#seve

Jaeha’s awakening was predictable torture. Her phone’s alarm buzzed on the nightstand with an insistence that no amount of fatigue could quell. Her gaze slid across the screen: “5:30 AM – London, Heathrow.” Another plane, another errand, another hotel where she would have only a few hours to recover before continuing with Seventeen. She sat up slowly, her body numb, her muscles remembering every kilometer traveled in the car, every dance jump she had rehearsed to exhaustion the day before.

The hotel room, impersonal and cold, smelled of disinfectant and instant coffee. She grabbed her headphones and jacket, slipping her phone and passport into the inside pocket. The night had been short, but the schedule left her no room for indulgence. The taxi was already waiting for her downstairs, engine purring, driver already impatient.

On the plane, she sat by the window and watched the city lights disappear beneath the black veil of dawn. Her hands trembled slightly, not from cold, but from fatigue. She mentally reviewed the schedule for the next few days: training, interviews, dance rehearsals, recording, staff meetings, errands. An endless list, a chain of obligations that sometimes overwhelmed her. The stress wasn’t just physical; it was mental, emotional. She felt suspended between two worlds, each demanding perfection.

Her phone vibrated: message from the F2 team.

“Jaeha, technical briefing at 7:00. Don’t be late.”

She sighed, tapping out an automatic reply: “Understood.” She didn’t even have the energy to smile. Staring at the screen, she wondered how long she could keep up this pace before her body decided to give up.

As she landed in Milan, her mind wandered to Seoul. In a few hours, she would be on set, surrounded by cameras and the members of Seventeen, smiling, vibrant with energy as if fatigue didn’t exist. She knew this role by heart: the perfect idol, the reassuring big sister, the performer who never shows her flaws. But that evening, in the taxi taking her to the hotel, she felt the weight of her two lives weigh more heavily than ever.

Once she arrived at the hotel, she dropped her bag on the floor and turned on her laptop to check emails and notifications. Messages from her F2 teammates, reminders from Seventeen, emails from her F2 manager , each adding a small pebble to her already heavy bag.

“You really should get some rest, Jaeha.”

She jumped. It was the familiar tone of her assistant, Mina, who entered with a gentle smile, as if she didn’t want to worry her.

“I… I don’t really have time,” Jaeha replied, massaging her temples.

“You have to,” Mina insisted. “Even an hour of sleep is better than nothing. Otherwise, you might collapse on set or on the dance floor tomorrow.”

Jaeha looked down, aware of the truth in Mina’s words. She shook her head, attempting a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I have to hold on. I can’t give up,” she whispered.

Hours passed between calls, emails, and race plan checks. Every little detail counted. She mentally noted the routes, the weather changes, the strategies , all while responding to Seventeen’s messages on set, confirming her presence and schedule. Everything had to be perfect, every move calculated. No weakness could be revealed.

The rehearsal room was bathed in harsh light, the cold fluorescents accentuating every contour, every drop of sweat. The wooden floorboards creaked under rapid footsteps, the rhythm of the bass drumming in her ears, hammering her already exhausted body. Jaeha stood in front of the immense mirror, her eyes scrutinizing every movement, every expression, every imperfection.

“Come on, one more time!” the choreographer said, energetic and inflexible.

She nodded and got back into position. Heart pounding, muscles tense, she focused on the movements, the perfect synchronization with the music and the other members of Seventeen. Her body moved mechanically at first, but soon, instinct took over. Every gesture, every pivot, every jump was memorized, ingrained in her body like second nature.

Yet fatigue was beginning to set in. Her legs were trembling slightly after hours of rehearsals, and breathing was becoming increasingly difficult. She could feel her shoulders stiffening, her back protesting. But she couldn’t give in. Not now. Not in front of the cameras, not in front of others. The image had to remain perfect, smiling, dynamic. The idol, the big sister, the one who reassures, the one who inspires.

“Jaeha, no more smiling!” a staff member corrected as he walked past her.

She gave a quick, tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Through the mirror, she saw herself: her hair slightly disheveled, her forehead beaded with sweat, her body trembling but still moving. An image that curiously recalled her karting days.

She froze for a moment, a flashback washing over her. She saw herself again as a child, helmet on her head, steering wheel clutched in her hands, the engine roaring, the track passing before her eyes. Pure adrenaline, total concentration, the feeling of absolute freedom. Every turn, every precise braking, every overtaking was a victory, a moment of total mastery. And now, standing in this room, every jump, every pivot was her new circuit, every song a roaring engine. She smiled inwardly at this parallel , a mixture of nostalgia and amusement.

