The waiting room of BigHit Entertainment looked like it hadn't decided if it wanted to be minimalist or just lazy. White walls. One dying plant in the corner. A couch that squeaked every time someone dared shift. It smelled like new carpet and faint desperation.
Jimin sat on the farthest end of the couch, legs crossed, sunglasses on despite being indoors, scrolling through his phone like the world was too boring to exist. His features were delicate—ethereal, even—but the aura was anything but. Cold. Sharp. "Don't-talk-to-me" energy in human form.
The receptionist had offered him water. He hadn't responded.
Then the door opened.
Taehyung walked in like he was late for a party no one invited him to. A half-buttoned shirt over a cartoon tee, mismatched socks, and a grin that could only mean trouble. He paused, surveyed the room, and spotted Jimin like a moth to a flame.
"Oh. You look like you hate everyone here. I like that," he said, plopping down right next to Jimin—despite the entirely empty couch. "I'm Taehyung."
Jimin glanced at him over his sunglasses. "Congratulations."
"Oof. We're gonna get along great," Taehyung said, unbothered. "You smell expensive. Is that sass or Dior?"
Jimin sighed audibly.
Then the third one arrived.
Jungkook slipped in quietly, black hoodie pulled over his head, headphones on, eyes down. If shadows could walk, they'd move like him. He didn't sit on the couch. He leaned against the wall like he was auditioning for a moody indie film.
"Are we all... here for the same thing?" he muttered, mostly to himself.
Taehyung perked up. "Look at us. A triangle of trauma."
"I'm not traumatized," Jimin said.
"You will be. Give it ten minutes."
Jungkook snorted. It betrayed him—just a small sound, but enough for Jimin to lift his sunglasses a bit.
"You okay there?" he asked, one brow raised.
Jungkook shrugged. "Didn't expect sarcasm in stereo."
The door to the inner office opened, and a woman in heels and clipped authority stepped out. "Mr. Park, Mr. Kim, Mr. Jeon? You're up."
They were ushered into a sleek conference room where a thick contract sat waiting for each of them. The company wanted to form a trio. A visual storm. Three different worlds clashing and combusting—on stage, in photoshoots, in interviews. Chaos, but branded.
"We're calling you... the Trinity," the manager said, like it was the most original thing in the world.
Jimin stared at the contract, unimpressed.
Taehyung leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. "Trinity. Sounds like a cult."
"Or an expensive perfume," Jungkook added.
"You three were chosen for your... complementary appeal," the manager continued, clearly trying to ignore them. "Different energies. Unique strengths. Chemistry."
"Right," Taehyung said. "So basically: I'm the fun, he's the scary, and he's the sad puppy."
"I'm not a puppy," Jungkook muttered.
"You just wagged your tail when he said that," Jimin deadpanned.
They signed.
That was the beginning.
The storm didn't start on stage. It started in a bland waiting room, with three misfits who couldn't have been more different—until they were.
They signed.
That was the beginning.
The storm didn't start on stage. It started in a bland waiting room, with three misfits who couldn't have been more different—until they were.
Two days later, they had their first schedule.
It was a press shoot. Easy, they were told.
But whoever said that never had to wrestle Taehyung out of an orange feather boa thirty seconds before the camera flashed. Or deal with Jungkook showing up in all black with a chain hanging from his jeans like it was 2008. Or try convincing Jimin that the stylist meant to give him a sheer mesh shirt—"because confidence sells."
"Can I wear a jacket over this?" Jimin asked, voice tight.
"No," the stylist said. "Own it."
Taehyung snorted. "You look like a high fashion vampire."
"I hope you trip on your own pants," Jimin muttered.
Meanwhile, Jungkook stood awkwardly in the corner, not talking, but very clearly judging everyone silently.
They got through it, barely. The photos looked good. Too good, actually. Their chaos had chemistry.
"Now," their manager said after the shoot, "you'll be meeting some of your seniors. Be polite."
That was how they ended up in one of the executive lounges—suddenly feeling like trainees again, even though they weren't.
And then they walked in.
First was Kim Seokjin. He didn't walk so much as float. Face glowing like a Photoshop filter. Hair perfect. Smile like a toothpaste ad.
"Hey," he greeted. "I'm Jin. Worldwide Handsome. You'll get used to it."
Taehyung gasped. "You really are. I feel underdressed."
