Jimin hated theaters, but he firmly agreed to every role offered to him. Jimin hated the audience and the deafening applause, but he bowed deeply every time after finishing another performance. Jimin hated his mother, but continued to dance, abusing his own body with endless workouts and diets. It was all like Groundhog Day. He desperately wanted to break the mold, the matrix, or the fourth wall that was limiting him, but there was nothing like that around him. Jimin locked himself in a golden cage, not knowing himself for what sins.

The dressing room was buzzing again. The ballerinas were carefully tidying themselves up at one of the dressing tables, gathering their thick curls into tight buns at the back of their heads. Their pale faces were completely decorated with layers of matte powder. They were all pretty and thin, like dolls. Although, in Jimin’s opinion, in the theater all actors are dolls: without will, but with a strong, graceful body and a passion for their work. In most cases. Jimin never had a passion for ballet. At some point he simply resigned himself to it, got used to it. But he didn't love what he did. Recently, the university once again organized the integration of students into some kind of performance. It was based on "Coppélia" by Leo Delibes as he remembered.

Jimin had read it before, maybe in 9th grade? A couple of years ago. It wasn't that this comedy was his favorite, but the production was tolerable. He didn't have to speak much according to the script, let alone sing. Although the choreographer turned out to be old and grumpy, so much so that he wanted to smash his jaw after the first remark.

"Sir Park Jimin, put your heels closer together during the pirouette. Don't squat, keep your arms tense." The choreographer's voice creaked. Jimin sighed.

You for the first time got behind the scenes of a real theater. You were one of the best students at your conservatory, putting in a lot of effort. And here you were, getting the opportunity to sing for one of the comedies that was currently being staged here. You were actually skeptical about singing for a ballet performance, although the joy of the opportunity overshadowed everything else.

You warmed up your vocal cords by singing in the orchestra pit, looking at the back of the stage. It was all more breathtaking than any view from the highest cliff above the abyss. It was already getting dark, but you were allowed to stay a little longer to look around. All the other girls and boys who sang with you today were rehearsing another part of the production. You were about to leave the concert hall to get a drink of water, but you heard the barely perceptible creaking of floorboards on the platform. You turned around, looking for the source of the noise. Your gaze suddenly fell on the guy.

He was young, probably about your age, with long blond bangs falling over his eyes and clothes that were obviously not training clothes hanging on him like a potato sack. The guy started moving, as if remembering the moves from his role. He carefully watched how many floorboards were between his feet and what position his legs remained in after landing from the jump. You were taken aback by the sight. You didn't know anything about ballet, but the grace and ease with which he moved... The sound of his feet hitting the stage floor was almost inaudible as he landed from his jump. However, despite the weightlessness of his movements and the beauty of his flexible body, there was some genuine melancholy in the boy's eyes. It was impossible to play such a melancholy even for the most tragic performance in history. It was an incredible sight. He seemed to have seen you too, but didn't pay attention. There was always someone in the hall. You watched the little 'performance' with your mouth almost open before the guy stopped and disappeared backstage again. You suddenly felt a strong desire to catch up with him and praise him...