"Go ahead, girls! You are doing better than ever!"
The mentor's voice was a practiced sound of encouragement, echoing slightly in the vast, cold practice room. This was the final hurdle, the last chance to perform before the CEO, and no one was willing to miss their shot at debut.
Group after group rotated through the routine, a grueling showcase of talent under immense pressure. Some trainees excelled in stable vocals but fell short in the choreography; their movements lacked power and conviction. Others were fantastic dancers, managing every complex move but quickly running out of breath, their energy fading before the final beat. A few groups managed both vocals and dance but crucially lacked the necessary stage presence and expressions—performing technically, but failing to capture attention.
The mentor offered similar, measured encouragement to each group as they finished. Meanwhile, the CEO watched from the front row, his expression unreadable, his pen poised. He was carefully observing, meticulously selecting only the absolute best talent to form the foundation of the new debut group.
"Group E, the next performance will be done by you. Get ready."
The mentor announced a short break, and the thirteen members of Group E, including Byul-Ee, immediately broke into individual practice. They worked on fine-tuning everything: vocals, expressions, and the seamless sharpness of their dance moves. No one wanted to miss this opportunity; the air vibrated with their desperate focus.
Byul-Ee practiced relentlessly. Her vocals were stable, her movements crisp and fluid. She ran through her facial expressions and practiced holding a commanding stage presence, determined to eliminate any possible flaw.
It was then her eyes strayed toward the large doorframe. The mysterious girl she had seen before was standing there again, silent and still.
A sudden, intense chill wrapped around Byul Lee, raising goosebumps on her arms despite the warm room. What's happening? she wondered, glancing around. The other trainees were still chatting and running through their choreography, apparently unaffected and focused only on the audition. This is nothing, Byul-Ee insisted, forcing her attention back to her own movements.
But the girl remained, her eyes fixed solely on Byul-Ee, her expression unnervingly blank. She simply watched Byul-Ee practicing harder, harder, as if observing a private display.
Does she know? The girl wondered internally, a sliver of curiosity crossing her otherwise vacant features.
"Alright, girls, let's begin." The mentor's voice cut through the tension as the CEO settled back down. "Group E, come to the front and be at your positions."
Group E snapped to attention. Byul-Ee took her place on the left, her mind narrowing to a single point of absolute resolve. I can do this. I need to debut! she repeated silently.
Then, the music began.
The group performed, pushing themselves past the brink of exhaustion. Every girl aimed for perfection: stable vocals, razor-sharp dance moves, accurate expressions, and a confident stage presence. Though a few began to visibly lose energy halfway through the routine, most kept going, driven by sheer adrenaline and desperation.
Byul-Ee's focus was absolute. She felt a cold precision guide her. When her central part arrived, she sang with beautiful, unwavering stability, her vocals slicing cleanly through the sound system. Her expressions were perfect, her dancing flawless.
The music finally cut off, and the group snapped into their final, frozen pose. A scattering of applause rose from the remaining trainees and the mentor. "Good girls, you did great," the mentor said, her tone professional. "Next, Group F."
Byul-Ee went straight to her assigned spot and sank down, feeling a strange, hollow fatigue. She watched the CEO, who was now intently writing notes on a pad. Will I be selected? she wondered, taking a long, necessary drink of water.
She then looked toward the doorframe where she had last seen the mysterious girl. The spot was empty. The girl was nowhere to be found.
Group F performed, then Group G, until the audition finally concluded. The room filled with the nervous chatter of the trainees, but Byul-Ee sat alone, her entire attention focused on the front of the room, waiting for the final, life-altering moment.
After a long, tense discussion with the mentor and staff, the CEO finally stood up. He walked to the center of the stage, a sheet of paper held loosely in his hand.
"All of you girls are very talented," he announced, his voice carrying clearly across the expectant room. "While many of you need more training and rehearsal, I am sure you all will get a chance to debut soon." He paused, letting the disappointment settle on the unselected trainees. "As the CEO of Sepulchre Entertainment, I am now going to read the numbers of the girls who will form our new group."
The group, he stated, would consist of only six members.
A collective gasp swept through the room, the anxiety spiking. The CEO looked around one last time, then began.
"Number 3... number 18... number 73... number 14... number 93..."
Byul-Ee's heart hammered against her ribs. She didn't dare look at her own identification plate.
"...and finally, number 77."
Her breath hitched. She slowly, shakily, lowered her eyes to the small, cold metal plate pinned to her uniform. It read: 77.
Am I selected? she thought, the question echoing in the sudden, ringing silence of her mind.
Byul-Ee straightened up as a wave of applause erupted from the remaining trainees for the six selected members. With the other girls, she walked to the front of the room, clutching the knowledge of her success like a precious stone.
"This will be our new girl group," the CEO announced to the room, "and they will debut in three months."
The selected girls were flushed with happiness; their years of grinding work had culminated in this moment. Byul-Ee felt an overwhelming flood of joy fill her heart. She clasped her hands together, a genuine, profound smile finally breaking through her professional facade. She had done it.
Once the audition was formally dismissed, the trainees scattered. Byul-Ee returned to her empty practice spot, where she let out a loud, unrestrained giggle, then jumped up and down. "Finally! I'm going to debut soon! I can't believe it!" she cried to the ceiling, before flopping dramatically onto the floor.
"I'll be wearing cool outfits, doing promotional makeup, wearing branded clothes," she dreamed aloud. "I'll be singing, dancing, performing at award shows, and doing live streams!" She imagined the spotlight, the fans, the fame. "I can't believe it! This is like a dream!" she giggled again.
THUDD.
The door slammed shut with a sharp, echoing force.
Byul-Ee sat up, startled, the sudden noise shattering her blissful fantasy. "Who's there?" she called out, her voice shaky.
Silence.
She stood up, and immediately felt that familiar, cold chill running over her skin, making her shiver violently. "Why is it so cold in here?" she wondered, rubbing her arms vigorously. She went to the door and peered out into the deserted hallway. No one.
Must be the wind, Byul Lee concluded, picking up her bag. She couldn't wait to go back to the dorm and share the incredible news with her parents. They will be really happy.
As she walked through the long, quiet hallways, her steps paused.
She heard it: a soft, beautiful, and profoundly mournful voice singing a ballad.
"Oh my love... please don't do this..."
Who's that? Byul-Ee wondered, her initial joy giving way to a spine-deep sense of curiosity and unease.
Byul-Ee followed the voice, the ethereal song drawing her deeper into the quiet corridors until she reached a small, windowed recording studio. Through the thick glass panel, she saw her.
It was the mysterious girl, the one who had stood silently by the doorframe during the audition. She was sitting on a high stool in the sound booth, a sheet of music paper resting on the stand, singing into a professional microphone. Her long black hair fell over her shoulders, and her skin, impossibly bright under the studio light, made her look luminous and delicate as she sang.
Byul-Ee watched, captivated. Her voice was incredible—a soft, beautiful tone capable of handling complex pitches and reaching high notes with effortless grace. It was the purest sound Byul-Ee had ever heard in the building.
Unable to stay outside, Byul Lee quietly pushed open the heavy studio door and stepped inside the control room.
She continued to sing, seemingly undisturbed by the intrusion, completely absorbed in the ballad. Finally, she concluded the song with a profound, aching plea:
"...please, please, please let me love again... please let me... live again."