The Distance Between Sisters
⚠️Please note that this fanfiction is a work of fiction and does not reflect the real lives of BLACKPINK members. Any similarities to real events or individuals are purely coincidental.The practice room mirrors reflected five figures sprawled across the polished floor, chests heaving, limbs akimbo. The clock on the wall read 2:47 AM. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and determination, the faint hum of the ventilation system the only sound beyond their collective breathing.
Kim Jisoo was the first to sit up, pushing damp strands of hair from her forehead. Her eyes found the youngest member of their group immediately—a habit she'd developed over the past year that had become as natural as breathing.
Lisa was lying on her back, one arm thrown over her eyes, the other stretched out toward Jennie who was similarly collapsed beside her. At fifteen, their maknae possessed a kind of effortless grace that seemed almost unfair. Even in exhaustion, her long limbs arranged themselves elegantly across the wooden floor, her slender frame still carrying the softness of youth but already hinting at the striking figure she would grow into.
"We should go home," Jisoo said, her voice hoarse from hours of vocal practice.
"Five more minutes," Chaeyoung mumbled from somewhere near the speakers, face pressed against her folded arms.
Jennie turned her head to look at Lisa. "Lili? You okay?"
Lisa lifted her arm just enough to peek out from underneath it, her large brown eyes blinking slowly. "I'm fine, unnie." Her Korean was still accented, still careful in its construction, but improving every day. "Just thinking."
"About what?" Jisoo asked, crawling over to sit beside the younger girl.
Lisa sat up slowly, crossing her legs and letting her hands fall into her lap. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt that hung off one shoulder, revealing the delicate line of her collarbone. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, baby hairs curling at her temples from the humidity of the room.
"Home," Lisa admitted quietly. "My mother called today. She said..." Lisa paused, searching for the words. "She said if this is too hard, I can come back. Anytime."
The three older girls exchanged glances. It was easy to forget sometimes—who Lisa was outside of this building, outside of their shared dream. The daughter of a Thai businessman whose empire spanned multiple industries across Southeast Asia. A family whose wealth was measured not in millions but in billions. Lisa had grown up in a world of private jets and designer everything, of opportunities that most people couldn't even fathom.
And yet here she was. Sleeping on bunk beds in a cramped dorm. Practicing until her body gave out. Eating convenience store ramen at midnight with the rest of them.
"Why didn't you?" Jennie asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft.
Lisa looked at her, genuinely confused. "Why would I?"
"Lisa-yah," Chaeyoung said, finally pushing herself up to join the conversation. "You could be living in a palace right now. You could have anything you want."
"I have what I want," Lisa said simply. She gestured around the practice room—the scuffed floors, the fogged mirrors, the pile of water bottles in the corner. "I have this. I have you."
Jisoo felt something tighten in her chest. She reached out and tugged gently on a strand of Lisa's hair. "You're too sweet for your own good, you know that?"
Lisa smiled, that wide, infectious smile that had earned her the nickname "Lalice" from their trainers—a combination of Lisa and Alice, as in Wonderland, because her smile seemed to belong to some magical realm. "I know," she said cheekily.
"Brat," Jennie muttered, but she was smiling too.
---
The dorm was quiet when they finally returned, the other trainees long since asleep. Their unit—the four of them—had been given a small room to share while preparations for their debut continued. It wasn't much. Two bunk beds, a shared closet that was bursting at the seams, and a single window that looked out onto the neon-lit streets of Mapo-gu.
Lisa took the bottom bunk beneath Jisoo, claiming she was afraid of heights. Everyone knew it was an excuse—they'd seen her scale the practice room walls like a spider monkey during their rare moments of free time—but no one called her on it.
"You need to shower first," Jisoo told her. "You're the sweatiest."
"I am not!"
"You are," Chaeyoung confirmed. "You dance like you're trying to evaporate."
