodie because he'd seen the others wearing similar, Ryo had appeared in his doorway.

"Ready?" Ryo asked. He looked slightly more put together than Sakuya felt, but not by much. "The manager is here. He's taking all of us to the building."

"All of us?"

"Yeah, there's like-" Ryo glanced down the hall and counted under his breath. "Six others? I think we're the only new ones right now. Well, the only ones in this dorm."

They gathered near the entrance with the others. Everyone looked tired but purposeful, like they'd done this routine before, which Sakuya realized they had. He was the only brand new one. And somewhat Ryo.

The manager stood by the door with her clipboard, doing a headcount.

The walk to the company building was only ten minutes, but it felt longer. The eight of them moved as a loose cluster, some of the older trainees talking amongst themselves about schedules and teachers. Ryo walked beside Sakuya, quiet but present. 

The company building was sleek and modern, all glass and steel, with the company logo emblazoned on the front. Inside, it was even more impressive, marble floors, walls covered in photos of their senior artists, awards in glass cases. This was real. This was a real company with real idols who had real success.

They walked to an elevator, up to the fifth floor, down a hallway lined with practice rooms. Music leaked from behind closed doors, the thump of bass, someone counting in Korean, the squeak of shoes on wood floors.

"Fujinaga-kun," The manager said, stopping in front of a door marked "Practice Room 3A." "Your assessment starts now. The instructors are waiting inside."

Sakuya's stomach dropped. "Now?"

"Yes. Don't be nervous, they just want to see your current skill level." He checked his clipboard. "We saw the videos you would send but we just want to see it in person. The rest of you, Practice Room 1B. Hirose-kun, you'll join them for morning practice since you've already been assessed."

Ryo gave Sakuya an encouraging look before following the others down the hall. Then he was gone, and Sakuya was alone in front of the door.

Sakuya knocked.

"Come in," a voice called in Korean.

Inside, the practice room was exactly what he'd expected: mirrored walls, wooden floor, a sound system in the corner. Sitting at a table were three people: an older man in a suit, a woman with kind eyes, and a younger man with a dancer's build.

"Fujinaga Sakuya," the older man said, reading from a paper. “We'll be evaluating your current abilities today."

"Hello," Sakuya managed, bowing.

"Let's start with dance," the guy with the dancer's build said, standing. "I'm going to teach you a short routine. Eight counts, basic movements. Watch carefully."

He demonstrated the choreography once, his movements sharp and precise. Sakuya watched, trying to commit it to memory, but his exhausted brain struggled to keep up.

"Your turn," he said.

Sakuya moved to the center of the room. The mirrors reflected infinite versions of himself, all looking equally lost.

He attempted the routine. His limbs felt disconnected from his body. His timing was off. He stumbled on the fourth count and had to restart.

"Again," Instructor Choi said.

Sakuya did it again. It wasn't better.

"Again."

And again. And again. Five times total, until Sakuya's legs were shaking and his lungs were burning and sweat was dripping down his back.

"Stop." The man made notes on his clipboard. "Your body awareness is very poor. You're thinking too much instead of feeling the music. Your balance needs work. Your flexibility needs work. Everything needs work." He said it not cruel, but not kind either. "You'll be placed in the beginner dance group. Morning sessions, six days a week."

Next was vocals. They had him warm up briefly, then perform a song of his choice.

Sakuya chose a ballad, something simple. He closed his eyes and sang.

"Your tone has potential," The same man said, making notes. "But your technique needs significant development. Your breath support is weak, your pitch control is inconsistent, and you're straining on higher notes. You'll start with basic technique classes. Three times per week to start."

The woman spoke up. "How is your Korean?"

"I don't know any Korean," Sakuya said.

"We'll arrange a tutor. You'll have language lessons every afternoon, one hour of grammar, one hour of conversation practice. Korean fluency is non-negotiable." She made a final note. "Your schedule will be provided by the end of the day. Report to Practice Room 1B tomorrow morning at seven AM. Dismissed."

Sakuya bowed and left, his whole body trembling.

In the hallway, he sagged against the wall. That had been brutal. They'd laid out every single one of his inadequacies in clinical detail. 

"Sakuya?"

He looked up to find Ryo jogging down the hallway toward him, slightly out of breath.

"How did it go?" Ryo asked.

"Terrible," Sakuya said flatly. "They said I need to work on everything. Dance, singing, Korean. Everything."

"They told me the same thing a few days ago." Ryo leaned against the wall beside him. "I think that's just how assessments are. They're supposed to show you what you need to improve."

"There's nothing I don't need to improve."

"That just means you have a clear path forward." Ryo nudged his shoulder. "Come on. Let's get lunch. The cafeteria here is actually pretty good, and we have a break before afternoon practice."

They found the cafeteria on the second floor, a bright, clean space with tables full of trainees. Some were Korean, some Japanese, a few speaking languages Sakuya didn't recognize. Everyone looked focused, purposeful, like they knew exactly what they were doing.

Sakuya felt like an imposter.

They got food: bread, soup and meat before finding a table near the window. Ryo chatted about his morning practice, about the dance instructor who'd corrected his posture seventeen times, about the vocal exercise that made his throat hurt. He made it sound almost funny, like a challenge rather than a failure.

Sakuya picked at his food and tried to absorb even a fraction of Ryo's optimism.

"Oh," Ryo said suddenly. "I forgot to tell you. They're assigning you a Korean tutor, right? Mine is really nice. Her name is Teacher Jung. She's patient.”

"They said I'd have lessons every afternoon."

"Yeah, me too. We might have the same teacher then." Ryo grinned. "We're already doing things together."

After lunch,the manager found them and handed Sakuya a printed schedule. It was dense, every hour from seven AM to nine PM accounted for. Morning dance practice. Vocal technique. Korean grammar. Conversation practice. Afternoon dance. Physical training. Self practice time.

"Your Korean tutor is Teacher Jung," Coordinator Lee said. "She's waiting for you in Study Room 2C. Third floor."

Sakuya found the study room, small, quiet, with a table and two chairs. Teacher Jung was young, maybe mid twenties, with a warm smile.

"Fujinaga-kun," she said in Japanese. "Nice to meet you. I'm Teacher Jung. I'll be helping you learn Korean." She gestured to the chair across from her. "Don't look so nervous. Everyone starts from zero."

The lesson was overwhelming. Teacher Jung taught him the alphabet: Hangul, she called it, showing him how to write the characters, how to pronounce them. The shapes swam before his eyes. The sounds all blurred together. By the end of the hour, Sakuya had a headache and could barely remember how to write his own name in Korean.

"Good first lesson," Teacher Jung said, clearly lying. "Practice these characters tonight. We'll review them tomorrow."

Sakuya stumbled back to the practice rooms, where he was supposed to have self practice time. 

He practiced until nine PM, when the same manager came to collect him and the other trainees sharing the room. The walk back to the dorm was quiet, many of them too exhausted to talk. Sakuya's body ached. His brain felt like mush. His throat was raw from singing.

Back at the dorm, the other trainees were already settling in. Aito asked how their first day went. Ryo answered enthusiastically. Sakuya just nodded and retreated to his room.

He climbed up to his bunk and stared at the ceiling. Through the wall, he could hear Ryo talking to his roommates, his voice still bright despite the long day.

Sakuya didn't know how he did it. Didn't know how anyone did it.

He pulled out the Korean practice sheets Teacher Jung had given him and stared at the characters. They looked like abstract art. Meaningless shapes that were supposed to become a language he could speak and read and understand.

It felt impossible.

His phone buzzed, a message from his mother asking how his first day went.

Sakuya stared at it for a long time before typing back: "Good. Everything's fine."

He wasn't sure who he was lying to more, her or himself.

So the first week was hell.

There was no other word for it. He started sleeping with Ryo after the first night and couldn’t stop yet. He just didn't feel adjusted yet. Therefore, Sakuya woke each morning at six thirty to Ryo's alarm, dragged himself through getting ready, and arrived at the company building by seven AM feeling like he'd barely slept. Which was accurate, he rarely managed more than five or six hours before his brain started spiraling with anxiety about everything he was doing wrong.

The days blurred together into an exhausting routine: vocal lessons from seven to nine, dance practice from nine to twelve, lunch break (barely enough time to eat), Korean language lessons from one to three, more dance practice from three to six, then "self-practice time" until nine PM.

Except self practice time wasn't really optional. Everyone stayed late, pushing themselves, trying to improve, trying to be better than the trainee next to them. Because that's what this was, Sakuya realized quickly: a competition. They were all competing for limited spots in a debut group that might not even form for years.

The other trainees were both better and worse than he'd expected. Better because most of them had been training for months and years before he arrived, giving them a technical advantage he couldn't match. Worse because they were just kids, like him, exhausted and homesick and struggling under the pressure.

There were around a quarter Japanese trainees total, including him and Ryo. The others ranged from ages twelve to twenties, all of them navigating the same challenges of language barriers and cultural adjustment. Some were kind, offering help with Korean phrases or sharing food during breaks. Others were competitive to the point of coldness, seeing every interaction as a test.

By Friday of that first week, Sakuya was ready to collapse.

He'd messed up the choreography in dance practice so badly that Instructor Choi had made him repeat it alone in front of everyone. He'd cracked on a high note during vocal lessons, earning a sharp reprimand from Coach Min. And in Korean class, he'd mixed up two similar-sounding words and accidentally told the teacher that he wanted to "eat a house" instead of "go to a house."

When nine pm finally came and they were dismissed, Sakuya walked back to the dorm in silence. Ryo chattered beside him about something one of the other trainees had said, but Sakuya barely heard it. He was too busy replaying every mistake, every failure, every moment of inadequacy from the day.

Back in the dorm, he collapsed onto his bed fully clothed.

"You okay?" Ryo asked, kicking off his shoes.

"Fine," Sakuya lied.

"You don't look fine."

"I'm just tired."

Ryo was quiet for a moment. Then he sat down on the couch, facing Sakuya. "You know, you're being really hard on yourself."

"I'm being realistic."

"Look," Ryo said, standing up. "We're both struggling. But we're struggling together, which means we can help each other. You're good at things I'm bad at. I'm good at things you're bad at. That's why we're going to make it."

"You can't know that."

"I can't know for sure," Ryo admitted. "But I believe it. And I think you should try believing it too."

"Okay," he said quietly.

"Okay?" Ryo's face brightened.

