"You look like a deer trying to vogue," Minju teased with a crooked smile, watching Haru shuffle around the room. Her voice carried a playful yet sharp edge, knowing full well how unsteady he was on his feet. Haru froze for a second, eyes wide with embarrassment, then gave her a half-hearted glare. "Thanks for the confidence boost," he muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm. Minju chuckled softly, floating in her usual crossed-leg pose, her arms crossed as she watched him stumble again. "I'm just saying," she added, "if you twitch like that on stage, they'll call animal control. Seriously, I could see someone calling the police 'cause you look like a nervous squirrel caught in headlights."
Haru groaned loudly, sinking onto his bed with a thump. His chest heaved as he exhaled, sweat already sticking to his forehead. "Minju," he said, voice muffled by the mattress, "I swear, I'm trying. I really want to do this." His tone was half-defeated, half-hopeful, as if asking her to understand how difficult this was for him. "You're barely trying," she shot back quickly, her tone teasing but with a warning undercurrent. She hovered above him, her signature pose of crossed legs and pointed stare making him feel even smaller. "Honestly, it's like you're just going through the motions. I told you, hit the beat on the beat, not two seconds after it dies of boredom. Not that hard, right?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "It's not about talent; it's about timing. You have to feel the rhythm, Haru. Feel it in your bones."
"I'm not a dancer," Haru grumbled, rubbing his face with both hands. "I don't have the hips or the moves. I can't just fake it if my body won't cooperate." His voice sounded a little desperate now. It had been two weeks since he agreed to audition, but now he was starting to feel the weight of that decision. One try, Minju had said, just one. Show them what he had or give up. That was the deal. One shot. Yet, instead of a simple audition, it had turned into something more intense—like a boot camp, without the army's discipline but with the same level of pressure. It was like Minju went all-in, ghosting him into a crash course of every skill he lacked.
His room had been turned into a chaotic battlefield of sticky notes, glitter pens, and scattered papers. Words like "FIGHTING!" and "BE CHARISMATIC OR ELSE!" were scribbled in large, bright letters across every available surface. Some notes even had little doodles of stars or hearts to motivate him, but mostly they just seemed to stare back mockingly. His diet had changed dramatically, too. No more snack packs or easy meals. Instead, he was consuming protein shakes like water and steamed eggs that tasted like cardboard but were supposed to boost his energy. His YouTube search history was now a testament to his transformation—ranging from tutorials on K-pop dance routines to vocal warmups, even sneaking in videos titled "How to Fake Charisma in Under a Minute." Whatever it took, he was trying, even if it felt impossible most days.
Minju, however, took her duty very seriously. She was all in, making sure her "post-mortem producer" role was carried out with dedication. She kept a clipboard in hand now, tracking his progress and giving him notes between practice sessions. She wanted him to succeed, even if she had to push him to the brink.
"Okay," Minju clapped her hands sharply, breaking his concentration. "Again, from the top. Think about how you want to come across. Make it real this time. Feel the energy, or whatever it is I keep telling you to do." Her voice was firm, yet encouraging. She believed he could do better, and she had an almost mission-like focus whenever she coached him.
"No," Haru stubbornly pushed, voice cracking slightly. His frustration was visible in the way he slumped forward, shoulders sagging as he looked at her. "I can't keep going tonight. My legs hurt, my voice is shot, and honestly, my soul feels dead." His words dripped with exhaustion. It was true—after hours of practice, he felt drained. Every muscle in his body ached; his throat was raw, and his confidence dipped lower with each missed step.
"Oh, boo hoo," Minju snapped, rolling her eyes dramatically. "You think the Peach7 boys got famous by crying into their kimchi?! They had to work hard, then work harder. Nothing comes easy—trust me, I know. If they can do it, so can you." Her teasing tone only masked how serious she was about pushing him. Haru dragged himself to his feet with a sigh, feeling more tired than ever.
Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she saw his hesitance. "Yes! That's the spirit!" she cheered, bouncing slightly on her toes. "Let's go again. And this time, eye contact like your life depends on it. Because guess what—mine did!" Her words motivated him, though he was reluctant. He knew she believed in him more than he believed in himself some days. Her relentless energy was contagious in a strange way, pushing him beyond exhaustion. Deep down, he understood she was trying to help him, even if he didn't always see it at the time.
