Chapter Text
Growing up, Rumi had always felt alone.
As a little girl, Rumi’s house was big, too big for just two people. The rooms were quiet, untouched, echoing with a stillness that felt more like absence than peace. Celine never filled the extra spaces. No art on the walls, no warmth in the corners. Just cold, emptiness.
Rumi’s room, though, was different. It had a soft, oversized bed and tall windows draped with gauzy white curtains. In the late afternoons, golden light would pour through, stretching long shadows across the wooden floor. It was the warmest place in the house.
Celine always made sure Rumi had many toys, lined neatly on shelves, arranged in perfect order. But they were rarely played with. Rumi learned early that quiet was rewarded, and messiness was not. The toys sat still, much like everything else in her world.
She would climb the old trees that bordered the property, the bark scratching her hands and knees. But the view was always worth it, the stretch of green fading into the soft edges of the Seoul skyline in the distance, the wind tugging at her hair like it was calling her somewhere else.
She would visit the small stream nearby, the cold water waking her up, collecting rainbow colored pebbles. Some days she’d stack them into tiny towers. Other days, she’d sort them by color, pretending they were precious gems or magical tokens. It was a quiet kind of play, one that didn’t draw attention or disapproval. Alone by the stream, with the water rushing softly and the trees swaying overhead, Rumi could forget, just for a little while, how alone she really was.
Then one day, Celine hired a housekeeper. She said it was too much for her to keep up with the old house and work in Seoul at the same time. The housekeeper brought her son, a little boy about Rumi’s age, and she was so excited for the first time. She could have a friend. His name was Yoon. He was a little shy, but so was Rumi.
She was thrilled to show him around the house, the grounds, her trees, and the stream. Yoon followed without complaint, quietly absorbing every part of her secret world. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. He was listening. And for Rumi, that was enough.
Two weeks went by, the fastest time ever flown for Rumi.
Then, it happened in the late afternoon, the golden hour when the sunlight turned everything honey-warm. Rumi and Yoon had returned to the stream after a long climb in the trees, cheeks flushed, breathless.
She stepped into the water first, laughing as the cold hit her ankles. “Come on,” she called back to Yoon, already wading deeper. “It’s not that cold!”
He hesitated, then splashed in after her, both of them soaked from the knees down in seconds. Rumi spun in the stream, her hair catching the light, her shirt clinging to her frame as she bent down to scoop another handful of pebbles. The water caught the edge of her sleeve, a flowing gray top, and her marks were revealed.
The spiraling, dark purple sigils on her shoulder, ancient and unnatural. It pulsed faintly, as if it knew it had been seen.
“What’s that?” Yoon asked, curiously, hand moving closer to touch it.
Rumi froze.
Then she heard Celine’s voice, calling her. Looking for her.
Before Rumi could move, Celine was there on the bank of the stream, seeing it all. Celine’s expression was unreadable, too still to be surprised, too cold to be kind.
The next week, Yoon didn’t return. Neither did his mother.
Yoon’s mother was always kind to Rumi. She made them snacks. Ask questions about their days spent outside. She was warm. Rumi imagined her own mother was like that.
From then on, she was alone again. But this time, it was worse, because now she knew what it felt like to be seen. And to lose it.
Rumi continued with her home lessons, diligently practicing her writing and reading, English lessons, and math. The only sounds during the day were the ticking of the old clock on the wall and the sound of Celine’s heels as she paced between lessons.
The only space Rumi had to herself was her room. She spent hours there, lying on her bed, watching the light move across the walls as the day passed her by. The stream continued to flow. The trees stood untouched.
When Rumi played with her hair, thinking hard about a particularly tough problem, Celine froze. Rumi wondered what she did wrong, but Celine just sighed.
“Here, let’s get this out of your eyes.”
Celine’s hands were cool, brushing the back of Rumi’s neck.
“You need to be careful now,” Celine said softly, more to the room than to Rumi. “You’re getting older. People will start to notice things.”
She didn’t elaborate. She never did.
But Rumi understood.
She nodded, lips pressed thin, eyes still on the mirror. After that, she made sure her sleeves were always long. Her collars were high. Even in the heat of summer, even when no one else was around.
It became second nature, hiding the parts of herself Celine feared. The parts no one could explain .
______
Rumi was thirteen when Celine took her to her first kpop concert.
She didn’t know what to expect, only that they were going into Seoul, that she had to wear something “presentable,” and that Celine seemed unusually calm on the drive. The drive wasn’t too long, but long enough for the glittering city lights to absolutely capture Rumi’s heart. She wondered what kinds of stories belonged to the people, walking and moving like they knew exactly where they were going in life.
Her chest tightened. Not with fear, but with something else, longing. This was where the girls on stage came from. Not the quiet house with empty rooms and cold hands. But here. The city. The lights. The sound.
Something inside her leaned forward.
She didn’t speak. Neither did Celine.
But Rumi’s heart was already moving faster than the car.
At the concert, the group was a whirlwind, eight girls in glittering outfits, voices harmonizing with perfect precision, dancing like they shared one heartbeat. They smiled wide, bright and blinding, waving to the crowd with effortless joy. The entire stadium pulsed with energy. Thousands of fans sang along and screamed, their approval feeling like a tidal wave sweeping Rumi off her feet.
