Last time, Ray stepped into the spotlight while Ryan's voice
burned quietly, unseen. But in every group, there's one
who refuses to stay in the shadows.
For Kian, fire is not just a word.
It's every beat in his chest, every breath he spits into the
mic. It's hunger sharper than sleep.
It's ambition heavier than doubt.
And when fire meets fame, it can turn into something the world
can ignore. This is We are SNWB episode 4
Run the Beat. SNWB.
The conference room smelled faintly of coffee and printer
ink, the kind of place where big decisions never matched the
bland walls. Four boys sat side by side,
sneakers tapping lightly under the long table.
The producer slid a folder forward, the company logo
stamped sharp on its cover. His tongue was brisk, almost
casual, but the words dropped like fire.
Congratulations, SNW BS first brand deal sportswear sneakers.
They want rookies with energy, hype, edge.
They want you. Shun blinked, his mouth falling
open in the silent. Oh.
Ryan bowed his head politely, hiding a faint smile.
Ray leaned back in his chair, silver hair catching the
fluorescent light like it always did, grin already forming.
And the request. The producer continued.
Tapping the folder is simple. A special track.
High energy Ray and Kian on lead, Ryan and Shun, you'll
support the harmonies and chorus.
For a heartbeat, Kian forgot to breathe.
His name purred with Ray's. Not hidden behind, not left out.
LED. The word burned through him,
hotter than any caffeine. Ray's grin widened.
Effortless. Guess they know who's got the
spark. Kian smirked back, but his jaw
was tight. His fire wasn't just spark, it
was fuel waiting to explode. The producer closed the folder
with a snap. Recording starts tomorrow, don't
waste it. The boys rose together, chairs
scraping back. Shun nearly skipped the door,
whispering excitedly to Ryan about sneakers.
Ray stretched like it was another casual win, but Kian
lingered a second longer, staring at the folder still on
the table. His reflection glared back from
its glossy cover. For once his name was in front.
He wasn't about to let it slip away.
SNWB. The loop hit steady through the
monitors, bass sharp, sneakers squeaking in the backbeat.
The producer leaned forward, voice clipped, rap sections
open. Kian, you write it, make it fit
the brand. A notebook slid across the
table. Kian picked it up, pen tapping
once against the blank page. His jaw flexed.
Then he began scribbling. No chains on me, speed in my
pulse, burn in my feet. He frowned, too stiff.
A hard slash crossed through the lines.
Another try. Speed in my pulse, burning my
feet. Every move forward, nothing to
hide. Another line dragged across it,
ink pressed so deep it nearly tore the page from the sofa.
Ray chuckled. You going to rap or kill the
notebook first? Kian's glare was sharp enough to
cut, but he kept his head down. The beat looped again, pushing
him forward. Edge in my voice.
Rise with the heat. 1 fire burning.
Run. The beat still wrong, still
hollow. His chest tightened with every
failed attempt. Then the pen slowed, almost on
its own. The next words fell out softer.
Fire in my chest. Fuego and me.
Peel. He froze.
Spanish. The word sat heavier on the
page, alive and away. The others weren't half Korean,
half Mexican. It was always there, but never
written in this room, never spoken where others could hear.
Not for the group, not for the brand.
His pulse kicked harder. He pushed anyway.
Edge in my stride, Nunca voyakaya.
The rhythm snapped into place. English and Spanish wound
together like they belonged. For the first time, the rap
sounded like him, but doubt rose just as fast.
Would they allow it? Would they tell him to cut it
out? He lifted the notebook toward
the console, voice low. Is this OK?
The producers eyes flicked across the lines.
The only sound was the beat in the speakers, steady and
relentless. Then a single nod.
Try it. Kian slipped into the booth,
headphones sliding over his ears.
His throat went dry. The beat dropped, red light
glowing on his skin. He leaned into the mic and let
it out. The Spanish stayed on the couch.
Shun whispered without meaning to, awe soft in his voice.
Cool. Ray's grin faltered into
something smaller, sharper. Not a joke this time, but
interest. Ryan's expression stayed
unreadable, but his faint nod carried weight.
Kean tugged the headphones off, breath ragged, fire running
hotter in his chest. For the first time, it wasn't
just heat. It was his.
SNWB. The set glowed with neon strips
running across the floor, sneaker posters plastered wall
to wall. For the first time, SNWB weren't
just rookies chasing stages, they were faces of a brand.
Stylists knelt at their feet, tightening laces, smoothing
shirts, patting down hair. Under the lights, each boy's
roll card was clear. Ray bounced a basketball against
the floor, already smiling like the camera loved him.
