The practice room echoed with the sound of feet hitting the floor in perfect unison.
ECLYPSE had been rehearsing since early morning. Sweat clung to their skin, muscles burning as the choreography repeated again and again. This was what comeback season meant—no mercy, no excuses.
Raze barely noticed the ache anymore. His focus was sharp, but his mind wasn't entirely in the room. Between movements, his thoughts drifted—briefly, dangerously—to Aiven behind the café counter, sleeves rolled up, smiling at customers like the world wasn't trying to crush him.
The music stopped abruptly.
Velric stood at the door.
No one spoke.
"I won't stay long," Velric said calmly. "This comeback determines your value for the next year. Discipline is non-negotiable. No distractions. No scandals."
His eyes lingered on Raze for half a second longer than necessary.
Zenith noticed.
"So rehearse like your careers depend on it," Velric finished. "Because they do."
When he left, the room felt heavier than before.
"He's tightening the leash," Kaze muttered.
Zenith didn't respond. His jaw was tight, eyes distant.
Raze wiped his face. "He's nervous."
Zenith glanced at him. "He should be."
Outside the company building, Draven stood near the gate, posture alert but controlled. He didn't belong inside, and he never tried to be. His job wasn't fame—it was protection.
His phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
Velric: We need to talk.
Draven exhaled slowly and followed the message upstairs, stopping at Velric's office.
"You're visible," Velric said without preamble.
Draven's eyes narrowed. "I'm careful."
"Careful isn't invisible," Velric replied, tapping his tablet. "You and Aiven are being noticed. Patterns are forming."
Draven stiffened. "Aiven isn't part of your company."
"No," Velric agreed. "But he's close to people who are."
Draven stepped forward. "If this is about Raze—"
"It's about risk," Velric interrupted. "Fans don't separate emotions from ownership."
He turned the screen.
A blurred photo. Someone entering Zenith's house. Speculation already filling the comments.
Draven's stomach dropped. "Zenith's fans."
"They're far less forgiving than Raze's," Velric said mildly. "If Aiven ends up in their line of fire, the consequences won't be gentle."
"You set this up," Draven said quietly.
Velric smiled. "I let human nature do the work."
Draven's fists clenched. "You don't get to threaten him."
"I didn't," Velric replied. "I warned you."
The café lights glowed softly that evening.
Aiven was wiping down the counter when Draven arrived. One look at his face told him everything.
"He talked to you," Aiven said.
Draven nodded. "He's watching us."
Aiven swallowed. "About Raze?"
"About visibility," Draven said carefully. "About fans making assumptions."
Aiven frowned. "I'm not doing anything wrong."
"I know," Draven said. "But that's never stopped them."
Aiven straightened. "I won't disappear."
Draven looked at him, something like pride flashing through his concern. "I didn't expect you to."
Back at the dorm, Raze paced the living room.
"They're circling Aiven," he said.
Zenith leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Velric's pushing pressure outward—fans, rumors, fear."
Raze stopped. "Then we don't let him isolate anyone."
Zenith met his gaze. "Agreed."
When Draven arrived later, exhausted but steady, Raze spoke first. "You're not alone."
Draven nodded once. "Neither are they."
Outside, speculation spread quietly online.
Inside Velric's office, the numbers rose.
But so did resistance.