The next morning, Kim Chong stood at the edge of the sidewalk, staring up at the Rise Entertainment building.
It wasn't massive, but it had a quiet elegance. Frosted glass panels caught the early sunlight like ice, and clean stone tiles lined the steps leading to the entrance. A single silver logo shimmered above the door—subtle, almost modest. Not a monument, but something that whispered potential.
Kim pulled his hood tighter, his breath curling in the cold morning air. His heart beat so loud it seemed to echo through the empty street.
Behind those walls, people were training. Bleeding through their dreams. Fighting for something invisible but life-changing.
He stepped forward.
Inside, the building was still waking up. Soft lights glowed along the ceiling, and the faint scent of fresh paint and wood polish lingered in the air. The woman at the front desk looked up, recognized him immediately, and gave a small, polite nod.
"Third floor," she said. "Training department. The team leader's waiting."
Kim rode the elevator alone. His reflection in the mirrored doors looked different—more serious, more fragile.
The elevator chimed.
A man in his thirties stood just outside the office—a clipboard in one hand, a coffee in the other, eyes tired but observant.
"Kim Chong?"
"Yes, sir."
The man nodded. "Welcome. You're officially a trainee now."
Kim bowed deeply. "Thank you for the opportunity."
The man gave a slight smile. "We don't hand out chances easily. But you earned this. Just know—this is where the real work begins."
The rest of the day moved like a windstorm.
He was handed a schedule—tight, relentless.
7:00 a.m. — Vocal Training
9:00 a.m. — Dance Class
12:00 p.m. — Lunch (30 minutes)
1:00 p.m. — Language and Diction
2:30 p.m. — Fitness
4:00 p.m. — Image Coaching
6:00 p.m. — Team Dance
8:00 p.m. — Vocal Evaluation
10:00 p.m. — Dorm Check
"Six days a week," the trainer said. "One day off—if you're lucky. Evaluations can erase that."
Kim studied the schedule. It looked less like a calendar and more like a battlefield.
But he raised his head.
"I'm ready."
His first dance class nearly broke him.
The room was huge, polished, walls lined with mirrors. No place to hide.
The other trainees moved with rhythm burned into their bones. Sharp. Fast. Effortless.
Kim lagged behind.
The instructor paced with a whistle in his mouth, barking corrections. "Lower on the drop. Watch your core! Again!"
Sweat dripped into Kim's eyes. His knees wobbled. His chest ached.
But he moved.
In vocal class, the instructor—a silver-haired man with the patience of a monk—sat at a piano, flipping through sheet music.
"Sing the first verse," he said.
Kim sang. Low at first. Rough. Then rising. Honest.
When he finished, the instructor tilted his head.
"You have pain in your voice. That's good. But we'll turn it into strength."
Kim bowed, voice raspy. "Yes, sir."
That night, in the dorm room—two bunks, a shared desk, one window cracked open to the Seoul air—Kim sat alone.
His body screamed. His lungs burned. His voice was nearly gone.
But in his chest, something was awake. Something strong.
He looked out the window, where the city lights shimmered in the distance.
And softly, he said to the darkness—
"I belong here."
And this time, he truly meant it.
A soft vibration buzzed on his mattress.
His phone lit up.
Ha-eun.
He answered with a tired smile. "You still up?"
"Barely," she said, voice groggy. "I just got back from rehearsal. How was your first day?"
He glanced around the dark dorm room. One trainee was already snoring. The others had headphones in, half-asleep.
"Brutal," he whispered. "Incredible. I almost died. But… I lived."
He heard her soft laugh through the speaker. "That's the spirit."
Kim leaned back, letting the weight of the day sink into his mattress. "They're all so good, Ha-eun. Like, crazy good. I felt like a baby deer trying to learn hip-hop."
"You're not a baby deer. You're a slightly clumsy lion cub. Fierce. Just needs time to grow into his paws."
He laughed, quietly. "That's the weirdest compliment I've ever gotten."
"Take it anyway. You earned it."
A pause. Then, softer: "I'm proud of you, you know."
His throat tightened.
"Thanks," he said. "I… don't think I'd have made it here without you."
"Damn right you wouldn't have."
They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the quiet of two separate worlds connected by a phone line.
Then Ha-eun spoke again. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's a new war."
"Will you be there when I crash and burn?"
"Always."
He didn't want to hang up.
But he had to rest. For tomorrow.
"Goodnight, Ha-eun."
"Goodnight, future idol."
Click.
And in the stillness that followed, his heart didn't feel so heavy.