As the performance continues, sothing almost unbelievable happens.
It gets even better.
And not just a little better.
Better better.
Because what makes this performance truly special isn't just what's happening on stage—it's how everyone is part of it. The perforrs. The audience.
It's not just a show.
It's an experience.
A shared one.
And then—
The chorus hits.
It's night.
It should be night.
But sohow… the sun cos out.
Or at least, it feels like it does.
Because the mont August steps forward—
Blinding.
The audience instinctively shields their eyes, overwheld by the sheer brightness of his presence.
And just like that—
Hearts lt.
His golden retriever energy bursts through, warm and radiant, making people clutch their chests like they've just been personally attacked by pure, concentrated cuteness.
It's too much.
In the best way.
But then—
Oh.
Oh no.
Because this cute boy?
Yeah… he's got another side.
And the shift?
Violently sudden.
Whiplash-inducing.
🎶Masterpiece, masterpiece
널 보면 온몸이 freeze
아름다워, 숨이 막혀
또 한 번 그려 보고 싶어🎶
August plays with the crowd—those smothering looks, the perfectly tid winks, the subtle smirks that feel just a little too intentional.
And the audience?
Gone.
Completely gone.
Gooped. Gagged. Spiritually dislodged from their bodies.
The energy flips, and suddenly it's not just soft and warm anymore—it's charged.
Electric.
Dangerous.
The crowd turns feral.
Absolute chaos.
People gripping their friends, screaming into the void, questioning their life choices because why is one man allowed to be this cute and that attractive at the sa ti??
It's unfair.
Truly.
anwhile, the choreography keeps hitting.
Sharp. Intense. Perfectly synchronized.
Not a single arm out of place. Not a single beat missed.
It's tight—impossibly tight—but never robotic.
Because sohow, in all that precision, LEAVEN still holds onto their individuality.
Each mber distinct.
Each presence felt.
Together—but never blending into nothing.
And that balance?
Yeah.
That's not easy.
But they make it look effortless.
****
And then—
Out of absolutely nowhere—
Boom.
One of the confetti cannons goes off.
Early.
Way too early.
Bread Music didn't spend all that money for it to just… misfire like that. The plan was clear—every cannon was supposed to explode during the transition from the bridge into the final chorus.
The highlight.
The mont.
But now?
One just went rogue.
Completely wasted.
The audience flinches, confused. For a split second, their attention breaks away from the performance—imrsion cracked, just enough to be noticed.
Because that?
That was not supposed to happen.
It ca out of nowhere.
And sure, maybe once is a mistake.
But this?
This is the second ti.
First, the mics.
Now, a confetti cannon.
At this point, it's not just "technical difficulties."
It's starting to feel like sothing else.
Sothing… intentional.
The seeds of suspicion begin to creep in, quietly taking root in the background.
But that's for later.
Right now?
The banquet is still in full swing.
And on stage, LEAVEN doesn't miss a beat.
As they transition into the tango section of the second verse, their expressions remain flawless—controlled, professional, untouchable.
But their eyes?
Oh, their eyes are having a whole different conversation.
"The fuck is happening?!" Eli's glare practically shouts.
"Fuck if I know." Nikola shoots back, just as lost.
"Soone is definitely out to get us." Corsair side-eyes, sharp and calculating.
"Ugh, I'm too pretty for this." Kitty rolls his eyes, offended on a personal level.
"Guess the fuck-tard felt threatened." Kang Ian smirks, amused more than anything.
"Kang Seo-yul… when I get my hands on you—" Silas's gaze burns.
"NO. We are civilized human beings." Isaac pleads silently, barely holding it together.
"Yeah? Welco to city life—bright as hell, can't see shit through the pollution." Leo throws Isaac a look full of pity.
And then—
There's August.
Smiling. Glowing. Absolutely thriving.
Completely lost.
"…Wait. What are we talking about?"
The biggest question mark practically floats above his head, sohow making him even more adorable in the middle of all this chaos.
And sohow—
sohow—
The performance doesn't fall apart.
If anything?
It just gets more intense.
****
And so—
They push through.
No hesitation. No backing down.
LEAVEN gives it everything they've got, all the way to the very end—determined to prove that a few technical difficulties are nowhere near enough to stop a five-star performance.
Because if anything?
It just makes them go harder.
Then cos the bridge.
And with it—
A shift.
From above, a long sheet of silk descends, soft and almost ethereal as it falls into place.
Right on cue, Javi grabs hold—
And in an instant—
He's launched into the air.
The audience gasps.
Loud. Sharp. Collective.
For a split second, it's pure shock.
Then—
Screaming.
Even louder than before.
Because Javi isn't just up there—
He's flying.
Twisting, turning, wrapping himself in the silks with impossible control, showcasing raw strength and breathtaking artistry. It's fluid. It's powerful. It's srizing.
And completely unexpected.
Because seriously—
How many idols do you know can hang mid-air on silks and make it look like this?
Not awkward.
Not forced.
But like he was born for it.
Like gravity is just… optional.
And what makes it even crazier?
No harness.
Nothing but skill, control, and sheer trust in his own body.
One wrong move—
And it's over.
The risk alone has the audience holding their breath between screams.
anwhile, down on stage—
Nikola is going off.
Air flares, clean and explosive, cutting through the space with power.
Behind him, the rest are krumping—raw, grounded, intense—creating this insane contrast between what's happening above and below.
Controlled chaos.
Art in motion.
