behind the stage lights｜kim seungmin

Chapter 1

It was an early Saturday morning, the wind whispered through, ushering a refreshing breeze into your room, where the gentle patter of raindrops landed upon your window. Rising up from your bed, you sat upright, your gaze drawn toward the window as you indulged in a leisurely stretch, coaxing life back into your back. Your tousled hair mirrored the casual chaos of the morning, and an unexpected reluctance settled in — the prospect of hosting today at Music Core seemed uninviting, as if the world outside your window held a more appealing allure.

Promptly extricating yourself from the cocoon of your bed, you embarked on the task of readiness with a determined briskness. The lingering cold from the earlier rain underscored the external environment, yet the stringent adherence to the dress code remained non-negotiable. A lingering sense of bewilderment stirred within you, a perennial puzzlement at the insistence on donning thin attire in the face of brisk weather.

Undeterred by this meteorological paradox, you meticulously curated an ensemble that wove together both style and compliance. A delicate pink vest, embellished with an artful ribbon, took center stage, gracefully layered over a pristine white shirt. A fashion-forward gray plaid skirt added a touch of sophistication to the ensemble, its patterns forming a visual tapestry of elegance.

To brave the residual chill, you opted for white socks, a subtle contrast against the backdrop of black doll platform boots that exuded a hint of edgy flair. Completing this sartorial symphony, a pink headband adorned your hair, a whimsical finishing touch that transcended mere functionality, transforming into a statement of personal style. As you stood prepared to face the day, your attire became a testament to the artistry of fashion in navigating the intersection between external elements and individual expression.

In a brisk descent, you hastened downstairs to partake in a hasty breakfast before embarking on the journey to Music Core. Despite the proximity of the venue to your residence, a sense of urgency propelled your steps, a contradiction to the knowledge that time was not an adversary.

Saturdays, a paradoxical blend of convenience and disdain, bore the weight of hosting duties you found increasingly wearisome. The promise of amusement, once fervently whispered during the initiation of your contract, had dwindled into a monotony that now colored your Saturdays with a tinge of reluctance. The thought of severing ties lingered, yet the inertia of commitment held you in a reluctant embrace, tethering you to a routine that, while mundane, resisted the finality of termination.

Having concluded your breakfast, you deftly retrieved your phone and embarked on the journey to Music Core. The air, not as frigid as anticipated, nevertheless bestowed a crisp embrace upon your skin, its cool tendrils eliciting a tingling sensation that added an unexpected layer of awareness to your morning. The solitude of the hour, a quiet canvas painted in the muted hues of dawn, revealed a city still cloaked in the tranquility of early morning, with only a handful of souls venturing into the day's awakening.

Navigating through the streets, the clock ticking toward 6 am, you soon found yourself standing before the familiar facade of the Music Core building. Pushing open the door, you ascended the stairs, the rhythmic echoes of your steps resonating in the quiet corridor. As you entered the designated area, your eyes met the sight of Lee Know, already present, comfortably seated on a couch, engrossed in the digital realm of his phone. The shared space held the quiet anticipation of a day yet to unfold, a prelude to the orchestrated cadence of hosting duties.

Taking a seat on the edge of the familiar couch, you awaited the arrival of videographers and broadcasters, poised for the commencement of the live video session. In a sudden break of silence, Lee Know's voice cut through the quiet, acknowledging your punctuality. "You're here early," he remarked, prompting your nonchalant response, "I'm always early." A sigh escaped him as he defended, "Well, you're earlier than normal."