#cortis x

The next morning, you overslept. None of the girls were in the dorm, your phone was dead, and outside, rain was pouring.

You sprinted through the streets with a broken umbrella, shoes soaked, praying you weren’t late.

Room 203. That’s where you were supposed to be.

You shoved the door open, panting.

“Hello, please excuse me for being—”

The words froze on your tongue.

Five men stopped mid-dance to stare at you. Their reflections glared from the mirrors on the wall.

Mortified, you bowed. “I’m sorry! I thought this was our assigned room.” Your Korean was clumsy, so you quickly switched back to English.

“It’s okay,” a voice said.

You looked up. The speaker stood near the center—tall, broad-shouldered, his voice deep enough to rattle the floorboards. He could’ve rivaled Mingyu in height. And that smile… way too polite for your pounding heart.

“Are you lost?” he asked.

Heat crept up your cheeks. “Um, yeah. My phone died and I wasn’t sure where to go.”

“Are you with the Dream Academy trainees?”

“Yes.”

“Your room’s next door. Our schedules overlapped, so they probably switched things around.” His lips curved into a polite smile.

Relief flooded through you. “Oh! Thank you—and sorry again.” You bowed before darting out.

But when you opened your door, the room was completely empty.

“What the heck…”

Your phone buzzed back to life.

our schedule had been delayed by two hours.

Great.

So you sat alone, drenched sneakers squeaking against the practice floor, while your mind replayed his voice. His smile. His height.

You didn’t even know his name.

But you knew you weren’t going to forget him.

The next day, you weren’t taking any chances.

Phone fully charged. Clothes laid out the night before. Shoes dry. You arrived at Room 203 earlier than scheduled, determined not to repeat yesterday’s disaster.

When you pushed the door open, the sound of chatter and laughter greeted you. Several of the Dream Academy girls were already inside, stretching and warming up. Relief washed over you—finally, no more embarrassing wrong turns.

But then your gaze swept further into the room.

They were there again.

The same five men from yesterday, along with different other people scattered across the mirrors and floor like they belonged here.

Wait… what?

Were they… trainees too?

Your steps faltered, heart skipping as your eyes landed on him.

The tall one. The one with the voice that had haunted your thoughts all night.

He wasn’t dancing this time. He was sitting by the mirrors, tugging at his shoelaces. But the second his gaze lifted, his eyes caught yours like a hook. That faint, almost teasing smile curved his lips again.

“You found the right room today,” he said, his voice low but clear enough to cut through the noise.

A few of the girls glanced curiously between the two of you, but you quickly busied yourself by setting down your bag, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks.

Before you could think too hard about it, the door swung open and the director strode inside, clipboard in hand.

“Alright, everyone. Listen up!” His voice silenced the room. “From today, Dream Academy contestants will be training alongside HYBE’s pre-debut trainees. Consider this an extension of your evaluation.”

Murmurs rippled through the girls, but the five men remained calm, focused.

The director began reading out names. “We’ll be pairing you off—one trainee, one contestant.”

Your stomach flipped. Pairing? With them?

The list went on, names matched, pairs forming. Each call tightened the knot in your chest.

Then, the director’s eyes scanned the sheet before lifting to point straight at you.

“You—” he said firmly. “You’ll be working with him.”

Every head turned.

Your breath caught as your eyes lifted, only to find his already waiting on you—steady, unreadable, locked in place.

You still didn’t know his name.

The director didn’t waste time. “Pair off. Get to know each other. You’ll be working closely for the next few weeks, so make it count.”

The girls moved quickly, chattering nervously as they matched with the boys. You, on the other hand, froze. Your heart was hammering as he started walking toward you—long strides, calm expression, like he wasn’t fazed at all.

Up close, he was even taller than you’d remembered. You had to tilt your head back just to meet his eyes.

“Guess we’re partners,” he said simply. His Korean accent was light, but his voice was deep enough to rattle you.

You swallowed, forcing a nod. “Yeah. I guess so.”

He extended his hand, waiting.

“Martin Park.”

Your breath hitched. Finally, you had a name.

Carefully, you placed your hand in his, the warmth of his grip steadying you more than you’d like to admit.

“…Nice to meet you,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

The director clapped his hands again. “For today, pairs will learn a short routine. We want to see how well you can adapt to someone else’s rhythm.”

Great. Dancing. With him.

He led you to an empty corner of the room, scrolling through the music file the staff had sent. “Have you seen this choreography yet?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. “No. It’s new to me.”