“Again! Faster!” shouted the choreographer.

The pace quickened. Jaeha launched into the next sequence, feeling her body scream, but she kept going. Each step seemed heavier than the last, each jump an extra effort. The other members of the group occasionally noticed her, exchanging worried glances, but she showed nothing. She had to stay strong, focused, perfect.

“Jaeha, are you okay?” Hoshi asked as he approached, his tone laced with concern.

“Yes… perfectly,” she replied, hiding a small smile.

Hoshi watched her intently, his eyes betraying a silent understanding. He knew. Not everything, but enough. He knew she was carrying a weight no one else understood. Without question, he positioned himself beside her, subtly adjusting his own movements so she would feel his presence , his silent support.

The music paused for a moment. Jaeha nearly collapsed to the floor, sitting up, breathing deeply. She could feel the fatigue eating away at her, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

“Remember when we were talking about go-karting?” Hoshi whispered.

“Yes,” she replied, surprised that he remembered after all these years.

“You told me you loved it. I never understood why you didn’t talk about it anymore,” he said with a half-smile.

Jaeha looked away, feeling an emotion she didn’t want to show. Childhood memories, the taste of freedom on the track, the pure excitement of speed , all of it was buried behind her role as an idol and the secret she had to protect.

“Because some things… some things can’t stay secret if everyone knows them,” she whispered, almost to herself.

Hoshi nodded silently, understanding without pushing. His gaze was a refuge, a place where she could allow herself to be imperfect, even for a few seconds.

Rehearsal resumed. The group members began the choreography again, but Jaeha felt as if suspended between two worlds. Every move was a reminder of what she had given up for success, every jump an echo of the freedom she had known on the track. But she kept going , because she had to, because she wanted to, because this was her life.

By the end of the session, she was exhausted. Her clothes clung to her body, her face dripping with sweat, but she had managed to smile for the cameras, for the members, for the image expected of her.

“Bravo everyone!” shouted the choreographer enthusiastically.

Jaeha nodded, gathering her strength. She took a moment for herself, breathing deeply, feeling every muscle protest but also every fiber vibrate with life. She had held on. She had kept going. She had proven to herself, once again, that she could juggle between worlds, between roles, between expectations and desires.

Before leaving the room, she looked at herself one last time in the mirror. Her tired eyes met her own reflection. A thought emerged, clear, silent, but powerful:

“No matter the fatigue. No matter the judgment. I am still me.”

She knew tomorrow would be another day, another fight, another race, another smile to give the world. But for tonight, she could feel whole, even if only for a few moments.

The rehearsal room was slowly emptying. The other members of Seventeen were putting away the mats, exchanging laughs and comments about the rehearsal, but Jaeha remained standing, leaning against the wall, out of breath, her hands shaking. Her muscles were screaming, her mind was racing. She needed a moment to breathe, to escape this role of perfect idol that was being forced upon her.

“Hey… Jaeha?”

A soft voice broke through the din of the last few steps of tidying up. Hoshi had approached, hands in his pockets, his gaze attentive. He said nothing more , he didn’t criticize, didn’t analyze. He simply observed, as he had always known how to do. Since they were nine years old, since go-karting had been their secret playground.

She turned her head towards him, forcing a smile she knew was fragile.

“Hi…” she whispered.

He crouched down slightly to be at her height, maintaining that calm that had always been reassuring.

“I saw you during the session… you didn’t seem like yourself,” he said softly.

Jaeha lowered her eyes, trying to hide the exhaustion, the tension, everything she’d been carrying in silence for weeks. But Hoshi didn’t need words to understand. He knew her silences, her looks, her gestures that betrayed everything she wanted to hide.

“I’m... I’m fine,” she tried. “Nothing serious. Just a little tired.”

“Tired… that’s an understatement,” he smiled slightly, but not mockingly. “I know when something’s weighing you down.”

She felt a pang in her heart. No one else seemed to see what she was going through; no one could understand the compromises she was making between the two lives she led. Between the stage and the circuit. Between the image expected of her and the one she wanted to preserve for herself.

“You know,” Hoshi murmured, “I remember those hours at the kart… how excited you were about every turn, every acceleration… And I always wondered why you didn’t talk about it anymore.”