Shun tested his sneakers with a spin, laughter echoing when they
squeaked back in rhythm. Ryan checked the rope coiled
around his hand, calm and steady as always.
Qian stared at the painted Sprint line, heart beating
faster than the loop track pulsing through the speakers,
rolling from the top 32. The beat dropped.
Run the beat. Ray slammed the ball into a
clean dunk. Shun spun through freestyle
footwork, sneakers flashing with every turn.
Ryan's rope cracked against the floor, sync perfect with the
rhythm. Then Kian tore down the track,
sneakers pounding, rap cutting sharp into the beat.
The Spanish snapped, sharper than the lights.
Staff at the monitors leaned closer.
A brand Rep turned, voice quick. That That's the pulse we wanted.
Young, alive, new. Kean slowed to a stop, chest
heaving, sweat clinging under the lights.
He caught the words. Not about Ray, not about Ryan,
him, his verse. Ray jogged past, shoulder
bumping his lightly. Not bad, partner.
Shun's gaze lingered longer than a glance.
Ryan offered a subtle nod. The Director reset them, four
shadows moving as one. Sneakers hit the floor in
unison, logo snapping into frame.
The camera pulled back, neon flooding the floor, sneakers
glowing with every step. When the director finally
called, cut staff clapped. The brand team huddled with the
producer, words spilling quick, fresh, young right vibe for
SNWB. It wasn't just another shoot.
It was proof. Proof they could be chosen.
Proof they could stand ahead of Obsidian, if only for this
moment. Kian tugged at his laces, a
smirk ghosting at his lips. For once, the fire in him didn't
just burn, it illuminated. SNWB.
A few days later, the dorm fell quiet around noon until the
sound of sneakers pounding against asphalt filled the
television. The commercial hit screens all
at once. Neon lights, a backboard slam,
Ray spinning the ball with a smirk that belongs only on
camera. Then, Kian's rap cutting sharp
over the beat, his sneakers flashing with every step.
Shun smiled, Ryan's steady gaze all four moving together in a
choreography designed to highlight only one thing.
The shoes run the beat. SNWB.
The logo slammed across the screen.
For a moment, the boys just stared, their own faces bigger,
brighter, cleaner than any practice mirror had ever shown.
Then the sound of their phones broke in.
Notifications stacked faster than they could swipe.
Social feeds lit up with clips of the commercial edits looping
Kean's rap in Spanish hashtags, pushing them into trending.
Overnight, fans screamed about Ray's dunk, about Shun's shy
grin, about Ryan's gaze that felt like it had been aimed
directly through the screen. By evening, the chart lines
moved. See New World breath climbed one
rank, then another. By midnight, the graph showed a
truth none of them expected so soon.
Their debut single was almost neck and neck with Obsidian.
Shun watched the commercial again from his bunk, volume low,
lips curving into a smile he tried to hide.
Ryan scrolled through the charts, jaw set but eyes soft
with something close to relief. Ray leaned against the counter,
smirking at a comment he didn't bother to read out loud, and
Keon replayed his rap cut over and over, pretending it was
nothing but watching the way fans had clipped his moment into
1000 different edits. Ray pushed off the counter,
walked past Kian, and without a word, ruffled his hair with a
reluctant shake. Kian looked up, startled, half
laughing, half annoyed. Stop it.
He muttered, but he didn't mean it.
Ray's hand dropped back to his side, his grin returning easy,
distant, but not cold. The silence that followed wasn't
awkward, it was earned, and with it came the call from the
manager. Turn off the lights, go to
sleep. Big stage tomorrow.
Lights flicking off. PM could still hear the echo of
his verse for the first time. It didn't just sound like a line
in a song, it sounded like a rival.
SNWB. The Music Hall was empty but
humming with energy, stage crew adjusting lights, cameras
locking angles, producers muttering notes into headsets.
That wasn't the real show yet. It was rundown.
SNWB stood center stage, waiting.
The sneaker shoot still burned in their heads, Brand staff
clapping, calling them fresh young right vibe.
But here there were no neon sets, just stage marks taped on
the floor and cameras judging every move.
Ray spun his mic once, playful. Shun bounced on his heels,
sneakers squeaking. Ryan scanned the rundown sheet
again. Kian tapped his foot to the loop
track fire smoldering just below Send WB camera blocking from
top. The stage manager called.
The beat blasted through the empty hall.
They moved sharp at first, then staggered.
Shun landed half a step late. Ray's mark was off center.
Kian turned too early. Guys, look at the camera.
A staff voice barked from the monitors.
Hit your marks, not each other. The music cut.
