The rain is tapping on the window again — steady, soft, like it knows the rhythm of your thoughts. Dinner’s over, but you didn’t go downstairs. You can still hear the faint sound of plates clattering, the muffled laughter you weren’t invited to join. Then, a knock. Two quick taps. It’s your brother’s signal. You unlock the door, and he slips inside with a plate — half a meal, but it smells like heaven. “Don’t tell them,” he whispers. “I told Mom I was still hungry.” A few minutes later, your sister texts: ‘You okay?’ You reply with a single heart emoji. That’s your code — your way of saying thank you, I’m surviving. When they finally come in, the three of you sit together on your bed, eating off the same plate, whispering stories about the future — a future where you all leave, start over, build a life that doesn’t hurt. And maybe, deep down, you all know it’s possible. Because the bond you share isn’t fragile. It’s steel wrapped in love. ps: don't use voice/

The stadium is empty now, just echoing voices of roadies and the faint buzz of neon lights. BLACKPINK has just finished another world tour stop — still breaking records, still unstoppable. Backstage, the four of them sit together in a loose circle. Rosé’s guitar hums lazily as she picks at strings. Jennie’s scrolling through photos of her twins, smiling to herself. Jisoo’s hair is wrapped in a towel, laughter soft but sharp. Lisa’s bouncing Nari on her lap, still wearing her stage boots. You’re there too — maybe offering water, maybe adjusting one of their mics, or maybe just sitting quietly, taking it all in. The air feels heavy with something deeper than exhaustion — fulfillment. Rosé looks up. “Do you remember when we were the youngest in YG?” she asks, voice fond. Jennie smirks. “Yeah, and now we’re the ones everyone calls sunbaenim.” Lisa chuckles, rocking Nari gently. “We’re still hot though.” Jisoo rolls her eyes, grinning. “Speak for yourself — my back hurts.” They burst out laughing — genuine, beautiful, and full of history. Outside the dressing room, fans still chant their names. But inside, they’re just four women — sisters, mothers, artists — sitting under flickering lights, surrounded by memories and dreams that refused to fade. Then, one of them turns to you. “Come on,” Lisa says, smiling that mischievous grin. “After parties are for everyone who survived the show.” You follow them out into the corridor, and suddenly — the world feels full of music again.

It’s another chaotic Tuesday at YG’s main studio. The air smells like hair spray, fruit snacks, and world domination. BLACKPINK’s in the middle of their second run-through of “Pink Venom (Remix ver. 10, toddler approved),” while the Mini Pinksters are huddled around a table of glitter pens and scorecards. Sora adjusts her plastic glasses and taps a pencil. “Okay, everyone, today’s category is… Energy!” Jennie’s twins nod like tiny judges on America’s Next Top Idol. Noah holds up his tablet, pretending to film. Nari waves a sticker sheet like a wand. The moms start performing — perfectly, of course — but that doesn’t mean anything here. Lisa slides into the center of the room, tossing her hair. Nari screams, “THAT’S MY MOMMY!” and waves her arms like she’s at a concert. Jennie winks at her kids mid-dance — instant giggles. Rosé’s voice hits a note so pure, even Sora pauses to write “angel noises” in her notebook. And Jisoo? She ends the number with her signature smirk — a power move that earns an instant “10” from every Mini Pinkster in the room. Then you, clipboard in hand, look up at them all with a serious expression. The others follow your lead, whispering in dramatic judgmental tones: “Hmm, not enough sparkle…” “Rosé auntie was SO elegant.” “Lisa mommy cheated, she winked!” Jisoo kneels down, mock-serious. “Well? Did BLACKPINK pass the test, or are we fired?” Sora adjusts her glasses again. “You may… continue the show. But tomorrow—” she points at Jennie, “—more jazz hands.” The idols laugh. The kids squeal. The staff takes another deep breath. Just another day in Mini Pinksters HQ.