This was it.
Rumi wanted, no, needed to feel this. Be the reason why people were so happy, so alive.
And Rumi... felt something inside her catch fire.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink. She didn’t want to.
She’d never seen anything like it. Girls who weren’t hiding. Girls who were powerful, adored. They looked like stars, but they moved like humans. Beautiful ones. Bold ones. Free ones.
On the way home, Rumi barely spoke. Her body was still buzzing.
“I want to be like them,” she whispered in the dark car. “I want to do that.”
For a moment, there was silence.
Then Celine, eyes still on the road, said, “If you’re serious, I’ll help you.”
And she did.
She hired trainers. Singing tutors. Dance coaches. Makeup lessons. But all in secret. Rumi never joined a training academy. Never had peers to practice with. Everything was private, discreet, just like everything else in her life.
She trained relentlessly. Hours every day: dance, voice, posture, breath control, etiquette. She practiced until her body ached, until her feet blistered, until she no longer recognized her own reflection without a mix of makeup and sweat.
Celine watched with quiet approval.
“You’re working hard,” she would say. “I’m proud of that.”
Always that. Never: I’m proud of you.
Rumi tried to ignore the difference. She told herself that effort was enough. That if she just got better; sharper, cleaner, more perfect, maybe the pride would turn into something warmer.
But it never did.
Still, every time she practiced, she saw that stage in her mind. The girls with bright eyes and endless energy, lifting each other up. A perfect, glittering world just out of reach.
And she chased it like a dream that might finally let her be seen.
______
When Rumi turned seventeen, Celine finally told her she had found a manager.
“It’s time,” Celine said, her voice steady but carrying an edge of something like pride.
Rumi’s heart soared. After years of secret training, the endless hours of practice and silence, she was finally stepping out of the shadows.
The day she met Bobby, the manager, was surreal. He was easy to talk to, funny but grounded in a way that made Rumi’s nervousness feel a little less sharp. He greeted her with a warm smile.
“Don’t worry about anything Rumi! I’ll take care of it all- all you need to focus on is training, and making this group the best it can be!”
Celine had bought the girls a penthouse in Seoul, saying they needed to be closer to the studios, the opportunities being in the heart of Seoul could bring. The building was sleek and modern, all glass and steel, high above the crowded streets where the neonlights never slept. It was everything Rumi’s childhood home wasn’t: alive, noisy, full of possibility.
When it came time to decorate her room, Rumi took her time.
She chose soft colors, pale blues, purples, and muted grays; a quiet refuge from the city’s relentless energy. She bought small things that reminded her of the world she’d left behind: a collection of smooth, rainbow-colored trinkets from various stores around the city, reminding her of the stones she’d gathered by the stream near her old home, carefully arranged on her windowsill. She hung delicate curtains that caught the light just right, filtering the harsh Seoul sun into a gentle glow and small fairy lights to make the space cozy.
Her room became her sanctuary, a place where she could breathe, even if the rest of the penthouse buzzed with laughter and music, the endless push to train and perform.
It was her quiet rebellion, a small space carved out just for her.
Then came the girls.
Mira. Zoey.
Mira was fierce, hard to read, and so confident it made Rumi a little nervous to be around her.
Zoey was bubbly, full of life, and had lots of ideas for their songs. Lyrics. The amount of pure energy from Zoey also made Rumi a little nervous.
How could she match these girls? They seemed so ready, so prepared for whatever they would face. Not only as idols, but as hunters. Their positive energy brought a surge of life to Rumi. She finally felt that she found people she could belong with. They filled the penthouse with a new energy.
Rumi imagined nights they would make late night ramyeon after practice. Going out for boba runs. Training together in the practice rooms. Holding each other up when they’re tired. They could be family, one that Rumi never had.
Rumi’s excitement bubbled up like a shaken soda can. She wanted to laugh, to join in, to be swept up in their joy. But that night, before they could truly settle in, Celine pulled her aside.
“You’re the leader now,” she said quietly, eyes sharp. “Don’t get carried away. Set the example. Be strong. Be above them. It’s what we have to do as hunters.”
The words weighed heavily on Rumi’s shoulders.
That first group bonding night, she tried to follow Celine’s advice. She kept her smile polite but reserved, her laughter careful, her words measured. She was stiff, awkward, like a new script she hadn’t quite learned yet.
But the girls didn’t see stiffness.
They saw something else, the gentle humor hiding beneath her seriousness, the awkward charm she couldn’t hide no matter how hard she tried. They didn’t care that she seemed so, weird, different. It was like it didn’t matter to them.
They laughed with her. They pulled her into their circle.
For the first time, Rumi felt something warm and real, a flicker of friendship blossoming in the unlikeliest of places.
It was the beginning of something beautiful.
After two years, they were ready to debut. Their first stage was magical, everything Rumi ever dreamed of, and more. Sharing the stage with Mira and Zoey for the first time, it was powerful. Rumi felt she could take on the world. She might have to hide her patterns. But with Zoey and Mira, it didn’t matter to Rumi. They saw her. Loved her. And she loved them. With all of her heart.