And right at the center of it all—
Mika.
Standing front and center in an elaborate costu inspired by his Australian roots—a wild fusion of kangaroo, koala, alligator, spider, and Tasmanian devil.
It sounds insane.
It looks insane.
And sohow?
It works.
Because Mika opens his mouth—
And belts.
The highest note he's ever hit.
And he nails it.
Clean. Powerful. Effortless.
Like it didn't just rip through the entire stadium.
The audience?
Yeah—done.
Absolutely done.
"Sir, please—let us breathe!"
"My ears have been CLEANSED!"
"His voice is clearer than my future!"
"He just told I'm untalented in forty-seven human and animal languages!"
People are collapsing. Screaming. Questioning their existence.
It's chaos.
Beautiful, overwhelming chaos.
And just when everything is building—
When it's supposed to peak—
You rember the confetti cannons?
Yeah.
The big mont.
The highlight.
The part where everything is ant to explode into celebration?
…
Nothing.
No burst.
No glittering rain.
No dramatic payoff.
Just—
Silence.
Crickets.
Zilch.
Nada.
And now?
Yeah.
Sothing is definitely wrong.
****
But then—
It happens.
Up in the air, Javi is in his elent—flying, weightless, completely in sync with the silks.
And then—
Sothing snaps.
Not the silk.
But the mont.
The air is suddenly knocked out of his lungs as his body drops—
Just a little at first.
Then more.
The audience screams.
But this ti?
It's not excitent.
It's fear.
Real, gut-deep fear.
Because Javi is plunging.
The silks themselves? Perfect. Strong. Tested. Top-grade—exactly what an aerialist would trust their life with. Bread Music didn't cut corners. They never do.
Which ans—
The problem isn't the silk.
It's what's holding it.
And that realization?
Yeah. That's worse.
Little by little, Javi descends faster.
Too fast.
Not controlled.
Not planned.
If this doesn't stop—
If no one lowers him down—
He's going to hit the ground.
Hard.
And Javi?
Oh, he's trying to stay calm.
On the outside, he still looks composed—still performing, still holding the illusion together.
But inside?
Absolute chaos.
"Bitch—who the hell is in charge up there?! I would really love to stay alive tonight, thank you very much! Why am I still dropping?!"
Down on stage, LEAVEN clocks it imdiately.
Eli. Yone. Silas. Nox.
They move without hesitation, huddling quickly, eyes sharp, calculating.
The rest adjust around them seamlessly, shifting formations, covering the mont—keeping the performance alive like nothing is wrong.
Because the show?
Still has to go on.
The four look up.
Lock eyes with Javi.
And nod.
A silent ssage.
We've got you.
Another drop.
Deeper this ti.
The audience starts to panic for real—gasps turning into frantic murmurs, hands flying to mouths, people gripping onto each other.
This isn't part of the show.
Everyone knows it now.
Up above, Javi takes a breath.
Quick. Steady.
He makes the sign of the cross.
And then—
He lets go.
The stadium erupts.
So scream.
So go dead silent.
So can't even look.
Because for a split second—
It looks like he's falling to his death.
But Javi?
Javi said not like this.
Because if he's going down—
He's going down serving.
Mid-air, he flips.
Clean. Controlled.
And then straightens himself out, body snapping into a perfect vertical line—like a flyer hitting their mark in a cheer routine.
Even in freefall—
He chooses grace.
He chooses control.
He chooses to slay.
****
And then—
In a single, heart-stopping beat—
Javi drops straight into four waiting arms.
Caught.
Safe.
Solid.
Eli. Yone. Silas. Nox.
Not a second too late.
The impact is clean, controlled—but the relief?
Imdiate.
Overwhelming.
The mont Javi feels their grip—steady, unshakable—everything floods out of him at once. The tension. The fear. The almost.
And when his feet finally touch the ground—
Yeah.
His face says it all.
"I'm still alive, bitch!"
And the stadium?
Explodes.
Roaring cheers crash through the air, louder than anything before—relief, awe, adrenaline all colliding into one deafening wave.
And sohow—
The performance keeps going.
Now running on pure, death-defying high.
Quite literally.
Because after that?
Oh, nothing is stopping them.
And for the first ti tonight—
Things settle.
The chaos, the near-disasters, the storm they just fought through—it all begins to fade.
What remains is clarity.
Control.
Power.
Like a ship that just survived a violent sea, LEAVEN stands tall—steady, unbroken, stronger than ever.
And you can feel it.
As the final choreography hits, their movents sharpen even more—stronger, faster, electric. Every step charged with sothing deeper now.
Not just performance.
Triumph.
It surges through the audience, contagious and undeniable. You can see it in their faces, hear it in their screams—they're not just watching anymore.
They're with them.
And then—
The final note rings out.
Clear. Powerful. Absolute.
LEAVEN hits their final poses.
Perfect.
Still.
A single heartbeat of silence passes—
And then—
The stadium erupts.
Thunderous applause. Deafening cheers. A tidal wave of sound crashing over the stage.
And in the middle of it all—
LEAVEN stands, breathing hard, chests rising and falling, bodies spent—but glowing.
Smiling.
Radiant.
Alive.
They bask in the afterglow, in the weight of what they just pulled off.
Because they know.
They all know.
They did it.
Their first ever live performance as LEAVEN.
And despite everything—every failure, every close call, every mont that threatened to bring it all down—
They endured.
They adapted.
They conquered.
They braved the storm—
And ca out victorious.
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