Jaeha felt her eyes moisten. This memory, this little piece of her childhood, was fragile but alive. She had loved every moment on the track , loved feeling the engine vibrate beneath her hands, loved that feeling of total freedom. And now, all of it had to remain a secret. From Seventeen. From the public. From Pledis. And from herself, sometimes.

“Because… it’s not something I can share,” she whispered. “Because if people knew… everything would fall apart.”

Hoshi nodded, understanding without question. His gaze was an anchor in the tumult, a safe place where she could allow herself to exist without a mask.

“You know… you don’t have to carry everything alone,” he said finally. “Even the strongest need support sometimes.”

Jaeha looked away, touched by the simplicity of his words. She wanted to respond, to say that it wasn’t the same, that she had to be perfect, that she had to manage everything. But instead, she let a silence fall , a silence that spoke volumes more than any explanation.

“Do you remember that day we raced in the rain?” Hoshi continued, a nostalgic smile on his lips. “You had so much adrenaline that you didn’t even feel your hands shaking. I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

She smiled slightly, recalling the memory. The slippery track, the sound of tires on wet asphalt, the splashes exploding all around. She had laughed out loud that day, her heart pounding, her mind free. And Hoshi had been there , encouraging, admiring, but never judging.

“And now?” she asked, a little bitterly, almost to herself. “Now everything is so… controlled. Every step, every smile, every movement monitored. Every mistake could be costly.”

“But you’re not alone, Jaeha,” he said softly. “You never have been. Even if the world puts chains on you, even if the contracts, the cameras, and the expectations weigh you down... you have people around you. And I... I’m here.”

She took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of emotion and relief. Hoshi wasn’t trying to save her, wasn’t trying to fix her problems. He was just offering her a simple truth: someone understood, someone saw beyond appearances.

The silence between them was comfortable, almost tangible. The sounds of the rehearsal room, the raised voices, the laughter of the other members , all of it faded, as if the whole world had withdrawn to give them those few minutes.

“Thank you…” she finally whispered. “Thank you for being here.”

“Always,” he replied with a small smile. “Even if you don’t see it, even if you pretend everything’s fine, I know. And I won’t tell anyone , just promise me you won’t get lost along the way.”

Jaeha closed her eyes for a moment, letting the tears rise but not letting them fall. She didn’t want to show weakness, not now, not in front of him. But this moment of understanding, this invisible hand reaching out to her, gave her the strength to continue.

She thought about her double life , the races, the performances, the sacrifices she had made. And yet, for the first time in a long time, she felt that she was not alone. That there was a light in this chaos. A fixed point to hold onto.

“I’ll keep going...” she whispered, almost to herself. “No matter what others see. No matter how tired I am. No matter the stares. I have to keep going.”

Hoshi placed a hand on her shoulder, a discreet but meaningful gesture. He didn’t speak, said nothing more. He knew those words were enough , that they were powerful enough to remind her that she could hold on, that she could be herself, even in the spotlight, even on the racetrack.

“And you’re not alone,” he repeated, almost like a mantra.

She opened her eyes and looked at him , a mixture of gratitude and determination in hers. The memories of karting, the races, the speed… none of it was forgotten. It wasn’t lost. And now she knew she had someone who understood, someone she could count on.

“Thank you, Hoshi,” she said finally, her heart feeling lighter. “For everything.”

“Always,” he replied simply, before getting up and disappearing into the flow of members leaving the room.

Jaeha stood there for a few seconds, breathing deeply, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the mirror. She was no longer just the idol who had to smile for the world; she was no longer just the driver who had to fight alone on the racetracks. She was Jaeha. And for the first time in a long time, that simple word seemed to be enough.

Then she turned away, picked up her water bottle, and walked out of the rehearsal room, ready to face the rest of the day, the cameras, the expectations, and the races that awaited her. But now she knew she was no longer alone. And that small fact

The studio corridors were still vibrating with the final chorus. The lights had just gone out, leaving behind a humid heat and the smell of makeup heated by the spotlights. Jaeha left the stage last, as always, smiling flawlessly for the cameras, an almost painful emptiness settling in as soon as the lenses moved away.

She placed her water bottle on the locker room table and removed her still-sparkling earrings. In the mirror, her reflection gave her a strange look. Sweat clung to her skin, her breath shaky. She felt as if she no longer knew which life she belonged to , the one with glitter, or the one on the asphalt.

Her phone vibrated once. Then again. And her heart froze.

On the screen: “Unknown Caller (UK).” She didn’t need to think. There was only one “Unknown” she feared that much.

