At the same time, six boys stood in the center of the practice room.
Sweat clung to their shirts, their cheeks flushed red from exhaustion.
For months, they had trained side by side—more than fifteen hours a day—perfecting every move, every breath, until it became muscle memory.
They stared at their reflections in the mirror, repeating the choreography over and over again.
Again.
And again.
They were the pre-debut lineup for SYP, one of the Big Four companies. The air around them pulsed with ambition and silent competition.
All of them looked drained—except one.
"How is it that you still have energy?" Junseo asked, panting. His sharp features glistened with sweat, giving him that mix of pretty-boy charm and masculine edge that fans already adored.
The others followed his gaze to the boy standing beside him.
He had doll-like eyes that looked almost unreal, a small, delicate face, and naturally pink cheeks. Despite hours of practice, he was barely sweating. While the others struggled to stay upright, he stood tall—his eyes bright, full of life.
How is that even possible? Suho thought, licking his dry lips.
The boy smiled shyly. "I don't," he said softly.
Jaemin chuckled. "No need to be so humble, Sihun. Your stamina's insane."
The others nodded in agreement.
"I honestly think he's not human. Who performs that perfectly after hours of training?" Taere muttered, shaking his head.
"Well, he was a HY-PE trainee for a few years," Taere added. "That's where the legendary group VTS is from."
"Yeah… I used to joke around with Seongbin about his insane stamina too," Chinyu said, then stopped abruptly.
A brief silence followed.
"I miss him," Suho murmured. "I wish he were here."
The room fell completely still.
Junseo pressed his lips together. Since when were Suho and Seongbin close? he thought. As far as he knew, Suho only talked to him and Jaemin.
Jaemin, however, was thinking something else entirely. He wanted to smack his own forehead but refrained. Seongbin…He had been one of the strongest trainees—most believed he'd debut with them in the final lineup.
But everything changed when he arrived.
The monster.
The dark horse.
Lee Sihun.
He'd joined only two months ago—and instantly became a threat.
Two months earlier:
"Suho, Junseo, and Jaemin are officially in the pre-debut lineup," announced Siyoung, the CEO of SYP. His voice carried across the training room like a declaration of destiny.
Everyone clapped.
Suho pressed his lips into a faint smile, appearing calm, almost detached—as if he had expected this all along. He was a top ranker.
Junseo and Jaemin bowed gratefully, grinning from ear to ear.
No one looked envious. Everyone had worked hard, but it was undeniable that those three were the company's best.
Siyoung adjusted his glasses. "I also have some news to share."
The air shifted instantly.
In a place like this, news was rarely good.
"I want to introduce you all to our new trainee," Siyoung said. "Lee Sihun."
A murmur ran through the room.
A new trainee? At a time when people were being dropped left and right?
A figure stepped forward—tall and slender, wearing a baseball cap and a mask. He bowed deeply, his voice soft as he introduced himself.
Suho narrowed his eyes. Just how much money does this guy have?
Everyone assumed the same thing: either he had strong connections… or he was just that good.
Most believed the former.
But Sihun quickly proved them wrong.
He was exceptional.
A natural dancer and a gifted vocalist, he carried a kind of raw emotion that pulled everyone in the moment he performed. His voice—honest, delicate, and pure—stood out even among SYP's strongest trainees.
And his expressions.
Perfect. Controlled. Real.
Not a hint of awkwardness or overacting. No one ever cringed when he performed—only watched in silence, captivated.
Then there were his visuals.
He looked like he'd stepped out of an animation. Big, expressive eyes. Plump lips that curved into a disarming smile. Black hair that brushed against his forehead whenever he lowered his head shyly. He'd shove his hands into his pockets when nervous—an unintentional gesture that made everyone's hearts soften.
He had it all: talent, visuals, and stage presence.
After just a month, Sihun was officially picked as the fourth pre-debut member.
Now, this inhumanly perfect trainee stood beside them in the practice room—sweating, smiling, training like he belonged there all along.
Everyone got along with him.
Everyone…
except for one person.
–
Byoungho gritted his teeth.
Up. Down.
Up. Down.
Again and again. Sweat rolled down his face, stinging his eyes. His brows knit together in fierce concentration.
