𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙

정미호 — don't touch it's art . ❤︎

[lgcmiho]

— MODELING MISSION / CREATIVE DIRECTION WORKSHOPS

miho doesn’t realize she’s been tapping her pencil against her sketchbook until one of the coaches clears their throat. she stops, cheeks warming for half a second, then quietly turns the page to reveal the concept she’s been piecing together over the last hour — one built around him.

“okay, since i’m directing,” she begins, glancing toward junkyu for a moment, “i wanted to make something that feels like his world, not just a mood or aesthetic. something soft, and warm, and safe. something that looks like the way he talks about night walks.”

she places her sketchbook on the table, flipping it open to a full spread: a calm, late–evening scene . not dark, not lonely, but glowing.

“the concept is called midnight earmth,” she says. “it’s about the comfort you find at night, when the world is quiet but not empty.”

she explains the setup: a street path lined with warm string lights, maybe a fake park installation or a minimalist, moody studio setup with projected shadows of leaves. nothing cold, nothing sharp. soft amber lighting so the air feels like candlelight, warm enough that he doesn’t think about the cold weather he hates.

“he’ll be styled in cozy layers,” she continues, “not heavy coats, just soft knits. warm cream or sage tones — something gentle, something that looks like comfort.”

props are simple: a cup of bubble tea, headphones around his neck, a sketchbook half–open beside him on a bench-like block. just hints of the things he loves, not staged, but lived-in.

“the direction is quiet confidence,” she says. “not posing, breathing. looking up like he’s listening to a song only he knows. maybe walking, maybe pausing under the lights.”

she hesitates before adding, more honestly, “i want the photo to feel like the kind of night that takes care of you.” when she looks up, the room is silent but not in a bad way. her concept sits between them like warm light: soft, comforting, unmistakably him.

[lgcnathan]

if you asked him, he'd say he wasn't expecting to be schooled in the origins of the croissant on such an early morning – but he doesn't mind.

in fact, nathan's so taken aback in a way that he doesn't even notice the quirk of his eyebrow and the slight tug at the corner of his lips as he listens to her mini-lecture on le croissant. her words are corrective but kind – easily returning his quip with a light teasing of her own – and he can't help but be intrigued. even when there's a pause in conversation, he's too enamored by her sheer presence, it seems like, to even offer another witty response in reply. instead, his eyes just follow her: from his side, to the counter, then in front of him again.

then she stuns him a second time, so casually too by pairing a certain sourness with sweetness now as he doesn't expect her correction to be followed up with praise. she already has him blushing when she not-so-indirectly asks him to share their aforementioned cups of coffee together, and nathan's sure he's been standing there like a complete idiot – open-mouthed and probably drooling at this point, surely – in silence before he finally responds.

"yes," he instinctually answers, before it dawns on him that she didn't actually ask him a 'yes or no' questions. "–i mean, no, i mean–"

he literally pinches himself, as slyly as he can on the outside of his wrist to, for lack of better words, get his shit together. "i'm sure my drink will be out any second now so we can just grab a table together, yeah?" he starts as calmly as possible. "—i'm nathan, by the way. what's your name?"

[lgcmiho]

miho has to bite back a laugh. it's not a mean one, but the kind that bubbles up when someone is endearingly flustered in a way they clearly didn’t plan to be. his yes–no–wait stammer is so unexpected from someone with his tall, steady presence that she blinks at him once… then twice… before the corners of her mouth lift into something warm and undeniably entertained.

she shifts her pastry bag to her other hand, the paper crinkling softly. “a table sounds good,” she replies, voice smooth in contrast to his frantic recovery. “and don’t worry, i won’t make you debate pastry history on an empty stomach.” there’s a glint in her eyes as she says it. her gaze drifts toward the pickup counter where their drinks are slowly lining up, then back to him with a tiny tilt of her head. “you looked very brave just now, by the way. Most people don’t survive their first correction before caffeine.”

she steps slightly to the side, making space for him to stand next to her rather than behind her, an unspoken you passed the vibe check. “i’m miho. jung miho,” she finally answers, giving him a small but confident smile — polite enough for a senior, friendly enough for someone she wouldn’t mind spending a morning with. “i just moved to the agency as a model.”

her head dips in a tiny, almost conspiratorial nod. “nice to meet you, nathan.”

