Welcome to the Stage

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The orientation hall was buzzing—bright lights, smartly dressed faculty, and rows of nervous, eager faces.

Rows of first-year students in immaculate uniforms trickled in, all crisp collars and clean lines—blazers fitted, ties knotted with military precision. The sound of polished shoes echoed off the marble as if even the floor expected them to behave.

But Aera walked in like she owned the place.

Aera stood just inside the entrance, spine straight, heels aligned, fingers tugging subtly at the cuffs of her blazer. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a neat half ponytail, not a strand out of place. Her grooming, perfect. Her posture, poised. Her face, unreadable.

But her chest? A quiet storm.

The confidence was a performance—well-rehearsed, years in the making. Her heartbeat thundered beneath layers of starch and stitched identity, but no one could see that. She wouldn’t allow it. Fake it till you make it.

No one here knew her. No one knew the things she left behind to be here. She could be anyone.

“Hey!” A warm voice cut through the humming chatter. “Are you in first-year hospitality too?”

She turned. A boy in the same uniform waved at her, one hand holding two paper cups of juice, the other raised in a carefree gesture. His name tag read: Min Hojin.

He was sunshine in human form. Soft, wavy hair, expressive eyebrows, and a grin that took up half his face.

“Name’s Hojin ,” he said, offering her one without hesitation. “I figured if I looked confident and hydrated, people would think I’m cool.”

Aera blinked, then gave a soft chuckle. “Smart plan.”

He beamed. “And it worked. You’re talking to me.”

“I’m Aera,” she replied, taking the juice. “Nice to meet you."

“My pleasure! Where are you from?”

“Miryang.”

“Oh! That’s down south, right? Wow. Big move,” Hojin said, eyes lighting up. “I’m from Seoul myself. Born and traffic-raised.”

He chuckled at his own joke, and Aera smiled despite herself. There was something comforting in the way he filled silences so effortlessly.

His presence was a surprising balm. Loud but not invasive. Chatty but not nosy. He talked enough for both of them, but somehow didn’t make her feel crowded. His friendliness felt real—unguarded in a way that made her chest ache a little. When was the last time she met someone like this?

Within minutes, he’d whisked her through groups of first-years, introducing her like they were old friends. Most smiled politely, clearly just as nervous. Everyone looked like their blazers had been steamed twice, their hair trimmed exactly to regulation. Even their shoes gleamed under the white lights.

“So many pretty people,” Hojin whispered. “They didn’t tell me our batch would look like a K-drama cast.”

Aera laughed quietly. It felt foreign. Safe.

Seojin suddenly turned, spotting someone across the room. “Oh! There’s this guy I just met earlier. Kind of mysterious. Come Say hi—he’s in our stream too.”

She followed him to the edge of the hall, where a boy leaned against a back pillar, half-turned from the crowd.

That was the first thing Aera noticed—he wasn’t hiding, but he wasn’t inviting either.

Kim Yoojoon.

Perfectly still in his blazer, shirt tucked so sharply it could have been pinned. His tie, sleek and exact. Shoes spotless. Not a wrinkle in sight. His hair was short on the sides, slightly tousled on top—just enough to look natural while clearly meeting the grooming standard.

But even without the uniform, he would’ve stood out.

Honey almond skin, smooth and even. Broad shoulders under his fitted blazer. Not overly muscular, but undeniably strong—disciplined. His frame suggested quiet power. His black-framed glasses rested on a perfectly symmetrical nose, his expression unreadable. Straight-lipped, brows slightly furrowed.

He didn’t look angry. He looked… disinterested. Like this entire orientation was something he had to endure, not engage with.

“He’s like a statue,” Hojin whispered. “Spoke four words when I met him. Still not sure if one of them was a grunt.”

Aera smirked. “Should I be scared?”

“Terrified,” Hojin said with a dramatic eye roll. “C’mon.”

He dragged her over before she could protest.

“Yoojoon!” Hojin called. “This is Aera. She’s from Miryang.”

Yoojoon didn’t move. Didn’t adjust his stance. Didn’t even glance their way.

Still, Aera stepped forward with all the grace and composure she could summon. Her voice was steady.

“Hi, I’m Aera. Nice to meet you.”

She extended her hand.

Silence.

He didn’t look at her.

Not a nod. Not a blink. Not a flicker of acknowledgement.

Aera stood there, hand halfway in the air, heart doing something dangerous behind her ribs. Her instinct was to pull back immediately, but instead, she held her position for two full beats.

Then she lowered it slowly, calmly.

No anger. No drama. Just a quiet withdrawal. Dignified.

Hojin laughed awkwardly. “He’s just like that, I swear. Don’t take it—”

“I won’t,” she said simply, walking away without another glance.

And she meant it.

But Inside, though? Something twisted. Not because she wanted his attention—but because she refused to be dismissed.

Who does he think he is?

“Most arrogant boy of our batch,” she muttered under her breath.

And he can stay that way. I’m not here to make anyone look at me.

From that moment, Aera resolved something with icy clarity:

She would never talk to Yoojoon again.

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