"Okay. I'll try."

"Good." Ryo grinned and walked to his room. "I'm taking a shower. You should eat something, you barely touched your lunch."

After Ryo disappeared into the bathroom, Sakuya remained on the couch, staring at the ceiling. His body ached. His voice was raw. His feet had blisters from the new dance shoes that hadn't broken in yet.

The second week was marginally better, if only because Sakuya was too exhausted to overthink as much.

His body adapted to the brutal schedule through sheer necessity. He learned to survive on less sleep, to grab food whenever there was a spare moment, to stretch his sore muscles in between lessons. The constant ache became normal. 

Dance practice was still his weakest area, but he started staying later than everyone else to practice the choreography in an empty studio. Ryo often stayed with him, the two of them running through routines until their legs shook and they could barely stand.

During one of these late night sessions, Sakuya finally nailed a sequence he'd been struggling with all week. It wasn't perfect, but it was clean, his body hit the right positions at the right times, and he felt for the first time like maybe he understood what Instructor Choi had been trying to teach him.

"Yes!" Ryo cheered from where he'd been watching. "That was so good! Do it again!"

Sakuya did it again. And again. By the third time, muscle memory was starting to kick in, his body learning the movements in a way his brain hadn't been able to consciously process.

When they finally left the practice room that night, it was nearly eleven PM. They were both drenched in sweat, barely able to walk, but Sakuya felt something he hadn't felt since arriving in Korea: pride.

Small, fragile, easily crushed pride, but pride nonetheless.

"See?" Ryo said as they trudged back to the dorm. "I told you that you could do it."

"It's one sequence," Sakuya protested. "That doesn't mean-"

"It means you're improving. Which means you can improve more. Which means you're going to be great." Ryo bumped his shoulder against Sakuya's. "I'm always right about these things."

"You're not always right."

"Name one time I was wrong."

Sakuya thought about it. "You said the convenience store would have Japanese curry. They didn't."

"That was a prediction, not a fact. Predictions can be wrong without me being wrong about facts."

Despite his exhaustion, Sakuya felt his lips twitch. "That doesn't even make sense."

"Makes perfect sense," Ryo said cheerfully.

They made it back to the dorm and took turns showering, then collapsed into their own beds. Sakuya expected to fall asleep immediately, he'd been running on fumes for hours.

But instead, he lay there in the darkness and felt something shift in his chest.

He was grateful for Ryo. 

For his relentless optimism, his genuine belief that they would make it, his presence that made this entire ordeal bearable. Without Ryo, Sakuya wasn't sure he would have lasted past the first week. He would have given up, gone home, and admitted defeat.

Chapter Text

Seven months later, life had settled into a new rhythm.

Training was still brutal, eight to twelve hours a day, seven days a week, but Sakuya's body had adapted. But he was noticeably improving.

His dancing had evolved from clumsy to genuine skill. He could pick up choreography in half the time it used to take him. His body had developed that dancer's awareness, how to control every movement, how to make even the smallest gesture intentional.

His vocals were stronger too. Their vocal coach still corrected him regularly, but the corrections were refinements now rather than fundamental issues. His range had expanded, his tone had developed character, and he'd found a confidence in his delivery.

And his Korean, while far from fluent, was functional. He could hold conversations with instructors, understand most of what was said in classes, even crack the occasional joke that landed with the other trainees.

He was becoming someone new. Someone capable. Someone who might actually deserve to be here.

But the announcement came on a Friday afternoon, just as everyone was settling into the weekend routine of slightly less brutal practice schedules.

"All trainees to Conference Room A," a manager called. "Immediately. All trainees."

Sakuya looked up from his Korean textbook. Across the study room, Ryo's head snapped up from where he'd been half asleep over his own homework.

"That's weird," Ryo said. "They never call everyone together like this."

The hallway was chaos, trainees emerging from practice rooms, study rooms, the cafeteria, all looking confused and slightly nervous. Sakuya caught sight of one trainees he recognized in front of them: Yushi, and another he didn't really know talking in low voices. The energy felt strange.

Conference Room A was the largest meeting space in the building, usually reserved for company events and important announcements. When they filed in, Sakuya saw it was packed, not just the Japanese trainees, but everyone. Korean trainees and all the other international trainees, even some faces he didn't recognize. There had to be at least thirty people crammed into the room.

At the front of the room stood CEO Lee, along with several other executives Sakuya had only seen in passing. Behind them, a large screen displayed the NCT logo.

Sakuya's breath caught. He felt Ryo go completely still beside him.

CEO Lee cleared his throat, and the room fell silent immediately.

"Thank you all for gathering on short notice," he said in Korean, "We have an important announcement regarding the future of this company and your training."

He gestured to the screen, and it changed to show promotional graphics: sleek, professional, clearly from a major production.

"We have decided to debut one final NCT subunit," CEO Lee continued. "The last piece of the NCT project. And unlike previous units, this one will be formed through a survival show."

"The show will be called 'Last Start.' It will air nationally and internationally, documenting the process of selecting members for this final unit. Trainees from this company will compete for a limited number of debut positions."

He paused for effect.

"Between five and seven members will debut. The exact number will be determined closer to  the show date based on various factors," CEO Lee said. "Any trainee within the company that passes the preliminary evaluation may participate. Age range is fourteen to twenty. The preliminary evaluations will begin next week. If you're selected to participate in the show, your regular training will be suspended and you'll move to a separate facility for filming."

The whispers grew louder. Sakuya's mind was racing. A survival show. A debut. An actual chance at debuting, not years from now but soon.

How terrifying.

One of the executives stepped forward. "Several NCT members will serve as mentors on the show. They'll be working closely with participants, helping to train and prepare them for debut. This is a real opportunity but it will also be the most difficult thing you've ever done."

Her expression grew serious. "Survival shows are not easy. The pressure is immense. The competition is intense. Not everyone will handle it well. If you choose to participate, you need to be prepared for that. Prepared to be filmed constantly. Prepared to be judged publicly. Prepared to potentially fail in front of thousands, maybe even millions of viewers."

She paused, letting that sink in.

"But if you make it through, if you're selected for the final group, you'll debut as part of NCT. You'll become part of something that's been building for years. You'll have the support of the entire NCT family behind you."

Beside Sakuya, Ryo made a small sound, barely audible. When Sakuya glanced over, Ryo's hands were clasped together so tightly his knuckles were white. His eyes were fixed on the screen, which now showed clips from previous NCT performances.

"The preliminary evaluations will be held all next week," CEO Lee said. "You'll receive individual notification if you're eligible to audition. The show will begin filming in two months. If you have questions, speak with your coordinator. That's all. Dismissed."

Nobody moved for a moment. Then the room erupted, everyone talking at once, voices overlapping in multiple languages, the energy shifting from shocked to excited to anxious all at once.

Sakuya turned to Ryo, but Ryo was staring at the screen like he was in a trance. The clips were still playing, performances, behind the scenes footage, the members he'd probably watched a thousand times.

"Ryo?"

"NCT," Ryo breathed. His voice was barely audible. "We might–there's a chance we could-"

He couldn't seem to finish the sentence.

"We should go," Sakuya said, touching Ryo's arm. "Come on."

They pushed through the crowd and out into the hallway. It was quieter here, but not by much, trainees clustered in groups, everyone talking about the announcement. The survival show. The debut.

Ryo leaned against the wall, pressing his palms against his face. "I can't believe this is happening.” His voice cracked slightly. "NCT was my dream group. Before I even auditioned, before I even thought I could be a trainee, I wanted to be in NCT. I learned to dance watching their videos. I practiced their choreography with my sister in the living room for years. And now there's a chance, an actual chance–"

He broke off, looking almost overwhelmed. Sakuya had never seen Ryo like this, not excited and energetic like usual, but something deeper. It was raw and vulnerable.

"What about you?" Ryo asked quietly. "What do you think?"

Sakuya's stomach churned. 

"I don't know….I'm scared," Sakuya admitted quietly.

"Me too," Ryo said, and his voice went soft again. "I'm terrified. But I'm also more excited than I've ever been in my entire life. This is real, Sakuya. This is actually real. I need to practice, I need to practice right now. The evaluations are next week and I need to be perfect. I need to be better than perfect."

"Ryo–"

"Come practice with me. Please. I can't–I need to move. I need to do something."

So they found an empty practice room and spent the next three hours running through choreography. Ryo was manic with energy, doing the same eight counts over and over until his shirt was soaked with sweat and his legs were shaking. Sakuya watched him in the mirror, saw the desperation and determination on his face.

This meant everything to Ryo. NCT wasn't just a group he liked, it was the dream that had brought him here. The reason he'd left home. The goal that had sustained him through every hard practice, every criticism, every moment of doubt.

And now that dream had a deadline. A shape. A real, tangible possibility.

By the time they stopped, it was past dinner. They sat on the practice room floor, backs against the mirror, both breathing hard.

"I'm going to make it," Ryo said quietly. "I'm going to make it onto that show. I have to."

Sakuya looked at him, at his profile in the dim light, the set of his jaw, the fierce determination in his eyes.

"Yeah," Sakuya said. "You will."

"We will," Ryo corrected. “We said it. Those months ago.”

Ah….Right. 

The memory came back sharp and clear, like it had happened yesterday instead of those months ago.

SMTOWN LIVE: TOKYO DOME. The concert had been massive, thousands of fans packed into the arena, light sticks creating an ocean of color, the energy so intense Sakuya could feel it vibrating in his chest. 

 

Sakuya had just met Ryo recently. The trainees were flown there just to see the concert, SM giving them an opportunity to see what they could be if they tried hard enough.

 

Sakuya and Ryo knew virtually nothing about each other yet. Yet–

 

When NCT 127’s segment came on, Sakuya had felt Ryo go completely still beside him.

 

The performance was explosive: sharp choreography, perfect synchronization, the kind of stage presence that seemed almost superhuman. The bass was so loud Sakuya could feel it in his bones. The lights swept across the crowd and he could see fans screaming, crying, holding signs, completely lost in the moment.

 

Beside him, Ryo had leaned forward in his seat, his hands gripping the armrests. His eyes were wide, unblinking, like he was afraid to miss even a second. And his lips were moving, Sakuya realized, mouthing along with every word, knowing every beat.

 

When the performance ended and the stage went dark for the transition, Ryo had slumped back in his seat, looking dazed.

