The line went quiet.
My pulse hammered against my ribs.
I shouldn't have said it. Production would use this—frame me as weak, fragile, on the verge of collapse. Perfect material for a tearful elimination montage.
Worse, Soojin would panic. Tell me to quit before things got dangerous. Remind me of all the risks Mom warned me about.
Her voice came soft but steady. "You've been keeping it up this long, haven't you?"
Not the response I expected.
"Soojin—"
"I watch every episode," she interrupted gently. "The edited version they broadcast, where you're smiling and polite and always in control. But I know you, oppa. I know when you're faking."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"The stage footage from last week?" she continued. "When Haejun got hurt and you had to perform anyway? That wasn't acting. That was real."
I closed my eyes.
"You're not just surviving," Soojin said. "You're building something. Making connections. Growing."