"You are underdressed," Jimin muttered.
Jin grinned, delighted. "See? You're all fun."
Then came Min Yoongi. Black mask. All-black outfit. Barely any eye contact. The aura of someone who'd survived six lives and regretted five of them.
"Yoongi-hyung," their manager whispered, like announcing a ghost. "Head producer. All your music goes through him."
Yoongi barely nodded. "Don't give me crap songs."
"Yessir," Jungkook said immediately.
"Good kid," Yoongi said.
Then Jung Hoseok walked in like sunlight wearing sneakers.
"Hi!!" he beamed. "I'm Hobi. Welcome, welcome! You all look so cute!"
Taehyung's eyes sparkled. "I love him."
"You say that to every person who smiles at you," Jimin muttered.
"I mean it this time."
Hoseok waved at all of them. "We'll be dancing together sometime soon! Hope you're ready!"
Something in his cheerful tone made them all straighten.
Then the room got quieter when Kim Namjoon arrived.
There was a stillness in him. Not quiet—still. Like a calm storm. He shook hands like a leader, his voice deep, words smooth.
"I've heard about you guys. The Trinity, huh?" He smiled. "Big shoes you're trying to fill."
"We have small feet," Jungkook offered. No one knew why.
Namjoon chuckled anyway. "I'll remember that."
It wasn't a long meeting, but it was enough.
When the hyungs left, the room felt a little emptier.
Taehyung was the first to speak. "I wanna be like that."
Jungkook nodded. "Same."
Jimin stayed silent, but his jaw was set. Determined.
They had a long way to go. They knew that now. They weren't legends. Not yet. But maybe... someday.
For now, they were just three kids in mismatched outfits, trying to make something of themselves.
But something had started.
Something wild.
Something called The Trinity.
The dance studio was bright. Too bright. Like a stage light had fallen in love with a mirror and had children. The floors gleamed. The walls reflected every awkward movement. And in the center stood Jung Hoseok, smiling like they were about to enter Disneyland.
"Welcome to hell, my babies!" he said brightly, clapping once. "I'm kidding. Mostly."
Jimin blinked. "Is this... sarcasm or sincerity?"
"Both," Taehyung whispered. "He's an enigma."
Hoseok clapped again, hands perfectly aligned. "Okay! Positions!"
They scrambled.
"Jimin, center. Jungkook, left diagonal. Taehyung—don't hide behind Jimin, you're taller and I see you."
Taehyung gasped. "He sees all."
"Now," Hoseok began, pacing. "You've all been dancing for years. That's why you're here. But if you think I'll go easy just because we're friends—" He stopped and smiled angelically. "I won't."
Jimin leaned toward Jungkook. "He's terrifying."
"He giggled while saying that," Jungkook muttered.
"I'm still processing the welcome-to-hell thing," Taehyung added.
Music blasted. It was aggressive. Fast. Full of staccato beats and sharp pauses. No room to breathe. Hoseok moved once, just a demo—and it was already better than anything they'd done in rehearsal.
"Ready?" Hoseok asked.
"No," said Jimin.
"Too bad! Five, six, seven, eight—!"
It began.
Fifteen minutes in, Jungkook was sweating like he owed someone money, eyes locked in. He moved like thunder—precise, powerful, dangerous. When he hit a move, the studio felt it.
"Jeon Jungkook, you monster," Hoseok said mid-dance. "Yes. That's it. Eat the beat. Devour it."
Jungkook's lip curled in a half-smile. He liked this.
Jimin was fluid—sharp where needed, but his lines had grace. He spun like he was floating. But he kept missing the transition into the footwork.
"Park Jimin. Breathe. You are the music," Hoseok said, dramatically placing a hand on his chest.
Jimin's eyes narrowed. "Hyung, are you encouraging me or reading poetry?"
"Yes."
Taehyung was... trying. He hit every move. Sometimes a second too late. Sometimes too early. But he had style. He committed. Facial expressions? Oscar-worthy.
"Kim Taehyung," Hoseok barked. "You're dancing like this is your own music video!"
"Is that not... the vibe?" Taehyung blinked.
"I mean—it is," Hoseok sighed. "But stay in sync, diva."
By the end of the session, they were wrecked.
Jungkook was flat on his back, arms splayed like he'd just fought a war.
Jimin lay beside him, muttering, "I feel like a melted swan."
