The moment that Damien stepped onto the marked X in the centre of the room, silence closed in.
He glanced at his reflection in the mirror behind the judges, outwardly he looked relaxed, however his clenched fists broke that facade.
Damien drew a slow deep breath.
Since he was the ninth, he watched several strong performances before his own; echoes of their talent still present in his memory. They were good—really good.
The realization tightened and coiled deep in the pit of his stomach. But Damien pressed down his anxiety. This was his moment now, and he had to stand out in his own way.
He exhaled slowly, then opened his mouth.
No backing track to help.
Just his voice.
The first note of Sweet Abyss emerged soft and clear, a touch husky on the low notes. The nerves that had threatened to shake him before were now channeled into concentration.
He wasn't a powerhouse vocalist.
He knew that.
But each note was solid, carried by firm breath support from his diaphragm. He shaped the phrases with emotion, his expression changing with the tone of the lyrics.
He dared to lift his eyes toward the judges as he sang, staying composed. One line flowed after another, his voice steady and controlled. In the corner of his vision, he saw the judges' pens occasionally moving. The woman in the left maintained a neutral expression, but she tilted her head as if listening more closely when he sustained an extended note with vibrato. To her right, the judge who wore a suit jacket raised an eyebrow at something—perhaps the surprising volume and resonance coming from his lean frame.
Damien couldn't be sure.
He didn't allow himself to overthink it; he kept his gaze forward, conveying earnestness.
Inside his mind, he monitored each breath, each note's pitch, adjusting subtly on the fly.
Relax your jaw… clearly enunciate… support, support.
These cues flickered through his thoughts. It was an old habit from years of classical singing training—an internal checklist that kept his technique in line. It also kept panic at bay. As long as he focused on the process, fear had no space to creep in.
Meanwhile, the judges listened in carefully.
Jang Serin, the short-haired vocal trainer, leaned forward as Damien reached the chorus. She had been tapping her pen, but now held it still, listening for a spark in his voice. What she heard was competent: he was in tune and his dynamics were fine. Still, she noted a lack of distinct colour in his tone.
At least his intonation is reliable. It's a foundation we could potentially build on with training.
At the far right, dance instructor Seo Juwon observed Damien with his arms folded. Even though the boy was just standing and singing, the instructor's sharp eyes took in every nuance of his posture. He noticed Damien's straight figure and daring eyes.
Stage presence is great—confident and calm under pressure.
As the chorus swelled, Seo Juwon saw earnest emotion on Damien's face: a furrowed brow, eyes shining with determination. That effort earned a slight nod from him.
In the middle, the head judge and talent director Jung Taekho scrutinized the performer. While Jang Serin listened for vocal technique and Seo Juwon focused on stage presence, Jung Taekho judged the whole package—and he couldn't ignore what was right in front of him. Simply put, Damien was stunning. Tall and lean with refined features, he had the kind of look that the industry coveted. Under the harsh lights, his brown hair framed a face almost too perfect: flawless skin, a sharp jawline, fox-like emerald green eyes that drew attention.
As Damien sang, the talent director's focus drifted from the voice to the visuals. He made a mental note to ask in the later rounds whether that face was natural or courtesy of a surgeon's hand. In his experience, such perfection was rare without some "enhancements." Still, whether by genetics or procedure, the boy looked every inch an idol.
At the same time, the last note faded. Damien held his breath—before lowering the microphone. There was no applause; this wasn't the kind of audition where anyone clapped. Instead, Jung Taekho simply said, "Thank you."
The silence that followed was tense and heavy.
Damien bowed again swiftly. "Thank you," he replied, the slight quiver in his voice only noticeable to himself.
Stepping back to his spot, he clasped his hands behind him to keep them from fidgeting. His mind immediately started examining his performance.
I cracked a bit on that bridge note… should've controlled my breath there... Ugh...
System: [Don't worry too much, host. This system thinks you did great!]
The judges scribbled notes for a moment. The Jang Serin's expression was unreadable as she wrote, but her gaze kept flicking back to Damien, appraising him top to bottom. Seo Juwon had pursed his lips, trading a brief look with Jung Taekho in the middle.
Damien's stomach clenched. He couldn't tell if that was a good look or a bad one. Was something wrong?
Finally, Jung Taekho folded his hands and addressed him. "Your vocals are… clean," he said, carefully. "Not bad." His tone made it clear "not bad" was not the same as "excellent." Still, Damien felt a tiny swell of pride that he hadn't fumbled all too bad.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Another judge, Jang Serin, leaned forward. She glanced at her notes, then at him. "You have a very calm demeanor for someone your age." Her eyes narrowed. "Have you performed on stage before?"
Damien nodded. "I... I did opera and ballet when I was younger. So I've had some stage experience." He kept his answer brief and respectful. Revealing that childhood training was a calculated choice. It was true that he went on stage as Yeong Myeongho during his academic days.
He silently thanked Arlo for dragging him to join the dance club when he was little.
At the mention of ballet, Seo Juwon paused. All three judges regarded him with new interest. Seo Juwon's eyebrows rose a fraction. "Ballet, you say?"