"That's the point of dancing hard," Lisa argued, but she was already grabbing her towel and toiletries. "Fine. But only because I want to."
"Of course," Jennie said dryly. "We would never dream of telling you what to do."
Lisa stuck out her tongue—a gesture that reminded them all of just how young she really was—before disappearing into the bathroom.
The moment the door clicked shut, the atmosphere in the room shifted.
"She's getting better," Chaeyoung said quietly, settling onto her bunk. "Her Korean, I mean."
"She practices every night," Jisoo replied. "I hear her sometimes, when she thinks everyone's asleep. She'll sit by the window and read out loud from her phrase book."
Jennie was quiet for a moment, pulling her knees up to her chest on her bed. "Do you think she's lonely?"
The question hung in the air.
"She has us," Chaeyoung said, but it sounded weak even to her own ears.
"She has us," Jisoo agreed. "But we're not... we're not what she's used to. You've seen how she interacts with the other trainees. With the trainers. She's different with them."
Different was an understatement. With others, Lisa was a force of nature. She laughed loudly and joked freely, teasing the male trainees with the confidence of someone who had never known rejection. She called Manager-nim "oppa" in that particular tone that made even the strictest staff members crack a smile. She hugged the female trainees openly, draped herself over their shoulders, whispered secrets in their ears.
With others, Lisa was sunlight personified. Warm and bright and impossible to ignore.
With them—with Jisoo, Jennie, and Chaeyoung—Lisa was... careful. Still loving, still sweet, but there was a distance there that none of them could quite bridge. A wall made of something invisible but impenetrable.
"I think," Jisoo said slowly, choosing her words with care, "that she doesn't know how to be our dongsaeng. She's never had sisters before. She doesn't know what it means to be the youngest in a family."
"She's an only child," Jennie murmured. "She's been the center of attention her entire life. And now she's here, where she's the youngest, the most inexperienced in Korean, the one who has to catch up..."
"She doesn't know how to ask for help," Chaeyoung finished.
The bathroom door opened, and Lisa emerged in a cloud of steam, wrapped in an oversized towel, her hair dripping onto the floor. "The hot water is being weird again," she announced. "I think we need to tell Manager-nim."
She paused when she noticed the three of them staring at her.
"What?" Lisa looked down at herself, then back up at them. "Do I have something on my face?"
"No," Jisoo said, forcing a smile. "You just look... cute."
Lisa's expression flickered—something unreadable passing through her eyes—before she smiled back. "I know."
"Go dry your hair before you catch a cold," Jennie ordered, throwing a smaller towel in her direction.
Lisa caught it one-handed, her reflexes sharp. "Yes, umma."
"I'm not your mother."
"You act like it."
"I'm only a year older than you!"
"One year and two months," Lisa corrected. "I counted."
Jennie opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. There was something about the way Lisa knew these details—remembered the exact gaps in their ages, the specific dates of their trainee evaluations, the particular foods each of them preferred—that spoke to a deeper attentiveness than any of them had initially given her credit for.
---
The next morning came too early, as it always did.
At 6:00 AM, the alarm blared through the dorm, and fourteen girls began the daily ritual of fighting for bathroom time. By 6:45, they were filing out the door, makeup minimal, hair pulled back, ready for another day of training.
Their vocal trainer, Ms. Park, was already waiting when they arrived at the building. She was a slender woman in her forties with a perpetually displeased expression and the kind of exacting standards that had reduced more than one trainee to tears.
"Lisa," she said, barely glancing up from her notes. "You're up first. Scales."
Lisa stepped forward without hesitation. This was one area where she still struggled—her vocals were good, better than good, but she wasn't a natural singer the way Chaeyoung was. She had to work for every note, every breath, every sustained pitch.
She took her position, squared her shoulders, and began.
Her voice filled the room—clear and sweet, with a unique timbre that was distinctly her own. She hit the notes with precision, climbing higher and higher, her breath control impressive for someone who had only been training seriously for a year.