[moevv]

[lgcmiho]

bursts of creativity,

— a starter for @lgckyoka ❤︎

the model sits across from kyoka, legs crossed neatly, one hand cupped around her mug. the box between them looks almost too innocent like it’s hiding more than just paper inside.

“feels like we’re about to play a game,” she says with a small smile, glancing up from the table to meet the other’s eyes. “except the rules are about honesty.” there’s a flicker of amusement there — the kind that hints she doesn’t mind the idea, even if she’s not entirely sure where it’ll go.

when the staff signals for them to start, miho reaches forward, lifting the lid of the box with a slow, deliberate motion. the stack of cards inside looks neatly arranged, almost ceremonial. she picks one from the top, reading the first question aloud:

“have you ever had to completely change your approach mid-project?”

she lets the words linger in the air for a moment before looking back at kyoka. “that one feels… familiar,” she admits, a small laugh escaping her. “doesn't that happen more often than we’d like to admit? what about you, kyoka? you’ve done so many different kinds of projects... do you ever find yourself starting one way and ending up somewhere completely different?”

there’s a quiet ease to her question, the kind that invites conversation rather than demands it — an open space, like she’s genuinely ready to listen.

[lgcnathan]

it's not like he came here with the sole purpose of hitting on a girl.

in fact, it's rare for nathan to patronize instagram-worthy cafés and the like, but with his desperate need for the strongest iced americano he can buy, this spot's the best in the neighborhood – the cute girl by the counter just so happens to be the figurative cherry on top of the whole situation.

she greets him with a slight bow, and he, of course, returns the gesture with one of his own – they're clearly not complete strangers, having seen each other around the company (or at least nathan assumes on her side, since he's definitely noticed her before) and he's not sure what would be more awkward: pretending that they are or pretending that they aren't.

glancing around, the establishment's fairly empty for a morning like this, and as he steps up to place his own order, he notices the presence of only one or two other employees who could be witnesses to him potentially embarrassing himself.

he slips his receipt and wallet into his back pocket as he as-casually-as-possible stands next to the girl while they both wait for their orders. there's a beat of awkward silence in the air before nathan finally clears his throat to say, "did you know that the croissant is technically austrian, not french?" no response. "yeah, yeah, i'm pretty sure the first bakery in france was actually opened up by an austrian, too. isn't that wild? like, talk about rewriting history or whatever, y'know?"

[lgcmiho]

miho turns her head just enough to look at him, one brow lifting as if to say really? without actually saying it. there’s a faint curve at the corner of her mouth — not quite a smile, but close enough to betray her amusement. “technically, you’re not wrong,” she starts, voice light but sure of itself. “but the modern croissant, the one people think of when they say viennoiserie, that’s french. the kipferl from austria is older, yeah, but it wasn’t made with laminated dough until it crossed over to france. or so i heard...” she tilts her head a little, eyes glinting with something between curiosity and play. “so, i guess it’s a shared custody situation.”

her tone isn’t sharp, just teasingly precise, the way she gets when she actually knows something and can’t help but share it. the barista calls her name right then, saving her from the need to elaborate. miho steps forward, collects her coffee and pastry, then turns slightly so she’s facing him again, the warm paper cup cradled in her hands. “but i’ll give you points for knowing the austrian part,” she adds after a beat, a touch of mischief slipping through. “most people just call everything french and move on.”

she’s not sure why she’s still talking. maybe it’s the caffeine calling, or maybe it’s the fact that he looks more amused than offended. either way, the corners of her lips lift into a small, genuine smile this time. “are you heading straight to the company after this,” she asks lightly, “or should i grab a seat so you can keep trying to rewrite pastry history?”

[lgcmiho]

— ZODIAC PHOTOSHOOT FOR HARPER’S BAZAAR KOREA / GILDED PLUMAGE

the moodboard spread across the table looks more like a dream than a concept meeting — sheets of metallic fabric swatches, photos of beautiful roosters and sculptural silhouettes clipped from runway collections. miho sits at the end of the table, chin resting on her hand as she studies them with quiet focus. the name “wood rooster” gleams at the top of the page, handwritten in the neat cursive she practiced the night before.