SNWB froze mid formation. Ryan exhaled through his nose,
adjusting position without a word.
Ray muttered. Got it.
Shun bit his lip, cheeks flushing.
Kian's fist curled against his side.
The tension hung heavy until the stage manager waved them off.
Reset, Obsidian, your turn. Obsidian walked in from stage
left, sleek in black rehearsal gear.
Their leader smirked across the empty hall as they passed.
Not bad. Guess the brand one acute.
Let's show them sharp send, will you be Held their ground, but
the jab stung. The track switched.
Obsidian moved, clean, polished, every angle hitting like it had
been rehearsed 100 times. Staff nodded, some even clapped.
That's tight. Perfect angles from the wings.
SNWB watched, frustration tightening their shoulders
behind his leader. Jin glanced back once, his lips
shaped a quick, silent word toward Ray.
Sorry. Ray caught it.
His grin soften, just for a heartbeat, before sliding back
on. SNWB.
The hallway hummed with the tail end of rehearsal chatter.
Obsidian's laughter still echoed faintly from down the corridor,
the kind that stung more because it wasn't cruel, just confident.
Kian sat on a low flight case, sneakers planted on the cold
floor, the same pair they'd mocked on stage.
He retired one, lace fingers tugging harder than they needed
to. The logo flashed briefly under
the fluorescent light, a quiet, defiant glow.
He unlocked his phone. The commercial clip filled the
screen, neon lights rhythm pulsing, his verse catching
flame again. Comments flew past in a blur.
Kian's verse in Spanish, half Korean, half Mexican.
King. Finally, someone different.
He exhaled through a grin that almost looked proud.
Almost. Shun leaned over his shoulder.
Hyung, you really like that shoe, huh?
Kian smirked. It fits.
Ryan's voice drifted from across the room.
Let's focus, we're up again in a few.
Ray's reflection appeared briefly in the dressing room
mirror, voice cutting through with a sharp ease.
You should save that confidence for the stage.
He half smiled. If it shows up there, maybe
we'll finally win one. The words hit harder than he
expected, not cruel, but edged with something familiar.
Frustration. Pien's head lifted.
The silence after the line was thick enough to hum.
He stood slowly, sneakers squeaking against the floor.
Then stop hiding behind mine. Ray froze, his jaw locked, ham
curling around the water bottle until it creaked.
Peon's fists tightened at his sides, shoulder squared.
Ryan moved first, calm but firm enough.
Shun stepped between them, hands up, nervous smile gone.
Hyun, don't. The air stayed electric for a
beat longer, sharp, unspoken. Then Ray broke first, turning
toward the door. He muttered under his breath.
Right, focus. The door swung shut behind him.
Kian exhaled, breath catching. His gaze dropped to the
sneakers, the light hitting the logo again, his voice quiet this
time. The hall still buzzed with
movement, but Ray barely heard it.
Every step from the waiting room felt too loud.
His jaw ached from clenching. His pulse hadn't slowed since
Kian's last line. He twisted the cap on his water
bottle until it squeaked, the plastic biting into his palm.
Anything to bleed. The leftover heat gear shifted.
Obsidian was prepping for their second pass.
Ray slipped through the side wings, looking for air, a place
where his heartbeat didn't have to match the same rhythm as
theirs. Gin was there, half in shadow,
leaning against a stack of flight cases, phone loose in his
grip, calm and away. Ray wasn't.
Congrats. Gin said quietly, eyes flicking
toward him. First brand deal.
That's huge. Ray tilted the bottle in 1/2
salute. Exhale rough.
Thanks. Feels good being chosen.
Heavy, though. Jin's smile curved faintly.
It always feels heavy at first. You'll carry it.
The words landed softer than expected.
Something in Ray's shoulders eased, the tension bleeding out
slow. For a breath, there were no
cameras, no rivals, just two boys caught between noise and
silence. Ray's voice dropped low.
When our first promos wrap, let's meet up.
Just us, No teams, no cameras. Gin's gaze didn't flinch.
Yeah, just us. The stage manager's voice
cracked the air. Obsidian.
Stand by. Gin straightened, slipping his
phone away. See you around, he murmured.
Ray didn't answer. He just nodded, watching Gin
walk toward the lights spilling from stage left.
The hallway fell quiet again, only the faint hum of bass
bleeding through the wall. Ray turned back toward the
direction he'd come, toward the waiting room.
The voices inside were low, familiar.
Kian, Ryan, Shun. He lingered there a moment
longer, hand tightening once more around the bottle.
Then he exhaled, jaw set. The anger had dulled, but not
disappeared. It burned quieter now, something
steadier, smaller, and entirely his.
