“Sorry, but I’m stupid, so I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

“Then......”

Seo Ri-hyuk hesitated, searching for the right words.

“I mean—don’t give up.”

“Oh, really?”

“If you’re going to quit halfway or suddenly leave, then do us all a favor and leave right now.”

By now, I was curious.

What incident two years ago had caused two trainees to walk out and cancel our debut—one so anxious, the other so distrustful? Or had I simply phrased my story about quitting over dance badly yesterday?

They were awfully defensive. Hearing “for everyone’s sake” implied they actually cared for each other.

Seo Ri-hyuk nodded toward Kim Bi-ju through the practice-room window.

“You probably don’t know yet, but Bi-ju hyung lives here more than thirteen hours a day. °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° The others are similar.”

I listened quietly.

“We’ve lived hoping for debut all this time. If this falls apart too, I don’t know what’ll happen.”

“So if I’m quitting, you want me to quit now?”

“Yes.”

I nodded readily.

“Alright.”

“Huh?”

“I quit.”

An expression of bewilderment passed over Seo Ri-hyuk’s face.

“What did you say?”

“You said if I was going to quit, I should quit.” 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

I replied calmly, mumbling something about whether I should pack my things now. Seo Ri-hyuk’s face turned frantic.

“No. I mean—”

“I know you want me to stick it out, right?”

Seo Ri-hyuk was speechless for a moment, then nodded. I smiled.

I’ve got plenty of experience in power plays. Surviving among a hundred trainees, this was nothing.

Of course, he might have been speaking out of concern for his hyungs and dongsaengs.

“So you’re saying you don’t want me to quit and want me to work hard?”

“...Yes.”

“Alright, I’ll work hard. I look forward to working with you.”

I smiled and extended my hand; Seo Ri-hyuk awkwardly shook it.

“Well, I’ll go on in first.”

Seo Ri-hyuk blinked and cocked his head as if uncertain whether he really should. Still, those trainees had strong bonds. Two of them had said the same thing, so it was clear they looked after each other closely.

I, still an outsider, couldn’t blame them. But hearing “don’t let us down” so bluntly did sap my energy a bit.

What could I do? We hadn’t known each other long enough to build real trust. I just had to stay calm and focus on debuting.

I smiled at Seo Ri-hyuk and returned to the practice room.

“What were you talking about with Ri-hyuk?”

“Huh?”

“You looked serious.”

“Nothing much.”

Perhaps my expression had slipped; Kim Bi-ju gave me a knowing smile.

“Ri-hyuk’s not great with people. He sometimes says things that are misunderstood. Cut him some slack.”

“No, he seems kind.”

Whatever struck Bi-ju as funny, he laughed at my comment. Seo Ri-hyuk returned, brushing by me like a gust of wind to sit next to Bi-ju, still wary-eyed.

It felt like bringing a stray cat home. Before I knew it, it was almost nine—the lesson start time.

Ten minutes to go, the door flung open.

“Hyungs! I’m here!”

The youngest, Wang Ji-ho, bellowed like a newborn baby. His voice was memorable.

Wang Ji-ho, entering high school next year, had the face of a classic pretty boy. I imagined in a few years he’d fit the role of a chaebol heir on TV.

He was about Bi-ju’s height, but his sturdy frame made me think he’d catch up to me once fully grown.

“Good morning, Woo-joo hyung.”

“Hey.”

“Oh, I brought you something.”

The maknae rummaged through his pricey-looking Canada Goose padding and carefully pulled out something.

“Do you like chocolate?”

“Thanks, I will.”

“You shouldn’t crash from low blood sugar during practice.”

It looked like expensive imported chocolate.

“Hey, Wang Ji-ho.”

Seo Ri-hyuk’s eyebrows sharpened.

“Why didn’t you bring any for Bi-ju hyung and me?”

“Oh, sorry!”

Ji-ho smiled innocently.

“I rushed out this morning and forgot yours.”

He munched away happily on his own chocolate. Ji-ho had his—just not for the others.

Observing his character quirks, I accepted the chocolate. Then I asked Seo Ri-hyuk, staring at my bar.

“Want some?”

“No!”

His urgent refusal made Bi-ju smile.

“Ri-hyuk, why reject so desperately?”

“I’m always like that, hyung.”

“Come on, when did I ever—”

Ji-ho and Bi-ju teased him. Ri-hyuk’s ears turned red. I’d thought he was tough for warning me off, but he was more like the neighborhood punching bag.

Sizing up the team’s mood, I asked, “Wasn’t there one more?”

“Who? Oh, Jung-hyun?”

Bi-ju frowned at his watch, muttering, “He’s late again.”

“Well, it’s not the first time.”

“Jung-hyun hyung should be here soon, Woo-joo hyung.”

Jung-hyun must be the tall trainee I saw yesterday—the one graduating next year with Bi-ju. He seemed to be habitually late.

Exactly at 9:00, the door clanged open—but in came not another trainee, but our dance trainer.

“Hello!”

We all stood and bowed as he nodded. His tired, prickly face screamed, Don’t bother me—I’m exhausted.

The dance trainer yawned.

“Sit down. I’m too lazy to look up.”

He surveyed us.

“I thought you’d all be gloomy with the year-end evaluation coming up. Why do you look so happy?”

“We’re debuting, sir.”

“Oh, debut? These kids debuting—what a world. The end times.”