"Twenty-six… twenty-seven… twenty-eight…" His voice came out ragged, each word squeezed through his breath.
He pulled himself up one more time, chin hovering above the cold steel bar.
"…Twenty-nine…" His arms trembled, face flushing deep red.
One last rep.
"Thirty!" he rasped, finally dropping to the ground. His chest heaved, arms hanging heavy as iron.
"Ay, Byoungho—help me," a voice called out.
Gun-wook, wearing a shirt two sizes too tight, was already lying back on the bench press. The bar hovered dangerously above him.
Byoungho dragged himself over, groaning, and took position behind him to spot. As Gun-wook began his set, Byoungho's eyes flicked to his phone.
A familiar face filled his For You Page.
Rowan.
A thirst-trap montage—laughing, serious, modeling, brushing his hair back in slow motion. Every frame immaculate.
"Damn," Byoungho muttered under his breath. "That's hot."
He scowled immediately. Annoyed at himself for complimenting that guy, he swiped away.
The next video hit harder.
Loverboyz Official.
15 million views.
2 million likes.
120,000 comments.
Junho. Taki. And in the center—Dae-hyun.
Tall, athletic, and effortlessly magnetic. His movements sliced clean through the air, every step radiating charisma as they performed My Drip.
Byoungho's chest tightened. He missed it—the stage lights, the synchronized rhythm, the unspoken brotherhood of moving as one.
But that part of him was gone. He'd already spent everything—his youth, sweat, and hope—and it hadn't been enough.
Now, modeling was easier. Safer. The paychecks were real. The praise, consistent.
The video ended with Dae-hyun fist-bumping the others before striding offscreen.
Byoungho sighed and tapped like.
Swipe.
An unknown caller flashed across the screen. He rejected it without a thought—
THWACK.
A sandal smacked his chin.
"What the—" Byoungho snapped, only to see Gun-wook's red face straining under the weight of the bar.
"Ah, shoot!" He lunged forward, helping rack it just in time.
Gun-wook sat up, gasping for breath. "If you didn't grab that, I'd be dead."
Byoungho scratched his neck. "Sorry."
Gun-wook glared between gulps of water.
"Your tits look good though," Byoungho blurted out.
Gun-wook froze mid-drink. "…Thanks?"
Byoungho mentally slapped himself. Great. Kai's rubbing off on me.
But to his relief, Gun-wook burst out laughing.
"What—what are you laughing at?" Byoungho asked, both confused and amused.
"Nothing," Gun-wook said, trying to stifle his grin. He was, in fact, dying inside—because Byoungho had just complimented his pecs with a straight face.
"—Excuse me."
Both turned toward the voice.
A woman stood there—ridiculously beautiful, dressed in leggings and a tank top that hugged her hourglass figure.
Gun-wook straightened immediately, flashing his most charming smile. She's totally gonna ask for my number.
"Hello," he said, lowering his voice a note, phone already in hand.
"Hello," she replied politely, bowing slightly. Then she turned—to Byoungho.
"I thought you were cute. Can I have your number?"
Gun-wook's face dropped.
Byoungho blinked, caught off guard, then smiled faintly. "Sure."
He typed his number into her phone and handed it back.
"Thank you," she said sweetly before walking away.
Byoungho turned to Gun-wook, who was now intently studying his watch.
"She already left," Byoungho said. "Stop staring at your watch."
"I'm staring at my watch because I don't want to look at your ugly face," Gun-wook muttered.
Byoungho grinned. "If I were ugly, she wouldn't have asked for my number."
Gun-wook gave him a murderous side-eye—then perked up. "Oh, her friend's hot!"
Byoungho turned. He wasn't wrong—if we're talking about Korean beauty standards. Her friend was stunning—her figure even more striking. But her smile, eyes and body looked almost too perfect, like they'd been touched by a surgeon's hands.
"She's got massive ti—"
"I think it's best if you don't finish that sentence," Byoungho cut in dryly.
"Should I ask for her number?" Gun-wook whispered.
"If you like her, go ahead," Byoungho said.
Gun-wook brushed his hair back and strutted toward them, one hand in his pocket like a model.
Byoungho cringed. "Oh gosh… I can't watch this."
