Y/N never dreamed of being famous. Sure, she loved singing. She loved dancing. She loved performing. But millions of fans? World tours? Award shows? Magazine covers? That felt like a fantasy people watched happen to somebody else. Then one opportunity changes everything. After being discovered by one of the biggest entertainment companies in the world, Y/N is suddenly thrown into an industry filled with superstar idols, chart-topping rappers, luxury brands, sold-out stadiums, and more money than she ever imagined. As her popularity rises, so does the attention surrounding her.
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@thedivaThe afternoon sun poured through the windows of the small dance studio on the third floor of an aging building that smelled like wood polish and old sweat. Golden light caught the dust floating in the air, making it shimmer like tiny stars suspended between the mirrored walls and the worn wooden floor beneath. Music still played through the old speaker in the corner, something slow and melodic now that practice had ended, a stark contrast to the high-energy tracks that had been blasting through the space just an hour ago.
The studio was modest. A cracked mirror ran along one wall, held together by silver tape near the edge where someone had accidentally kicked it during practice months ago. The ballet barre was scuffed from years of use, its white paint chipped in places. A few stray water bottles sat abandoned near the wall, and someone’s forgotten hoodie lay crumpled in the corner.
Five dancers remained in the room. Mia sat cross-legged on the floor near the mirrored wall, scrolling through her phone with an intensity that suggested she had found something interesting. Two others—a guy named Steven and a girl named Hana—were sitting on a bench near the door, bags at their feet, clearly in no rush to leave. Another dancer named Derek was stretching near the barre, pretending not to listen to the conversation.
And there was you.
The late afternoon light fell across the studio floor in long golden rectangles, reaching almost to where your bag sat near the wall.
Mia let out a dramatic gasp that cut through the quiet music like a knife.
Her eyes went wide.
Her phone nearly slipped from her fingers.
"No way," she whispered, then louder, "No. Way."
A couple heads turned.
"What?" Steven asked, not looking up from his phone.
Mia ignored him. She was already scrambling to her feet, shoving her phone toward whoever would look first. "Guys. GUYS."
Hana leaned over to peer at Mia's screen. She squinted. "Okay. That's... an article?"
"Look."
"I'm looking."
"What do you see?"
"A photo."
"Whose photo?"
Hana leaned closer. Then her eyebrows shot up. "...Oh."
"OH?" Mia repeated, looking personally offended. "OH? That's all you have? OH?"
Steven finally looked up from his own phone. "What are you even—" He stopped mid-sentence as Mia shoved the screen in his face. He blinked. Then his expression shifted. "Wait. Is that—"
"YES." Mia was practically vibrating. "That's exactly who it is."
Derek stopped stretching and wandered over, curiosity getting the better of him. "Who?"
"NOIR," Mia said, as if the name alone should have made the building shake. "The biggest group in the world. Literally. THE biggest."
Derek raised an eyebrow. "The Korean group?"
"Not just 'the Korean group.'" Mia lowered her phone and looked at him like he had just committed a crime. "The group that sells out stadiums in three minutes. The group that crashed ticketing websites across multiple continents. The group whose members have more followers than some countries have citizens. THAT group."
"Okay, okay," Derek said, holding up his hands. "I know who they are. I just didn't know you were that into them."
"I'm not just 'into them.'" Mia paused. "I mean, I am. But that's not the point. Look at the article."
She turned her phone around so everyone could see.
The headline was in bold, sleek letters:
AURORA ENTERTAINMENT EXPANDS GLOBAL SCOUTING OPERATIONS
Below it, a photo of a modern glass building. The Aurora Entertainment headquarters. Its logo—a stylized A surrounded by a circle—gleamed silver against the dark glass facade.
Steven read the headline aloud, then looked up. "So?"
"So?" Mia stared at him. "Do you know what this means?"
"That a big company is looking for new talent?"
"Yes. Exactly. That's exactly what it means."
Steven shrugged. "Companies scout all the time. What's special about this one?"
Mia looked at him like he had just asked what was special about oxygen. "Aurora Entertainment is not just 'a company,' Steven. It's THE company. It's the company that manages NOIR. And Lisa. And Eria and Vena and Minx and the Stage Twins. It's the company that literally controls half the entertainment industry. If they scout someone, that person doesn't just get a deal. They get a CAREER. A real one. The kind that changes your entire life."
