12: Chapter 12 Hyomin's Desire to Transform

"The way to treat Ham Eunjung..." That sentence echoed in Ham Eunjung's mind for several days, carrying the late-night wind and that person's calm tone.

She stopped going to the gym late at night, but during training, when she occasionally made eye contact with Song Tianhao, she no longer subconsciously straightened her back or tightened her face as she used to, trying to display "perfection" and "toughness." She would nod almost imperceptibly, and her eyes held less defiance and more of something else—something more complex.

Song Tianhao remained the same, strict when he needed to be and calling for a halt when necessary. However, after Ham Eunjung completed a high-difficulty continuous spin one time, he uncharacteristically said, "Good control, how does your wrist feel?" This left Ham Eunjung stunned for a good while before she replied in a low voice, "It's fine."

The team's atmosphere was subtly adjusting and adapting. With Lee Qri, the "visual anchor," missing from the formation, the dance positioning and camera distribution needed to be re-coordinated, spreading the pressure onto everyone. Among them, the one under the most pressure, besides the leader Park So-yeon, was Park Hyomin.

She was temporarily designated by the dance instructor as the interim center for the "Bo Peep Bo Peep" stage.

This decision caused some minor ripples within the team. In terms of raw dance ability, Ham Eunjung was stronger; in terms of vocal presence, Park So-yeon and Jeon Boram were more prominent; in terms of variety show sense and likability, Park Ji-yeon was not lacking either.

But the dance instructor's reasoning was that Park Hyomin's body proportions and physical expressiveness had the most "sense of story" on camera.

Moreover, she possessed a subtle aura that fell between the purity of a young girl and the charm of an adult woman, which fit perfectly with the complex tone of the song "Bo Peep Bo Peep"—"a mix of cuteness and a little coolness, with seduction hidden in craftiness."

To Park Hyomin, this "high regard" was no less than a mountain. Although she had been told she had "good conditions" back at MBK, she had never been placed in such a core position with such high expectations. She was terrified of messing up and dragging down the team's first debut performance.

Consequently, she began crazy extra training. She didn't just practice dance moves; she even more frantically practiced "expression management" in front of the mirror.

She downloaded many stage fancams and variety show clips of popular sexy female stars, watching them frame by frame, imitating their gazes, the curve of their lips, their hair-flipping gestures, and their posture when walking. She felt her smile wasn't "seductive" enough, her gaze wasn't "hooking" enough, and her movements lacked "flavor."

She practiced in front of the mirror over and over again, working on that smile the media called a "sexy bomb"—the corners of her mouth had to be tilted at a certain angle, her eyes half-closed, her chin slightly tucked... By the end, she felt the muscles in her cheeks were stiff, and her smile was so fake she couldn't even stand to look at it herself.

What was worse was that her anxiety led her to seek help from the wrong sources.

A friend she had known at MBK, who had later gone to a small agency to work as a dance teacher, "kindly" sent her a few links to "crash course sexy dance tutorials" on a social app, saying mysteriously, "Everyone in the industry watches these to learn in private now; the results are immediate."

Late at night, everyone else was asleep. Park Hyomin snuck into the first-floor dance studio and locked the door. She opened her laptop, put on her headphones, and clicked on one of the tutorial videos.

After watching for just one minute, her face flushed red. The dancer in the video was dressed extremely scantily, and the movements were full of blatant sexual suggestions—thrusting hips, pushing out chests, stroking the body, accompanied by suggestive moans and seductive glares. This wasn't dance at all; it was more like some vulgar nightclub performance.

She felt both embarrassed and a bit disgusted, but the devil in her heart that whispered "must become sexy quickly" chimed in again: Maybe... maybe this is the shortcut? Maybe this is the "feeling" that President Song and the dance instructor want?

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to keep watching, even attempting to follow along with one or two simple moves. But she looked extremely awkward in the mirror—not only was there no aesthetic beauty, but she looked clumsy and cheap. Frustrated, she stopped, squatted on the floor, and buried her face in her knees.

Just then, a faint "click" sound came from the dance studio door lock.

Park Hyomin jumped up like a startled rabbit, scrambling to turn off the laptop screen, but it was too late.

Song Tianhao pushed the door open and walked in. He was wearing a black tracksuit today, looking as if he had just finished some kind of exercise, his forehead hair slightly damp. His gaze swept over the panicked Park Hyomin and landed on the lewd image frozen on the laptop screen.