 

"You okay?" Sakuya had asked.

 

"That's what I want," Ryo had said, his voice barely audible over the crowd noise. "That's exactly what I want."

 

Sakuya had understood. He'd felt it too, watching all the performers command that stage, seeing the crowd's reaction, feeling the energy of thousands of people united in that moment. It was bigger than anything he'd experienced back home.

 

The concert had continued, more artists, more performances, more proof of both what was possible and how far they had to go. By the end, when they filed out with the rest of the trainees, Sakuya had felt simultaneously inspired and overwhelmed by the impossibility of it all.

 

On the bus ride back, most of the trainees had been quiet, processing what they'd seen. Sakuya and Ryo had ended up in seats near the back, both of them staring out the window at the Seoul lights passing by.

 

"Did you see how the crowd reacted? Like every person there knew every word, every move." Ryo had turned to look at him. "That's what I want. Not just to perform, but to make people feel like that."

 

Sakuya had nodded, not sure what to say. The dream felt too big suddenly, too impossible for two kids who'd barely been training for a week.

 

"We could do it," Ryo had said, like he could read Sakuya's thoughts. "I know we're new and we're not good yet, but….we could get there. If we work hard enough."

 

"Maybe."

 

"Not maybe. We will." Ryo had shifted in his seat to face him more fully. "We started together, right? We could keep doing this together. Help each other get to where they are."

 

"You don't even really know me," Sakuya had pointed out.

 

Ryo had smiled slightly. "I just know I want you to succeed."

 

Something in Sakuya's chest had tightened. He'd looked back out the window, at the city that was supposed to be home now.

 

"Okay," he'd said quietly.

 

"Okay?"

 

"Okay. We'll do it together, here."

 

"Promise?" Ryo had held out his pinky, which should have been childish but somehow wasn't.

 

Sakuya had linked his pinky with Ryo's. "Promise."

 

"Good." Ryo had settled back in his seat, but he was smiling now. "One day we're going to be on that stage. Both of us. Performing for a crowd like that."

 

"You can't just decide things like that."

 

"Watch me." Ryo had closed his eyes, still smiling. "We're going to make it, Sakuya. I know we will."

 

At the time, Sakuya had thought it was naive. The optimism of someone who hadn't fully grasped how brutal the training would be, how many trainees failed, how slim the chances really were.

 

But Ryo had kept that optimism through every exhausting practice, every harsh correction, every moment of doubt. And somehow, it had pulled Sakuya along with it.

"You remember," Ryo said, pulling Sakuya back to the present. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Sakuya said. "I remember."

"We made a promise that night after the concert." Ryo's voice was quiet but steady. "We said we'd help each other make it to that stage. That we'd do this together."

Sakuya thought about that night. The bus ride through Seoul, making promises that had felt too big for two exhausted kids who barely knew each other. But they'd kept those promises. Through homesickness and criticism and exhaustion, they'd kept showing up. For themselves and for each other.

"Together," Ryo said with finality. "We do this together."

"Okay," Sakuya said. "Together."

They walked back to the dorm in the dark. The streets were quieter now, the city settling into its nighttime rhythm. Above them, the sky was hazy with light pollution, only a few stars visible.

Back at the dorm, the other trainees were still awake, still talking about the announcement. One was on his phone, probably texting his family. Heitetsu was stress eating instant ramen. Another was doing vocal warm ups in his room, his voice carrying through the thin walls.

Everyone was preparing. Everyone was hoping.

Sakuya climbed up to his bunk and lay there, staring at the ceiling. His body ached from practice. His mind raced with possibilities and fears.

A survival show. A million viewers. Real idols as mentors. NCT. 

Debut.

The word felt too big for his mouth. Too real. Too close.

Through the wall, he could hear Ryo talking to his roommates, his voice still tight with a mix of excitement and nervousness despite the late hour. Talking about NCT, about the show, about the mentors they might meet. Planning and dreaming and hoping in that way that was so characteristically Ryo: half confident, half terrified but wholly committed.

Sakuya closed his eyes and tried to imagine it. Standing on a stage. Cameras everywhere. Judges watching. NCT members watching. Performing not just for instructors in a practice room but for the world.

The image terrified him.

But underneath the terror, something else stirred. Something small and fragile and stubbornly hopeful.

恋焦がれる

Those next two months were the most intense of Sakuya's life.

Training ramped up to a level he hadn't known was possible. Classes ran from six in the morning until ten at night, with brief breaks for meals that barely felt long enough to catch their breath. Every session was an evaluation, every moment a test. The instructors watched them with hawk like intensity, making notes, comparing, deciding.

Deciding who was good enough.

Deciding who would get their chance.

The atmosphere among the trainees shifted too. The tentative ease that had developed over months evaporated, replaced by cutthroat competition. People who had been friends stopped helping each other with choreography. Trainees started staying later to practice, trying to outwork everyone else.

Sakuya tried to stay out of the drama. He kept his head down, focused on his own improvement, and tried not to think about the ticking clock counting down to selection.

But it was impossible to ignore completely.

Especially when it came to how people were reacting to him and Ryo.

Sakuya was being noticed. Really noticed. Instructors praised his performances more frequently, calling out his precision and stage presence. Other trainees watched him during practice with assessing eyes. There was an energy around him that felt uncomfortable, like a spotlight he hadn't asked for.

The comments started small.

"Our Sakuya has really grown, hasn't he?"

"He's so young but already so polished."

People still thought they were both cute: the youngest trainees, the pair who'd started together, the duo who always practiced side by side. But there was a difference in how they talked about each of them.

With Sakuya, it was potential. Promise. Star quality.

With Ryo, it was... nice. Good effort. Improving.

Sakuya noticed it. And he noticed when Ryo started getting quieter.

Ryo would smile a little less brightly when instructors praised Sakuya. Would practice a little harder, stay a little later, push himself a little more. Still supportive on the surface, still encouraging, but something underneath had shifted.

One afternoon, Sakuya overheard two older trainees talking in the hallway.

"Sakuya's definitely making it to the final group," one said. 

"What about Ryo?"

A pause. "He's good. Just... not quite at that level."

Sakuya had pretended not to hear, but the words stuck with him.

The final evaluation before selection was announced with typical corporate efficiency: a notice posted on the training room wall giving them twenty four hours to prepare a solo performance showcasing their best skills.

Twenty four hours. One day to prove they deserved one of those precious slots.

Sakuya stared at the notice and felt his stomach turn to ice.

Around him, other trainees were already strategizing, arguing over practice room time, frantically running through their best material. The energy was manic, desperate. Everyone knew this was it: the final chance to impress, to stand out, to be chosen.

"What are you going to do?" Ryo appeared at his elbow, his voice tight with barely concealed stress.

"I don't know yet." Sakuya's mind was blank, paralyzed by the pressure. "You?"

"That dance routine we learned last month, the one from our senior group's comeback. I've been practicing it on my own. I think I can make it really clean." Ryo was talking fast, the way he always did when he was nervous. "And I'll sing over it, show that I can handle both at once. What do you think? Is that good enough?"

"It's good," Sakuya assured him. "You're good at that routine."

"But is it enough? Should I try something harder? Something that'll make me stand out more?" Ryo ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles. "God, I don't know. Twenty-four hours. That's nothing. How are we supposed to prepare something perfect in twenty-four hours?"

Sakuya had never seen Ryo this openly panicked before. Usually, Ryo was the one calming him down, providing confidence when Sakuya had none. Seeing him like this, scared and uncertain, made Sakuya's own anxiety spike higher.

But it also made him want to be the strong one for once.

"Hey." Sakuya grabbed Ryo's shoulders, forcing him to stop spiraling. "You're going to be fine. Just do what you're good at and you'll make it."

"You don't know that."

"I do know that." Sakuya squeezed Ryo's shoulders. "You're talented and you work hard. The company would be stupid not to choose you."

Ryo's breathing slowed slightly. "You really think so?"

"I know so."

"Okay." Ryo took a shaky breath. "Okay. You're right. I can do this. We can do this." His eyes focused on Sakuya with renewed intensity. "What about you? What are you going to perform?"

Sakuya had been trying not to think about it, but now he forced himself to consider his options. What was he best at? What would make him stand out in a sea of talented trainees all desperate for the same spots?

"That rap song," he said slowly, the idea forming as he spoke. "The one Coach Min said suits my tone. If I pair it with choreography, it could work. Play to my strengths."

"That's perfect," Ryo said, and some of his usual confidence was returning.

"Very me," Sakuya echoed, trying to believe it.

They split up to practice, each claiming different practice rooms, each throwing themselves into preparation with single minded intensity. Sakuya ran through his routine until his legs shook and his voice went hoarse. He refined every movement, every vocal inflection, trying to create something that would make the evaluators unable to look away.

Hours blurred together. Sakuya barely noticed when the sun set, when other trainees came and went, when his body started screaming for rest. He just kept practicing, perfecting, pushing himself past exhaustion into something like delirium.

At some point, he'd lost track of time, the practice room door opened.

Ryo stood in the doorway, looking as wrecked as Sakuya felt. "It's midnight."

Sakuya looked at his phone and was genuinely surprised. He'd been practicing for... eight hours straight? Nine?

"We should sleep," Ryo said. "We're going to be disasters tomorrow if we don't sleep."

"I'm not ready yet."

Ryo walked into the room and physically pulled Sakuya away from the mirror. "Come on. Back to the dorm. Sleep. We'll both be better after sleep."

Sakuya wanted to argue, wanted to stay and practice more, but his body betrayed him by swaying slightly with exhaustion. Ryo caught him, steadying him with hands on his arms.

"See? You're dead on your feet. Let's go."

They walked back to the dorm in silence, too tired even for Ryo's usual chatter. The streets were empty, the city quiet in that dead of night way that made everything feel surreal.

Back in their dorm, they went through the motions of getting ready for bed like zombies. Sakuya barely remembered lying down, his body sinking into the mattress with relief.

"Sakuya?" Ryo's whisper came through the darkness, as he was stepping into his room.

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow... no matter what happens... we're still us, right? Still best friends?"

The question made Sakuya's chest ache. "Of course. Why would that change?"

"I don't know. I just... what if one of us makes it and the other doesn't? What if this whole thing tears us apart?"

It was the fear Sakuya had been trying not to voice, now spoken aloud in the darkness. 

"It won't," Sakuya said, trying to sound certain. "I promise, no matter what.”