He nodded once. “Then watch first.”

The song started, and he began to move. Smooth. Effortless. Every step sharp, precise, like he had the choreography running through his veins. You couldn’t help staring.

When the music stopped, he turned back to you. “Your turn.”

Your stomach flipped. “Wait—I just saw it once—”

“Try,” he said, not unkindly, but firm.

You stumbled through the first few steps, tripping over your feet, too aware of his gaze following every move. When the music stopped, you groaned and covered your face with your hands. “That was… terrible.”

A quiet chuckle escaped him, low and short. “Not terrible. Just rushed.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. He was smirking now, just slightly.

“Let’s go again,” he said. “Slower. I’ll guide you.”

This time, when the music started, he stepped closer—close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him.

His hand brushed lightly against your arm as he corrected your posture. His voice was calm, steady, counting under his breath.

“One, two, three. Don’t look at your feet.”

Easy for him to say. Your heart was pounding so loud you could barely hear the music.

After a few tries, you managed to get through half the routine without stumbling. You exhaled sharply, a laugh breaking out. “Okay, that wasn’t a disaster.”

His lips curved—not a full smile, but enough to make your chest tighten. “Better,” he said. “You learn fast.”

And just like that, the director called for a break.

You sat against the mirrored wall, pulling your water bottle out with shaky hands. Across the room, he leaned casually against the barre, sipping his own water. But his eyes flicked to you once, briefly, before he looked away.

Later that night, you collapsed onto your dorm bed, staring at the ceiling.

But no matter how many times you closed your eyes, all you saw was him.

His voice counting under his breath.

His hand adjusting your arm.

That faint smirk when you stumbled.

“Earth to you,” Sophia’s voice snapped you out of your daze. She was sitting cross-legged across the room, scrolling on her phone with a knowing look.

“You’ve been staring at nothing for ten minutes,” she said, raising a brow. “Don’t tell me you’re still thinking about practice.”

You groaned and buried your face in your pillow. “Maybe.”

“Or…” Her tone turned mischievous. “Maybe you’re thinking about someone.”

Your head shot up, cheeks hot. “What? No! That’s ridiculous.”

Sophia grinned, tossing her pillow at you. “Uh-huh. So that’s why you smiled when you said his name earlier?”

You froze. You hadn’t even realized you had said his name. Out loud.

But then, something in Sophia’s smile faltered—just for a moment. Her eyes flickered, almost cautious, before she looked back at her phone.

“Just… don’t lose focus okay?” she muttered, softer now.

You frowned. “Of course, why would I?”

She shook her head quickly. “Nervermind. I was just teasing.”

But the way her tone had shifted stuck with you long after the lights went out.

A few days later, you were rushing down the hall, late for vocal practice. Your bag was slipping off your shoulder, your water bottle wobbling dangerously at the edge of your grip.

And of course—that was the moment your shoelace decided to betray you.

You tripped forward with a yelp, bracing for the floor.

But instead of cold tiles, you collided with someone’s chest.

“Whoa—careful.”

That voice. That deep, steady voice.

You looked up, and there he was. Martin.

Heat flooded your cheeks as you quickly straightened. “Sorry! I wasn’t looking—”

He crouched before you could finish, tying your loose shoelace with quick, practiced hands. “You’ll hurt yourself if you keep running like that.”

You blinked, too stunned to respond. No one had tied your shoelaces since… well, forever.

He stood again, meeting your eyes. “There. Better.”

And before you could thank him, he gave a small nod and continued down the hall, leaving your heart racing in his wake.

It didn’t happen all at once. But slowly—day by day—you and Martin began to fall into a rhythm.

He’d correct your form in practice, teasing lightly when you got it wrong.

You’d tease him back, saying he was too much of a perfectionist.

Somehow, the bickering made practice less exhausting.

During breaks, you started sitting near each other. First out of coincidence. Then, out of choice.

One day, after a long rehearsal, you found yourselves scrolling through your phones side by side. Out of nowhere, he said, “What’s your instagram?”

You blinked.

“Instagram?” He glanced at you. “So I can send you practice notes. And memes.”

The corner of your mouth tugged upward. “Memes, huh?”

Still, you handed over your phone. He typed his username in and followed himself, sliding it back to you with a small, satisfied smirk.

From then on, it became normal.

A funny TikTok here. A late-night “don’t forget to stretch” message there.

Inside jokes started forming—about your clumsiness, about his habit of drinking too much iced coffee.

Every day, it became harder to deny it.