The girls noticed him approaching and immediately stopped talking. Byoungho looked away, unable to witness the impending rejection.
Gun-wook wasn't bad-looking—tall, fit, and confident—but the woman seemed like the type with impossibly high standards.
Byoungho started packing up his things when his phone rang again. Unknown number. He rejected it.
Then came a text.
Sihun:Hey guys! How've you been? I've been dancing and singing over 15 hours a day!
Byoungho's expression softened. Sihun was pure-hearted—bright and hardworking to a fault.
He typed back: Working on modeling projects, hitting the gym, and sleeping every day.
Send.
"Hey, bro," Gun-wook called, voice flat. "Did you see that?"
Byoungho zipped his bag. "See what?"
Gun-wook smirked and held out his phone.
On the screen: a new contact—Irene.
Byoungho froze. "You got her number?!"
Gun-wook grinned. "What, you think I'd get rejected?"
"No, it's just… she seemed like someone with really high standards," Byoungho admitted.
"Me too," Gun-wook said proudly. "I even called her right there to make sure it wasn't fake."
Byoungho laughed. "Congrats, man."
His phone buzzed again. Unknown number.
He rejected it without hesitation.
—
"I'm… recruited to join Unmasked: The Singer?" Junho blinked, completely dumbfounded.
"Indeed," his manager confirmed.
Junho turned toward his members. Their faces were frozen between shock, disbelief, and excitement.
"That's a really famous show!" Hanbin exclaimed.
Hyun-woo stared at Junho with wide eyes—and maybe a hint of envy. "That's amazing, Junho!"
Junho's heart pounded. Shock, pride, and pressure swirled together in his chest.
What should I do? What costume am I going to wear? What if my voice cracks—
His thoughts spiraled.
"The company has accepted the offer," the manager continued. "You'll be performing next week."
Junho's jaw nearly dropped.
"And one more thing," the manager added, glancing down at his tablet. "Junho and Taki will be doing a photoshoot for Bogue Korea—and for a skincare brand."
Junho's head snapped toward Taki. Their eyes met, both equally stunned.
The room erupted.
"Seriously?!"
"You guys are so lucky!"
The manager smiled faintly. "You'll still attend all group activities and brand deals, so your schedules will be packed—especially you, Junho."
Junho nodded, already bracing himself.
"It's going to be exhausting," the manager said, his tone firm but reassuring. "But this is what it takes to secure your place at the top."
Junho understood. He wasn't about to complain. His life had been chaos for years—four hours of sleep on a good night. Sometimes less.
If the next few weeks meant surviving on one or two hours, so be it.
He'd collapse later.
For now, he'd work.
He had clawed his way to this moment—and he wasn't about to let go.
"You'll need to start preparing your song immediately," the manager said. "Something versatile, popular, and suited to your voice. The company has a few suggestions."
Junho nodded. "Understood."
He had a song in mind—but it vanished the second he heard that.
"Anyway," the manager concluded, clapping his hands once, "keep up the great work. The CEO is pleased with your results. Keep pushing forward."
The LoverBoyz members all smiled proudly. They knew the kind of momentum they had.
They'd already sold over a million albums—an incredible feat for a rookie group. Their title track had climbed to #2 on the Daos charts, and their dance challenges were blowing up everywhere.
The current viral one—with Taki, Junho, and Dae-hyun from ARCADE—had hit 27 million views and over 3 million likes.
Not to mention, their two "visual kings," Taki and Junho, were trending daily for their looks.
They were no longer just rookies. They were contenders—rising fast enough to rival, maybe even surpass, ARCADE.
And Junho wanted that more than anything.
He wanted to stand on equal ground with his former friend.
To prove he belonged there too.
A slow smile spread across his face.
He was grateful—to the fans, to the members, and to the younger version of himself who never gave up.
This was just the beginning.
–
Daniela sat with her arms crossed, eyes fixed on the wall. She believed in God—that much she was sure of—but hearing about the gospel over and over again felt exhausting. She wasn't the only one struggling to stay focused.
Across the living room, Alejun twitched beside her, his Tourette's and undiagnosed ADHD making it nearly impossible to sit still. Diego, her brother, tried to listen but his mind drifted in and out of focus. Gloria, their mother, was the opposite—Bible open, eyes bright with the kind of faith that burned steady and sure.