When she finished, Ms. Park's expression hadn't changed. "Acceptable. Your support is improving on the lower register, but you're still straining on the transitions. Rosé, your turn."
Lisa stepped back, her face neutral. But Jisoo, watching from the side, saw the way her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Acceptable" from Ms. Park was practically a compliment, but Lisa wouldn't know that. She hadn't been here long enough to understand the coded language of their trainers—the way "acceptable" meant "good," and "good" meant "exceptional," and "exceptional" was reserved for moments that bordered on miraculous.
Chaeyoung took her position and began her scales, her voice soaring effortlessly through the notes. This was her element, the place where she shone brightest. When she finished, Ms. Park actually nodded.
"Good, Rosé. Much improved."
Lisa's expression flickered again—that same unreadable look from the night before.
---
Lunch break found them in the building's small cafeteria, crowded around a table with trays of food that was nutritionally balanced and thoroughly uninspiring.
"I'm going to eat an entire pizza when we debut," Jennie declared, poking at her chicken breast with chopsticks. "An entire pizza by myself."
"I'm going to eat mango sticky rice," Lisa said wistfully. "My mother's chef makes it perfectly. The mango is always ripe, and the coconut milk is so sweet, and the rice is just the right amount of sticky..."
"You're making me hungry," Chaeyoung complained.
"You're always hungry."
"That's because we're always dieting!"
A shadow fell over their table. They looked up to find Hyun-suk, one of the senior trainers, standing there with an expression that could only be described as fond exasperation.
"Lisa-yah," he said, completely ignoring the other three girls. "I need you to come to Studio B after lunch. The choreographer wants to run through the new formation with you."
"Just me?" Lisa asked.
"Just you. He wants to see if you can handle the center position for the bridge."
Lisa nodded, and Hyun-suk reached down to pat her head with a familiarity that bordered on paternal. "Good girl. Eat well, you'll need the energy."
He walked away without so much as glancing at Jisoo, Jennie, or Chaeyoung.
It wasn't unusual. It happened all the time—the way the staff gravitated toward Lisa like she was the sun and they were all in orbit. The makeup artists cooed over her features, debating which angles best captured her beauty. The stylists fought over who got to dress her, already envisioning the fashion icon she would become. The managers checked on her first, asked about her health, her sleep, her adjustment to Korean life.
Even the other trainees—the ones who should have been jealous, who should have resented the foreign girl who had arrived with no Korean language skills and minimal training and somehow still managed to capture everyone's attention—even they were charmed by her. Lisa had a way of making people feel special, of looking at them like they were the only person in the room. She remembered names and details and asked questions about their hometowns and their families and their dreams.
"She's everyone's favorite," Chaeyoung observed, not bitterly, just matter-of-factly.
Jennie shrugged. "Can you blame them?"
Jisoo watched Lisa across the table, watched the way she ate her food with the mechanical efficiency of someone who had learned to fuel her body rather than enjoy her meals. "No," she said quietly. "I can't."
---
Studio B was smaller than their main practice room, more intimate, with mirrors on only one wall and a sound system that was slightly outdated but still functional.
The choreographer, Lee Dong-wook, was already there when Lisa arrived. He was young for his position—barely thirty—with the lean build of a former dancer and eyes that missed nothing.
"Lisa-ssi," he greeted her. "Thank you for coming early."
"Of course, seonsaengnim."
He gestured for her to take her place in the center of the room. "I've been reviewing the footage from last week's evaluation. Your dancing is exceptional. Your body remembers movement in a way that most dancers spend decades trying to achieve."
Lisa stood still, waiting. She had learned that praise from trainers was usually followed by a "but."
"But," Dong-wook continued, confirming her suspicion, "you're holding back."
"Holding back?"
"When you dance with the others, you're careful. You match their energy instead of dancing at your full capacity. I need to see what you can really do. Not Lisa the team player. Lisa the dancer."