You weren’t just partners anymore.

You were something more.

Evaluations were always brutal. Long hours, endless repetition, and the constant weight of knowing every little mistake would be judged.

This time was no different. Sweat ran down your back as you tried to keep up with the music, muscles burning. Your group was being reviewed in front of several trainers, and every second felt like a spotlight exposing your flaws.

When the song ended, you collapsed against the wall, lungs screaming for air.

Across the room, Martin stood tall, barely winded. But his eyes weren’t on the trainers, or even on the mirror. They were on you.

You caught his gaze and quickly looked down, pretending to tighten your shoelaces.

But he walked over anyway, crouching just enough so he was level with you. His voice was low, meant only for you.

“You’re pushing too hard.”

You frowned, wiping sweat from your forehead. “I have to. If I fall behind—”

“You won’t,” he interrupted, steady and certain. “You’re better than you think.”

For a second, the noise of the room faded. It was just his words, anchoring you, threading through your exhaustion.

“…Thanks,” you whispered, unable to meet his eyes.

He leaned back, expression unreadable. But the faintest ghost of a smile tugged at his lips before he stood and walked away.

And just like that, your heart was pounding harder than it had during the dance.

The next day, you stayed late to practice alone. The room was dim, only the faint hum of the air conditioner filling the silence. You stumbled through the steps again and again, frustration rising.

And then the door opened.

“Still here?

You turned, breathless, to see Martin in the doorway. His hair was damp from a shower, a hoodie pulled over his head.

“I… couldn’t get it right,” you admitted.

He stepped inside, dropping his bag by the wall. “Show me.”

You tried again, clumsy, but before you could stop yourself, you groaned in defeat. “See? I’m hopeless.”

“No,” Martin said firmly. He moved behind you, placing his hand gently against your shoulder to guide you into the right angle. “Here. Try it like this.”

The warmth of his hand lingered, and suddenly the room felt much smaller. Your heart hammered as his voice brushed your ear.

“One, two, three… better.”

You looked up at him through the mirror, and for the first time, he wasn’t just your partner. He was… something else.

And the way his gaze held yours made it clear—he felt it too.

The D-Day finally came.

Months of training blurred into one long stretch of sweat and nerves. Evaluations came and went, each one leaving you a little more drained, a little more uncertain. And now—the final day was here.

The announcement.

Every trainee was gathered in the main hall, hundreds of bodies pressed close, the air thick with anticipation. You stood shoulder to shoulder with Sophia, your hands clammy, your heart threatening to leap out of your chest.

The panel sat on the stage, papers neatly stacked, microphones adjusted. Any second now, they would speak.

You swallowed hard and let your eyes wander, searching for something—anything—that might ground you.

That’s when you spotted him.

Martin was near the front of the crowd, posture calm and composed, but you could tell from the tight set of his jaw that he was just as nervous as everyone else. Still, he held himself with a quiet steadiness that drew your eyes like a magnet.

When he noticed you looking, he didn’t smile—he simply gave you a small, reassuring nod. Like he was saying, It’s going to be okay. We’ve worked too hard to let fear win now.

And somehow, it helped.

Your chest loosened, your racing thoughts slowed. In this room filled with tension, he felt like the one steady point you could cling to.

The head judge tapped the microphone, and silence fell like a heavy curtain.

“After months of training, evaluation, and dedication… we are proud to announce the final seven members of KATSEYE.”

A sharp inhale rippled through the crowd. Your breath caught.

Please. Please let my name be called.

Your pulse thundered in your ears.

“In first place… Sophia, from the Philippines!”

The crowd exploded with cheers. Sophia froze, eyes wide, before covering her face with both hands. She turned back to you briefly, clutching your hand with trembling fingers before making her way up the stage.

“In second place… Lara, from the USA!”

More cheers. Lara’s smile was confident as she brushed back her hair and walked forward gracefully.

You squeezed your hands together so tightly your knuckles ached. The list was shrinking.

“In third place… [Your Name].”

For a moment, the sound blurred.

Did you hear that right?

Sophia turned toward you from the stage, grinning so brightly it made your eyes sting. You forced your legs to move, your body still half in disbelief as you stepped into the spotlight.

The cheers, the cameras, the flashing lights—it all felt unreal.

One by one, the remaining names were called:

“Fourth place… Lara, from the USA.”

“Fifth place… Yoonchae, from South Korea.”

“Sixth place… Megan, from the USA.”

“And in seventh place… Manon, from Switzerland.”