The color drained from Park Hyomin's face instantly, turning it deathly pale. She opened her mouth to explain but couldn't make a sound. She only felt all the blood in her body rush to her head and then instantly drain away, leaving behind cold fear and shame.

It's over, President Song saw it... He must think I'm low-class, cheap, and unfocused... The center position for the girl group is definitely going to be changed...

She closed her eyes, waiting for the expected thunderous rage.

However, a few seconds passed, and nothing happened.

She opened her eyes trembling and saw that Song Tianhao had already walked to the computer. There was no expression on his face—no anger, no disdain; he was so calm it was unsettling.

He bent down, operated the touchpad, quickly dragged the progress bar, watched about ten seconds of content from different sections, and then directly pressed the delete key, throwing that video file into the recycle bin and emptying it.

After doing this, he stood up straight and looked at the ashen-faced Park Hyomin.

"Put on your jacket," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I'm taking you to see something else."

Park Hyomin was completely bewildered. She mechanically picked up the jacket draped over the barre, put it on, and followed Song Tianhao out of the Villa.

Song Tianhao drove in silence the whole way. Park Hyomin sat in the passenger seat, her fingers digging tightly into the seatbelt, her heart pounding wildly in her chest, not knowing what awaited her.

The car finally stopped in front of an elegant-looking building in the Gangnam District, with a minimalist English sign that read "Motion & Narrative."

Walking through the door, inside was a spacious and bright modern dance studio. The wooden floor was polished to a mirror finish, there were huge floor-to-ceiling mirrors, the air had a faint scent of aromatherapy, and soothing classical music was playing. A few men and women in loose practice clothes were quietly doing stretches in the corner, their demeanor calm and focused.

A middle-aged woman wearing a black cotton-linen robe with an elegant temperament came up to greet them and bowed slightly to Song Tianhao: "President Song, you've arrived. This must be Hyomin-xi, right?"

"Teacher Kim, sorry to trouble you." Song Tianhao nodded to the woman and then looked at the anxious Park Hyomin. "This is Teacher Kim Soo-jin, a top contemporary dance choreographer in South Korea and also a private posture and expressiveness instructor for many artists."

Park Hyomin hurriedly bowed in greeting, her mind even more confused. Contemporary dance? A choreographer? This was different from any punishment or reprimand she had imagined.

Teacher Kim smiled and sized up Park Hyomin, her gaze professional and gentle: "Very good conditions. President Song mentioned the general situation on the phone. Come on, let's start with the simplest thing: 'getting to know your body.'"

The next hour was an unprecedented experience for Park Hyomin. Teacher Kim didn't teach any specific, sexy movements. Instead, she had her stand barefoot on the floor, feeling the contact between her soles and the ground, feeling the extension of her spine, and feeling her breathing driving the expansion and contraction of her ribs.

Teacher Kim asked her to close her eyes and imagine herself as a tree, a river, a breeze. Then, she asked her to open her eyes and look at herself in the mirror.

"Now, imagine you are a cat," Teacher Kim said.

Park Hyomin subconsciously thought of the affected, artificial cat-mimicking movements from those tutorials. She tried to arch her back, lift her hips, curl her fingers into cat-paw shapes, and tried hard to make her eyes look lazy and dreamy. In the mirror, she looked stiff, unnatural, and even a bit ridiculous. She stopped in frustration.

"No." A voice came from the side. Song Tianhao had been leaning against the mirrored wall watching quietly; at this moment, he walked over, stopped beside Park Hyomin, and his gaze landed on her reflection in the mirror.

"You are not a cat." His voice was calm but carried a strange, piercing power.

Park Hyomin looked at him blankly in the mirror.

Song Tianhao's gaze met hers in the mirror, and he said slowly and clearly: "You are a leopard."

A leopard? Park Hyomin was completely stunned. Cats and leopards, aren't they both felines? What's the difference?

Teacher Kim's eyes lit up slightly; she looked at Song Tianhao thoughtfully, then at Park Hyomin, and nodded: "An interesting metaphor. President Song, please continue."

Song Tianhao didn't continue to explain but instead said to Park Hyomin: "Forget everything you've seen and learned before. Now, think about only one thing: You are a leopard. You are in your territory. You are relaxed, but alert. You are graceful, but full of power. You don't need to deliberately display anything; your very existence declares dominance."