Lisa was quiet for a moment. Then she nodded. "What do you want me to dance?"
"Improv. I'll play a track, and you show me what you feel."
He walked over to the sound system, scrolled through his phone, and a moment later the room filled with a heavy beat—something slow and bass-driven with an undercurrent of tension.
Lisa closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she was different.
Her body moved like water, like fire, like something that couldn't be contained or predicted. Every beat was hit with precision, every pause filled with intention. She didn't just dance to the music—she became the music, her limbs translating sound into movement in a way that was almost supernatural.
Dong-wook watched with the expression of someone witnessing something rare. Something precious.
When the track ended, Lisa was breathing hard, her chest heaving, sweat already forming at her temples despite the short duration of the dance.
"That," Dong-wook said slowly, "is what I needed to see. You've been hiding this?"
"I wasn't hiding. I just..." Lisa struggled for the words. "I don't want to make anyone feel bad."
"The other trainees?"
"My members. They've been training longer than me. They deserve to shine."
Dong-wook studied her for a long moment. "Lisa-ssi, do you know why I requested to work with you specifically?"
She shook her head.
"Because I've been choreographing for ten years, and I've never seen anyone with your natural ability. Not just your technique—that can be taught. Your instincts. Your musicality. The way you feel the rhythm in your bones." He paused. "But more than that, I've never seen someone so young who was so afraid of her own talent."
"I'm not afraid."
"Then stop holding back. Your members will have their own moments to shine. But so will you. And when it's your moment, you need to take it. Completely. Without apology."
Lisa absorbed his words, her expression unreadable.
"You can go," Dong-wook said. "But think about what I said."
She bowed and left the studio, her mind churning.
---
The afternoon passed in a blur of rehearsals and evaluations. By evening, all four of them were exhausted, sprawled in their usual positions on the practice room floor.
"That was brutal," Chaeyoung groaned. "I think my legs are going to fall off."
"At least you didn't have to do the vocal runs twelve times," Jennie countered.
"I would rather do vocal runs than the dance break again."
"You only say that because you're a vocalist."
"And you're a rapper who secretly wishes she was a dancer."
"I do not!"
"Girls," Jisoo interrupted, her tone weary but fond. "Can we please not fight? I'm too tired to mediate."
Lisa was quiet, lying on her stomach with her cheek pressed against the cool floor. Her eyes were open but distant, fixed on some point that none of them could see.
"Lisa?" Jisoo prompted. "You okay?"
"Hmm? Yes. Just thinking."
"You're always thinking lately," Jennie observed. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
Lisa was silent for so long that they thought she wasn't going to answer. Then she said, very quietly, "Do you think I'm good enough?"
The question landed like a stone in still water, sending ripples through the room.
"What do you mean?" Chaeyoung asked, sitting up.
"At dancing. At singing. At all of it." Lisa's voice was small in a way they rarely heard. "I know I'm the least trained. I know I have the most to learn. Sometimes I wonder if... if I'm just here because of my family. Because of connections. Because someone paid for me to have this chance."
"That's not true," Jisoo said immediately.
"Isn't it? My father donates to the company. My mother knows people on the board. I got an audition because of who I am, not because of what I can do."
"Lisa-yah." Jennie's voice was sharp, cutting through Lisa's spiral. "Look at me."
Lisa lifted her head.
"You got the audition because of connections. That's true. But you got into the debut lineup because of you. Because you're good. Because you're better than good. Because when you walk into a room, everyone stops and stares, and when you dance, everyone stops breathing." Jennie's eyes were fierce. "Don't you dare think you don't deserve to be here."
"But the trainers..."
"The trainers love you. Everyone loves you. You know why? Because you're impossible not to love. You walk around with your big eyes and your bright smile and your ridiculous talent, and people just... fall. They can't help it."
"That's not..."
