The lobby of Jintai Entertainment was already buzzing when Haru, Ren, and Ryu arrived. Sleek white floors reflected the morning light, and giant banners of Jintai's most successful idol groups hung from the ceilings, their gazes piercing and dazzling even from above. Haru tightened his grip on his bag, trying to steady the fluttering in his chest.
"Don't look so tense," Ren murmured, nudging him lightly with an elbow. "Everyone's nervous on day one. Just pretend we're going to a dance party… with judges… and cameras… and soul-crushing expectations."
"Ren," Haru spoke quietly, "you're not helping."
Ren grinned unrepentantly. "Come on"
They followed the crowd of trainees into a large studio room. The floor was polished wood, and mirrored walls stretched from floor to ceiling. A sleek stereo system sat in one corner, and mats, water bottles, and stacks of towels lined the other. Dozens of trainees were already stretching or chatting in small groups, all wearing variations of black and white training wear.
Haru looked around, feeling a pang of self-doubt as he took in their sharp features, confident postures, and expensive haircuts. These weren't kids with dreams — they looked like they belonged on stage already.
Ren gave him a soft bump with his shoulder. "They might look confident, but don't let it shake you."Haru glanced at him, uncertain. "But… what if I'm not as good as them?"
"Then work harder," Ren said simply, his tone surprisingly sincere. "You've got heart, Haru. That counts for more than you'd think in this place."
Before Haru could reply, a stern voice cut through the chatter.
"Line up!"
Everyone snapped into action. Haru scrambled into position beside Ren, standing straight as a group of instructors filed in, including vocal coaches, dance trainers, and media trainers. Trailing at the back was someone Haru hadn't expected to see again so soon.
Aoki.
Takeshita Aoki — the Ice Prince. Dressed in slim black track pants and a crisp white tee with the Jintai logo, Aoki still carried the air of a man used to the spotlight. His black hair was tied back today, and his unreadable gaze swept across the trainees like moonlight over snow.
Haru's breathing paused.
"This is your first day of official training," announced the lead instructor, a muscular man with a booming voice. "You will be evaluated in everything—stamina, dancing, vocal control, teamwork. We are not just training idols. We are building stars."
He paced the room like a drill sergeant.
"You will hurt. You will sweat. You will cry. And some of you will be eliminated before you ever step on a stage."
Haru swallowed.
"But if you endure, if you work harder than you've ever worked before… you may find yourself in a debut group. That is our promise."
They were broken into groups and shuffled between different training zones: cardio, vocal warmups, dance basics. It wasn't long before Haru's limbs felt like jelly. His legs ached, his arms shook, and sweat soaked through his shirt. The instructors were strict, correcting posture, steps, even the angle of their necks.
Still, he pushed through, breathless but determined.
"You okay?" Ren whispered as they moved into vocal warmups. "You look like you're about to faint."
"I'm fine," Haru puffed. "Probably."
Their vocal coach led them through scales, harmonies, and breathing exercises that felt more like torture techniques. Just when Haru thought his lungs might explode, a cool voice spoke from behind.
"Your pitch dips near the end."
Haru turned, startled, to see Aoki standing just behind him.
"S-sorry," Haru said, bowing instinctively.
"You don't need to apologize," Aoki said, his tone neutral but not unkind. "You just need to adjust your airflow on long notes. Your voice is naturally soft, so don't fight it. Learn to use it."
Haru blinked slow "Use it…?"
Aoki stepped a little closer and as he did, he caught a faint, almost imperceptible scent—fresh and earthy, like a forest after rain. It was calming and strangely comforting.
He didn't say anything aloud, but in his mind, a thought flickered.
Aoki's expression softened slightly, offering an encouraging smile.
"That gentleness you have — it's not a weakness. Not in this world. Learn how to sing with it instead of against it. That's your strength."
For a moment, Aoki's mask slipped, and a hint of something gentler flickered in his expression. Then it was gone, and he turned away.
Haru stood frozen, heart thumping, before Ren elbowed him again.
"Snap out of it," he teased. "You look like you just got kissed."
"I did not!" Haru whispered back, cheeks flaming.
Ren laughed softly. "Relax, I'm just messing with you."
They were given a short break before choreography began. Haru sat on the floor, guzzling water and stretching his calves. That's when he noticed someone.
A boy across the room stretched in slow, deliberate motions. His white-blonde hair was swept back, eyes a piercing Gray-blue. Every movement he made was sharp, precise—even something as simple as reaching for his toes looked practised.
Their gazes met.
His expression stayed unreadable as he rose and walked over.
"You don't look like you belong here," he said flatly.
Haru blinked. "What do you mean?"
The boy's lips curved into a faint, cold smile. "Too soft, too gentle. The world you're stepping into doesn't reward softness."
Haru's chest tightened. "I want to bring something new. I want to connect through my performances."
The boy scoffed. "Connecting is easy. Surviving is not. You don't have the edge to make it. This place? It chews up charm and spits out the weak."
Ren, nearby, frowned and stepped forward. "Hey, no need to be a jerk."
The boy's gaze shifted to Ren with an icy glare. "I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to debut. And if you two want to make it, you better toughen up."
Ren arched an eyebrow. "And your name is?"
"Shiro," he replied curtly. "Remember it. You'll be hearing it a lot."
With that, he walked away, his steps sharp and unapologetic.
Ren whistled low. "And here I thought I was dramatic."
Haru sat back down, his mind whirling. His words stung, not because they were cruel — but because some part of him wondered if they were true. Was he too soft for this world?
But then he remembered Aoki's words.
That gentleness — it's not a weakness.
He took a deep breath, hands tightening into fists on his lap.
No. He wasn't going to be scared off. Not now.
When dance training began, he gave it everything. His movements weren't as sharp as Shiro's, nor as naturally fluid as Ren's, but he kept up. He learned fast, adjusting with each correction. Even when his muscles screamed and his breath came in gasps, he didn't stop.
At the end of the day, as the trainees filed out, Haru lingered in the studio, quietly practicing the last few steps one more time.
"You're still here."
He turned — Aoki stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
"I wanted to… get it right," Haru said, a little embarrassed.
Aoki watched him for a moment, then stepped forward. "You missed this part." He moved into the final pose of the choreography, then beckoned. "Come here. I'll walk it with you."
Together, slowly, they ran through the final sequence. Aoki's movements were crisp and refined — watching him up close was like seeing a sculpture in motion. Haru followed, breath caught in his throat.
When they finished, Aoki didn't smile, but he gave a small nod. "Better."
"Thank you," Haru said quietly.
A beat passed. Aoki looked at him, eyes unreadable.
"You have potential. But you'll need to dig deeper."
"I will," Haru promised. "I'm not going to give up."
Aoki studied him a moment longer, then said, "Good," and turned to leave.
As Haru watched him go, something warm bloomed in his chest. Not infatuation exactly… but maybe the start of something else. Admiration. Affection. Something that made his pulse flutter a little differently than before.
He smiled to himself.
The path ahead would be tough. There would be rivals, exhaustion, and maybe even heartbreak.
But Haru had taken his first step.
And he wasn't going to stop now.