His words seemed to have magic, dispelling the messy "sexy templates" in Park Hyomin's mind. Leopard... territory... relaxed and alert... existence is a declaration...

She looked into the mirror again.

This time, she didn't deliberately pose.

She simply stood there, trying to recapture the feeling of being connected to the ground that Teacher Kim had asked her to feel earlier, trying to let her spine straighten naturally and her shoulders drop.

She thought of the word "leopard," thinking of that creature lurking in the jungle, elegant and coiled for action.

Slowly, the aura of the person in the mirror changed.

That deliberate, ingratiating "flirtatiousness" vanished, replaced by a quiet restraint.

Her gaze no longer drifted or dodged; instead, it held steady, carrying a touch of natural wildness and detachment.

Her body remained supple, but her lines now revealed a subtle, coiled strength.

"Very good." Teacher Kim praised softly, casting an appreciative glance at Song Tianhao.

"You've grasped the core feeling.

Sexiness is not about wiggling your hips, not about batting your eyelashes, and it's not necessarily about being exposed.

High-class sexiness is control, confidence, and the clear knowledge of what you possess, and showing it with ease.

That is the posture of a hunter, not the anxiety of prey waiting to be chosen."

Just then, the dance studio door was knocked, and a man poked his head in, grinning from ear to ear: "Teacher Kim! Busy?

Oh, isn't this Hyomin? What a coincidence!"

The person who arrived was the same "dance teacher" who had previously sent Park Hyomin those vulgar tutorial links.

He clearly didn't know Song Tianhao was also there, and his gaze swept over Park Hyomin with a self-righteous sense of familiarity and appraisal.

Park Hyomin's expression stiffened, and she subconsciously looked toward Song Tianhao.

Song Tianhao's face held no expression; he simply nodded at the man, acknowledging his presence.

Yet the man walked in as if he owned the place, chattering nonstop: "Hyomin, are you practicing those tutorials I sent you?

Let me tell you, they are absolutely effective!

Male fans nowadays eat that stuff up!

Wiggle harder, make your eyes look a bit more... you know, and you're guaranteed to be a hit..."

His words came to an abrupt halt.

Because Song Tianhao had walked over to the laptop, the one Teacher Kim used for choreography, which was connected to the sound system.

Song Tianhao operated it for a few moments, and soon, the audio and visuals from the vulgar tutorial videos that Park Hyomin had seen earlier were blasted at high volume, filling the entire quiet and elegant dance studio.

The exaggerated moaning and explicit movements in the video were completely out of place with the quiet artistic atmosphere here, sounding exceptionally jarring and vulgar.

Everyone looked over, including the few dancers who were stretching, all of them frowning.

The "dance teacher's" face instantly turned the color of liver, and he was at a loss for what to do.

Song Tianhao pressed pause, freezing the screen on an extremely indecent movement.

He turned around and looked at the man, whose face was shifting between red and white, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather:

"Do you think..."

He paused, his gaze slowly sweeping over the man's awkward face, then sweeping past Park Hyomin, who was standing straight with a complex expression in her eyes.

Finally, his line of sight fixed on the man's face, his voice clear, carrying no anger, yet every word was like ice:

"Does my artist need to learn this?"

Cold sweat beaded on the man's forehead, his lips trembling, unable to say a word.

Under the silent gaze of everyone, he scrambled out of the dance studio in a wretched state, slamming the door with a thunderous bang.

Song Tianhao turned off the video and said to Teacher Kim, "Apologies for the interruption."

Teacher Kim shook her head, smiling instead: "President Song's way of protecting his artist is quite unique."

Song Tianhao didn't respond, walking to the mirror.

The music was changed back to a soothing piano piece.

Amidst Park Hyomin's slightly shocked and dazed gaze, he performed a few movements casually.

It wasn't a complete dance, just an extension of the body, a fluid wave, starting from his fingertips, passing through his arms, shoulder blades, chest, abdomen, waist, and hips, finally traveling to his toes.

His movements were not large in range, even somewhat casual, but the control, flexibility, and indescribable, neutral beauty displayed by his body left both Park Hyomin and Teacher Kim slightly stunned.

Especially that wave; his waist was unbelievably supple, yet filled with an inner sense of power, completely breaking the stereotype of "male" bodies being stiff.

It was a pure expression of body art.

"Sexiness," Song Tianhao stopped his movements and looked at Park Hyomin, as if the stunning demonstration just now was merely a casual act, "has many forms.