"You promise?" Ryo's voice was small, vulnerable in a way that made Sakuya's heart clench.

"I promise."

Silence fell again, but Sakuya could tell Ryo wasn't fully convinced. He could hear him breathing unevenly and could sense his anxiety filling the small room. He hadn’t moved from his spot in the doorway.

Without really thinking about it, Sakuya spoke again. "Ryo?"

"Yeah?"

"Come here."

"What?"

"Just….come here. I think we both need it."

There was a moment of hesitation. Then Sakuya heard movement up the ladder, felt the mattress dip as Ryo climbed into his bed. 

It had been weeks since they'd done this. After that first week in Korea, when everything was new and terrifying and they'd sought comfort in each other almost nightly. The bed sharing had gradually faded. At first it was every few nights, then once a week, then barely at all. They'd both been trying to be more independent, more mature, less dependent on each other for comfort.

But tonight felt like those early days again. Raw and uncertain and needing the reassurance that they weren't alone.

Ryo settled beside him, not quite touching but close enough that Sakuya could feel his warmth. Could hear his breathing. Could sense his presence in that visceral way that had become so familiar over the past months.

"This is better," Ryo said quietly.

"Yeah," Sakuya agreed.’

They lay there in the darkness, two boys on the verge of something that could change everything, drawing comfort from each other's nearness.

"We're going to make it," Ryo whispered. "Both of us."

"Both of us," Sakuya echoed.

And lying there with Ryo beside him, Sakuya almost believed it.

Almost.

Sleep came eventually, pulling them both under into restless dreams of stages and performances and futures that hung in the balance.

Tomorrow would tell them if all of this had been enough.

Tomorrow would show them if the promises they'd made were ones reality would allow them to keep.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

But tonight, they had each other.

It had to be enough.

Because Sakuya couldn't imagine a world where it wasn't.

Couldn't imagine a future where he and Ryo weren't together, weren't partners, weren't the unit they'd become.

That future was too painful to contemplate.

So he didn't.

He just held onto Ryo's presence beside him and tried to believe that tomorrow would be kind to them.

That the universe would let them keep their promises.

That they wouldn't have to choose between their dreams and each other.

Please, he thought to whatever gods might be listening. Please let us both make it.

Please don't make us break our promises.

Please.

Chapter Text

The next three days after the evaluations days were psychological torture.

Training continued as normal, but no one could focus. Every trainee was running on pure nervous energy, performances were sloppy, and the instructors seemed to have given up on trying to make them concentrate on anything other than their impending fate.

Sakuya went through the motions without really being present. Dance class was a blur of movement his body executed automatically. Vocal lessons were sounds coming out of his mouth without conscious thought. Korean class might as well have been conducted in a foreign language for all he absorbed.

He was trapped in his own head, playing out every possible scenario. Both of them getting chosen: the best outcome, the one he desperately needed. Neither of them getting chosen: devastating, but at least they'd be together in failure. One of them getting chosen: the nightmare scenario, the one that would break everything they'd built.

Ryo was handling it even worse than Sakuya was, which was saying something. He barely spoke, barely ate, barely seemed to be present in his own body. Sakuya tried to offer comfort, but what could he say? Everything was out of their hands now. All they could do was wait.

They fell back into sharing a bed without discussion, both of them needing the comfort, neither of them mentioning it aloud. They'd lie in the darkness, not sleeping but not quite awake either, just existing in a liminal space of anxiety until exhaustion finally claimed them in the early hours of the morning.

On the morning of the third day, Sakuya woke to find Ryo already up, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands.

"Couldn't sleep?" Sakuya asked.

"Not really." Ryo's voice was rough. "Today's the day."

Today was the day. The announcement would be made this afternoon, during what was usually their lunch break.

Sakuya's stomach churned at the thought of food. "Yeah."

"I keep trying to prepare myself for the worst," Ryo said quietly. "Like, if I expect not to make it, then it won't hurt as much when it happens. But I can't. I can't stop hoping, and it's killing me."

Sakuya sat up and moved to sit beside Ryo on his bed. They sat shoulder to shoulder, both staring at the floor, both drowning in their own anxiety.

"Whatever happens," Sakuya said, "we're still us. Still best friends. That doesn't change."

"Doesn't it though?" Ryo turned to look at him, and his eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep. "If you make it and I don't, you'll be training for the show, preparing for debut, living a completely different life. How do we stay close through that?"

"We just do," Sakuya insisted, but he could hear the uncertainty in his own voice. "We make it work because we want to."

"I want to believe that," Ryo said. "I really do."

They sat in silence for a long moment. Then Ryo leaned his head on Sakuya's shoulder, seeking comfort in the contact, and Sakuya let him, his own head tilting to rest against Ryo's.

Eventually, they had to get up. Had to go to the company building. Had to face whatever was coming.

At noon, they were all called to the main conference room again.

Sakuya's hands were shaking as he walked in. Ryo was beside him, pale and silent. They found seats near the middle, surrounded by other trainees who looked equally terrified.

CEO stood in the middle, his clipboard in hand, his expression as neutral as ever.

"Thank you all for your patience over the last three days," he began. "The selection process was difficult. We had many strong candidates and limited spots. In the end, we chose the thirteen trainees who we believe have the best combination of skill, star quality, and potential for growth."

He paused, and Sakuya thought he might pass out from the tension.

"I will now announce the thirteen trainees selected to participate in 'Last Start'. With this chance, you are offered a chance to debut.”

This was it. This was actually it.

Sakuya reached over and grabbed Ryo's hand, squeezing hard. Ryo squeezed back, his palm sweaty against Sakuya's.

"Yushi."

The name rang out across the theater. Yushi, sitting a few rows ahead, let out a visible exhale of relief though his eyes showed he somewhat knew. Sakuya felt a distant happiness for him but couldn't focus on it. His entire being was focused on waiting for his own name, or Ryo's, or both.

Please both. Please both. Please both.

"Sion."

He nodded, his hands flying to his face.

"Minjae."

One of the Korean trainees, someone Sakuya barely knew. That was three spots down, ten left.

"Hirose Ryo."

Sakuya's heart stopped.

Beside him, Ryo went completely still. Then he turned to look at Sakuya, his eyes wide, shocked, almost guilty looking.

Sakuya forced himself to smile, to look happy, to squeeze Ryo's hand again in congratulations even as his chest felt like it was caving in.

Ryo had made it.

Which meant there were only nine spots left, and Sakuya's name hadn't been called yet.

CEO Lee continued reading names. "Riku. Ryu. Jaehee."

Eight spots left. Seven. Six.

Sakuya's name still hadn't been called.

He could feel Ryo's hand trembling in his, could sense the other boy's growing distress as the list continued without Sakuya's name.

"Haruta. Anderson. Kassho. Heitetsu."

Two spots left.

Two.

Sakuya's entire body was numb. This was it. This was how it ended. Ryo would go on to the survival show, would debut, would achieve their shared dream, and Sakuya would be left behind, not good enough, not special enough, not–

"Jungmin."

One spot left.

One.

Sakuya couldn't breathe. The room was spinning. This couldn't be happening. They'd promised. They'd promised to do this together. They couldn't–

"Sakuya."

For a moment, Sakuya didn't process it. The name didn't register as his own. It was just sounds, syllables that didn't connect to meaning.

CEO Lee was speaking, giving instructions about the next steps, but Sakuya couldn't focus on the words. He was too overwhelmed, too full of relief and joy and gratitude to the universe for letting them keep their promise.

They'd made it.

Both of them.

Around them, the unchosen trainees were filing out, some in tears, others stoic. Sakuya felt a pang of sympathy for them, he knew how easily he could have been one of them, sitting in their places, watching his best friend go on without him.

But he wasn't.

And now the real work would begin.

The thirteen selected trainees were kept behind for additional instructions. They'd have two weeks to prepare before beginning intensive training specifically for the survival show. The company would provide new dormitory arrangements, the ten of them would be moved into a dedicated space to facilitate group bonding and practice. Their schedules would be even more brutal than before, if that was possible.

But Sakuya barely absorbed any of it. He was still riding the high of having been chosen, of having his name called.

When they were finally dismissed, the ten of them walked out together. The chosen ones, the ones who'd made it through the first filter. They'd be training together, competing together, potentially debuting together.

Jungmin clapped Sakuya on the back as they walked. "Congratulations. I knew you'd make it."

"Thanks," Sakuya managed. "You too."

Yushi was in a deep conversation with one of the Korean trainees: Sion. 

But Sakuya's attention was on Ryo, who hadn't left his side, who was still grinning like someone had given him the world.

"We need to celebrate," Ryo announced once they were outside. "This is huge. This is everything we've been working toward."

"We should rest," Sakuya countered. "We have two weeks to prepare for training that's going to be even worse than what we've been doing."

Ryo's excitement dimmed slightly, but he nodded. "You're right. We should probably sleep while we still can." He paused. "Are you going to tell your family?"

Sakuya hadn't thought about it. "Maybe. I don't know."

"You should. This is big news." Ryo smiled. "I'm going to call my sister. She's going to freak out."

They walked back to the dorm together, the evening air cool against their skin. The some trainees who'd made it through were already there, some celebrating quietly, others looking shell shocked by the reality of what came next.

In his room, Sakuya climbed up to his bunk and pulled out his phone. It was late, but not too late. His thumb hovered over his mother's contact for a long moment before he pressed call.

She answered on the second ring. "Sakuya? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine." He kept his voice low, conscious of his roommates below. "I just….I have news."

"What kind of news?" Her voice shifted, cautious but hopeful.

"The company is doing a survival show. For a new group. I passed the first evaluation. I'm going to be on it."

Silence on the other end. Then: "A survival show? What does that mean?"

"It means….it'll be on TV. They'll film us training and competing, and viewers will help decide who debuts. If I make it to the end, I could debut. Actually debut, not just keep training."

"Sakuya, that's–" Her voice cracked slightly. "That's wonderful. That's really wonderful."

"It's going to be hard. Really hard. And I might not make it."

"But you might," she said firmly. "You might make it. My baby might debut as an idol."

Through the phone, he could hear movement, his mother must have put him on speaker.

"Sakuya?" His father's voice, gruff but warm. "Your mother says you're going to be on television?"

"Maybe. If I get chosen at the end."

"You'll make it," his father said with a certainty Sakuya didn't feel. "You didn't come all this way to give up now."