"It is," Chaeyoung interrupted. "Lisa, do you know what the other trainees say about you? They say you're the complete package. The ace. They say it's not fair that someone can be that beautiful and that talented and that kind all at the same time."
Lisa's eyes had gone very wide. "They say that?"
"They say that," Jisoo confirmed. "And they're right."
"But I'm not kind," Lisa whispered. "Not really."
The confession hung in the air, unexpected and raw.
"What do you mean?" Jisoo asked carefully.
Lisa sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. She looked younger than her fifteen years suddenly, small and vulnerable in a way that made something ache in Jisoo's chest.
"I'm nice to people because I want them to like me. Because I'm scared of being alone. I smile and I laugh and I hug everyone because if I don't, they might realize I don't belong here. They might see that I'm just... pretending."
"Lisa..." Chaeyoung moved closer, her expression pained.
"I know how to make people love me," Lisa continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've been doing it my whole life. It's the only thing I'm really good at. Not dancing. Not singing. Making people love me."
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The silence that followed was heavy, weighted with the kind of truth that couldn't be unsaid.
Jennie was the first to break it. "That's bullshit."
Lisa flinched.
"No, listen to me. You think you're manipulating people into liking you? You think that smile of yours is some kind of trick?" Jennie shook her head. "People love you because you're lovable, Lisa. Because you're warm and funny and genuinely interested in other people. Because when you ask someone about their day, you actually want to know the answer. That's not manipulation. That's being a good person."
"But I—"
"You're fifteen," Jisoo said gently. "You're fifteen years old and you're living in a foreign country and you're training to debut in one of the most competitive industries in the world. Of course you're scared. Of course you want people to like you. That's not manipulation. That's being human."
Lisa's eyes were shining with unshed tears. "I don't know how to do this," she admitted. "How to be part of a group. A family. I've never had sisters before."
"You're learning," Chaeyoung said. "We're all learning."
"And we're here," Jisoo added. "Whether you know how to let us in or not. We're not going anywhere."
Lisa looked at each of them in turn—Jisoo with her quiet strength, Jennie with her fierce protectiveness, Chaeyoung with her gentle understanding. Her members. Her sisters. Her family in a way that her biological family, with all their wealth and influence, had never quite managed to be.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For being distant. For not knowing how to..." She gestured vaguely, unable to find the words.
"We know," Jisoo said. "We've always known."
"And we've been waiting," Jennie added. "For you to be ready."
"You could have said something."
"We wanted you to come to us. When you were ready." Chaeyoung smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "We're patient."
Lisa let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. "You're ridiculous."
"We're your members," Jisoo corrected. "There's a difference."
Later that night, when the lights were out and the dorm was quiet, Lisa lay in her bunk staring at the slats of Jisoo's bed above her.
"Unnie?" she whispered.
"Hmm?"
"Do you think I'll ever be as good as you?"
There was a pause. Then Jisoo's face appeared over the edge of the bunk, upside down, her dark hair falling toward Lisa like a curtain.
"You're already better than me at most things."
"That's not true."
"It is. You're a better dancer than I'll ever be. You have better stage presence. You're more charming, more likable, more..."
"I'm not asking about those things." Lisa's voice was small. "I'm asking about... being a good person. Being a good unnie someday. Being someone that others can rely on."
Jisoo was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Lisa-yah, do you know why I was so hard on you when you first joined?"
"Because I was annoying?"
A soft laugh. "No. Because I could see how special you were, and I was scared. Scared that you would outshine me. Scared that I would become invisible next to someone so bright." Jisoo's voice grew serious. "But then I got to know you. And I realized that your brightness doesn't dim other people. It illuminates them."
Lisa felt tears prick at her eyes again.
"You're going to be a wonderful unnie someday," Jisoo continued. "Because you already care so much. Because you're already so afraid of failing the people you love. That fear? That's not weakness. That's love."
"Jisoo-unnie..."
"Go to sleep, Lisa. We have training tomorrow."