The one you need to find is the one that suits you.

It's not imitation; it's discovery."

He said to Teacher Kim, "Teacher Kim, I'll leave the rest to you.

I hope what she ultimately presents is the sexiness of a hunter: clear-headed, calm, and full of control.

Not the anxiety of prey waiting to be watched."

Teacher Kim nodded solemnly: "I understand what you mean.

It's very challenging, and also very interesting."

Before leaving, Song Tianhao took a hardcover book from his bag and handed it to Park Hyomin, who was still digesting everything.

The title of the book was "Body Narrative."

"Read it," he said, "and write a book report."

Park Hyomin took the book; it felt heavy.

She lowered her head, her voice as thin as a mosquito's: "President... leopards and cats... how are they actually different?"

Song Tianhao had already reached the door; hearing this, his footsteps paused, but he didn't turn back, his voice drifting on the wind:

"Cats please people; leopards only please themselves."

The car door closed, and the car drove away.

Park Hyomin clutched the book, standing at the entrance of the dance studio, watching the car merge into the traffic, remaining motionless for a long time.

Teacher Kim walked over and patted her shoulder: "You have a very unique President.

His eye for people is sharp, and very accurate.

A leopard, huh? ... It really suits you better than a cat.

Come in, let's continue."

Returning to the Villa, it was already late at night.

Park Hyomin hid in her room and couldn't wait to open that "Body Narrative."

Inside were various dance theories, body philosophies, interviews with masters, accompanied by many dance photographs full of strength and beauty.

The text was profound, the pictures stunning.

She read it with only partial understanding, but something deep inside her heart was gently touched.

Turning to a certain page, a handwritten sticky note slipped out and fell onto her lap.

On the note was the handwriting she was familiar with, neat and slightly cold, writing: [You have always been a leopard; you just forgot.]

Park Hyomin stared at that line of text for a very, very long time.

Her finger gently stroked the two characters for "leopard."

So, President had known all along?

He knew what she was anxious about, what she was searching for incorrectly, and even knew what she... might have been like originally?

A strong wave of emotion, mixed with being moved, shame, and a sense of sudden enlightenment, rushed into her heart.

She opened her phone, looked at the photo of the senior female star famous for being sexy on the screen—who now felt somewhat dull—and pressed the delete button.

She picked up the book again, and by the light of the bedside lamp, she read carefully, page by page.

Those discussions about body language, self-expression, and the balance of strength and softness were like keys, bit by bit opening the door to her heart that had been locked by anxiety and wrong perceptions.

Unknowingly, the sky outside the window began to turn white with the dawn.

She had actually read more than half the book overnight.

Although many parts still needed to be chewed over repeatedly, a vague, brand-new perception was forming.

She picked up her phone, tapped on the number saved as "President Song"—a number she had almost never messaged proactively—and after hesitating for a long time, she typed into the dialog box: [President, how... should a leopard smile?]

Send.

She stared at the screen, her heart racing uncontrollably.

Would he think this question was stupid?

Would he be impatient?

About ten minutes passed, and the phone vibrated once.

A reply came.

A very simple sentence: [Leopards don't need to smile; the prey will come on its own.]

Park Hyomin stared at this line of text, reading it over and over several times.

There was no need to deliberately smile, to please, to imitate that formulaic "charm."

Just be herself, possess her own strength and domain, and naturally, opportunities, recognition, and affection would be attracted.

She put down the phone and walked to the full-length mirror.

The girl in the mirror had dark circles under her eyes from staying up late, but her gaze was clearer than at any time before.

She looked at herself in the mirror, thinking of President's words, thinking of Teacher Kim's guidance, thinking of the theories in the book, thinking of "leopard."

She slowly withdrew the habitual, somewhat sweet smile from her face.

She let the corners of her mouth flatten, let her gaze settle, focused slightly, and added a touch of natural detachment and... perhaps something that could be called "coolness."

She didn't deliberately make any "sexy" expressions or movements; she just stood there, looking at herself in the mirror.

The person in the mirror no longer had a drifting gaze, and her jawline seemed sharper.

She wasn't smiling, but her entire face radiated a peculiar, intriguing magnetic field.

It wasn't cute, it wasn't sweet, it was something more high-class, something carrying a sense of distance and power.

She looked for a long time, tilted her head, and softly said to herself, and to that girl in the mirror who seemed somewhat unfamiliar: "Seems... kind of interesting."