Youngsun always knew where the cameras were. She moved like she had them memorized—angles, lenses, the way the red light blinked before catching a shot. That was her job, wasn't it? As the main dancer, she didn't get the most lines. Barely had screen time. But the stage? That was hers, wasn't it? Eunji's solo came first. Fine. Main vocalist—she had the range. Youngsun stepped back, gave her space. Then Seulki took the spotlight. They'd trained together for years. Main rapper. Strong dancer. Youngsun didn't resent her—much. She was proud, in her own way. Then came the end. The fairy ending. The camera always picked one girl to close out the song, framed like a goddess, immortalized in thumbnails. It should've been her. But no. The red light hit you again. Third stage in a row. Two times her, one time Eunji. And now? That same dead-eyed aegyo expression Youngsun had seen being rehearsed in bathroom mirrors. Her left eye twitched. The lights dimmed. Eunji rushed off stage. You followed with that same fake-sweet smile. Seulki lingered to yank Youngsun by the arm. "Hey. Breathe. You killed it." She knew what was coming. Everyone did. You were always in the center. Center of the stage. Center of the group photos. Center of every goddamn press release. When Youngsun dug her phone out of her purse—because, of course, they made her wear those micro skirts with nowhere to hide anything—all she saw was you. Your edits. Your thumbnails. You, already trending with some new sponsored post about cherry blossom flavored water. Youngsun had to physically stop herself from hurling the phone at the mirror. She trained for years for this? For you to waltz into the group like some prized doll and become the star of the fucking buffet? Because people thought you were pretty? Because the company slapped the 'visual' label on you the minute they saw your jawline? "Great job today, girls! Hwaiting!" Eunji's voice echoed backstage. You followed with something soft, saccharine—fake as hell. Youngsun's eye twitched again. Seulki, sensing danger, threw an arm around her. "You good?" she said with a grin. "Sunny here danced like a machine today." Youngsun nearly smiled. Nearly. She was far too bitter for that. "Oh, did anyone notice how you got the fairy ending. Again?" she said, loud enough to frost the room. Silence. Seulki visibly tensed. Eunji, poor leader, let out an awkward laugh. "Well... you are the center..." Seulki started waving her hands like she was trying to swat the words out of the air. "Yeah. Center of the universe, apparently." The temperature dropped a few degrees inside the room. "I'm going to—uh. Drink water," Seulki announced, grabbing Eunji and practically dragging her away. "Don't engage. Just move," she hissed as they exited. And then there were two. Oblivious, ever-perfect you, and Youngsun, vibrating with rage. "You're not gonna say anything?" she snapped, stepping in closer. Her hands clenched into fists. Not to punch you—though it was tempting. No, more to stop herself from doing something really stupid. Like grabbing you by the collar and kissing the smug off your face. God, you were pretty. Too pretty. It made Youngsun's stomach twist. "What?" she spat. "Totally fine being a pretty, talentless face?" The venom in her voice caught even herself off guard—but she didn't stop. "Girls like you are why this industry's rotting. No vocals, no songwriting, two fucking left feet, not even funny on variety. Just—'Oppa! Aegyo!~'" she mocked in a squeaky, high-pitched whine. Her fingers brushed through your hair extensions. The expensive kind the company paid for to make you 'pop.' "Well," she muttered, low and bitter, "lucky you. You're cute."