But Lisa couldn't sleep. She lay awake long after Jisoo's breathing had evened out, long after the street noise outside had faded to silence, thinking about what it meant to be loved. Really loved. Not the performative adoration of acquaintances and staff members, but the deep, steady love of people who knew her flaws and chose her anyway.
She thought about her parents, who called every week and asked if she wanted to come home, who had offered her the world and seemed perpetually confused about why she preferred a cramped dorm room and endless training sessions.
She thought about her members, who had been waiting patiently for her to figure out how to let them in.
She thought about herself, fifteen years old and terrified, pretending to be confident while secretly convinced that everyone would eventually see through her act.
And she realized, with a clarity that felt almost painful, that she had been wrong about so many things.
It wasn't about making people love her. It was about letting herself be loved. It was about trusting that the people who mattered would stay, even when she stopped performing.
It was, she thought, the scariest thing she had ever done.
But maybe also the most important.
The next morning, Lisa woke up before her alarm.
She lay in her bunk for a moment, listening to the sounds of the dorm—the distant hum of the refrigerator, the soft breathing of her sleeping members, the muffled noise of traffic from the street below.
Then she got up, very quietly, and padded over to the small kitchen area.
When Jisoo emerged from the bedroom forty minutes later, rubbing sleep from her eyes, she found Lisa standing at the stove, a concentrated expression on her face.
"What are you doing?"
Lisa turned, brandishing a spatula. "Making breakfast."
"Since when do you cook?"
"Since I asked the cafeteria ahjumma to teach me." Lisa's expression was part proud, part nervous. "I wanted to do something. For you. For everyone. To say thank you."
Jisoo walked over to inspect the contents of the pan. Eggs, slightly burned at the edges but otherwise recognizable. Rice that looked properly cooked. Some kind of vegetable side dish that she didn't recognize but smelled good.
"Lisa-yah..."
"Don't cry," Lisa said quickly. "If you cry, I'll cry, and then the eggs will burn more, and Jennie-unnie will wake up and complain about the smell."
"I'm not crying."
"You look like you're going to cry."
"I'm not." Jisoo blinked rapidly. "I just have something in my eye."
"That's what people say when they're crying."
"Shut up and finish cooking."
Lisa laughed—a real laugh, bright and unrestrained, the kind of laugh she usually reserved for people outside their small circle.
Jisoo felt something warm bloom in her chest.
"There she is," she murmured.
"What?"
"Nothing. Pass me the plates."
The weeks that followed were different.
Not dramatically, not in any way that an outside observer would notice. But within the four walls of their practice room, within the cramped confines of their shared bedroom, something had shifted.
Lisa still struggled with Korean, still stayed up late practicing her pronunciation while the others slept. But now, when she stumbled over a word, she asked for help instead of retreating into embarrassed silence.
She still danced with breathtaking skill, still captured the attention of every trainer who watched her. But now, when she finished, she looked to her members first, seeking their approval before anyone else's.
She was still distant sometimes, still retreated into her own head when things got overwhelming. But now, when she emerged, she reached for them instead of pulling further away.
"Progress," Jennie observed one evening, watching Lisa and Chaeyoung practice a harmony together, their voices blending in a way that hadn't been possible before. "Slow, but progress."
"She's trying," Jisoo agreed. "That's all we can ask."
"More than trying. She's..." Jennie paused, searching for the right word. "She's letting us see her. The real her. Not the performer."
Jisoo nodded. The performer was still there, of course—would probably always be there. The Lisa who charmed managers and trainers, who smiled brightly and laughed easily, who seemed to glide through social interactions with an effortlessness that bordered on magic. That Lisa wasn't fake, exactly. She was just... curated. A version of herself that had been carefully constructed for public consumption.
But now there was another Lisa. A softer Lisa. A Lisa who burned eggs and asked for help and admitted when she was scared. A Lisa who was learning, slowly but surely, how to be someone's dongsaeng.