The final lineup stood on stage, the applause rolling over you like a wave. Your chest tightened as you glanced at the glowing KATSEYE logo projected behind you.

This is it.

For months, you had trained, stumbled, doubted, and pushed through every evaluation. And now, standing under the blinding lights with six other girls, you realized the dream had become real.

The announcer smiled proudly. “Everyone, please welcome the official seven members of KATSEYE!”

The hall erupted again, but this time, you weren’t just another trainee clapping along—you were one of the names everyone was cheering for.

Backstage was chaos—staff rushing, cameras flashing, the other six girls crying and laughing around you.

But in the middle of all the noise, your eyes caught on a familiar figure waiting just beyond the crowd.

Martin.

He stood there quietly, hands tucked in his pockets, his expression steady even while everyone else was in a frenzy. Somehow, seeing him made your chest loosen, like all the pressure finally had somewhere safe to land.

Without thinking twice, you slipped past the others and walked toward him.

When he saw you coming, his lips curved into a smile—soft, proud.

“Third place,” he said, his voice low but warm. “I knew you’d make it.”

You laughed breathlessly, trying to wipe the tears off your cheeks with the back of your hand. “I… I still can’t believe it. It feels unreal.”

Martin reached out then, hesitating for only a second before brushing his thumb gently over your cheek, catching a tear you’d missed. “It’s real. You worked harder than anyone. You deserve this.”

The sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say—until he drew in a quiet breath, his usual calm giving way to something more vulnerable.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he murmured. His eyes didn’t leave yours, steady but searching.

“These months training with you… you’ve been the reason I got through the hardest days. I didn’t want to say anything before, not when everything was uncertain. But now—”

He exhaled, “I like you. More than a friend. More than a teammate. I’ve liked you for a while.”

Your heart stuttered. For all the long nights, the shared water bottles, the small smiles across practice rooms—you’d wondered, but hearing it out loud still left you breathless.

The noise backstage faded, just for a moment.

A shaky laugh escaped you, your eyes burning again. “You’re really going to make me cry more after I just got off stage?”

Martin chuckled softly, shoulders relaxing, but there was still that flicker of worry in his eyes. “So… is that a bad thing?”

You shook your head quickly, stepping closer so your words wouldn’t get lost in the noise.

“No. It’s not bad. It’s—” you exhaled, the truth tumbling out with your breath, “it’s good. Because… I like you too. I have for a while, but I didn’t know if it was okay to say it. Not when everything felt so uncertain.”

His eyes widened, just for a second, before softening into the most genuine smile you’d ever seen from him. Relief washed over his face like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“Really?” he whispered.

“Really,” you said, nodding, your own smile breaking through your tears.

And before either of you could say more, he leaned down—careful, slow, like he was giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you met him halfway, the noise of celebration behind you fading into nothing as the two of you finally, finally closed the distance.

When you pulled back, both of you were laughing quietly, hearts racing.

“Guess we both won something tonight,” Martin murmured, eyes still locked on you.

And for the first time, you believed it.

Months turned into a year, and everything changed.

Katseye wasn’t just a project anymore—it was the group.

Headlines screamed your names, performances trended across the globe, and fans waved lightsticks in colors that matched your logo. You’d trained for this, dreamed of this, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the reality of stepping onto stages in cities you’d only ever seen in books and screens.

And through it all, Martin was there.

Sometimes in the quiet moments, waiting outside the practice room with a coffee because he knew you’d skipped breakfast.

Sometimes in the loudest, like now—front row at Lollapalooza, next to Cortis, his voice hoarse from cheering before the show even started.

You spotted him the second you ran onto stage, lights exploding around you, music shaking the ground.

He wasn’t holding a phone, wasn’t recording—he was just watching you, eyes brighter than the spotlights, cheering so loud it reached you even through the roar of thousands.

During the bridge, when the world blurred into colors and beats, your gaze found him again. And for just a second, the crowd disappeared.

This was the dream.

You were living it.

And Martin—Martin was still the same boy who’d first handed you your water bottle during training, the one who’d laughed with you through exhaustion, the one who’d stood with you in the uncertainty of it all. Only now, he was something more.

When the final note hit and the fireworks erupted behind you, you lifted your mic with the rest of Katseye, bowing to the audience.

But when you straightened, you couldn’t help searching for him again. He was there—clapping, smiling, mouthing the words you could read even from the stage.

I’m so proud of you.

And you smiled back, because in a way, this victory was his too.

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