She paused for effect, letting the weight of her words settle over the room.
"And," she added, her voice dropping slightly, "they're holding private auditions next month."
The room went quiet.
Even Steven stopped looking bored.
Derek crossed his arms. "Private auditions? How do you even get into those?"
"You don't. They find you." Mia shrugged. "That's literally the point. Their scouts go to small venues, dance studios, underground performances, anywhere talented people might be. If they see someone they like, they reach out. No applications. No submissions. Just... a random invitation one day."
Hana let out a low whistle. "That's kind of terrifying."
"That's kind of amazing," Mia corrected. "Imagine waking up one morning and getting an email from Aurora Entertainment. Just 'Hey, we saw your video. Come audition.'"
"As if that actually happens," Steven muttered.
"It does," Mia insisted. "There are literally articles about it. People who got scouted at random coffee shops. At bus stops. While performing in small clubs. It's rare, but it happens."
Derek tilted his head. "You really think one of us could get scouted?"
Mia's gaze slowly, deliberately, drifted toward the corner of the room.
Toward where you were standing.
"I think," she said, her voice taking on a teasing lilt, "if anybody in this room has a chance, it's Y/N."
Steven followed her gaze. He snorted. "Based on what?"
"Everything?" Mia spread her hands as if the answer were obvious. "The singing. The dancing. The stage presence. The fact that she literally made people cry at the last showcase. The way she moves like she actually feels the music instead of just counting steps. Her look. Her confidence. Her—"
"Main character energy?" Steven interrupted, smirking.
"EXACTLY." Mia pointed at him triumphantly. "Thank you for proving my point."
"Main character energy isn't real," Steven said.
"Yes it IS."
"No it ISN'T."
"Yes. It. IS."
Their voices rose in mock argument, the conversation devolving into familiar banter as the rest of the group started laughing.
The music continued playing softly through the speaker.
The afternoon sun crept slowly across the studio floor, inch by inch, nearing your feet.
And outside, across the street, a black SUV sat parked near the curb.
Dark windows.
Engine running.
Waiting.
Inside, a woman in a tailored blazer glanced down at the folder resting open in her lap. A single photo was clipped to the front page—a photo taken at a small showcase three weeks ago. The lighting was imperfect. The angle was slightly off. But the subject's face was clear. Focused. Bright.
Yours.
The woman's finger tapped once against the edge of the photo.
Then she looked up.
Through the tinted window, her gaze settled on the building across the street. On the third floor. On the windows that glowed gold in the setting sun.
A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
Back inside the studio, nobody noticed.
The argument continued.
"Well it DOES exist," Mia was insisting, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "And Y/N has it. Mark my words. One day she's gonna walk out of here and never come back because she's gonna be too famous for this place."
Steven rolled his eyes. "You say that about everyone."
"No I don't."
"Yes you do. You said that about Kevin from the Tuesday class."
"He had potential!"
"He quit after two months."
"THAT'S NOT MY FAULT."
Hana laughed, standing up and stretching. "Okay, I'm leaving before you two start throwing hands."
Derek grabbed his water bottle. "Same. I've got work in an hour."
One by one, the dancers gathered their things. The conversation shifted to dinner plans, to who was free tonight, to whether the new bubble tea place across town was actually good or just overpriced.
Mia slung her arm around your shoulders as the group headed toward the door.
"Come on," she said, grinning. "Let's get food before I literally pass away. I'm buying. Well, I'm buying for me. You can pay for yourself." She paused. "Unless you're suddenly famous and rich. In which case, YOU'RE buying."
She laughed, pulling you toward the door.
The door swung open.
The stairwell stretched downward, dim and narrow, the lights flickering faintly as someone's footsteps echoed from a lower floor.
The conversation continued around you. Laughter, footsteps, the distant hum of traffic filtering in from outside.
Nobody looked back at the window.
Nobody noticed the black SUV still sitting across the street.
And as the door clicked shut behind the group, somewhere across the street, the sound of an engine turning on broke the evening's quiet.