"Jisoo-unnie! Jennie-unnie!" Lisa's voice rang out across the practice room. "Come listen to this! Chaeyoung-unnie and I figured out the harmony!"
"Coming," Jisoo called back, pushing herself up from the floor.
As she walked over, she caught Lisa's eye. The younger girl smiled—not the wide, performative smile she gave to others, but something smaller and more precious. Something real.
Jisoo smiled back.
They were going to be okay.
Six months later — December 2013
The year-end evaluation was the most important event in any trainee's calendar. It was the moment when years of training were put on display, when careers were made or broken based on a single performance.
The air backstage was thick with tension. Trainees huddled in groups, some praying, some stretching, some staring blankly at walls as they mentally rehearsed their routines.
Lisa stood apart from the chaos, her back against a wall, her eyes closed. She was wearing a simple outfit—black leggings and a cropped top that showed the toned muscles of her stomach—but somehow she made it look like high fashion.
"Nervous?" Jennie appeared at her side, similarly dressed, her expression calm but her hands betraying her with their slight tremor.
"A little," Lisa admitted.
"You don't look it."
"I've gotten good at hiding it."
Jennie was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I used to be jealous of you."
Lisa opened her eyes. "What?"
"When you first came. When everyone immediately fell in love with you. I was jealous. I’d been training for years, and you showed up and just... eclipsed everyone. Effortlessly." Jennie’s voice was matter-of-fact, devoid of the bitterness that might have accompanied such a confession a year ago. "I thought it was unfair. I thought you had it easy."
"Jennie-unnie..."
"But I was wrong. You don't have it easy. You just make it look that way." Jennie turned to face her fully. "You work harder than anyone I know. You stay up later, you practice longer, you push yourself further. And you do it all while being kind and patient and endlessly encouraging to everyone around you. I don't know how you do it."
Lisa's expression was unreadable. "I do it because I have to. Because if I don't, someone might realize I don't belong here."
"That's not going to happen."
"You don't know that."
"I do know that." Jennie's voice was firm. "You know how I know? Because you're the best dancer in this company. The best performer. Maybe the best trainee YG has ever had. And I'm not just saying that to be nice. I'm saying it because it's true."
Lisa stared at her for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed. "You've changed."
"Have I?"
"Last year, you would never have said that. You would have called me a brat and told me to stop fishing for compliments."
"Last year, you would have smiled and pretended you believed me while secretly thinking I was lying." Jennie's gaze was steady. "We've both changed."
"Girls." Jisoo appeared, Chaeyoung at her side. "It's almost time."
The four of them stood together in the wings, watching the group before them finish their routine to scattered applause from the evaluators.
"I have something to say," Lisa said suddenly, her voice low. "Before we go on."
They turned to look at her.
"I know I'm not always the easiest person to be close to. I know I keep people at a distance, even when I don't mean to. It's something I'm working on." Lisa took a deep breath. "But I want you to know... I want you to know that these past months, living with you, training with you, becoming a team with you... it's been the best time of my life. Not because of the training or the possibility of debut. Because of you."
Chaeyoung's eyes were already glistening. Jisoo's expression had gone very soft. Even Jennie looked affected, though she was trying hard to hide it.
"Lisa-yah," Jisoo began.
"Don't," Lisa said quickly. "If you say something nice, I'll cry, and then my makeup will run, and the stylist noonas will kill me."
"Then I'll just say this." Jisoo reached out and took Lisa's hand. "Whatever happens out there, we're proud of you. We're proud to be your members. And we love you. Okay?"
Lisa blinked rapidly. "Okay."
"Now let's go show them what we can do."
They took the stage.
The lights were blinding, the evaluators' faces shadowed and inscrutable. But Lisa didn't look at them. She looked at her members—Jisoo on her left, Jennie on her right, Chaeyoung just behind.
My family, she thought. My sisters.
The music started.
And Lisa danced.