The room filled again with the sound of their practice, a push-and-pull rhythm of frustration and determination. It was a long way from being perfect, but each attempt was a step closer. Haru might have looked like a deer trying to vogue, but he was starting to see that with enough effort, maybe he could learn to dance—or at least enough to impress a panel of judges, even if just for one brief moment.
The day of the audition arrived far sooner than he expected. It seemed like only yesterday when he first decided to try out for this, yet now it felt real, close enough to touch. The tension in his chest was tight, nerves swirling. Every second brought him closer to the moment where he would step into the unknown and face the judges. The building where the audition was set was a low-rise structure with walls made almost entirely of glass. It was located right downtown, a modern, sleek piece of architecture that looked both impressive and intimidating. Its shiny façade reflected the city lights and the bustling streets around it, adding to the feeling that this was a place where dreams could either take off or shatter. The entire space had a strange vibe—minimalist but cold, clean but somehow unsettling. It looked like a high-tech arena for talent, but to Haru, it also appeared unwelcoming, daunting even.
He stood nearby, feeling Minju floating beside him. She was quiet, her energy buzzing with that nostalgic, almost electric feeling she often got before performances. Her eyes flicked around the lobby, taking in every detail, her expression a mix of excitement and memories. It was clear she had been here before or at least had some experience with this kind of scene. When she suddenly gasped, her voice cracked with surprise. "Oh my god," she breathed out, her voice trembling slightly. "I remember this place. I almost auditioned here once before I… you know." Her eyes grew distant for a moment, nostalgia flashing through her expression. She looked like she was transported back to a different time, a different life, recalling a moment that almost changed everything for her.
Haru turned to her, his brow creasing slightly. "Got hit by a car?" he asked softly, trying to lighten the mood or maybe just make sense of her words.
Her smile was soft but tinged with sadness. "Yeah. That. Guess I never made it here then." She looked down briefly, as if trying to hide the layered emotions beneath her words. Haru's sympathy flickered, unspoken but present. "Sorry," he said quietly, feeling awkward.
"It's okay," Minju replied, offering a genuine, gentle smile. "Just… try to live today like it's mine too. Like I'm here with you, sharing this moment. You got this, Haru. Just hold onto that."
Haru swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking in. The lobby was filled with hopefuls, each one buzzing with their own mix of nerves and excitement. There were boys and girls dressed in stylish streetwear—some in bright colors, others in muted tones—practicing routines in corners, humming small melodies, or stretching lazily to ease nervous energy. The air was thick with anticipation. Some nervously tapped their fingers against the walls, others took deep breaths or whispered silent prayers. The faint scent of perfume and energy drinks hung in the air, blending into a subtle perfume of dreams and anxiety.
A clipboard-wielding intern moved through the crowd, calling out names in a firm but impersonal way. One by one, hopefuls stepped forward, their hearts pounding as they were led into the unknown behind the large double doors. The door swung open with a quiet click, revealing what lay beyond. No one knew what was inside—perhaps a small room with mirrors, or a stage, or a judging panel—nothing was certain. It was a boundary between preparation and performance, an obstacle standing between them and their chance.
"Haru Kim?" the intern called, voice echoing slightly in the room's stillness. Haru's head snapped up, eyes wide. He blinked, unsure if he had heard right. His voice was hesitant, almost unsure of himself. "Here!" His voice felt small in the large hall, but he pushed through the nerves.
"Room 3," came the clear instructions. "You're up."
Haru's stomach twisted. Something about the way the words were delivered made his limbs feel heavy, like they had turned into soft, wet noodles. He felt his entire body tremble slightly, as if a wave of adrenaline was trying to take over. Minju stood nearby, giving him a thumbs-up, her face bright with encouragement. Her smile was reassuring, but he could see the flicker of excitement and nervousness behind her eyes.
"You've got this," she whispered, voice loud enough only for him to hear. "If you faint, I'll haunt the judges into giving you sympathy points."
A dry chuckle escaped him despite his nerves. "Very comforting," he muttered under his breath. She grinned at him, her energy infectious and loud even in her quiet support.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself as best as he could. His heart pounded loudly, each beat loud in his ears. His palms were sweaty, and he fought the urge to turn back or second-guess himself. He knew he couldn't let these nerves win. He had prepared for this moment, practiced in front of the mirror a hundred times, imagined how it would feel to step into that room. Now it was time to show what he could do.