“…Jaeha? …It’s me. Can you hear me?”

Her F2 manager’s voice. Cold, hurried, mechanical. Always on the verge of annoyance, as if he were speaking to a soldier who had missed an order.

“Yes, I hear you.”

“We need to talk about next weekend. You’re expected in Barcelona on Friday morning for free practice.”

“Friday…?”

“Yes. And I don’t want any excuses this time. You already missed the media session in Monaco , this is starting to look bad for Red Bull.”

She closed her eyes. Friday morning. The same day as Seventeen’s special live performance in Seoul.

“I... I can’t, that day.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

His tone immediately hardened. She pictured him, his brow furrowed, his fingers tapping nervously on the desk.

“It’s an important event. For the group.”

“And isn’t F2? Do you realize what a privilege you have, to be where you are?”

Each word fell like a brutal reminder of reality. You can’t be both. Not at the same time.

She gripped her phone a little tighter. Around her, the other members were laughing in the hallway, their makeup half-faded, their jokes echoing between sips of water. Their lightness almost hurt.

“You promised me it wouldn’t interfere, Jaeha.” “I know…” “So keep your word.”

A silence. Then, lower, almost threatening:

“If anyone finds out you’re leading this double life, everything falls apart. Not just for you. For us too.”

She remained silent. Her throat burned.

“I’ll email you the details. Be on time. And... make sure no one calls you by your real name, okay?”

The call cut off abruptly. The dead ring left a buzzing in her head.

She slowly placed the phone on the table, as if it weighed several kilos. For a moment, she stood there, motionless, listening to the silence after the storm. The laughter in the hallway seemed to belong to another world.

She put away her phone, then put on her smile again , the one that never trembles, the one that lies better than her words. When she left the locker room, Seungkwan waved to her from down the hall.

“Hey! Let’s take an end-of-day photo, come on!” “I’m coming,” she whispered.

Her legs moved on their own. Part of her wanted to scream, to bang on the walls, to explain that she couldn’t be everywhere, that she was exhausting herself from dividing herself. But she knew she wouldn’t. Not now. Not yet.

The camera flash exploded before her eyes. A hand on her shoulder, frozen smiles, hearts made in front of the lens. A suspended moment , the kind of photo you post with a happy caption.

#SeventeenPractice #ProudDay #Family.

No one would see the fatigue in her eyes. No one would notice her fingers clenched around the phone hidden in her pocket.

That night, she came home later than the others. The dormitory corridors were plunged into darkness. She collapsed onto her bed without even changing. The ceiling spun slightly above her, as if everything was still moving: the stage, the ring, life.

She thought of Barcelona. Of the car waiting for her in the box, of her name printed on the helmet. Of the speed, of the freedom that she missed as much as it destroyed her.

And yet, she couldn’t see herself being denied. Because racing was the only thing she knew how to do to breathe.

Her phone vibrated again. A message this time, from Hoshi.

Hoshi 🐯: “You disappeared after rehearsal, are you okay?” Jaeha: “Yes. Just tired.” Hoshi 🐯: “I know. Try to get some sleep. Even engines need a rest, right? 😌”

She stared at the message for a long moment. A silent tear slid down her cheek , not from pain, just from exhaustion.

Then she turned off the phone and closed her eyes.

In the silence of the night, the whole world seemed to have finally stopped. But even in her dreams, the engines continued to run. And somewhere, between two heartbeats, a voice came back again:

“You promised me that no one would know.” “I have to keep going… no matter what others see.”

The alarm clock vibrated before dawn even touched the windows. 4:27 a.m. The kind of hour when the world is still asleep, but heavy minds refuse to turn off. Jaeha hadn’t slept. Barely dozing, her thoughts intertwined around the circuits, the choreographies, the faces she had to satisfy. Everything blended together: the screams of the crowd, the engines, the spotlights. She got up slowly, grabbed a black sweatshirt, and went out onto the terrace.

Seoul was still sleeping under a light rain , that almost invisible rain that clings to hair and makes the sidewalks shine. She took a deep breath. The damp, cold air had that taste of reality that her meticulously planned days lacked. Out there in the paddocks, it was different. The smell of gasoline and rubber, the wind against her face, the roar of the engines. Out there, at least, she didn’t have to smile.

On the table, her phone vibrated. “New Mail – RB Junior Program.” She looked away. Not now. Not right away. She preferred to watch the lights in the distance , those human constellations that knew nothing about her. On one side, the star of Seventeen, smiling, impeccable. On the other, the masked pilot, YJ, flying under the world’s radar. Two lives, two skins. And sometimes, neither one truly belonged to her.