"Can I talk to him?" His sister's voice in the background, then she must have grabbed the phone because suddenly she was right there. "Sakuya? You're going to be on a real show?"

"Yeah," he said shyly.

"Oh my god. Oh my god, I'm going to tell everyone. My brother is going to be famous."

"I'm not famous. I might not even make it–"

"You will. I know you will." She paused. "Are you scared?"

Sakuya thought about lying, but this was his sister. "Yeah. Really scared."

"That's okay. Being scared means it matters." Her voice softened. "I'm proud of you. We all are. Even when you're scared."

Something in his chest tightened. "Thanks."

"Will we be able to watch? The show?"

"I think so. They said it'll air internationally."

"Then we'll watch every episode. Me and Mom and Dad. We'll watch and cheer for you even if you can't hear us."

They talked for a few more minutes, his mother fussing about whether he was eating enough, his father asking practical questions about the filming schedule, his sister making him promise to text her updates. When they finally hung up, Sakuya lay there staring at his phone screen.

Through the wall, he could hear Ryo's voice, higher pitched: excited, probably talking to his sister too. The conversation rose and fell, punctuated by Ryo's laughter.

Sakuya pulled up the family group chat and typed out a message: Thank you for letting me come here. I'll make you proud.

His mother responded almost immediately: You already have.

The dorm settled into quiet around him. Someone was still practicing vocals in their room. The shower was running. Normal sounds of normal trainees living their normal impossible lives.

Sakuya let himself rest, storing up energy for what was coming.

Two weeks. Then the real competition would begin.

For tonight he let himself feel what his sister had said: that being scared meant it mattered.

And this mattered. More than anything ever had.

The thirteen selected trainees were moved into a new dorm, a larger space with five bedrooms, each shared by two to three people. Sakuya and Ryo were assigned as roommates, which surprised no one. By now, everyone knew they were inseparable.

They were up at five AM and rarely finished before midnight. Every day was choreography, vocals, media training, Korean lessons, physical conditioning, and team building exercises designed to make them function as a cohesive unit.

The company was investing heavily in them now. They had new clothes, better equipment, access to specialized coaches. Everything was designed to make them as competitive as possible when the show began.

"This is insane," Ryo said one evening after a particularly brutal twelve hour practice session. They were back in their shared room, both collapsed on their respective beds, too exhausted to even shower yet. "I thought training was hard before. This is..."

"Inhuman," Sakuya said. Every muscle in his body ached. His voice was hoarse from singing the same lines over and over. His feet were covered in new blisters from the intensive choreography.

"Do you think we're ready?" Ryo asked, staring at the ceiling.

"I don't know…”

Ryo laughed, and despite the exhaustion and anxiety, Sakuya found himself smiling too. This had become their routine, Ryo's relentless optimism balanced by Sakuya's cautious realism, both of them finding a middle ground that kept them sane.

They finally dragged themselves to shower one by one before then collapsing into bed. But Sakuya found himself restless,too excited about what's to come.

"Can't sleep?" Ryo asked from his own bed.

"Too much thinking."

There was a pause, then the sound of movement. Ryo appeared beside Sakuya's bed, and without asking, climbed in beside him the way they'd been doing on and off for weeks now.

"Better?" Ryo asked, settling beside him.

"Yeah," Sakuya admitted. "Better."

They lay there in the darkness, close enough that Sakuya could feel Ryo's warmth, hear his breathing, sense his presence in that visceral way that had become so familiar.

Outside, Seoul hummed on, indifferent to their fears and hopes.

Inside, they slept.

Tomorrow, everything would change again.

One of the show's producers entered the large hallway. "Attention! All trainees to the main practice room in five minutes for orientation!"

The thirteen of them filed into the large practice room, arranging themselves in a large group. The producers stood at the front with cameras already rolling, capturing their nervous faces, their tentative interactions, their raw hope and fear.

This was it. They were on camera now. Sakuya's hands started shaking. He clasped them together, trying to appear calm.

The head producer, a woman in her forties with sharp eyes and sharper business attire, stepped forward.

"Welcome to 'Last Start,'" she said, her voice cutting through the nervous chatter. "You are thirteen of the candidates for the new NCT subunit, name to be determined. Over the next weeks, you will compete in a series of challenges designed to test your skills, your teamwork, and your star quality. Each week, trainees will be evaluated by judges. By the end, only six of you will debut."

Oh.

Six out of thirteen. 

"This will be the hardest thing you've ever done," the producer continued. "You will be pushed beyond your limits. You will be exhausted, frustrated, and at times, you will want to quit. But if you can survive this process, you will have earned your place in the industry."

She paused, letting her words sink in.

"The first challenge will be revealed tomorrow. Use this time wisely, the trainees in this room are both your competition and your potential future group members. The relationships you build now will matter."

They were dismissed with instructions about room assignments and dinner times. Dinner was held in a large cafeteria, all thirteen trainees eating together while cameras captured every moment. Sakuya tried to eat normally, tried not to be too aware of the lenses pointed at them, but it was impossible to relax.

He'd barely sat down when Sion appeared beside him with an extra water bottle.

"Here," Sion said, setting it down. "You barely drank anything during the meeting. Stay hydrated."

"Oh. Thanks."

Thirty minutes later: Minjae was watching him with a slight frown. "Did you eat lunch today?"

"I had some," Sakuya said.

"Some isn't enough. You need proper meals, especially now." Minjae pushed his own side dishes toward Sakuya. "Eat more vegetables."

"I'm fine–"

"You're fifteen," another trainee: Daeyoung said from down the table. "You're still growing. You need to eat properly."

Sakuya felt his face heat up. 

Ryo was sitting a few seats down, and Sakuya caught his eye. Ryo gave him a sympathetic look, he was getting similar treatment, Haruta making sure he had enough rice, someone else asking if he needed help cutting his meat.

"How much sleep did you get last night?" Heitetsu asked.

"Enough," Sakuya said.

"That's not a number."

"Maybe five hours?"

Heitetsu's expression shifted to something between concern and exasperation. "That's not enough. Tonight, lights out by ten. No exceptions."

"We don't even know what the first challenge is yet. I should practice–"

"You should rest. You're the youngest here, Sakuya. Your body needs more recovery time than ours." Heitetsu's tone left no room for argument. "Ten o'clock."

Sakuya wanted to protest, to say he could handle it, that he didn't need special treatment. But looking around the table, he realized something that made his stomach flip.

He was the youngest. Not just young, the youngest of all thirteen trainees selected for the show.

The cameras were still rolling, capturing every moment of this. Capturing the older trainees fussing over him, treating him like something fragile that needed protection. The viewers would see this. Would form opinions about him based on this.

Everything mattered now. Every expression, every word, every interaction. The viewers would be watching, judging, deciding who they liked and who they didn't.

"Stop looking so worried," Sion said, but his voice was gentle. "Being young isn't a bad thing. The viewers will probably love it."

"That's not–" Sakuya started, then stopped. That wasn't what he was worried about, but he couldn't exactly explain that on camera.

After dinner, they had a few hours of free time before curfew. Some trainees immediately claimed practice rooms to start preparing for whatever the first challenge would be. Others clustered in common areas, forming alliances and friendships that might help them survive.

"They're treating us like kids," Sakuya said without preamble as he stepped in their shared room.

Ryo stopped mid movement. "Because we're the youngest."

"Yeah." Sakuya wiped sweat from his forehead. "I guess we are. I didn't really think about it until everyone started... you know."

"Doting… It's kind of nice though, isn't it? In a weird way?" Ryo sat down on the floor. "Like, they care. They want us to do well."

Sakuya joined him on the floor. "The cameras saw all of it. The viewers are going to see us as the babies of the group."

"Maybe that's not such a bad thing. Sionie-hyung said viewers might love it."

"I guess."

Silence settled between them. Sakuya could hear Ryo shifting in his bed, the creak of the mattress, the rustle of sheets. Neither of them spoke again.

Sakuya stared at the ceiling of his new room. It looked different from the dorm, cleaner, newer, but also more sterile.

The youngest. The label sat heavy in his chest. He thought about dinner, about everyone’s concern, about them pushing vegetables toward him like he was a child who couldn't feed himself.

Sakuya rolled onto his side, facing the space that separated them. He could call out, could ask if Ryo was still awake, could talk through the weight of everything that had happened today.

But he didn't.

The first challenge was announced the next morning. "You will be randomly assigned into groups of two," the head producer explained as all the trainees stood in the main practice room, cameras rolling. "Each group will prepare and perform a cover of an existing song. You will have five days to rehearse. The performance will be evaluated and ranked by our judges."

Five days. 

"The pair assignments are designed to test your ability to work closely with one partner under pressure," the producer continued. "You'll be evaluated not just on individual skill, but on chemistry, synchronization, and how well you complement each other. Learning to create a cohesive unit with another person is essential for any idol."

Sakuya felt a flutter of hope. Pairs meant smaller groups. Meant a better chance he and Ryo would be together.

"Pair assignments are posted on the wall. You have two hours to meet with your partner, practice your song, and meet with the choreographer for parts. Rehearsals begin this afternoon."

The thirteen of them surged toward the wall where the assignments were posted, Sakuya searching desperately for his name.

Pair 1: Yushi / Sion
Pair 2: Haruta / Anderson
Pair 3: Jungmin / Minjae
Pair 4: Heitetsu / Kassho
Pair 5: Riku / Ryu
Pair 6: Sakuya / Ryo

*Kim Daeyoung assignment TBH

Relief flooded through him so intensely his knees felt weak. He and Ryo. They were together.

He found Ryo and when their eyes met, Ryo's face split into a huge grin. 

Around them, other pairs were finding each other. Yushi and Sion were already talking amongst themselves. Riku and Ryu, the two other trainees Sakuya had seen around but never really talked to, were introducing themselves with polite bows.

"This is perfect," Ryo was saying, still holding Sakuya's arm. "We know how to work together. We know each other's strengths. This is actually perfect."

They were assigned Practice Room C. As they walked there, Sakuya noticed Yushi and Sion heading toward Practice Room A, already deep in conversation about song choices. They looked composed, professional, like they'd been working together for years instead of just being paired up.

Ah, that's right. They have.