The rehearsal hall smells like hairspray, coffee, and toddler snacks. The sound techs are setting up, the moms are stretching, and in the corner — chaos reigns. Sora adjusts her sunglasses (plastic, pink, crooked). “Judges, take your seats!” she announces in a dramatic voice she definitely learned from her mom’s dramas. Jennie’s twins scramble into their chairs, giggling. Noah’s already coloring on his score sheet, adding hearts and stars. Lisa peeks over from the stage. “Alright, Mini Blinks, you ready?” Nari bangs her juice box on the table. “SLAY!” The music starts. Rosé twirls, her voice rising like sunlight. Lisa spins, hair whipping. Jisoo hits her pose with perfect poise. Jennie flips her hair and gives the judges a wink that sends Jae and Nina into shrieks of laughter. Sora taps her pencil on the table. “Hmm. Good synchronization. Nice energy. But… Mommy Jennie cheated — she winked.” Jennie gasps dramatically, hand over heart. “You can’t call me out like that!” “Minus points for bribery attempts,” Sora says solemnly. Lisa snorts. “She learned that from me.” You hold your scorecard close, pretending to deliberate. Every eye (and tiny eye) in the room turns to you — the final judge. Rosé grins from the stage. “No pressure, sweetheart. Just… my entire confidence depends on you.” The music fades. The air hangs thick with laughter, suspense, and crumbs from a crushed cookie. Sora leans forward. “Okay, [your name] — what’s your score?”

The concert lights are down, the roar of the crowd fading into the low buzz of backstage — stylists whispering, crew members packing up, and laughter spilling from the dressing room. Lisa’s sitting in front of the mirror, still catching her breath, when little Nari toddles over holding her juice box upside down. “Mama dance again?” she asks, voice sugary and serious. Lisa laughs, brushing sweat-damp hair from her forehead. “No more dance, baby. Mama tired.” Jennie leans over, still half in her stage outfit. “She says that every time,” she teases. “Then five minutes later she’s doing the ‘DDU-DU DDU-DU’ gun pose with a hairbrush.” “Lies,” Lisa mutters. “That was one time.” Rosé’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, helping Noah untangle his toy mic cord. “You know,” she says softly, “he keeps trying to hit my high notes.” Noah grins, humming off-key. Jisoo snorts, tossing her jacket onto a chair. “At least he’s trying. Mine just critiques everyone’s outfits.” You’re sitting near the snack table with the rest of the kids, trading cookies and stickers. Sora claps every time a stylist walks by. Jennie’s twins are arguing about who gets to wear the glitter sneakers first. Nari is scribbling with a lipstick she definitely stole. Lisa looks over and grins. “Hey, Mini Blinks — how’d we do tonight?” You hold up a paper you drew earlier — a stick figure group of BLACKPINK under big pink lights with a gold star and the words “Best Show Ever.” Rosé melts instantly. “I’m framing that.” Jennie: “You said that about the macaroni art.” Rosé: “I did frame it!”

The studio smells faintly of coffee, hair spray, and crayons. Across the room, the seven BABYMONSTER members rehearse the bridge of their new single, voices harmonizing perfectly even as the kids at the side table argue over who gets the purple crayon. Pharita is doing her ad-libs flawlessly when Rami pauses mid-spin to shout, “Han! Don’t draw on the speaker again!” Han blinks innocently. “It’s art, mommy!” Ruka’s son Ren waves his homemade scorecard — it says “8/10, needs more sparkle.” Chiquita’s twins are giggling as they draw stars all over a picture of their moms on stage. Rora’s little Jun is clapping quietly in rhythm, and Ahyeon’s daughter Mirae is trying to copy Asa’s dance moves with impressive enthusiasm. You’re right in the middle of it all — surrounded by chaos, crayons, and the kind of love that comes from watching your moms be superheroes with microphones. Everyone knows the rules: 1️⃣ You must clap after every performance. 2️⃣ No juice near the soundboard. 3️⃣ Be honest — but nice-ish. Rami wipes sweat from her forehead and grins over at the table. “Okay, mini judges, how’d we do?” Ren smirks dramatically, raising his paper. “You missed one step.” Pharita gasps. “Which one?!” Chiquita’s twins yell in unison: “THE COOL ONE!” The room explodes into laughter.

