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The practice room was a storm of movement, laughter, and complaints, and somehow, Xinlong was caught square in the middle. Donggyu and Kaiwen were at it again, bickering over a three-count turn in the routine.
“You’re off-beat!” Kaiwen snapped in Mandarin, pointing at Donggyu.
“Am I off-beat, or are you just pretending not to know the rhythm?” Donggyu shot back in Korean, his brows furrowed in frustration.
Xinlong sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was the only one in the room fluent in both languages, which apparently made him the official, unpaid interpreter for their ongoing rivalry. “He says...” Xinlong started, careful to keep his tone neutral, “that he thinks you’re pretending not to know the rhythm.”
Kaiwen’s eyes narrowed. “What? No, I didn’t!”
“Then he says you are off-beat.” Donggyu crossed his arms, refusing to look away from Kaiwen.
Xinlong pinched the bridge of his nose again. Why did they have to drag me into this every single day?
The two 2005-liners glared at each other for another tense moment, their postures perfectly mirroring each other—tense, upright, competitive. Xinlong had long given up trying to stop the escalating drama. Instead, he leaned back on his hands and watched with mild fascination.
Finally, Kaiwen stomped his foot, his cheeks pink. “Fine! I’ll show you how it’s done.”
Donggyu smirked, mimicking Kaiwen’s precise steps. “Sure, show me.”
And then the coach walked in, eyes scanning the room. Instantly, both trainees froze mid-step and plastered smiles on their faces. Xinlong could hardly suppress his laughter. The sight was ridiculous. One second they were sparring like predators, the next they were practicing “innocent trainee” faces with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
“You two, focus,” the coach said, before moving on.
As soon as the door closed, Donggyu and Kaiwen resumed their silent war. It had become routine for anyone watching through the glass walls to nickname them the chaotic line.
By lunchtime, the tension had evolved into full-blown sulking. Kaiwen sat alone at the far side of the dining area, stabbing his rice with a chopstick. His eyes occasionally flicked toward Xinlong, who was laughing at something Donggyu said across the table.
Great. Just great. Kaiwen muttered in Mandarin. Why is he always laughing with him and not me?
Meanwhile, Donggyu, perfectly aware of Kaiwen’s sulking, was quietly simmering too. Earlier that morning, Xinlong had joined Kaiwen for a quick breakfast chat in Mandarin, laughing at some joke Donggyu didn’t understand. Now Donggyu poked at his lunch with a frown. Why do they get along so well without me?
The irony wasn’t lost on Xinlong, who merely raised an eyebrow at their respective moods. Oh, you two are ridiculous.
The practice room that afternoon was no calmer. Donggyu and Kaiwen were still at it, and Xinlong found himself in the middle once more, translating phrases back and forth.
“Tell him it’s so hard to watch him,” Kaiwen said, his tone more dramatic than necessary.
Xinlong paused, a sly idea forming behind his eyes. He’d had enough of being the bridge for their unspoken feelings. It was time to turn the tables.
“He says he enjoys watching you,” Xinlong translated smoothly, keeping a perfectly straight face.
Donggyu blinked. “Really? Are you sure?” His voice was tentative, almost shy.
“Yeah,” Xinlong said, nodding solemnly. “That’s exactly what he said.”
For a moment, the entire room froze. Kaiwen’s expression faltered, a mix of disbelief and embarrassment crossing his face. Donggyu’s eyes shone with sudden excitement.
“Then tell him I’d like to be in a group with him,” Donggyu said, voice almost trembling, his grin spreading like sunrise.
Xinlong fought the smile threatening to spill over. “Donggyu says he’d love to be in a group with you because you’re really talented.”
Kaiwen’s ears turned pink. “There’s no way he said that.”
Xinlong gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “So you’re saying I’m lying?”
“No, Long-ge…” Kaiwen’s voice had lost its bite, becoming soft and hesitant. He shuffled forward and extended his hand toward Donggyu. “I think… you’re really talented too.”
Donggyu froze for a fraction of a second, then broke into laughter as he grabbed Kaiwen’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Xinlong watched the scene unfold, a victorious grin spreading across his face. He’d won the battle of translations.
But his victory was short-lived. Both of them, carried away by their shared embarrassment and relief, lunged forward and hugged him at once.
“Hey...hey...you’re crushing me!” Xinlong wheezed, arms trapped between the two overly affectionate 2005-liners.
Donggyu laughed, ruffling Xinlong’s hair. “Oh, Long-ge, now we both get to spoil you.”
“That’s right,” Kaiwen chimed in, grinning despite his flushed face.
Xinlong blinked, momentarily stunned. “Wait… you can actually understand each other?”
Kaiwen rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. I’m not that bad at Korean.”
Xinlong groaned, dropping his head back onto his shoulders. “You were just pretending, weren’t you?”
The tension broke into laughter again, the kind of laughter that made strangers in the hallway peek curiously through the glass.
Later that evening, after practice, the trio lingered in the empty studio. The sun had dipped behind the city skyline, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. Xinlong sat against the wall, exhausted but secretly pleased at the chaos he’d instigated.
Donggyu shuffled next to Kaiwen, holding out a small snack he had grabbed from the convenience store downstairs. “Here… I thought you might like this.” His Chinese was hesitant, halting, but understandable.
Kaiwen took it, laughing softly. “Not bad,” he said, correcting the pronunciation. His grin was shy, almost timid.
Xinlong leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and watched them with a smug satisfaction. Finally. He muttered under his breath.
“You two are ridiculous,” he said aloud, though his grin betrayed him.
“Hey,” Donggyu said, glancing at Kaiwen. “We’re just… competitive.”
Kaiwen rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Competitive.”
Xinlong shook his head, smiling. If this is what it takes to get some romance in the air, I’ll take the chaos over calm any day.
The next day, Donggyu and Kaiwen showed up at practice early, side by side, clearly conspiring something. Xinlong noticed immediately but pretended not to. He didn’t want to reward their obvious efforts. Still, the little sparks of competition and affection between them were… entertaining, to say the least.
During warm-ups, Donggyu shot Kaiwen a look that said I saw you teasing him yesterday, and Kaiwen shot back a grin full of mock innocence. Xinlong, somewhere in the middle of stretching, just shook his head.
“Don’t make me translate again,” he muttered under his breath.
“I think we like it when you do,” Donggyu said with a wink.
“Yeah, it makes the game more fun,” Kaiwen added.
Xinlong groaned and rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his lips. Somehow, being caught in the middle of these two ridiculous, talented, stubborn 2005-liners was exactly where he wanted to be.
And somewhere deep down, he suspected that the real survival challenge of the show wasn’t the performances, the eliminations, or even the judges—it was keeping up with these two.
By the end of the week, the trio had become inseparable—at least for the show’s cameras. Off-camera, their playful bickering continued, but the small moments—the handshakes, the lingering glances, the stolen snacks—were enough to make the day feel lighter.
Xinlong caught a glance of Donggyu handing Kaiwen his water bottle mid-practice. Kaiwen accepted it with a grin, muttering a soft “thank you” in Chinese. Donggyu just shrugged, pretending it was casual.
Xinlong shook his head with a quiet laugh. One day, one of these two is going to explode from embarrassment. And I’ll be there to watch it.
But for now, he was content being their chaotic translator, their unwilling messenger, and the only person who could keep up with both of them at once.
Somewhere in the background, the other trainees probably thought they were watching a disaster waiting to happen. Xinlong knew better—it was just the beginning of something ridiculously, ridiculously fun.