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In 2013, the June air in Seoul was as muggy as a ball of waterlogged cotton. The smell of hairspray, sweat, and cheap coffee mingled in the waiting room, rising and lingering in the cramped space. Kim Seok-jin leaned against the vanity table, poking at a box of long-cold gimbap with a fork. He saw Min Yoon-gi curled up on a bench in the corner with his eyes closed, his eyelashes casting small shadows on his cheeks. He walked over and waved the fork under Yoon-gi's nose. Without opening his eyes, Min Yoon-gi simply swatted his wrist away and turned over. Jeon Jung-kook stood by the wall, repeatedly adjusting the button on his collar against the window glass. His fingernails dug into his palms, leaving white marks. Jung Ho-seok pulled a half-empty bottle of water from his backpack, unscrewed the cap, and handed it over, saying, "Have some." Jung-kook shook his head, so Ho-seok took a gulp himself, then walked to the mirror to tie his shoelaces again—tying them, untying them, and tying them again, repeating this three times. Kim Nam-joon leaned against the doorframe, looking at his phone. On the screen was a message sent ten minutes ago by Bang Si-hyuk. He stared at the line of text without replying. Park Ji-min paced back and forth barefoot nearby, walking from the mirror to the window and back again, softly humming a melody. On his third lap, Nam-joon finally raised his eyes. His voice wasn't loud, but the entire room fell quiet for a moment. "It's about time. Come here." Kim Tae-hyung was the last to stand up. His old film camera hung around his neck, lens cap still off. He walked to the window, glanced at the gray sky outside through the glass, and then turned around, raising the camera toward the others. *Click.* The sound of the mechanical shutter cracked a rift in the heavy air. Kim Seok-jin asked him, "What did you take?" He looked down, scrolled through the screen, smiled slowly, and said, "I took a picture of everyone's backs." The leader stood at the door, zipping his jacket all the way to the top. He looked down and pressed his left shoulder, where an old injury from his trainee days throbbed faintly. He said, "Let's go." The seven of them filed out of the waiting room. The incandescent lights in the hallway buzzed, casting long, faint shadows. From around the corner ahead came the footsteps of staff, the static of walkie-talkies, and the hoarse directions of the stage manager. Those sounds grew closer and louder, like a river merging into a wider channel. Jung Ho-seok walked in the middle of the line, looking back at those behind him. Kim Tae-hyung followed him, his lens cap finally on. Jeon Jung-kook walked at the very back, tightly gripping the in-ear monitor in his hand. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Further ahead, the lights would brighten. The cheers from the audience would surge from all directions, as if to submerge them, yet also as if to lift them up. But right now, they were just walking in that direction—seven of them, their steps not perfectly in sync, yet moving toward the same destination. No one knew what lay ahead. But no one stopped. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe the current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>