The BABYMONSTER practice room looks different these days — softer. There’s a play mat beside the mirrors, a pile of toys in one corner, and a little round table with papers, pencils, and a sign that reads “Mini Monsters Club – Official Judge Zone.” Pharita hits the high note of the chorus, sweat shining under the lights. Rami and Rora are laughing as Ahyeon dramatically flips her hair. Asa’s cheering them on while Ruka’s trying to keep the tempo, and Chiquita’s twins are clapping like it’s a concert. Narita is perched on a booster seat with a pink crayon in one hand and a serious expression. “Mama missed the spin,” she announces in Thai, voice crystal clear. Everyone bursts out laughing. Pharita gasps. “You traitor!” Rami’s twins chime in, “We give it 8 out of 10!” Ahyeon groans, “You guys are ruthless.” You’re sitting among them, the colored pencils spread out like treasure, deciding if you’ll be kind this round or brutally honest. Rora’s son Jun claps shyly. Mirae pouts because no one is rating her performance. And Asa? She’s filming the chaos for later. Everyone knows the rules of the club: 1️⃣ No crying if you get a bad score. 2️⃣ Juice before judging. 3️⃣ No telling the moms if you spill glitter again. Ruka looks over from the floor. “Okay, Mini Monsters! Who’s ready for round two?” Narita grins mischievously. “We are!”

The lake glistens outside Rami’s house, reflecting the pale gold of the late afternoon sun. Fairy lights have already been strung through the trees, and soft music drifts from a speaker — a piano version of Dream. Inside, Pharita’s laughing as Chiquita’s twins tug on her hair. Asa’s teasing Ruka for wearing an apron that says “Chef Monster”. Rora’s sitting by the window, braiding Ahyeon’s hair as they talk quietly about life after the stage. Rami moves around the kitchen, humming, her eyes soft with the kind of peace that only comes from surviving the chaos of fame and coming out the other side whole. It’s been years, but somehow, the bond between them hasn’t faded — it’s only settled into something deeper. They talk about marriage, careers, music, and the fans who still send letters even now. They remember who they were, and how much it took to become who they are. You step into the scene — part of the laughter, part of the memory. Maybe you’re one of them. Maybe you’re someone who’s loved them through the years. Either way, this is more than nostalgia. This is family.

Narita has been secretly recording for weeks. Every choreo perfected, every note sharpened. Hana and Kay keep her company via FaceTime, whispering encouragements and occasional teasing. Today, she’s mid-spin, mid-verse, when she hears Lisa’s presence. She freezes for a heartbeat, calculating. Lisa doesn’t storm in — she only glances through the half-open door, then quietly retreats, deciding to check back in. Narita doesn’t panic. She’s practiced cover-ups at speed. Within seconds, she fakes a phone call, closes her journal, hides lyric sheets, and straightens her room. But she forgets one thing: the laptop. On the screen, the YG audition form is visible. Lisa steps closer, quiet, calm, her gaze cold and measured. “Narita [Full Name]…” Her voice is ice. The whole house knows this tone: you are in serious trouble. Narita freezes for a heartbeat, then — straight-faced — closes the laptop and smiles lightly. “Just checking emails, Mom!” Lisa’s glare doesn’t waver. Her voice remains low, cold, calm. Every muscle in Narita tenses — the kind of silence that screams consequences. Hana and Kay, still on FaceTime, whisper quietly, impressed but also slightly panicked: “Dayum… she cooked.” Alone, Narita exhales, hiding her small tears. She’s survived this encounter — barely.

Narita had been perfecting this audition for weeks: choreography, vocals, camera angles. Hana and Kay joined her via FaceTime for support, teasing her but cheering her on. Today’s session feels like a secret ritual. She’s confident, focused, and almost done when she hears Lisa approaching. Lisa doesn’t pause long — she walks by, glances at the light, hesitates, and suddenly decides to check the room. Narita panics. Hands shaking, she slaps the camera off, hiding the screen just as Lisa opens the door. Lisa tilts her head, squinting at the room: “Uh… what are you doing in here? Practicing a new TikTok dance?” Narita freezes, nods quickly, voice trembling: “Y-Yeah… um, just practicing.” Lisa shrugs, thinking nothing of it, and walks out. She’s blissfully unaware of the audition footage saved on the laptop. Meanwhile, Hana and Kay whisper over FaceTime: “Dayum… she cooked!” Narita slumps into her chair, hiding her face, tears silently streaming. Lisa has no idea.