"Yes."
He wondered if admitting ballet might earn him a strange look. "For about seven years. I stopped a few years ago, though."
The judges exchanged glances. There was a pause, and Damien sensed an unspoken conversation passing between them. Jung Taekho tapped his pen thoughtfully. "Opera and ballet… That's unusual." His gaze drifted over him once more, and Damien stood a little taller almost by reflex.
"Damien, I have a question." Seo Juwon said. "You mentioned ballet, which has got me interested. Did you also prepare a dance for today's audition?"
Sh*t. Damien cursed. Why did I not think to at least prepare choreography?
His palms suddenly felt damp again. He had come intending to showcase vocals only. He had been so focused on his song that he neglected to prepare a proper choreographed piece. He scrambled for a calm answer. "Ah… I didn't prepare a specific dance," he admitted.
The judges nodded, three faces still expectant. Jung Taekho continued, "Understandable. We don't usually ask this," he cast a quick glance at his colleagues, then focused back on him, "but would you be willing to demonstrate a bit of dance for us anyway? Something freestyle is fine. We're curious to see your movement."
For a second, Damien forgot to breathe. He hadn't seen them request something from anyone else today. He willed his face to not show his shock.
Inside, a dozen thoughts flared at once.
They want me to dance? Now?
His mind kicked into overdrive to control the surge of panic.
Maybe this is a good sign… they're interested.
If he refused or failed to impress, this could blow his chance. But if he managed even a decent showing, it might seal in their minds that he was versatile.
He wet his lips and nodded. "Yes, I can do that. Thank you for the opportunity."
Seo Juwon gave a satisfied nod, as if he'd been hoping Damien would agree. "We'll play a random track. Just show us whatever you're comfortable with."
A staff member by the sound system quickly switched to a new track. An instrumental with a steady mid-tempo beat flooded the room—something neutral, rhythmic, yet oddly familiar. It was similar to the music he'd practiced free-styling with Arlo.
Damien moved back to the center of the floor, every sense heightened. He flexed his fingers and rolled back his shoulders discreetly, loosening up.
Years since I've done this. But I remember the basics. Trust your body, Damien.
As the music found its groove, Damien closed his eyes for a split second, feeling the pulse of the beat under his skin. One, two, three, four. On the next count, he stepped into motion.
It started simple: a tap of his foot, then a fluid sway of his arms. A mixture of ballet and hip-hop seeped into each movement—his lines were clean, movements controlled. He didn't try anything too flashy, just letting the music guide him. A turn of his torso, a slide to the right. Muscle memory remembered how to move: keep your core engaged for balance, extend through your fingertips, feel the rhythm in your bones.
He could sense all three judges watching intently. There was no scribbling of notes at the moment—just eyes on him. One judge's mouth was slightly open in surprise at the unexpected mix of ballet and hip-hop in his freestyle. While another had his chin propped on his fingers, analyzing every step.
Then, the music faded. Damien eased into his final pose naturally, one foot pointed slightly forward, arms coming to rest at his sides. He was breathing harder now, chest rising and falling, but he kept his expression calmly neutral. Inside, adrenaline surged with a mix of relief and residual excitement.
I did it.
It wasn't perfect. His form on some parts were a bit off, and he knew his improvisation was simple compared to the other seasoned dancers he'd witnessed. But he had shown them something unexpected and uniquely his.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Jang Serin broke into a genuine smile. "Well," she murmured, looking at her colleagues, "that was indeed something we don't see every day."
Seo Juwon nodded slowly, a glint of intrigue in his eyes. "Your dance…" he began, pausing slightly to choose his words, "it's clear you're out of practice with choreography, but you have remarkable control and grace. Your foundation..." He tapped his notepad, "It shows in how you carry yourself. Very interesting."
Damien exhaled, allowing a cautious smile to tug at his lips. "Thank you."
Jung Taekho regarded him with an unreadable expression. He hadn't smiled like the others, but he was watching him as if reevaluating everything he'd noted before. His fingers drummed once on the table. "You have a unique blend of skills, Damien," he said finally. "And you clearly handle pressure well."
"Thank you," Damien replied, voice humble.
The judges exchanged final looks and some hushed words that Damien couldn't make out.
Finally, Jung Taekho addressed him one last time. "Thank you, Damien. That will be all for now. Please go back to the line. We'll announce the results shortly." There was a hint of warmth in his tone, as if he, too, was curious how far this young man could go.
He bowed deeply. "Thank you for your time." Then, with measured steps, he turned and sat back down.
As Damien sat, he hugged his knees to hide his lips that curved into a small smile. His performance had not been flawless, but he had given it everything. And judging by the reaction on those judges' faces, he had indeed stood out.
Damien allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and absorb this surreal experience. His heart was still racing, but there was a quiet triumph blossoming in his chest.
He'd done it.
Now all that remained was to wait, his fate hanging in the balance.
Whatever happened next, he had shown them who he truly was. He had showed them everything he could.
And that was all that mattered.