Yushi and Sion weren't really competing, not like the rest of them were. The survival show wasn't about finding six members. It was about finding four members to fill out a group that already had its core: Yushi and Sion. They were the foundation, already chosen, already guaranteed their spots. The show was just SM's way of building hype while selecting the remaining pieces.

Which meant Sakuya's odds weren't actually six out of thirteen like he'd been telling himself. They were four out of eleven. 

"Thank god we aren't against them, they're tough competition," Ryo said, following Sakuya's gaze.

"Yeah."

The practice room was small but had everything they needed: mirrors, sound system, enough space for two people to move. They sat on the floor facing each other as a staff member entered and handed them a sheet of paper.

"Your assigned song," she said simply, then left.

Ryo grabbed the paper first, his eyes scanning it. Then his face lit up. "Oh my god."

"What?" Sakuya leaned over to look.

Pair 6: "Chewing Gum" - NCT Dream

"No way," Ryo breathed. "This is–this is perfect. This is literally perfect."

Sakuya felt his stomach flip. ‘Chewing Gum’ was iconic, one of NCT Dream's most well known songs, upbeat and energetic with that signature playful concept. It was also incredibly difficult to pull off convincingly. Very….them.

"We know this choreography. I've watched this performance like a hundred times.” Ryo starts, “This is the best song we could've gotten."

He wasn't wrong. The song was perfectly suited to their age: youthful, fresh, energetic. And Ryo had probably memorized every move years ago when he was learning NCT choreography in his bedroom.

"Okay," Sakuya said, letting himself feel a flicker of Ryo's excitement.

They spent the next hour watching the original performance, analyzing the choreography, discussing how to divide the parts. The distribution came naturally, Sakuya took the rap sections, Ryo took the higher vocal parts, and the choreographer split the dance sections based on who could execute each part better.

From the nearby practice rooms, Sakuya could hear other pairs working, some struggling with their assigned songs, others sounding more confident. He caught snippets of maybe "Believer" by Imagine Dragons (?)  from one room, "Fire" by Shimizu Shota from another.

"We should start practicing," Ryo said, standing up and stretching. "Get the choreo down before lunch, especially since it's different from the original."

They ran through the new choreography mad for just them–stopping and starting, fixing small details, adjusting to each other's rhythm. The song was deceptively difficult, the moves looked simple but required perfect timing and synchronization to pull off well.

From Practice Room A, he could hear Yushi and Sion: their practice sounded clean, professional, perfectly in sync. Whatever song they'd been assigned, they were already making it work.

Sakuya and Ryo practiced until their lunch break, then collapsed on the floor, both breathing hard.

They then went to lunch together, grabbing food and finding a table. Yushi and Sion were sitting nearby, eating quietly while discussing something in low voice, probably their performance. Riku and Ryu were at another table, Ryu talking animatedly about their assigned song while Riku nodded along.

After that, the next four days were a blur of tension and exhaustion.

"Chewing Gum" was deceptively challenging. The choreography looked playful and simple, especially because there was only so much one can do on a hover board, but required perfect synchronization and the exact right energy. Too serious and they'd miss the concept, too silly and they'd look childish rather than youthful.

"Again," The coach had said after their fifth run through of the morning. "The transition into the chorus is still off. You’re not hitting it at the same time."

"I’m sorry, I know." Ryo wiped sweat from his forehead. "I keep rushing it."

"Count it out. Don't feel it, count it."

They ran it again. Better, but not perfect.

By day three, they were both exhausted and irritable, snapping at each other over tiny details that wouldn't have mattered before.

"You're overextending on that arm movement," Sakuya said.

"I'm not overextending, you're underextending," Ryo shot back.

"That doesn't even make sense–"

"It makes perfect sense. You're being too controlled. The song needs more energy."

"Energy doesn't mean sloppy–" Sakuya sighed. "Sorry. I'm just stressed."

"Me too." Ryo sat down on the floor.

The competition was real and constant, the pressure building with each passing day.

During lunch breaks, they'd see the other pairs in the cafeteria. Yushi and Sion always sat together, discussing their performance with the kind of professional focus that made them seem like they'd been partners for years instead of days. Some of the other pairs looked tense, barely speaking to each other outside rehearsal.

"Two more days," Sakuya said during one lunch.

"Two more days," Ryo echoed, pushing rice around his plate. "I keep having nightmares about messing up on stage."

"You won't mess up."

"You don't know that."

"I do know that. You've never messed up when it mattered. Not once."

Ryo looked at him, something vulnerable in his expression. "What if this is the time I do?"

"Then I'll cover for you. That's what partners do."

.

On the fourth day, all the pairs were given access to the actual stage where they'd perform. It was massive, far more professional than anything Sakuya had performed on before. Professional lighting, huge LED props plus the judges' table.

Sakuya and Ryo ran through their performance on the stage, multiple times until they were confident.

"That was good," Ryo said.

"That was really good," Sakuya agreed.

From the wings, they could see Yushi and Sion waiting for their turn on stage. Yushi caught Sakuya's eye and gave him a small nod, acknowledgment, maybe respect.

That night, Sakuya couldn't sleep. Tomorrow was the performance, the first time they'd be judged not just by their company but by professional judges and viewers. Everything they'd worked for came down to a few minutes on stage.

He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his mind racing through the choreography, the lyrics, every moment where something could go wrong.

The exhaustion of the past five days finally caught up with them.

So when the day of the first performance arrived, it was with terrible finality.

Backstage was chaos. Six pairs, all in various states of panic, doing last minute warm ups and rehearsals in the cramped space. Hair and makeup artists worked on making them camera ready. Stylists adjusted their outfits. Producers gave final instructions.

The cameras were everywhere, capturing every moment of anxiety and preparation.

Sakuya and Ryo stood in their designated waiting area ready to watch the performances, both of them in somewhat matching outfits, yellow shirt over white and green jacket over black, the styling young and fresh to match their song. They looked good together, cohesive.

"Remember," Sakuya said quietly. "Stay light. Keep the energy playful. Don't overthink the choreo. We know it."

Ryo nodded, his face pale but determined.

The performance order had been based on pair numbers. Pair 6: Sakuya and Ryo were performing last. 

As each pair took the stage, backstage fell silent as everyone watched on the monitors. They were good, really good. Each performance was clean, powerful, well rehearsed. The judges made notes.

That was the standard they had to meet. That was the competition.

An hour passed before it was their time.

"Pair 6, you're turn," a staff member called. "Head to stage left entrance."

Sakuya's stomach dropped. This was it.

They walked toward the stage entrance, and Ryo's hand found Sakuya's, squeezing once before letting go.

"We've got this," Ryo whispered.

"We've got this," Sakuya echoed.

"Pair 6," a judge said. "Performing 'Chewing Gum' by NCT Dream: Fujinaga Sakuya and Hirose Ryo."

The lights went down. They walked onto the stage ends in darkness, taking their positions on the silly hoverboards.

Sakuya's heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. The judges sat in the front row, ready to evaluate every movement, every note, every mistake.

The music started.

And then–

Everything became a blur.

Sakuya's body moved on autopilot, muscle memory taking over. He was aware of the movements, of Ryo beside him, of the music pounding through the speakers, but it all happened so fast. The opening. His rap section. The chorus. Formation changes.

He couldn't tell if they were doing well or messing up. Couldn't think about anything except the next move, the next beat, the next breath.

Ryo's vocals were somewhere to his right. The lights hot on his face. His feet hitting their marks.

And then suddenly-

They hit their final poses.

His brain was still catching up with his body, still processing that the performance was over.

He stood there, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face. Had they done well? He honestly couldn't remember half of it. It had happened too fast, passed in a haze of adrenaline and fear.

They stayed in their ending positions, waiting. 

The Artist Director finally addressed them, Eunhyeok. "If you’re ready please introduce yourself."

Okay no pressure, keep your voice steady.

"Hello," they both say in unison. 

Sakuya's mouth went dry. “I’m Sakuya, born in 2007 from Saitama, Japan.” he managed switching to Japanese nervously. “My favorite smell is the smell of a bakery.”

Ryo giggles besides him. 

“Why do you like the smell of bakery?” Boa asked amused.

“I like bread.”

Then it was Ryo's turn.

"Hello," Ryo said beside him. "I'm Ryo, born in 2007 from Kyoto, Japan."

Sakuya's mind was still foggy from the performance, trying to ground himself in the moment. BoA, Key from SHINee, and Eunhyuk from Super Junior were sitting at the judges' table. They'd been told beforehand who would be judging them, but seeing them in person was completely different. These were artists he'd watched on screen, whose songs he'd practiced to, whose careers represented everything he was trying to achieve.

"I loved how Sakuya supported Ryo with his rap," Key said, gesturing between them. "Ryo sang very well in Korean. The studio felt brighter thanks to your refreshing performance. Thank you for your hard work."

Sakuya nodded, absorbing every word. 

The judges spoke to them a bit more, before BoA smiled and gestured toward the stage exit. "Good work, both of you. We look forward to seeing your growth."

They bowed deeply. "Thank you!"

They turned to walk off stage, took three steps, then both froze.

The hoverboards. They'd completely forgotten about the hoverboards they'd used as props in the performance, left at center stage.

They looked at each other, then back at the judges, then scrambled back to collect the boards, looking awkwardly. From the judges' table, Sakuya could hear Key laughing, not mockingly, but genuinely amused.

"Cute," BoA said, loud enough for them to hear, still smiling.

Once in the hallway, cameras still recording them, Sakuya and Ryo finally let out the breath they'd been holding and discussed some mistakes.

But backstage, they collapsed into the couch, both of them shaking. Other trainees were saying things: congratulations, good jobs but Sakuya barely heard them. His mind was still trying to piece together what had just happened on stage.

They sat there, both of them coming down from the adrenaline, both trying to remember their own performance and failing. It had happened. They'd done it. But the details were lost in a fog of nerves and speed.

When all performances had finished, all thirteen trainees were called back onto the stage for the judges' evaluation.

They stood in their pairs, facing the judges' table, while cameras captured their anxious faces. Sakuya's heart was still racing, his performance still a blur in his memory.

"Thank you all for your performances today," BoA began, standing at the judges' table. The thirteen trainees stood on stage, arranged in a line, all of them holding their breath. "Every pair and our solo trainee showed dedication and hard work."

"The rankings are based on judges' scores, and overall performance evaluation," Key continued. "We will announce third place first."

Third place. That meant the top rankings. Sakuya's stomach dropped.

"In third place: Jungmin."