Inside Room 3, the space was brighter than he had expected—walls a pristine white, reflecting every flicker of light. It was unsettling how sterile it looked, almost too perfect. Sitting before him were three judges, each one stern and unmoving. They seemed like statues, their eyes fixed on him, unreadable and cold. Their expressions gave nothing away, but Haru could feel their scrutiny pressing down on him. The silence grew thick as one of them leaned forward slightly, waiting for his introduction.
"Name?" one of the judges asked, voice clipped and emotionless.
"Haru Kim," he managed, voice slightly trembling.
"Age?"
"Seventeen."
"Experience?"
He hesitated, then answered honestly. "None."
They looked at each other, exchanging glances that felt like an unspoken challenge. Without a word, they nodded, and motioned for him to begin. Haru took a deep breath, the kind that fills your lungs and calms your mind, even if only for a second. Minju's voice echoed in his head—her whispered "You got this." It steadied him a little. He looked at the judges, lifted his chin, and started to perform, pouring all his nerves and hope into each move.
As he stepped into that room—bright, cold, and filled with quiet anticipation—he felt the weight of every dream and fear he carried. But above all, he knew this was his moment. He couldn't afford to doubt himself anymore. With Minju's support lingering in his mind, he pushed forward and began to show what he truly had.
To his own surprise, he didn't fall apart.
He had expected disaster—a voice crack so jarring the judges would wince, a stumble so awkward he'd want to disappear. And yes, his voice did catch on the high note, sharp and raw. His foot slipped during a quick turn, just enough to throw him off rhythm for a beat. But he didn't stop.
He kept going.
Somewhere between the nerves and the adrenaline, his body remembered what to do. The melody clung to him like instinct, even when the words tried to slip away. His movements weren't flawless, but they were honest—charged with urgency, with heart.
And then it was over.
The silence that followed was deafening. The kind that made the air feel heavier somehow. One of the judges lowered his pen. Another tapped the side of their clipboard. A third nodded—barely noticeable, but enough.
"Thank you," one said, tone neutral, clipped.
Haru bowed—too fast, too stiff—and backed away toward the exit. His shoulder brushed a decorative plant near the door. Leaves rustled in protest, but he didn't look back.
The hallway outside felt wider now, as though the air had opened up again. Minju was already waiting, her expression practically glowing with excitement.
"That," she breathed, eyes wide, "was amazing."
Haru blinked at her, breath still uneven. "I forgot the lyrics in the bridge."
Minju waved that off without hesitation. "You vibed the bridge. That's what professionals do."
He sank onto a nearby bench, trying to slow his heartbeat. "Pretty sure that's not true."
"Shh," she whispered, leaning in. "Let yourself have this. Moment of glory."
He stared down at his hands—fingers still trembling, the ghost of tension lingering in his joints.
"I don't even know why I did that," he murmured.
Minju floated beside him, lowering herself to his eye level. Her tone softened, more curious than challenging. "Because deep down, you're curious."
"No," he replied, shaking his head. "I'm not."
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing gently. "Then why's your hand shaking?"
He paused. Looked again at his fingers. They weren't just trembling—they were shaking.
"…Okay," he admitted after a long moment. "Maybe I am."
Minju smiled, her voice lower now. "Look, Haru. I know this wasn't supposed to happen. This was just a test run. A dare to yourself. But maybe… maybe this is your shot too."
He looked up at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You talk like some anime mentor."
She grinned. "I watch a lot of anime."
The email came a week later.
It landed in his inbox like any other message—quiet, unassuming, buried between promotional spam and random notifications. But something about the subject line made his chest tighten.
LUNA Training Program: Results
His fingers hovered over the screen for a full minute before he clicked.
The message opened slowly, the white background almost too bright.
Congratulations.You've been selected for the LUNA Training Program.
Haru stared. He read it again. And again.
The words didn't shift. They stayed exactly the same, simple and clean—but they felt enormous. He wasn't sure if he was going to laugh, cry, or throw up.
Minju didn't wait for him to react. Her scream filled the room like fireworks, a burst of joy that rattled the mirror and knocked over a bottle of shampoo in the bathroom.
"You got in!" she shouted, spinning mid-air, radiant with disbelief. "HARU, YOU GOT IN!"
He didn't answer right away. Just stared at the screen, a whisper escaping his lips.
"I said one audition."
Minju floated closer, a proud grin lighting up her face.
"Welcome to the spotlight, partner."