Taehyung had collapsed dramatically in the corner, whispering to the ceiling, "Tell my fans I loved them."
Hoseok stood above them, barely breaking a sweat. "Good job today. You're only half-terrible now."
They groaned in unison.
"Tomorrow," he added, still chipper, "we'll add turns. And the floor sequence."
More groaning.
"But," Hoseok said gently, crouching beside them, "you're getting there. For real. I'm proud of you already."
They looked up at him—this bright, terrifying sun of a man—and couldn't help but smile.
"Thank you, hyung," Jungkook said, sitting up.
"Yeah," Jimin nodded. "Seriously."
Taehyung gave a thumbs-up from the floor.
"Of course," Hoseok smiled, then stood. "Now stretch before you become statues."
As they limped into cooldowns, Jimin whispered to Jungkook, "I don't know if I love him or fear him."
"Both," Jungkook replied, groaning as he touched his toes.
Taehyung nodded solemnly. "Sunshine with a whip."
They were exhausted. Sore. Off-beat. Still fumbling through the routine.
But something had shifted.
They weren't just three random guys anymore.
They were sweating through the same song, chasing the same rhythm, building something real.
The Trinity was starting to form.
One beat, one joke, one sore muscle at a time.
It was just past 10 p.m. when they left the studio, sweat still clinging to their shirts, hair damp, legs a little shaky. Seoul's night air was cooler than the blistering rhythm they'd just endured.
Jimin was the first to speak, stretching his arms overhead as he yawned, "Coffee?"
Taehyung blinked. "Now?"
"Iced americano," Jimin said solemnly, like it was a spiritual awakening. "Trust me."
Jungkook and Taehyung agreed without hesitation. They didn't need convincing—not when their bodies felt like rice cakes left out in the sun.
The café was quiet, tucked into a dim side street. The kind that played soft jazz and smelled of roasted beans and worn leather seats. They sat by the window, still in their practice gear, damp and glowing under the soft golden light.
Their drinks arrived. Jimin took a dramatic sip and sighed. "Salvation."
It was Jungkook who broke the silence. "I'm from Busan."
Jimin's head snapped toward him. "No way. Me too."
Jungkook's eyes lit up. "Where in Busan?"
"Geumjeong."
"Ah—I'm from Mandeok-dong!"
And just like that, their Seoul-standard speech dropped. Out came the thick, comfortable dialects of their hometown, overlapping like waves in a private sea. They bounced phrases, chuckled at shared slang, and Taehyung stared between them, grinning.
"You two sound like you're suddenly in a different drama."
Jimin laughed. "Sorry. It's the Busan curse."
"Anyway," Jungkook said, calming down a bit, "I didn't think I'd end up here, honestly. Singing and dancing, yeah. I've always done that. But the company—" he paused, tracing the rim of his cup, "—they said I could be more. They made me feel like I could do something big. That I mattered."
Taehyung leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "I knew the second I saw you—you're not just a singer or dancer. You're the kind of guy who becomes the brand. Like... you could model luxury toothpaste and still break the internet."
Jungkook turned red. "What?"
"I mean it," Tae shrugged. "Look at you. You're like... handsome chaos."
Jimin snorted into his cup. "He is."
Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, bashful. "You're both ridiculous. Taehyung, you literally look like a Gucci campaign in human form. Where do you even get your fashion ideas?"
Taehyung blinked slowly. "Dreams. And Instagram. But mostly dreams."
They all burst into laughter.
It wasn't loud, but it was real—the kind of laughter that snuck up on you, catching in the throat and slipping out as warmth. Their walls were coming down, one sarcastic comment at a time.
Jimin leaned back in his seat, watching the other two with a rare smile. "You know," he said, voice quieter, "we might actually work out."
Taehyung raised a brow. "You mean... as a group?"
"As us," Jimin replied. "Whatever this is."
Jungkook nodded slowly. "The Trinity, huh?"
Taehyung raised his glass. "To worldwide chaos."
Jimin clinked his cup against theirs. "And iced americanos at midnight."
Jungkook smiled. "And not dying during Hoseok-hyung's next lesson."
They all laughed again, this time louder. The café owner gave them a curious glance, but they didn't care. Something had shifted tonight. Beneath the bruises and sore joints, something was beginning to glue itself together.
Three boys.
One dream.
And a hell of a lot of caffeine.