…

"Second place: Anderson."

…

"First place: Riku."

Sakuya glanced down the line. Riku's face had gone pale. “Thank you.” He said. 

"If you hear your name now, you ranked low in the first mission," Eunhyuk said, his voice serious. "But the rankings will surely change with the upcoming missions. This is not the end."

The words felt hollow. Everyone knew the bottom ranks were in danger.

"In sixth place, we have a tie," Key announced. "Haruta and Minjae."

Middle of the pack. Safe for now, but not outstanding.

"Eighth place: Ryu." Ryu closed his eyes briefly.

"Ninth place: Kassho."

Kassho's jaw tightened, but he nodded, accepting it.

"Tenth place: Heitetsu."

The announcements paused. Sakuya did the math in his head, they'd called eight names. Two trainees left unannounced.

Yushi and Sion hadn't been called, they weren’t ranked.

Which meant one good spot remained. Either him or Ryo would be announced next, and whoever wasn't would be lower.

"Only two trainees remain," BoA said, and the cameras zoomed in on Sakuya and Ryo's faces. "Whether they place fourth or fifth will change their fate. Fourth place makes the leaderboard. Fifth place just misses it."

The silence stretched out, unbearable.

Key leaned forward a slight smile on his face before announcing, "Ryo, congratulations on fourth place."

Fourth. Ryo made fourth place.

Relief and something else, something sharp and painful, shot through Sakuya. Ryo was safe. Ryo was on the leaderboard. Ryo had done well.

Which meant Sakuya was fifth. Just outside the leaderboard. Not bad enough to be in danger, but not good enough to be recognized.

Ryo bowed, not trusting his voice to speak.

The trainees were rearranged on stage, the top four on the left with Yushi and Sion and rest on the right. Sakuya stood in that small space between visibility and obscurity, watching Ryo take his place in the displayed rankings.

In front of him in the rankings formation, Ryo glanced back. Their eyes met, and Sakuya saw guilt there, guilt for succeeding where Sakuya had fallen short, guilt for being happy about his ranking when Sakuya was struggling.

Sakuya forced a small smile, tried to show that it was okay, that he was proud of Ryo.

But inside, something was cracking.

They were supposed to do this together. That was the promise.

But the competition didn't care about promises. It only cared about who ranked higher.

And right now, that was Ryo.

And It wasn't until later, hours later after the cameras stopped rolling, after they'd changed out of their stage clothes, after they'd returned to their dorm rooms that Ryo's words actually hit him.

The ones he uttered in the interview.

The ones he told Sakuya he meant with his whole heart.

I think Sakuya did well too.

Sakuya sat on his bed, staring at nothing, and the words replayed in his head with sudden, sharp clarity.

I think Sakuya did well too.

Too. As if it needed to be said. As if Sakuya's performance wasn't obvious enough on its own. As if Ryo had to defend him, had to remind everyone that Sakuya existed, that Sakuya had also been on that stage.

I want to work hard and debut with Sakuya.

Said on camera. Said in front of the judges, the audience, the viewers who would watch this. Ryo tying their fates together publicly, making Sakuya's fifth place ranking part of his fourth place narrative.

Sakuya's hands clenched into fists.

He knew Ryo meant well. Knew it came from a good place: loyalty, friendship, their promise to do this together. But sitting here now, processing it, all he could feel was... small. Pitied. Like he needed Ryo to speak up for him because he couldn't speak for himself.

A knock on his door. "Sakuya? You awake?"

Ryo's voice.

"Yeah," Sakuya said, but he didn't get up to open the door.

A pause. Then: "Can I come in?"

Sakuya stared at the door. He should say yes. Should let Ryo in like always. Should talk about the ranking, process it together, support each other.

I think Sakuya did well too.

"Actually," Sakuya said, his voice coming out rougher than intended. "I'm tired. Can we talk tomorrow?"

Silence from the other side of the door. Then, quietly: "Okay. Yeah. Tomorrow."

Footsteps retreating. Ryo's door closing.

Sakuya lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling.

Tomorrow he'd have to confront this. Tomorrow he'd have to figure out how to keep their promise while competing against each other.

But tonight, he just lay there and let the words loop through his head, each repetition making him feel smaller and smaller.

I think Sakuya did well too.

Fourth place had spoken up for fifth place.

And somehow, that made fifth place feel even worse.

The announcement came a day after the first mission rankings were revealed. All twelve trainees were called to the main practice hall, where the producers stood with two familiar faces that made everyone's breath catch.

"The second challenge will be a group performance mission," the head producer announced. "You'll be split into two groups and assigned iconic songs from SM's history. Your mentors will help guide you, but ultimately, the performance and rankings will be determined by your own efforts."

The groups were as chosen based on everything they seen in the first performance.

Sion, Yushi, Ryo, Heitetsu, Jungmin, Anderson, Kassho performing ‘Lucifer’ by Shinee and Sion, Yushi, Sakuya, Haruta, Ryu, Riku, Minjae performing ‘U’ by Super Junior.

Sakuya's stomach dropped when he heard the groups. He and Ryo were separated.

The first day with their group was awkward. They started breaking down the choreography. It was complex, full of intricate formations, sharp movements mixed with fluid transitions, and moments that required perfect synchronization. Harder than "Chewing Gum" by far.

Sakuya found himself working closely with Haruta and Jungmin. Haruta was surprisingly easy to get along with: funny, but focused when it mattered. He'd been training for eight months and had a natural sense of rhythm that made him easy to sync with.

By the end of the third day, they had the basic choreography down, but it lacked polish. Lacked emotion. Lacked the impact that "U" required.

"You're dancing it correctly," Donghae, their mentor and Super Junior member had said after watching a run through. "But you're not feeling it. This isn't just about hitting moves. Right now, you look like seven individuals doing the same choreography. You need to be one unit with one purpose."

And so they went again, and again.

During meal times and brief overlaps in the hallway, Sakuya would catch glimpses of how the "Lucifer" team was progressing. They looked good. Really good. Taemin had them doing formations that showcased everyone's strengths.

One night, Sakuya saw them practicing through the window of their practice room. Ryo had a center part, his movements sharp and confident, Taemin nodding approvingly. To anyone else, Ryo looked good, his face set with determination, his body hitting every beat.

But Sakuya knew him better than that.

He saw the way Ryo's shoulders were just slightly too tense, the micro hesitation before certain moves that no one else would notice. The way his smile during the playful sections didn't quite reach his eyes. The set of his jaw that meant he was gritting his teeth through something difficult. These were tells Sakuya had learned over a year of training together: small signs of struggle that Ryo had gotten good at hiding from everyone else.

Ryo was pushing himself too hard. Sakuya could see it in the way he moved, in the rigidty of his posture even during breaks, in the forced brightness of his interactions with Yushi and Sion. He was trying to match their level, trying to prove he belonged in that group, and it was costing him.

But to everyone else, to Taemin, to the cameras, to the other trainees, Ryo looked like he was thriving. Happy even.

The distance between them was growing. Not just physically, but in understanding. Sakuya could see Ryo struggling, but he couldn't help. Couldn't pull him aside and tell him to ease up, to breathe, to remember that he didn't have to be perfect. They barely spoke that week, both too exhausted, too focused on their own groups. The easy companionship they'd built over months felt like it was happening in another lifetime.

Performance day arrived with familiar anxiety. Both groups would perform back to back, with rankings announced immediately after.

The "Lucifer" team performed first.

They were incredible. Taemin had clearly worked magic with them. The choreography was sharp, powerful, commanding. Yushi and Sion anchored the performance with their usual excellence. 

Backstage, Sakuya's group looked at each other with varying degrees of panic. How were they supposed to follow that?

But they took the stage for "U" despite it.

The music started, and Sakuya let everything else fall away. The longing. The distance. The impossible promise. He poured it all into the performance.

When the music ended, there was a beat of silence.

Backstage, Haruta grabbed Sakuya's shoulders. "We did it. We actually did it."

"We did it," Sakuya echoed, hardly believing it.

All twelve trainees stood on stage as the rankings were announced. Again they started with third place. What he didn’t expect was–

"Third place: Fujinaga Sakuya."

Sakuya's brain stuttered. Third? He'd placed third?

The cameras captured his shock, his disbelief. Third place. Up from fifth. Top three.

"Second place: Riku."

"First place: Jungmin."

The rankings continued: fourth place–Minjae, fifth place–Anderson, sixth place–Ryu and-

"Ryo."

Oh.

Sakuya's eyes found Ryo in the line. Ryo had dropped from fourth to sixth. While Sakuya had climbed to third.

They'd switched positions.

Ryo's face was carefully neutral, but Sakuya could see the tension in his jaw, the tightness around his eyes. He was close to tears.

After the cameras stopped rolling, after the congratulations ended and the mentors' feedback stopped, Sakuya found himself standing in the hallway with Haruta.

"Third place," Haruta said, grinning. "You did well Sakuya."

"I can't believe it," Sakuya said.

"Believe it. You earned it." Haruta patted him on the shoulder.

Down the hall, Sakuya could see Ryo talking with Riku. Ryo's body language was stiff, his smile forced, the same fake brightness he wore when he was pretending everything was fine.

Sakuya's chest tightened with the urge to walk over there, to pull Ryo aside, to ask if he was okay. Six months ago he would have done it without thinking. Would have dragged Ryo to their room, made him talk about whatever was wrong, stayed up late until they'd worked through it together.

But now everything felt weird.

Not bad, exactly. Just... different. Complicated in ways Sakuya couldn't quite name.

He found himself noticing things he'd never paid attention to before. The way Ryo's hair fell into his eyes when he was tired, how his whole face changed when he smiled for real versus when he was faking it. The sound of Ryo's voice through the wall at night had become something Sakuya listened for, something he missed when it wasn't there. And when Ryo did well, when he succeeded, Sakuya felt this strange mix of pride and something else, something warm and uncomfortable that settled in his stomach and wouldn't leave.

It made being around Ryo feel like home somehow. Thus the distance between them felt both necessary and unbearable.

Sakuya wanted to be there for him. Wanted to support him the way they'd always supported each other. But every time he thought about approaching Ryo, about bridging that gap, his mind flooded with awareness.

It was easier to stay away. To pretend the weirdness was just about the competition, about rankings and pressure and cameras. To not examine too closely why watching Ryo struggle hurt in a way that felt personal, almost physical.

