The next two days felt… weird.
Ha-eun hadn't shown up to practice, and Kim Chong didn't ask why. He figured she had something important going on—maybe some indie gig, or ninja business, or just catching up on sleep. But without her, the studio felt emptier. Quieter. He still trained, still worked his shifts at the convenience store from 12 to 6, still did vocal warmups in the park at night.
But something was off.
Then it happened.
One morning, just before work, he got a text from Ha-eun.
[You're famous now, old man.]
Attached was a video clip—him, singing his heart out at the open mic. Ha-eun had filmed it and uploaded it to her small artist page.
Kim blinked. He hadn't even known she was recording.
The views were climbing—200, 500, then more. The caption read:
"Voice that made me stop in my tracks."
For a second, he smiled.
Then he opened the comments.
Some were kind:
"His voice is so raw. I felt that." "Who is this guy? I'm obsessed."
But others…
"Cringe. Trying too hard." "Looks too old to be doing this." "Zero idol vibe. Give up, man."
Kim sat in his room that night, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him. The words looped in his head, louder than they should have.
"Some people just aren't made for this."
He barely slept.
The next morning, he didn't go to the studio. He didn't even change out of his pyjamas. He just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why he ever thought he could pull this off.
Maybe they're right.
Maybe this was just some dumb detour before failing again.
Then came a knock.
Not Seokjin's usual half-asleep knock—it was faster, lighter, almost impatient.
Kim groaned. "What now…"
He opened the door in sweatpants and an old hoodie—and froze.
Ha-eun stood there, holding a convenience store bag in one hand and a very judgmental look on her face.
"You missed morning practice," she said, stepping inside without asking. "And your house smells like sadness and instant noodles."
Kim blinked. "What are you—how did you—?"
"I may or may not have followed your brother on Instagram and bribed him with banana milk," she said, tossing the bag onto his bed. "Eat. Then talk."
He sat down, confused, tired, and slightly terrified.
"I saw the comments," she said, softer now. "And you look like you read every one of them fifty times."
He didn't deny it.
Ha-eun sighed, plopping down beside him. "Let me guess—you're thinking about quitting?"
Kim stayed quiet.
She nudged him with her elbow. "You know, for someone who used to study like a madman, you're surprisingly soft."
"Thanks."
"That wasn't a compliment."
A beat of silence.
Then, gently, she added, "You're allowed to feel like crap. Just… don't stay there too long."
Kim looked at her. "You really think I can do this?"
Ha-eun shrugged. "I don't hang out with lost causes. Also, I uploaded your video because I meant what I wrote. It stopped me in my tracks."
He blinked.
"And for the record," she added, "you do look a little old."
"Wow. Comforting."
"But like… hot-old. Like the lead singer of a sad rock band. Girls eat that up."
He laughed. Finally.
Just then, Seokjin peeked into the room, holding up a banana milk. "Did she seriously bribe me with this?"
"Yes," Ha-eun said.
Seokjin rolled his eyes and left.
Kim stared at the floor. "I don't want to give up. But I don't know if I'm strong enough."
Ha-eun stood. "You don't have to be strong all the time. Just stubborn."
She offered him a hand. "Now get up. We're going to the studio. You stink."
He didn't argue. He took her hand.
As they walked out the door, she muttered, "One more skipped day and I'm dragging you out with a mop."
He grinned. "You already kinda did."
Ha-eun smirked. "Good. Next time I'm bringing backup. Maybe your mom."
Kim froze mid-step. "You wouldn't."
"Oh, I would. I'll knock on her door with a speaker and play your open mic performance on loop. Full volume. Neighborhood concert."
He laughed, a real one this time, loud enough to make Seokjin yell from the kitchen, "Whatever that was, stop it!"
They stepped outside, the morning sun hitting their faces. The air still held a chill, but it was clear. Fresh.
Kim stretched his arms above his head. "You know, for someone who vanished for two days, you're awfully bossy."
Ha-eun shot him a glance. "I was busy."
"With what? Secretly training to defeat me in a dance-off?"
She didn't respond at first. Just looked up at the sky and muttered, "Something like that."
There was a pause. Then, softly, almost too casual, she added, "One of my stores almost got shut down. Rent issues. I was helping my aunt fix it."
Kim turned to her, surprised. "You didn't say anything."
She shrugged. "It's not a big deal. Just life."
But the way her voice dipped on "just life" made it feel… heavier than she let on.
He wanted to ask more, to dig a little deeper—but she was already a few steps ahead, spinning on her heel to face him.
"Come on, grandpa! Don't make me put you in a shopping cart and push you to practice."
He rolled his eyes and jogged to catch up. "You're unhinged, you know that?"
"And you're late. Let's go. The grind waits for no one."
This time, as they walked together toward the studio, Kim didn't feel like he was dragging himself back to a routine.
He felt like he was walking toward something.
Something real.