“i don’t want it to look… too literal,” she says after a moment, her tone thoughtful rather than uncertain. “the rooster already has such a strong image — proud, confident, elegant. but i want to show that elegance in a way that feels natural, not loud.”

she gestures toward one of the pinned references, an avant-garde gown with feathered embroidery that ripples like leaves in the wind. “i’m thinking something like this. structured but with flow. the base could be a deep forest green and then hints of bronze or gold that catch the light like plumage. I want the shape to almost resemble feathers when i move but not be feathers.”

the stylist hums in agreement, scribbling notes as miho continues, her ideas coming faster now. “for makeup, maybe golden eyeliner that extends just slightly past the eye. dewy skin, like morning light on leaves. and hair pulled back... sleek, sculptural, something that gives a silhouette like a rooster’s crest but modern.”

as she speaks, she begins imagining the rest of the scene. “lighting-wise, i think it should feel like a spotlight at sunrise. bright, sharp, cutting through the dark. maybe golden light from above and shadows that almost look like layered feathers. the background can stay dark, so the reflection of gold feels alive when I move.”

she taps her pen lightly against the page. “gor props, maybe something sculptural, lacquered wooden branches, or a tall wooden stand, almost like a modern perch. nothing too busy, just enough to ground the scene.”

she pauses, then smiles softly, yet full of quiet pride. “the rooster is confident because it knows when to rise. i want that to be the feeling: not loud, just radiant enough to make people look twice.”

when she leaves the meeting, a thin line of gold still smudged on her wrist from testing makeup, it glints under the light.

[lgcmiho]

bonjour,

— a starter for @lgcnathan ❤︎

mornings like this deserve something sweet and she’s already spotted it behind the glass: a golden, flaky pain au chocolat practically begging to be hers. “i want this… pain au chocolat, please,” she says carefully, the french rolling off her tongue with that particular soft lilt she’s picked up from her travels. not perfect, but enough to make the barista’s lips twitch in faint amusement.

she lets out a quiet breath, relieved she didn’t butcher the pronunciation too badly, and reaches for her phone. that’s when she catches movement out of the corner of her eye — someone lingering a step behind her in line. he’s tall, familiar in the way most trainees and artists are after enough hallway encounters, though they’ve never actually talked.

miho blinks, bows gently to be polite to her senior and returns her attention to the counter, fingers drumming lightly against it.

[lgcmiho]

@/itsme_ho just posted a photo!

let's go ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

[lgcmiho]

— CHUSEOK DAYS / SOLO

chuseok mornings in the jung household always begin the same way — the smell of her father’s cooking wafting through the penthouse before the sun even fully rises. it’s warm and familiar, like a melody miho knows by heart. she pads into the kitchen in her slippers, hair a sleepy mess, to find her father already halfway through plating perfectly golden jeon. “you’re early,” he says with a grin, flipping another piece. “you’re always early for food.”

she laughs, half-offended, half-proud. “what can i do if my dad makes the best food in seoul?”

by noon, the table is a masterpiece: glossy japchae, steaming bowls of tteokguk, songpyeon in pastel shades. mimo darts around snapping pictures, trying to get the perfect shot with her toy camera. their mother, as elegant as ever, watches the two of them with a faint smile before turning her attention to miho.

“so, how’s modeling going?” her tone is casual but miho recognizes the question for what it is: an inspection ( in english ). she straightens in her seat. “it’s going well. i’m still doing my best. i’ve been working on my walk, posture, expressions—”

“and the… singing?” her mother interrupts lightly but the pause before the word isn’t lost on anyone.

miho’s chopsticks still for a second before she smiles, calm and assured. “it’s just a hobby, eomma. i promise i have everything under control. i’m not losing focus.”

her father looks between them with a silent plea for peace. mimo muffles a laugh when miho accidentally drops a piece of jeon on her hanbok skirt a moment later, breaking the tension instantly.

later, as the evening lights glow over seoul, miho stands on the balcony with a plate of songpyeon in hand. the laughter from inside drifts through the open door, soft and steady. she takes a bite and thinks — maybe she really does have it all under control or at least enough for today.