So Sakuya stayed in the hallway, watching Ryo force that smile for Riku, wanting desperately to help and having no idea how to anymore.

Because somewhere along the way, something had shifted. And Sakuya didn't know what to do with it except avoid it entirely.

So that night, Ryo didn't come to Sakuya's room. Sakuya layed in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about rankings and promises.

Third place felt good. It felt like validation, like proof that he belonged here, that he could compete with the best.

But it also felt lonely.

Because the person he most wanted to celebrate with was the person who'd just fallen behind him.

I want to work hard and debut with Sakuya.

Ryo's words from the first mission echoed back. Said when Ryo was ahead, when he could afford to be generous, when supporting Sakuya didn't threaten his own position.

Would Ryo say the same thing now? Now that Sakuya had surpassed him?

Sakuya didn't know.

The third challenge came, then before they knew it, it was the final challenge. And they were together again.

Two teams. Thirteen trainees. Six debut spots.

After weeks of intensive preparation, the stage was set for the finale of "NCT Universe: Last Start" a broadcast that would determine who would debut in NCT's final unit and who would return to being a trainee, their dreams deferred or possibly crushed entirely.

Sakuya stood backstage with his team, all of them in their performance outfits, sleek black with green and orange accents, faces caked with stage makeup that felt heavy under the harsh lights, bodies thrumming with nervous energy that seemed to vibrate in the air between them. 

The finale format had been announced a week ago: the trainees would be split into two teams of six and seven for one final group performance. The teams had been carefully constructed by the producers to be balanced, mixing high rankers with lower rankers, different skill sets, different personalities. It was meant to test their ability to work together under extreme pressure, to show who could rise to the occasion and who would crack.

"90's Love" by NCT U–Yushi, Sion, Riku, Haruta, Jungmin, Ryu, Heitestu 

"Boss" by NCT U–Yushi, Sion, Minjae, Kassho, Anderson, Sakuya, Ryo, Daeyoung

When the teams were announced, Sakuya had felt simultaneous relief and terror. Relief because he and Ryo were together, they'd be performing side by side for the first time since the pair mission, they'd have each other's support through this final crucible. Terror because being on the same team meant they'd be judged together, their fates more intertwined than ever. If the team failed, they both might fall. If the team succeeded, one of them might still be left behind.

"Five minutes to stage," a staff member called out, and the backstage area erupted into final preparations. Vocal warm ups, last minute stretches, hushed prayers and affirmations.

Sakuya's hands were shaking. He pressed them against his thighs, trying to steady himself, trying to breathe through the anxiety that was threatening to overwhelm him.

"Hey." Ryo appeared beside him, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. "You okay?"

"Terrified," Sakuya admitted, keeping his voice low. Cameras were everywhere, but at this moment he couldn't bring himself to care about maintaining the right image.

"Me too." Ryo's hand found Sakuya's, hidden between their bodies where the cameras couldn't see. He squeezed once, hard, then let go. "But we're doing this together. Same team. Same performance. We rise or fall together."

“Right.”

Sakuya wanted to say something more, but the cameras were rolling, their team was gathering for final huddle, and there was no time, no privacy, no way to articulate feelings he barely understood himself.

"You’re turn," the stage manager called.

They gathered in a circle, all five of them, hands stacked in the center. Sion said something about giving it everything. Kassho's hand was shaking where it touched Sakuya's. Anderson looked pale but determined. And Ryo, Ryo was looking at Sakuya with an expression that made Sakuya's chest ache.

"For debut," Sion said.

"For debut," they echoed.

They were guided to the stage entrance, standing in darkness just off stage, and Sakuya could hear his own heartbeat, could feel Ryo beside him, could sense the weight of everything that was about to happen.

The lights went down. The announcement came from somewhere in their in ears: "three, two, one."

They walked onto the stage.

They took their opening positions. Sakuya could see Ryo in his peripheral vision, could sense his presence like a magnetic pull. The music started-that distinctive opening, atmospheric and dark and challenging.

And then they were moving.

Once the song finished the music cut out.

And they held their final poses, chests heaving, sweat dripping, every muscle trembling with exertion and adrenaline.

Backstage, their team collapsed into chairs, all of them shaking with exhaustion and residual adrenaline. Staff swarmed with water bottles and towels. Cameras captured their post performance reactions.

They were herded into a holding area with the first team, all thirteen now waiting for the results. The atmosphere was thick with tension, with hope and fear and desperation. Some traines were pacing. Others sat in silence. Yushi and Sion were talking quietly in a corner.

Sakuya found a chair and tried to breathe through the anxiety. His hands were still shaking. His stomach was in knots. In a few moments, he'd know if the past year, the training, the competition, the sacrifice, everything, had been enough.

Ryo sat down beside him, close enough that their knees touched. "No matter what happens," Ryo said quietly, "I'm glad it was you. I'm glad we did this together."

"Ryo–"

"I mean it." Ryo's voice was fierce, low enough that only Sakuya could hear over the ambient noise. "Whatever happens out there, whatever they announce, I need you to know, doing this with you, these past months, it's been..." He trailed off, seeming to struggle for words. "It's been everything."

Sakuya's chest felt too tight. There was so much he wanted to say, so many things he'd been holding back, but the words wouldn't come. 

"Finalists, please proceed to the stage," a staff member announced.

This was it.

They filed out onto the stage one last time, all thirteen of them standing in a line facing the judges, the very own NCT members they would potentially debut beside. The lights were blinding.

The judges gave brief comments about the performances, about how difficult the decision was, about the incredible level of talent.

Then came the moment everyone had been waiting for.

Sakuya's heart was pounding so hard he thought it might break through his chest. Beside him, he could sense the other trainees equally terrified, equally desperate.

"Before we announce the results," the host said, "I want to remind everyone that not making the debut group does not mean failure. Each of you has shown incredible growth and talent. Your journeys are not over, they're just beginning."

It was meant to be comforting, but all Sakuya heard was: Most of you are about to lose everything.

"The six members of the debut group, in no particular order..."

The first name was called.

And their future, whatever it would be, began to unfold.

The stage lights dimmed except for a single spotlight that would illuminate each chosen trainee as their name was called.

Sakuya couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything except stand there and wait for his fate to be decided.

"The first member of the debut group is..."

A pause that felt like centuries.

"Daeyoung."

Daeyoung from Sakuya's team. He looked relieved as he joined the debut line.

Daeyoung walked to the front of the stage where the debut members would stand, Yushi and Sion waiting for him.

One down. three spots left.

"The second place is Sakuya."

The light hit him like a physical force, and for a moment, Sakuya's brain couldn't process what had happened. His name. They'd called his name.

He'd made it.

He'd actually made it.

But–

Ryo.

Two spots left. Nine people still hoping. And Ryo was just one face among them.

Sakuya's legs moved on autopilot, carrying him to the front of the stage to join the other four debut members. 

He'd made it, but Ryo might not. After everything.

Sakuya took his place in the lineup, standing on the end of Sion and Yushi, and his entire body felt numb. He couldn't look at Ryo. Couldn't bear to see his face.

The judges were drawing out the final announcement, building tension, creating drama for the cameras. Every second felt like an eternity.

"The first place member is Riku."

The spotlight swung to Riku, who looked shocked despite probably knowing he'd make it. He'd been consistently strong throughout the competition. Of course he'd debut.

One spot left.. Eight trainees still waiting.

Sakuya's hands were shaking so badly he had to clasp them behind his back. The cameras were on all of them, capturing every moment.

The odds were impossible now. Sakuya could feel panic rising in his throat. They’d come so far. Worked so hard. Changed so much. And it still might not be enough.

"And the sixth member of the debut group..."

It had to be Jungmin. Everyone knew it. He'd been ranked first consistently throughout the show. But that left one spot. One final position. And two of them still standing here.

Sakuya's vision blurred at the edges. His chest felt like it was caving in. If he looked at Ryo now, if he saw the hope or fear on Ryo's face, he'd break down completely. He'd managed to hold himself together for a whole year, through every ranking, criticism and sleepless night, but this would shatter him.

He couldn't look. Couldn't bear to see Ryo's expression when one of their names was called and the other wasn't.

Sakuya closed his eyes.

If Ryo's name wasn't called, if someone else took that final spot, Sakuya wouldnt know what to do. Because somewhere over these nine months, Ryo had stopped being just a training partner, just a friend, just someone to survive this with. He'd become essential. Necessary. The reason any of this meant anything.

And Sakuya would rather have nothing at all than have everything without him.

The host's voice cut through the noise, about to announce the final name–

"Jungmin."

Jungmin, who'd been first place consistently, who everyone knew would make it, let out a sigh of relief and moved forward to join the debut line, taking the spot next to Sakuya.

Six members. The debut line was complete.

Sakuya's entire body went cold. It was over. Ryo hadn't–

He opened his eyes, found Ryo in the elimnation line. Ryo was staring straight ahead, his face carefully blank, but Sakuya could see the devastation in the set of his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes.

No. No, this wasn't–

"Wait." BoA said from the judges' table, holding up her hand.  "Before we conclude, the judges need to make an announcement."

The stage fell silent. The remaining trainees in the elimination line, including Ryo, stood frozen, not understanding what was happening.

Euhyuk started, "We had an emergency meeting during one of the meetings" he said, his voice carrying across the venue. "After watching the performances and chemistry performances, we made a decision."

BoA continued, "We've decided to expand the final lineup. NCT's last unit will debut with seven members, not six."

Seven members. One more spot.

Sakuya's breath caught. One more chance. Ryo could still–

"The seventh and final member of NCT's debut lineup..."

Time seemed to stop. Sakuya couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only stand there in the debut line, willing the universe to give him this one thing. Let it be Ryo. Please let it be Ryo.

Key looked directly at the elimination line, his eyes seeming to land on Ryo.

"Ryo."

Relief.

Then Ryo was walking forward, each step bringing him closer to the debut line, closer to Sakuya, closer to the future they'd promised each other. The cameras captured it all, Ryo's stunned expression, his hesitant walk, the moment he reached the debut line and stood in the middle of them all like the glue–with Sakuya, Yushi, Sion, Jungmin, Riku and Daeyoung–it made perfect sense. He belonged there. His energy, his talent, his presence–it fit perfectly with the group they'd formed.

The seven of them together looked right. Complete.

Together. They'd made it together.

Just like they'd promised.