“Why, sir? You said we were the best just yesterday.”

Bi-ju’s words were met with a shake of the trainer’s head.

“That was then. If you go out there with skills like these and say I’m your teacher, you’ll be in real trouble. Got it?”

“If anyone asks, I’ll say we’re students of Joo Yae-hyung.”

Laughter rippled among us. I just stared blankly.

“Anyway, one, two, three... Wait, where’s Kim Jung-hyun?”

At that moment, hoofbeats thundered from the corridor—like a herd of cattle approaching. Where had I heard that? The Lion King, when Simba’s dad died?

Click—

Jung-hyun burst in, nearly breaking the door down, gasping for air. Joo Yae-hyung shook his head.

“What a mess. What’s your excuse today, Jung-hyun? Overslept again?”

“Aaaargh—!”

Jung-hyun twisted in pain as the trainer pinched his side, the others laughing as if it were nothing.

“Sorry! I was feeding my hamster.”

“Right. Hamsters are important.”

“Yes, she wouldn’t eat until the end—aargh!”

His imposing face cracked the image I’d had of him. Bi-ju laughed at my expression.

Flustered from the reprimand, Jung-hyun threw his bag in a corner and took a seat right behind me, still panting.

“Hello.”

His deep voice made me smile. Joo Yae-hyung, who’d been shaking his head at Jung-hyun, seemed to have remembered something.

“New face, raise your hand.”

I raised mine.

“You all said your hellos, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then no need for introductions.”

Joo Yae-hyung observed me closely.

“You’re handsome as ever.”

“Um, thanks.”

“What’s there to thank me for? I hate handsome people the most.”

I looked around—everyone but me was snickering. So that was his usual character.

Just as Joo Yae-hyung was about to discuss the lesson plan, the maknae raised his hand.

“Ji-ho, again?”

“Sir, aren’t we doing that? The rookie initiation for our new trainee.”

Ri-hyuk gave Ji-ho a nudge, as if to say, That’s the guy who quit dancing yesterday, remember?

“What initiation now?”

Joo Yae-hyung grumbled but then his eyes lit up.

“Oh, perfect. Show us some dance, new face.”

“Eh?”

“You dance, right? Give us a little performance to stir the kids up.”

The trainees looked puzzled. They’d heard I’d quit dancing, yet the trainer claimed I danced well.

Amid the misunderstanding, all eyes focused on me as I stood.

‘This is embarrassing.’

The dance trainer beckoned.

“Watch closely. Notice my lines, how moves connect. Even from a big agency kid, two years off, he’s good.”

Suddenly, I felt the weight of representing a major agency. I sensed their intent gazes not missing a single motion, and hooked my phone to the speaker.

I’d chosen this morning’s practice track: Cold Brown’s See You.

Kim Bi-ju was puzzled.

‘He dances well?’

Last night at dinner, Sun Woo-joo had briefly recounted his trainee story.

“I ultimately quit because my dancing wasn’t good.”

Hearing that had worried Bi-ju. Vocals could be masked with AR, but dance differences were obvious.

He’d been surprised, but he trusted Director Jo Gyu-hwan’s eye.

‘If Director Jo picked him, there must be reason.’

To Lemon Ent, Jo Gyu-hwan was a box-office guarantee—the Midas touch. The trainees believed his judgment.

Still, the pressure was real. Six years of training with no dance progress was one issue; expecting him to reach debut level in six months after two years off was another.

The road ahead seemed bleak.

Then an unexpected sight greeted the trainees.

“Oh?”

Maknae Wang Ji-ho’s lips formed an ‘o.’

It was a clean dance line. No flashy tricks but precise movement.

‘This can’t be real.’

Bi-ju covered his mouth in amazement.

‘Moves like this don’t come from someone off for two years.’

It was as if a famous dancer were performing before their eyes. When Woo-joo’s body moved dynamically to the R&B beat, they all gasped.

Ji-ho whispered to Ri-hyuk, “Don’t you think he dances better than you, hyung?”

“Shut up, Wang Ji-ho.”

“Just stating facts—”

Ri-hyuk tapped Ji-ho’s Adam’s apple with a knife hand; Ji-ho choked and coughed.

Ri-hyuk, who had been glancing skeptically at the quiet senior duo, furrowed his brow.

“What? Why aren’t you denying it?”

The two hyungs smiled awkwardly. Rain poured in the main vocalist’s heart.

When the dance ended, Woo-joo stopped like someone freed from a trance and smiled.

The trainees’ applause was as awkward as their smiles.

‘We’ve been scammed.’

Bi-ju twisted uncomfortably, recalling what he had said earlier. It felt like giving a ragged thousand-won note to a scrap-collecting grandfather, only to discover he was a chaebol chairman.

It was deflating, yet relieving—one worry lifted.

“Alright, enough gawking. Let’s start the lesson.”

Joo Yae-hyung clapped his hands and began the session as usual. But the trainees’ eyes were elsewhere.

‘What the—’

The trainer showed a move; Woo-joo absorbed it exactly, in one go. Like a human copier, he duplicated the choreography. At first they were amazed, then horrified as if facing a monster.

When the lesson ended, Seo Ri-hyuk, feeling his position threatened, asked,

“Um, can he sing well too?”

“No.”

I heard a soft mumble of “Maybe?” but the idea seemed absurd—could he really sing?

Yet the main vocalist’s intuition proved true.