[lgcmiho]

— TRAINEE MISSION 022 / PERFORMANCE

when jung miho’s name is called, the room feels suddenly too big. she steps onto the small stage, clutching the microphone with both hands and forces herself to breathe. there’s no camera crew, no flashing lights, no audience beyond the rows of fellow trainees and a few coaches, but somehow, that makes it heavier. these are people who understand what it means to want this, who know exactly how easily nerves can unravel a voice.

she closes her eyes for a moment before the first note. the melody is delicate, almost fragile and she lets it spill out slowly, as though testing the water before diving in. the song she chose isn’t flashy or loud. it’s not made to impress with high notes or perfect technique. it’s a song about stillness, about ache, about carrying something inside you that doesn’t have words. miho clings to that feeling, weaving her own story through every syllable.

her voice doesn’t waver. it’s soft, clear, tinged with a kind of vulnerability that she normally keeps hidden. she doesn’t look at the judges, doesn’t look at the other trainees. instead, she keeps her focus inward, singing like she’s in her family's house's balcony late at night, the world narrowed to sound and breath.

by the time the last note fades, there’s no dramatic flourish, just silence stretching across the room. her fingers unclench from the mic as she exhales, realizing only then how tightly she’d been holding on. whether it was perfect or not, she knows she left something of herself there in that song. and maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

[lgcmiho]

— TRAINEE MISSION 022 / SEPT BOOTCAMP

september feels different. the air outside is cooler, the sunlight softer but inside the company building the pressure only sharpens. miho stands in front of the practice room mirror, script pages trembling faintly in her hands. acting, hosting, variety — it’s all so far from her comfort zone. singing makes sense to her, even dancing has a rhythm she can follow but this? this feels like exposing parts of herself she doesn’t know how to control.

she takes a breath, forcing herself to straighten her posture. “you’re supposed to sound confident,” she murmurs to herself, repeating the line again, this time with a smile she doesn’t quite feel. the reflection stares back, unconvinced. her acting coach’s voice lingers in her head: don’t just recite the words, live them. it’s easier said than done. miho presses the script against her chest, eyes closing as if that might help her find the right emotion. she thinks of her mother, of the legacy she’s chasing, of the expectations attached to her name. the weight sits heavy but it gives her something real to pull from.

when she tries the line again, her voice cracks less. it’s not perfect ( far from it ) but it carries more truth than before. she exhales slowly, tugging at the sleeves of her practice sweater, grounding herself. around her, other trainees are rehearsing their skits and monologues, laughter bubbling from one corner, sharp critiques from a coach in another. miho stays tucked into her space, repeating the same section until the words no longer feel foreign on her tongue.

she’s not the loudest in the room, not the funniest or most dramatic but she tells herself that’s okay. improvement is its own kind of victory. and if she keeps chipping away, if she keeps standing here even when her chest feels tight, maybe by the end of september she’ll be able to look in the mirror and believe it.

[lgcnabi]

nabi nearly jumps when she hears her name, half because she was trying to be stealthy while moving through the company building, and half because miho's whisper-shout sounded more shout than whisper in this quiet hallway. but the second she sees her friend and the latte that she brought, her face breaks out into a grin. "i love sugar disguised as coffee!" she laughs. "you're saving lives today, miho. and by that i mean you're saving my life."

she doesn't resist for a second when her friend pulls her into a practice room, because she probably does need a little break, and because she loves some gossip. "okay, i can spill a lot of tea in ten minutes." she checks her phone quickly, making sure her manager didn't text her. "i don't think anyone will be looking for me, so we might even be able to get away with fifteen minutes."

"this might honestly be the best fifteen minutes of my day." she says, smiling as they enter the room. the automatic lights turn on and nabi closes the door behind them, sitting cross legged on the floor with her latte next to her. "okay, what's the gossip?