On stage, Obsidian reset into formation, sharp and ready.
SNWB stood off stage, waiting their turn, the earlier bark
still ringing in their ears. Guys, look at the camera.
For all their wins, they still had ground to prove.
The arena thundered alive, light sticks swaying like tides,
voices chanting names backstage. SNWB stood in formation, Mike's
clipped outfits crisp. It wasn't rehearsal anymore.
This was live broadcast. This was their debut song, their
first chance at #1 The lights dropped, then cracked open.
And silver beans, Obsidian hit the floor like they owned it.
Sharp formation, no wasted motion.
Their debut song tore through the arena, dark bass heavy, a
ruthless anthem. Their leaders rap snapped hard,
Jin's vocal soaring clean above it.
The crowd roared their name in tight chants, fans shaking black
silver light sticks like weapons at the wings.
SNWB watched. Ray's smile tightened but didn't
break. Shun leaned forward, eyes wide
with pressure. Kian's fists curled, jawed
tight. Ryan's gaze stayed steady,
unreadable. Obsidian closed on a perfect
slam, lights flaring behind them.
The crowd erupted, staff nodding at the monitors.
Flawless. SNWB.
Send WB Standby. The boys jogged out under the
glare, sneakers squeaking against the stage floor.
The track hit bright, explosive. They're sound raise boys, cut
bold at center, grin electric, Ryan steady, diverse with warm
grounding tone. Kien's rap snapped fire through
the beat, eyes lit with hunger. Shunts clear, vocal sword high,
young and unshaken. The arena shifted, fresher,
brighter, less sharp than Obsidian but alive, encounter
chance, light sticks glowing in waves.
The final chorus swelled, all four snapping in the formation,
arms lifted high. The stage burst in gold light as
they froze in their debut pose. The hall erupted, both groups
lined up side by side, sweat shining under the lights.
The host lifted the card, smile wide, stretching the silence.
Tonight's #1 rookie song is. The camera zoomed.
Ray's grin pulled tight with fire.
Kian's eyes burned steady. Shun's fists clenched at his
sides, Ryan's expression calm, chest rising slow.
Obsidian's leader smirked like victory was already his.
Jin's gaze flickered once more toward Ray.
The host drew a breath. Tonight's #1 Rookie song is
Obsidian's name is the one called.
Confetti burst in silver and gold, their champ Thunder
through the hall, shaking the floor.
The scoreboard confirmed it in bold, glowing numbers.
SMWB stood only steps away, close enough to feel the heat of
the spotlight but not its warmth.
Pian's hands clapped on instinct, each hit sharp and
stinging. Ryan's smile stayed steady,
practiced, too soft to be real. Ray's grin faltered for a half
second before snapping back in place.
Come already Again? And Shun's applause lagged a
beat, eyes lowered, caught between admiration and ache.
Across the stage, Obsidian bowed.
Their leaders smirk cut like glass.
Behind him, Jin's glance flickered toward Ray, brief,
unreadable, before joining the shout of victory.
The roar swelled louder for Obsidian tonight.
Yet scattered through the waves of silver light sticks, pockets
of red still burned small, stubborn embers refusing to go
dark. Ray inhaled through his nose,
slow and steady. Then he glanced sideways toward
Kian. Kian met his eyes, surprised at
first. Ray gave the smallest nod.
Not pride, not surrender. Something closer to apology.
Kian exhaled and reached out, resting a hand on Ray's
shoulder. No words, just a quiet, mutual
understanding. I'm sorry, too.
They turned together, bowing as one.
The cameras flashed, the stage lights dimmed, and in the shadow
of someone else's triumph, their story pressed forward.
But in the echo of fading cheers, the beat didn't stop.
Somewhere beneath the applause, a new rhythm was already
forming. Their loss wasn't the end.
It was the sound of something beginning to burn.
SNWB. Fire.
It can burn, or it can light the way.
For Kian, it burned first against the page, against the
pressure, against his own doubt. But tonight, it lit the stage.
His voice broke through, raw and alive, half hidden and half
revealed. For S and WB, the glow of their
first brand deal wasn't enough to steady their footing.
Rivalry pressed sharper, Obsidian flawless in their
stride. Yet still, when the lights hit,
they rose. Not perfect, not polished, but
there's the fire had only just begun to spread, and the crown
still hung in the balance. This is We are S and WB Episode
4. Run the Beat, follow the story,
subscribe and don't miss what comes next as Kian, Ray, Ryan
and Sean rise again under brighter lights, chasing a
rhythm that refuses to fade. Run the Beat is available now.
Find the link in the description, listen and enjoy.