Yebin hates being called Bean. Being physically small isn’t the problem, she thinks. The nickname reminds her of fears locked away behind walls built to protect a soft spirit. She finds herself to be so unimportant, so tiny, standing on the stage looking at the sea of people and cameras in front of her (a single grain of sand doomed to be swallowed up by the unforgiving ocean). She wants to be more than that.

Thousands of eyes watch them as they perform, taking in their every move. She should be happy, she tries to tell herself in her head. Happy that they were finally there after so long. Ecstatic that so many people were looking at them sing and dance. Overjoyed by the deafening cheers and chants and applause. She can’t seem to be. Her eyes dart back and forth, trying to count the number of people. She measures herself against the unknown quantity gathered to see if she does stand out, if she wasn’t just part of the wall anymore. No matter how close she gets, the answer is always no.

She keeps an ice-cool, chic persona when around others. She tries to look tough, plays hard to get. When faced with adversity, she glares daggers and spits fire faster than you can even think possible for a person of her size. She tries to make them feel unwanted, so that she can seem larger than life. She’s not ever sure if it works. It’s surely not enough to drive away how she feels.