[lgcmiho]

miho plops down across from nabi with zero hesitation, tucking her legs under herself and taking a big, dramatic sip of her own latte. “first of all,” she says, pointing her straw like it’s a microphone, “the gossip is that i think one of the vocal coaches secretly hates me. he gave me the scariest eyebrow raise today when i missed a high note. like, sir, i’m human! not a pretty robot!” she widens her eyes, mimicking the exact glare, then collapses into giggles.

leaning in closer, her voice drops conspiratorially, though her smile makes it impossible to take her ‘serious’ tone seriously. “and second of all, he may or may not have dated my mom when they were in high school.” miho smirks, clearly pleased to deliver this as if it’s the juiciest tea she’s got.

she sets her latte down, scooting closer until their knees bump. “but the real emergency is this—” miho lowers her voice to a dramatic whisper. “i think the vending machine on the third floor is broken. it ate my credit card. my chocolate bar dreams? crushed.” her expression is comically tragic, but her eyes sparkle, waiting for nabi’s reaction like this is the most important scandal of the week.

[lgcjunkyu]

it felt a little weird to be back like this, back in a practice room and working on rapping and singing. it was like he was a completely different version of himself to what he was months ago, and technically, he was. the moment most people debut, they feel success and happiness. but for junkyu, his first time debuting with type zero, he still felt like he was lacking so much. it didn't feel quite right, like he wasn't ready in himself which lead him to leaving the group and returning to a trainee. and his second time, debuting in v&a, the time he finally felt ready and was beyond happy — content, until it was all stripped away from him in a heartbeat.

with his time recovering, he hadn't been able to keep up with practicing. and honestly, part of him didn't want to. it felt too much, overwhelming in a way that made him depressed like never before. so this whole workshop was a lot for him, but honestly, he'd take the singing and rapping workshop over the dancing one first. the dancing workshop was horrible. since he's been so out of practice, he's been stagnant, and it was showing to himself with the way he was struggling to grasp the right key with the difficulty of diminishing skills as well as his deep voice.

a heavy sigh falls from him, head rolling back against the wall as he lets his eyes fall closed. he's annoyed, at himself, at how he got to this position, how he not only once, but twice, had a vocalist position in both groups and yet he can't even grasp this simple right key. he doesn't even realise there's anyone else around until he hears a voice, eyes snapping open as they lock onto the girl. "probably not," junkyu replies, perhaps a little more glum than he intended. "it's fine, it's been a bit since i practiced like this so i'm rusty." he had no idea if she was aware of his previous affiliations, but whether she did or not, it didn't matter now — he was just a mere, regular trainee again. "sure, why not. guessing you're struggling with it too?"

[lgcmiho]

miho blinks at his answer, the faint edge of honesty catching her off guard. she had expected confidence, maybe even a little irritation at being interrupted, but instead there’s something heavier beneath his tone. her fingers fidget against the plastic of her water bottle before she sets it down beside the lyric sheets, crouching to glance over them as if studying harder will erase the awkwardness hanging between them. “i am,” she admits quietly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “struggling, i mean... the higher notes don’t come out the way I want them to. it feels clumsy.”

she forces herself to meet his gaze then, though it makes her chest tighten a little. his presence carries weight because he feels so much steadier than she does, even when he insists he’s rusty. that small thought sparks something inside her, a mix of reassurance and pressure. “if you don’t mind,” she continues, voice gentler now, “maybe we can figure it out together. i think it’ll sound stronger if we lean on each other instead of forcing it alone.” the suggestion slips out before she can second-guess herself, and she’s almost surprised at her own courage.

as they settle into place, miho inhales deeply, pressing her palm briefly against her diaphragm the way her vocal coach taught her. the first note feels shaky, but she steadies, watching his expression from the corner of her eye as the melody threads between them. she adjusts her volume instinctively, softer when his voice dips low, stronger when he lingers. by the time the verse ends, her heart is pounding, not just from effort but from the realization that for the first time all summer, she doesn’t feel like she’s rehearsing alone.

[lgcmiho]

august slipped away,

— a starter for @lgcjunkyu ❤︎

the august heat hangs heavy in the practice room, making the mirrors cloud around the edges. miho sits with her water bottle pressed to her cheek, her chest rising and falling from the last run-through. her voice feels raw but she knows stopping now would only make the next attempt harder.

from across the room, she hears something. miho watches for a moment, unsure if she should say anything at all. he’s been here longer, after all — more practiced, more confident ( or so she thinks ). still... is the melody the one they’re supposed to be rehearsing? her voice comes out softer than she intends. “is that… the right key?” when he glances up, she feels her cheeks warm. she clears her throat quickly, adding, “sorry, i just— i noticed.”

her hands tighten around her water bottle before she pushes herself up, walking closer. she hesitates, then gestures faintly toward the lyrics sheets. “mm… maybe we could run it together? it might help me.” the words hang there, half a suggestion, half a plea. she doesn’t want to sound like she’s correcting him— who is she to correct someone like him?

