The announcement was made at 12:00 PM KST, a time when the digital world was most active. The PLEDIS official accounts simultaneously updated their headers to a serene gradient of cyan and white. A single image was posted, six pairs of feet in matching white sneakers standing in a circle.
Then, the individual concept photos dropped, one every hour.
The previous five members went up in chronological order. The likes, retweets, and comments piled up like fresh snowfall. The "Sparkling Blue" concept was a hit. Fans were already declaring them "super rookies."
“Shinyu’s jawline is a national treasure.”
“Dohoon’s voice in the teaser clip is insane!”
“They look so pure!”
And then, at 6:00 PM, the final photo.
It was Jihoon. He was leaning against a weathered brick wall, looking slightly off-camera with an unreadable expression. One hand was casually tucked into the pocket of his varsity jacket. He looked cooler, more mature than the energetic concept photos of the others. He looked like the antidote to the sweetness.
The internet took precisely seven minutes to process the change.
Jihoon sat in the lounge of the dorm, his phone cast aside on the cushions. He had promised Shinyu he wouldn't look at the comments, but curiosity was a treacherous thing.
“It’s not bad,” Youngjae said, sliding onto the sofa next to him and trying to cover Jihoon’s phone with his palm. “Mostly, they’re just curious.”
“‘Curious’ isn't the word for ‘Why did they add a sixth person at the last minute and ruin the synergy?’” Jihoon muttered, quoting a translation from a popular international fan site.
The reality was hitting him. He wasn't just walking into a group; he was walking into an established narrative. For months, fans had followed the rumored five. They had drawn fan art, written theories, and emotionally invested in that dynamic. Jihoon wasn't just Han Jihoon; he was the Disruptor.
“They’ll change their minds,” Dohoon said, walking into the room carrying a large bag of take-out chicken. “Once they see you dance. Or once they hear that low register harmony you added to the track. You aren't ruining synergy; you’re completing it.”
“Thanks, hyung,” Jihoon said, but the knot in his stomach didn't loosen.
“Listen up,” Shinyu announced, entering from the kitchen with a stack of napkins. “We got the schedule for next week. Our first actual schedule. A variety show appearance on ‘Weekly Idol Academy.’”
The mood in the room immediately shifted from apprehension to excitement. Kyungmin actually cheered. Variety shows were the lifeblood of rookie promotions. It was where personalities were established, memes were born, and fandoms were solidified.
“But,” Shinyu continued, his expression serious, “it means the questions will focus on the group dynamic. Specifically, they will ask about Jihoon joining last. It can be awkward. We need to be prepared.”
The next few days were a blur of "image training." Their managers grilled them in the practice room.
“Jihoon, what do you think you bring to the group that was missing?”
“Shinyu, as the leader, were you resistant to adding a new member so close to debut?”
“Dohoon, tell us an interesting story about when Jihoon first arrived.”
It was exhausting. Every spontaneous moment of their budding friendship was dissected and repackaged into a soundbite. Jihoon began to feel like he was performing even when the music wasn't playing.
The day of the recording arrived. The studio was hot, the air smelling of ozone and nervous energy. The two hosts were comedians known for their sharp tongues and chaotic energy.
As TWS stepped into the bright white background, the hosts greeted them with exaggerated enthusiasm.
“And finally! The group that’s refreshing the industry! We are TWS!” they shouted their greeting.
The initial segments went well. They performed their title track, the six-member formation now seamless. Jihoon executed the main dancer center-part flawlessly, drawing an audible gasp from the staff behind the cameras.
But then, the interview chair segment began.
The main host, a stout man with bright purple hair, leaned in with a mischievous grin. “So, we have a very important question. A burning question from the fans.”
The five existing members stiffened, almost as one. Shinyu took a breath, ready to intercept.
The host pointed directly at Jihoon. “Han Jihoon! You are the last puzzle piece. The surprise ingredient. Tell us, when you first walked into that practice room... who was the scariest member?”
The question was unexpected. It wasn't the serious, confrontational inquiry they had trained for.
The other five members looked at Jihoon. Shinyu gave a subtle, encouraging nod.
Jihoon looked at the host, and then he looked at his members. He remembered the smell of pine-cleaner and the cold silence of that first night. He also remembered the mint chocolate ice cream.
A small smile played on his lips. “The scariest member...” Jihoon paused for effect. “Was definitely Kyungmin.”
The studio erupted in laughter. Kyungmin gasped, pointing a finger at himself, his eyes wide. “Me? I’m the maknae! I’m the sunshine!”
“No, no,” Jihoon continued, enjoying the reaction. “He didn't say anything. He just looked at my shoes and then looked at his own shoes, and then he let out a really, really long sigh. I thought he was judging my style.”
“I was judging the space, hyung! The spacing!” Kyungmin defended himself, blushing furiously.
The joke was simple, but it broke the tension. It showed that they were a group comfortable enough with each other to tease and play.
“Honestly,” Shinyu said, stepping in smoothly, “when Jihoon joined, we didn't feel like we were adding a stranger. It felt like we were finally getting the voice we’d been missing in the dorm. It’s quieter now because someone finally has the sense to turn off the lights.”
The hosts laughed, and the segment continued with natural, relaxed energy. By the time they finished the recording, they weren't the "five plus one" dynamic anymore. They were TWS.
As they boarded their van to go back to the dorm, the manager gave Jihoon a thumbs-up. “Good job today. The joke about Kyungmin was solid. It showed your personality.”
Jihoon didn't care about his personality. He looked out the window at the blurred city lights. He had navigated his first interview. He had shown the world he belonged.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He opened the main fan community app. He didn't look for his own name. He looked for the group name.
“Did you see the variety clip? Jihoon is so funny! The dynamic with Kyungmin is gold.”
“The performance looks so much better as six.”
“Welcome, Jihoon.”
It was a small whisper of acceptance, a single raindrop in the ocean of the internet. But it was enough. The disruptor was becoming a brother. And the real adventure—the debut—was now only weeks away.
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