After their first grueling day of training, the trainees were directed toward the dormitories where they'd be living for the next several months—or longer, if they made it through the program.
Haru trailed behind the group, still sore from dance drills and vocal exercises. The hallway leading to the rooms was quiet, painted in muted tones with polished floors that reflected the fluorescent lights overhead. A staff member handed him a small envelope with his room number written on it.
"Room 207…" he murmured.
Ren peeked over his shoulder. "Ryu and I are are just down the hall from you. Who are you sharing with?"
Haru opened his envelope. "207...Doesn't say who I'm with."
"Hm.. Hopefully someone chill" Ren said with a grin patting him before heading off.
Haru made his way to his assigned room, keycard in hand. As the door slid open, he stepped inside and froze.
Shiro was already there.
The same sharp-eyed boy from earlier sat on the lower bunk, legs crossed, reading a music theory book. His platinum-blonde hair was damp from a post-training shower, and his gray-blue eyes flicked up just briefly.
"I… didn't know we were assigned to the same dorm." Haru replied, placing his bag down carefully.
Shiro didn't answer. He simply turned another page.
Haru hesitated, then climbed up to the top bunk in silence. The air felt thick with tension. Haru could practically feel the walls Shiro had built around himself.
As he unpacked, he glanced over the edge of the bunk. "I guess we're roommates now."
Shiro didn't even look up. "Don't get in my way."
The next morning, routines for the first round were announced. Haru's group included Ren, a bright-eyed boy named Daiki, and a stoic trainee with a quiet but powerful presence named Jin. They were assigned a mid-tempo pop track titled "Start Line."
It wasn't flashy, but it demanded tight choreography and clean harmonies—something that required synergy.
They began working with a choreographer named Mizuki, who wasted no time. "From the top. Again. You're performing this live in less than two weeks. I need unity, not chaos."
Haru struggled at first. His steps weren't as sharp, and he lacked the flair others had, but what he did have was focus. He paid attention to corrections, adjusted quickly, and helped others remember their placements when they forgot.
Ren nudged him during a break. "You're like a sponge. I swear you're absorbing this stuff faster than anyone."
"I just… really want to improve," Haru said, wiping sweat from his brow.
Unbeknownst to them, someone else was watching.
Aoki stood behind the observation window above the practice room, arms folded. He'd been checking in on all the trainee groups, but his eyes kept returning to one person.
Haru.
There was something oddly magnetic about them. Not flashy, not loud—but steady. Focused. And cute.
Aoki sighed quietly, brushing the thought aside. He wasn't here to get sentimental. Still, he lingered longer than he meant to.
"Still watching that one?" a voice asked behind him. It was Yukari, one of the media trainers.
Aoki didn't flinch. "He's interesting."
"Cute, you mean."
Aoki didn't reply. But his eyes stayed on Haru a little longer.
Later that day, Haru found himself in the vocal room, practicing the harmonies for "Start Line." His voice, still a little breathy, faltered on a high note.
"Breathe lower," said a voice from the doorway.
Haru turned. Aoki stepped into the room, arms crossed but not unkind.
"You're overthinking the transitions. Try again."
Haru nodded and sang the line again. Aoki walked over and lightly tapped his diaphragm. "Here. Anchor your breath here, not in your throat."
The next attempt came out cleaner.
Aoki nodded. "Better. You're improving."
Haru's face lit up. "Really?"
"Don't let it go to your head," Aoki added, though there was the faintest flicker of a smile.
"Are you always this hard to read?" Haru asked before he could stop himself.
Aoki raised a brow. "Probably." Then he turned toward the door. "Keep practicing. You're doing well."
The door closed behind him, but the warmth stayed.
Back in the dorm later that night, Haru climbed into bed, muscles aching, eyes heavy. Shiro hadn't said more than a word since that morning. But as Haru reached to turn off the lamp, Shiro spoke quietly.
"You're really going for it."
Haru blinked, surprised. "Huh?"
"You're putting in the work," Shiro said, still staring at the ceiling. "I thought you'd burn out by now."
"I don't plan to," Haru replied. "I want this."
Shiro didn't respond. But after a moment, he added, "Don't get soft with me. I'm not here to make friends."
"I know," Haru said softly. "But… it's okay to not push everyone away."
"Sleep," Shiro muttered. "You talk too much."
Haru smiled to himself in the dark.
His body hurt, his nerves were frayed, and tomorrow would be even harder.
But he was here. Really here.
And he wasn't alone.