[lgcmiho]

strategy,

— a starter for @lgcnabi ❤︎

miho is balancing two cups of strawberry lattes in her hands, carefully tiptoeing through the company hallway like she’s carrying treasure ( in her heart it is ). the moment she spots a familiar figure ahead, cap pulled low, mask half-covering her face, but still unmistakably her friend — miho’s grin spreads wide.

“nabi-ya!” she calls out in a whisper-shout, like she’s trying to keep the company staff from noticing but can’t hold in her excitement. she rushes over and practically shoves one of the lattes into her friend’s hand. “i brought you sugar disguised as coffee, because i know you’ve been running on fumes again.”

without waiting, miho loops her arm through nabi’s, tugging her toward the practice rooms. “come on, superstar, you’re mine for at least ten minutes before your manager finds you. we need a gossip session. emergency-level.” her tone is playful but her eyes are twinkling with that warm, teasing fondness reserved only for nabi.

[lgcmiho]

— TRAINEE MISSION 022 / JULY BOOTCAMP

the practice room is nearly empty except for the steady thump of bass through the speakers and the sharp squeak of her new balance sneakers on polished floor. miho stands near the mirrored wall, arms braced against her knees as she tries to catch her breath. sweat trickles down the side of her face, dampening the loose strands of dark hair that keep slipping out of her loose ponytail. she isn’t naturally gifted at dancing ( everyone knows it, she knows it ) but she refuses to let that be the end of her story.

“again,” she whispers to herself, reaching for the remote to restart the track. the opening beat slams through the room and she immediately launches into the choreography they’ve been drilling all morning. her movements are a little stiff at first, her body fighting to remember each transition but she doesn’t let herself stop. she counts under her breath, “five, six, seven, eight”, pushing her legs to match the rhythm.

when she catches her reflection in the mirror, she frowns. her lines don’t extend as cleanly as the others. her turns are sharper than they should be. but instead of getting discouraged, miho forces herself to reset her stance and try again. she pictures the coaches watching her, the way their eyes narrow when she misses a beat, and she lets that image fuel her determination. she can’t afford to be the weakest link.

by the third repetition, her body starts to loosen up. her arms cut through the air with more intention, her footwork landing closer to the beat. the small improvements keep her going, even when her muscles ache and her lungs burn.

at the end of the song, she collapses to the floor, breathing hard but smiling faintly. the exhaustion feels like proof of progress, and for miho, that’s enough reason to stand back up and press play once more.

[lgcmiho]

hello stranger,

— a starter for @lgcjisoo ❤︎

miho pushes the practice room door open a little more confidently this time, the familiar hum of the empty practice room welcoming her. the guitar feels steady in her hands, not like the first night when she’d nearly dropped it from surprise. sure enough, jisoo is already there. she bites back a smile. “you again,” she says, setting her case down. “at this point, i’m starting to think you live here.”

sliding onto the floor, miho starts tuning, pretending she isn’t secretly watching him. “i don’t mind, though,” she adds quickly, glancing up at him. “actually… do you want to sing tonight? or play? we could try something together.” there’s a playful tilt to her voice like she’s testing how far she can stretch this 'new friendship'.

she can’t help but think it’s cool, honestly. jisoo’s face is already familiar from campaigns and glossy magazine spreads — the kind she’s might have clipped out for inspiration. “it’s kind of unfair,” she says as her fingers strum an idle chord. “you’re already a model and now i find out you’re good at music, too? save some talent for the rest of us.” her grin gives away that she’s teasing, though part of her means it.

miho shifts so she’s cross-legged, guitar balanced neatly. “alright, i’ll start, and you join in if you want. no pressure,” she says, more gently now. there’s something different about the way the room feels when he’s here, less like an empty box and more like a stage. she catches his eye, a flicker of nervous excitement in her chest, and nudges, “come on, jisoo. just a jam session...”