Yuna’s no stranger to being the second choice.

 

And, in all fairness, who wouldn’t pale when compared to Hwang Yeji? Esteemed and adored. The idol of idols. Who danced like it was all she breathed and whose voice was like a siren’s call. Beyond that even— she was gorgeous. So, could Yuna even be faulted for being annoyed? She wanted to be seen at least once, for someone to see beyond Yeji’s glow.

 

Worst of all— because really, it could be worse— Yeji’s unfailingly kind. And intelligent, and ruthlessly funny, and caring. And when fans skip over her at fansigns to gather for Yeji’s signature and attention, sometimes she can’t even blame them. Sometimes.

 

Because who would think that Yuna’s pretty with Yeji right there?

 

When she was younger, she had been constantly compared to her older sister. That was when she learned the first of many repeated lessons— almost wasn’t quite good enough. Developing an inferiority complex only meant one thing to Yuna; she had to crave any chance to be better. Long nights were spent clawing her way to the top, ignoring the burning of her fingers as she ascended. And when a plucky man came up to her one day, offering the promises of becoming an idol she’d all but thrown herself into being scouted. 

 

Because, for once, she’d been the one chosen. 

 

The elation had lasted for all but a few days, because once her parents’ names joined the contract, off she shipped towards some exalted future. The reality of what happened crashed over her in a wave, belatedly, like it had drawn back to lure her into complacency before tearing forwards. It was when she saw Yeji for the first time that the drowning had begun.

 

Making friends wasn’t easy. The lifestyle of being a trainee didn’t necessarily cultivate a climate for camaraderie. It was hard enough taking care of herself between training, learning foreign languages, and managing her vocal lessons let alone having friendships. Besides, all of the girls were wholly too interested in dousing each other in hot oil before even considering painting each other’s nails. 

 

Only one trainee escaped unscathed and it was Yeji. Initially, Yuna didn’t understand the fuss. Who was this girl who existed in only whispers and rumors? Who was this shadow of an envied name? Then, she saw her for the first time and she had to reel back after being slapped by clarity.

 

The new trainees were to be weeded out, and that process began through an introduction to some of the most capable starlets in the company. Enter Yeji.

 

They all piled into a practice room where she sat— cross-legged on the floor— casually as if she wasn’t the face that lurked behind every insecurity a trainee could have. And when the thumping music switched on, they watched her dance with a fluidity that went beyond her time at the company. She was charismatic, and while she wasn’t necessarily the best she was fierce. Bold. Like thick-lined sharpie on paper.

 

She was captivating.

 

Of course other trainees also performed, but they were nowhere near as alluring. They didn’t exude the magnetism Yeji had and none were with the striking glare behind her sharp eyes. Not even close. In a world where a hawk soared above the rest, Yeji flew uncontested and indomitable. The coaches were probably beside themselves with glee when a few trainees fled back to their hometowns just nights after. 

 

Yuna remembered the way her heart plummeted and she was undoubtedly sure every girl in that room could feel the mounting pressure. The more she sat, the more admiration gave way to envy. An equal mixture of disdain and awe left her jaw slacked. She watched silently as the bar to even compete staggered higher. Suddenly everything became daunting.

 

Imagine her surprise when, years later, they were sharing the same stage under the same girl group debuted with the same prominent company and Yuna still feels like the trainee who was entirely convinced Yeji wrote God’s hymns. 

 

Being eclipsed by her leader wasn’t all that bad. Attention, for better or for worse, threw itself at Yeji and at least Yuna had the privilege of feigning ignorance. She could hide, and run, and wait in Yeji’s shadow until the tides of angry netizens bided in their favor.

 

Maybe Yuna was slightly bitter, yet she didn’t spend her days wallowing in the grief of her own self-esteem. She knew she was bright, vivacious, and capable.

 

She just wished somebody else saw it too.

 

___

 

In short, resentment manifested itself in funny ways. At least, it always did to Yuna. In this case, well, she’s not sure she’d ever have guessed it.

 

___

 

“Yuna…”

 

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