Narita has been meticulous: choreo rehearsed, vocals sharp, camera angle perfect. She wants this audition to show YG — and herself — what she’s capable of. Hana and Kay joined her via video call to keep her company, teasing but supportive. She doesn’t notice the subtle change in the hallway: Lisa approaching unexpectedly, glancing toward the door before halting, deciding to double back for a proper look. Narita freezes mid-move, heart pounding. Her hand fumbles for the camera — she tries to shut it off quietly. Lisa crashes into the room, eyes blazing, voice sharp as thunder: Lisa: “Narita! You’re recording an audition without telling anyone?!” Narita, barely breathing: “…Mom—” Lisa’s voice grows colder, louder, shaking with anger: “Do you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t know what you’re doing?!” Jungkook shouts from the living room: “What has she done now?!” Lisa: “Your daughter! My daughter! Filming without permission! Do you realize the—” Her words tumble over themselves. She’s crashing out, pacing, pointing, gesturing. Narita’s hands shake. Camera off. She sinks into the chair, barely managing a whisper: “Yes, Mom…”

Narita’s been keeping this a secret for weeks. Late nights after homework. Quiet singing sessions under a blanket to keep the sound low. The camera hidden behind her closet door. She wasn’t trying to hide it forever — just until it was ready. She wanted Lisa to be proud, not angry. She wanted to show them she could stand on her own. The song starts again — sharp beats, her reflection dancing across the mirrored wall. Everything feels right for a moment — powerful, real, hers. Then footsteps echo down the hallway. Sharp. Rhythmic. Familiar. Lisa’s voice floats past the door, low and distracted, half-talking to Jungkook. Then the sound stops. A pause. A breath. And the door opens.

Narita’s been planning this for months. Late-night vocal takes, rehearsing choreography in her room until the floorboards creak, hiding her camera gear behind stacks of laundry. This isn’t rebellion — it’s ambition. She’s not doing it against her parents. She just wants to prove that she can make it without their names on her form. She takes a deep breath. Music starts. Camera blinks red. She hits the first move — sharp, flawless. The rap section hits — confidence builds. And that’s when it happens. The sound of heels on tile. Slow. Precise. Getting closer. Lisa’s voice carries from the hall: “Is someone filming without permission again?” Narita freezes. Music still playing. She turns just enough to see her mom walking by — coffee in one hand, tablet in the other. Lisa glances toward the screen — doesn’t stop — then suddenly halts. She walks backward.

Narita has always been surrounded by music. Being the daughter of two legends means expectations aren’t just high — they’re cosmic. But Narita doesn’t want to ride their fame. She wants to earn her own. She’s chosen the YG path — her mother’s home turf — partly because she knows it’s one of the hardest, most intense systems to survive. And partly because she wants to prove something: not to the fans, not even to her parents — but to herself. Today’s her self-filmed audition recording day. The house is quiet, the lighting perfect, the beat preloaded. She’s halfway through her dance section when footsteps sound down the hall. Lisa’s distinct heels click against the polished floor — light, rhythmic, dangerous. Narita doesn’t notice at first. Not until Lisa passes by the open door.

“Worker V2” takes place in a strange liminal moment — the kind you get when fame meets fatigue, and the world expects perfection before you’ve even found peace. Rami’s POV lets us see the human side of a YG trainee-turned-idol: the constant push to shine, to catch up, to prove that her hiatus didn’t dull her edge. But when she runs into the Worker — who’s been silently watching the cycles of idols come and go — their quiet, uneasy conversation pulls at the edges of reality. He remembers all the voices that filled this basement. The sweat, the songs, the arguments. He’s a witness to every dream that bloomed and burned out under these lights. For Rami, it’s not just a conversation. It’s a reckoning — with herself, her choices, and the reason she ever wanted to sing in the first place. This isn’t horror, not really. But there’s something off in the Worker’s tone. Something that makes you wonder whether he’s real… or just what YG creates to keep the lights running after everyone’s gone home.

The dorm is buzzing. Some members are practicing dance moves, others are sprawled on the couch with snacks. Suddenly, the door opens and all eyes turn to you — the newest addition to BABYMONSTER. “So this is the 8th member, huh?” Ahyeon smirks whilst snacking on a bag of chips. “Better be ready, because this isn’t just fun and games. We’re monsters on stage.” Rora bounces up, tugging your hand. “Hi hi! Don’t listen to her scary words, we’re really nice. Mostly.” Chiquita crosses her arms dramatically. “I was the maknae… but now you’re here. Don’t think I’ll go easy on you.” Ruka sighs, rolling her eyes with a smile. “Ignore them. Welcome to the family. From now on, you’re one of us.” The group cheers, and just like that… you’re in.

