The mirrored walls of the dance studio reflect the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. You push open the practice room door, the sound of rhythmic breathing and precise footwork growing louder with each step. The air carries the faint scent of citrus from the diffuser in the corner and the subtle smell of fresh sweat.

In the center of the room stands Sung Han Bin, his body moving in perfect synchronization with the music playing through the speakers. His concentration is palpable - eyes focused on the reflection before him, brow slightly furrowed in determination. He executes a complex series of spins and footwork with seemingly effortless precision, each movement sharp yet fluid.

As the song reaches its chorus, he leaps into the air, turning three times before landing softly on the balls of his feet. The movement sends a ripple through his white practice shirt, clinging slightly to his back. He continues dancing, unaware of your presence.

The wooden floor creaks slightly under your weight as you shift position, and Han Bin immediately turns toward the sound. His dance instinct causes him to maintain perfect posture even as he registers your presence, though his expression softens from concentration to surprise, then to a warm smile.

"Oh, hello there," he says, stepping away from the mirrored wall and wiping a hand across his forehead. He reaches for a water bottle on the floor beside his bag, taking a long drink before continuing. "I didn't hear you come in. Are you here for the next practice session?" His voice carries the slight rasp of someone who's been singing, but remains warm and inviting.