The silence of the dormitory was almost reassuring. The boys were asleep, the laughter of the night before had died down. She thought of Hoshi, of his way of being attentive without ever rushing her. He was perhaps the only one who still saw the girl she had been , the one who, at nine years old, dreamed of circuits, not cameras. A part of her wanted to tell him about it. To tell him the whole truth. But the words remained stuck, caught between fear and the promise she had made to herself.

If someone finds out everything, everything collapses.

She took a sip of cold coffee, grimaced, then let her gaze wander over the city. Fatigue weighed her down. Not the physical fatigue, but the fatigue of having to lie constantly. Of having to smile when she just wanted to breathe. Of having to exist through roles that were never entirely her.

A door opened behind her. Light footsteps. Soonyoung, his hair disheveled, still half asleep, poked his head through the crack.

“You never sleep, do you?” “You obviously don’t either.”

He approached, cup in hand, and sat down next to her. Their silence became companionable. There was no need for words between them. Their looks were enough, always.

“Are you thinking about the race?” he asked softly. “How do you know?” “You look like that. The one you had before. When you talked about it all the time.”

She gave a sad, almost guilty smile. “I should stop looking like this, then.” “No. Keep it. It’s the only time you look like yourself.”

The words fell with disarming tenderness. He wasn’t trying to understand, just to remind her of herself. And for a moment, she felt less alone , as if someone was giving her back a piece of herself she had forgotten.

“If you had two dreams, which one would you choose?” she asked after a moment. “Two dreams?” “Yes. Two lives. What if one were to destroy the other?”

He took a moment to think. “I would choose the one that was most like me. Not the one the world preferred.”

She looked down, silent. The one that looks most like me… But which one now?

When he went back to sleep, she stayed on the terrace. The first rays of morning slid between the buildings, drawing pale reflections on the windows. The phone vibrated again. This time, a message from the manager.

Rehearsal at 9 a.m. Promo sequence at 2 p.m. And put a little more effort into your camera looks. Fans love your mysterious side.

She deleted the message. Then, hesitantly, opened the email she’d been dreading.

Dear YJ, Your presence is confirmed for the free practice in Barcelona this weekend. The team is awaiting your arrival on Thursday evening. Please keep quiet about your whereabouts. As always. Mr. Dawson, Manager F2.

She gasped for a moment. Her heart was beating so hard she thought she could hear it in the silence. Barcelona. F2. Another race. Another lie. She took a slow breath, closed the phone, and slipped it into her pocket. This secret was getting heavier and heavier. But she had no choice. She had to continue.

In the bathroom, the harsh light of the mirror revealed dark circles under her eyes that no amount of makeup could erase. She splashed cold water on her face and attempted a smile. The reflection responded with a shadow.

“Who am I today? The singer? The pilot? Or just a girl who can’t breathe anymore?”

She closed her eyes, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. There was no answer. Only that promise she repeated to herself every morning, every night, between flights, between worlds.

“I have to keep going. No matter what others see.”

She put her mask back on , her smile, her voice. And, like every day, she stepped out into the light, ready to play her role.

Pledis_17_official💎 “[#JAEHA] still radiant during rehearsals ✨ The comeback is approaching , are you ready? 💛 #SEVENTEEN #JAEHA #COMEBACK2025 #TEAMSVT”

💬 Comments @caratsoulmate: “She looks exhausted… 😭 I hope they get some rest between promos 🕊️” @svtforever13: “Jaeha always gorgeous 😭💎 charisma never sleeps” @mooncarat_: “I don’t know if it’s me but her smile looks more forced than usual 😕” @racegirljaeha: “Always radiant??? Guys look at her eyes, she’s about to pass out 😭 Someone give her some sleep please” @pledis_svt: “No matter what happens, we’ll always support you 💛 Stay strong Jaeha!” @hoshidaydream: “The way she holds her hand... it looks like she’s hiding something 😭 I just want her to feel good” @motorsoul__: “One day, I’ll understand how she manages all that. Rehearsals, promotions, trips... it’s superhuman.” @caratblue: “She’s been giving off a different energy lately. Calmer, more distant?” @pledis_please: “I hope they don’t push her too much, we know she’s a perfectionist but still 😭” @jaeha_myheart: “The look she has... as if she’s thinking about something else. It breaks me a little.”