The camera’s rolling. You’re halfway through your self-introduction: "Annyeonghaseyo, YG Entertainment. My name is Narita, I’m 13, and—" Lisa’s voice cuts through the air like a whip. “—You’re WHAT?” You freeze. The music keeps playing behind you. Slowly, you turn. She’s standing in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed. Her hair’s tied up from rehearsal, her phone still in hand — she must’ve just come home. Narita: “Mum, I can explain—” Lisa: “Explain what, exactly? Why you’re filming an audition for my company without even telling me?!” The camera’s still recording. You rush to shut it off. Lisa: “Don’t you dare stop that. I want to see what you were going to send.” Her tone is sharp, but her eyes flick to the ring light, the mic — the setup is professional. Too professional for a random kid video. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Do you even know how hard that life is, Narita? How brutal YG training can be?” You nod, tears brimming. “I do, Mum. I watched you live it. I just want to prove I can, too.” The silence stretches. Then, Jungkook’s voice echoes faintly down the hall. Jungkook: “Lisa, is she finally telling you about her secret camera setup?” Lisa: “She’s auditioning! For YG!” Jungkook: “…Oh. Wow. She’s really ours, huh?” Lisa glares at him. You can’t help but laugh nervously.

The house is quiet — except for the hum of your laptop and the faint beat of your audition track replaying on loop. You review your video again. The lighting’s perfect, your moves are sharp, your voice steady. You exhale, whispering to yourself, “Let’s do this.” The YG form stares back at you: Name: Narita. Age: 13. Speciality: Vocal and Dance. Languages: Seven. You type everything carefully, upload your video, and click Submit. For a moment, you just sit there, blinking. Then — footsteps. Lisa: “Nana, what are you doing awake at this hour?” You freeze. She peers over your shoulder. Then her eyes widen. Lisa: “Wait. Did you just— NARITA!” Jungkook (from the hallway): “What did she do this time?” Lisa: “She applied for YG without telling us!” Jungkook: laughing softly “She’s really ours, huh?” You grin sheepishly as Hana and Kay join the commotion on video call — all yelling “Narita!” at once, half-excited, half-exasperated. The laptop pings: ‘Submission complete – Awaiting review.’ You lean back, your heart hammering against your ribs. For the first time in your life, it feels like everything you’ve trained for — every word, every note, every dance step — might actually lead somewhere.

Tonight your room is lit softly by the glow of your laptop screen. You triple-check your audition video one last time: your dance formation crisp, your vocal line clear, your smile genuine. You type in your name, age, and dream, and then—click—it’s submitted to YG Entertainment’s audition page. You recall reading that YG holds monthly online video auditions where selected candidates are invited for live call or in-person rounds. yg-audition.com +2 thesmartlocal.kr +2 You knock on your desk lightly, remembering your mom’s advice: “You don’t need to outshine others—you just need to shine yourself.” Your dad’s words ring too: “Stay real. Your story is what makes you unique.” Your siblings peek in: Hana gives you a thumbs up, Kay jokes you’ll need “game hacks” if you’re going to survive trainee life. You laugh and nod. The file uploads. You lean back in your chair and exhale. The screen says “Submission Complete – Awaiting Review.” Now you wait. The world knows nothing yet—but you know. This moment might change everything.

Today is your first official performance at the school. All your hard work, hours of practice, and guidance from your mentors come together in a single stage moment. Your fellow trainees watch, some silently judging, others cheering — but everyone knows this is your first time under the bright lights. Lisa reminds you to project confidence and style; Jungkook coaches your stance and transitions; Pharita and Chiquita double-check your choreography and expressions. You’re nervous but focused. Every movement, vocal inflection, and facial expression matters. This is more than a rehearsal — it’s your chance to leave a lasting impression on your mentors, your peers, and even visiting idols and YG staff. Success here could propel you toward a future as an official YG trainee and, eventually, an idol in your own right.