The ramen stall closed later than most shops in the district. By the time Minsoo flipped the hanging sign to Closed, the streets were already thinning out, only the occasional couple passing by or delivery scooter buzzing through the alley.
Hanuel had slurped down every last noodle, even drank the broth, the spice warming his chest and loosening the knot in his stomach. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as Minsoo tied up his apron and stretched.
"You ready?" Minsoo asked, nodding toward the small clearing behind the stall.
Hanuel blinked. "Now? Like, right now?"
"Of course now," Minsoo said matter-of-factly. "Do you think dance waits for you to be in the mood? Nah. It's discipline. If you can't push yourself when you're tired, how will you survive comeback season?"
Hanuel groaned but followed him anyway.
The back alley was narrow but clear, lit by a single buzzing streetlamp. Minsoo dragged a Bluetooth speaker out from a plastic bin and set it on a crate. He scrolled through his phone until the familiar beat of a popular boy group's track thudded against the concrete walls.
Hanuel rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. "This is… kinda embarrassing."
Minsoo raised an eyebrow. "More embarrassing than tripping during the audition in front of the CEO? Choose wisely."
"…Fine."
"Good. Now show me what you've got. Just the chorus section of your team's piece. Don't think—just dance."
Hanuel hesitated, then stepped into position. The beat dropped, and he moved.
Or rather—he tried.
His footwork lagged, his arms stiff, transitions jerky. He could feel every mistake echo in the air, and by the end of eight counts, he stopped, panting, face burning hotter than the ramen had been.
Minsoo whistled low. "Wow. You weren't lying."
"Hyung!" Hanuel protested, mortified.
"I mean it," Minsoo said, grinning. "Your basics are solid enough, but you look like a robot who downloaded the wrong patch update."
Hanuel covered his face with both hands. "Don't say that. I already know I suck."
"Good," Minsoo said cheerfully. "Acknowledgment is the first step to improvement. Now—reset."
Hanuel dropped his hands and blinked. "Reset?"
"Yeah. We're starting from zero. Forget the choreography for now. You need foundation."
Minsoo walked over and clapped his shoulder. "Do you even know why dance is so important for idols?"
Hanuel frowned. "Because it looks good on stage?"
"That's only half of it. Dance is branding." Minsoo tapped his chest. "When fans see you move, they see your confidence, your style, your personality. You can be average at singing, but if you move like the music lives in your bones? You'll stand out. You'll be memorable. That's why center positions almost always go to strong dancers—or people who look like strong dancers."
Hanuel chewed his lip, nodding slowly. He knew that, in theory. But hearing it from someone who had trained before carried weight.
"So how do I fix that?"
Minsoo crouched, fiddled with the speaker volume, then stood tall. "First lesson: rhythm drills. If your body doesn't match the beat, no amount of choreography will save you."
He clapped sharply, counting aloud with the music. "One, two, three, four—step, step, bounce, bounce. Let your knees move. Don't lock them. Loosen your shoulders. Feel the downbeat in your chest, not your head."
Hanuel copied awkwardly, bouncing stiffly from side to side.
"Not bad," Minsoo corrected, circling him like a hawk. "But stop thinking. You're counting too much in your head. Music isn't numbers—it's flow."
The alley echoed with Minsoo's claps, his voice calling out cues, and Hanuel stumbling but trying. Sweat broke quickly across his forehead, dampening his bangs. His lungs burned, but he forced himself to follow.
By the third song, his hoodie was plastered to his back, and his thighs screamed with every bend.
"Hyung, I'm dying," Hanuel gasped, hands on his knees.
"You're not dying," Minsoo said dryly. "If you can't handle three songs in an alley, how will you survive a three-hour showcase practice?"
Hanuel groaned, straightening reluctantly. "Why do idols do this to themselves?"
Minsoo smirked. "Because the stage isn't just about talent—it's war. Every performance, you're fighting to capture attention before someone else does. That's why choreography is brutal, why synchronization is required. You want fans to scream your name, right? Then you need to make them look only at you."
Something in Hanuel's chest tightened—he felt determined, up until now he only did what was demanded of him and never felt any motivation to exceed his limits.
"Again," he said, wiping sweat from his chin.
Minsoo's grin widened. "That's the spirit."
They drilled until the streetlight flickered and went out, leaving only the glow of Minsoo's stall sign. By then, Hanuel was drenched, hair plastered flat, legs trembling. But he was also smiling, wide and unrestrained.
For the first time since he'd joined the company, he felt a spark of hope.
As they packed up, Minsoo clapped his back. "Not bad for a first night. Same time tomorrow?"
Hanuel hesitated, exhaustion crashing into him, but then he nodded. "Yeah. Tomorrow."
"Good." Minsoo locked the stall and stretched. "And Hanuel?"
"Mm?"
Minsoo's grin softened into something more serious. "Don't forget—this industry eats people alive. If you want to survive, you need more than talent. You need grit. And from what I see, you've got it. You just don't know it yet."
Hanuel froze, the words lodging deep in his chest.
He opened his mouth to reply—but before he could, a sharp voice echoed from the end of the alley.
"Hanuel? What are you doing out here?"
Hanuel turned, heart leaping into his throat.