And then there was Kai—Diego's friend, soon to debut in the same K-pop group. Unlike the rest of them, he leaned forward, attentive. His face was calm, but his eyes revealed something deeper: a hunger to grow closer to God.
The father's voice carried softly through the room.
"Cornelius was a common man," he began, his tone patient and warm. "He wasn't an apostle or a religious leader. Yet his heart was open to knowing God. And through that, his entire family was transformed—as it says in Acts 11:14: 'He will speak words to you by which you and all your household will be saved.'"
He paused to let the words settle. "The words of Christ still heal, restore, and save. If you open your heart to Jesus, He can change your life… and also your family's."
Silence hung for a moment before he smiled faintly. "Any questions, comments, or… concerns?"
The group chuckled.
"Hu hu hu hu hu hu," Alejun twitched suddenly. "Cornelio have a nice booty!"
A groan passed through the room. Diego covered his face; Daniela rolled her eyes. Gloria quietly mouthed a prayer under her breath.
"Let's start with you, Kai," the father said, steering the moment back.
All eyes turned to Kai. He looked like he had stepped out of a manhwa—sharp features, styled hair—but his expression was sincere. He thought for a moment, then asked, "How… how do we apply this in our life?"
"Excellent question," the father said with a nod. "There are many ways. Cornelius's story reminds us to stay open to God's voice, live in prayer and generosity, break barriers—the Gospel doesn't belong to one group—and to lead our families to faith so His transforming power can reach every heart."
He smiled again. "And remember—the Gospel means 'Good News.' It's the message of Jesus Christ: His love, sacrifice, and victory that brings us eternal life."
Kai nodded quietly, absorbing every word.
"Diego?" the father asked next.
Diego blinked. "Uh, nothing—it was clear," he said quickly.
"Me too," Alejun said, already pacing back and forth, his restlessness returning.
"Daniela?"
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The study always made her feel cornered—like God was calling her, but she wasn't ready to listen.
"Gloria?"
"It was very clear," Gloria said with a soft smile.
"Great," the father said, closing his Bible. "Let's pray to dismiss ourselves."
Everyone bowed their heads. The room grew still.
Everyone except Daniela.
Her eyes stayed open—half defiant, half searching—as if she wanted to believe, but something inside her still resisted.
"Amen," her father finally said.
The silence broke almost immediately.
Alejun turned to his sister, his tone sharp. "Honestly, if you're not going to show proper reverence to God, then you should just leave."
"Alejun!" his mother snapped.
Daniela rolled her eyes, pushing her chair back.
"Right, Kai?" Alejun pressed.
Kai got up and headed to the kitchen, choosing peace. "I'm going to serve myself more food."
"Me too," Diego said quickly, snapping out of his daze at the word food.
"Apologize to your sister," their father said firmly.
But Daniela was already on her feet. Without a word, she walked away, retreating to the quiet of her room.
Alejun crossed his arms. "You know I have a point," he muttered. "She was sighing and rolling her eyes through the whole study. Cornelius's heart was open to God—but Daniela's clearly isn't. She's better off in her room."
The table fell silent.
No one said a word.
Because—painfully enough—Alejun wasn't entirely wrong.
The sound of a door clicking shut echoed faintly through the house.
Gloria exhaled, rubbing her temples. "You could've said that with a little more grace, Alejun."
"I'm just being honest," he muttered. "If she doesn't want to be here, why force her?"
"It's not about forcing," his father said quietly. "It's about reaching."
That made everyone go quiet again. Even Alejun avoided his father's gaze.
Down the hall, behind her closed door, Daniela sat on her bed, hugging her knees. The muffled voices of her family still reached her, but she didn't want to hear any of it.
She wasn't angry at God—at least, not exactly. She just didn't understand why everything felt so distant. Why faith came so easily for everyone else, and not for her.
She glanced at her Bible on the nightstand. It was still open from the last time she tried reading it—weeks ago.
She sighed, whispering to herself, "If You're real… why can't I feel You?"
Outside, the voices downstairs had faded into laughter again. But Daniela stayed still, lost between belief and doubt, unsure which side her heart would fall on.