She danced without holding back, without worrying about outshining anyone, without the fear that had held her captive for so long. She danced like the choreographer had told her to—completely, without apology, her body becoming an instrument of pure expression.
And beside her, her members rose to meet her. Jisoo with her steady grace. Jennie with her fierce precision. Chaeyoung with her fluid elegance. Together, they were more than the sum of their parts. Together, they were something extraordinary.
When the music ended, there was a moment of absolute silence.
Then the applause began.
Later, much later, after the evaluations were over and the results had been announced (excellent, all of them, with special commendation for Lisa's dance solo), the four of them sat on the roof of the YG building, looking out at the Seoul skyline.
It was cold enough that their breath misted in the air, but none of them wanted to go inside. This moment felt too precious to waste on practicality.
"We're really going to do this, aren't we?" Chaeyoung said quietly. "Debut. Become real idols."
"It's starting to feel real," Jisoo agreed.
"It's always felt real to me," Lisa said. "From the moment I got here. I never let myself imagine it not happening."
"That must be exhausting," Jennie observed. "Never letting yourself doubt."
Lisa considered this. "It's not about not doubting. It's about not letting the doubt win." She paused. "My father taught me that. He said that successful people aren't the ones who never fail. They're the ones who never stop trying. Who fall down and get up and fall down and get up, over and over, until eventually they stop falling."
"He sounds wise," Jisoo said.
"He is. He built his company from nothing. Started with a single shop in Bangkok and turned it into..." She gestured vaguely, as if the scale of her family's wealth was too vast to articulate. "All of this. He understands what it means to work for something."
"But you didn't have to," Chaeyoung pointed out. "Work for something, I mean. You could have just... existed. Inherited. Lived a life of luxury."
"I could have." Lisa's voice was thoughtful. "Sometimes I think about it. About what my life would be like if I'd stayed in Thailand. I'd probably be in some international school, preparing for university. I'd have a driver and a personal chef and a closet full of designer clothes. I'd never have to worry about anything."
"Sounds nice," Jennie said dryly.
"It sounds empty." Lisa turned to look at them, her expression serious. "I had everything growing up. Everything money could buy. But I was alone. Always alone. My parents loved me, but they were busy. I had nannies and tutors and staff, but no one who really... saw me. No one who knew what I was afraid of or what I dreamed about or who I wanted to become."
"And now?" Jisoo prompted gently.
"Now I have you." Lisa smiled, that small, real smile that was becoming more frequent. "Now I'm not alone anymore."
The Seoul night stretched out before them, glittering with a million lights. Somewhere out there, a future was waiting for them—stages and albums and fans, success and failure and everything in between.
But right now, in this moment, they had each other.
And for Lisa, that was enough.
Epilogue — Present Day
Years later, when interviewers asked them about their trainee days, the four of them would exchange glances that spoke of shared secrets and private jokes.
Lisa would smile her brilliant, camera-ready smile and say it was the hardest and best time of her life.
Jisoo would talk about the importance of perseverance and teamwork.
Jennie would make a dry comment about lack of sleep and too much ramen.
Chaeyoung would get misty-eyed remembering small kindnesses and breakthrough moments.
But none of them would talk about the nights spent on the practice room floor, confessing fears and offering comfort. None of them would mention the eggs burned in a dormitory kitchen, the tears shed in bathroom stalls, the quiet moments of connection that had transformed four strangers into a family.
Those memories were theirs alone. Precious. Sacred.
Because some things—the most important things—were meant to be kept close to the heart.
And Lisa, the maknae who had once been so afraid of letting people in, had learned that the deepest love wasn't the kind that came easily, from people who were charmed by her smile or dazzled by her talent.
The deepest love was the kind that saw all her flaws and fears and insecurities, and loved her anyway.
That was the love she had found in that cramped dorm room in Mapo-gu.
That was the love that had made her who she was.
And that was the love that would carry her through everything still to come.
END
