"Okay," Minju announced in a calm but firm tone. She floated backwards through the hallway mirror, her reflection shimmering with a faint glow. "Today's mission is pretty straightforward. The goal is for you to learn how to smile naturally, without looking like you're desperately trying to sell life insurance or pitch a product you secretly hate." Her words carried a playful edge, but her tone suggested she was serious about the importance of this skill.
Haru let out an exasperated groan. He shifted his weight and rolled his eyes. "I already smile," he said quickly, trying to sound confident.
Minju shook her head with a slight smirk. She crossed her arms. "No, you don't. What you do is more like a grimace with extra effort. Honestly, it looks like someone asked you about your new haircut, and you're trying not to cry." Her voice echoed softly off the walls as she floated closer, her figure shimmering in the mirror's reflection.
Haru's face reddened slightly. "That's not fair—my haircut was traumatic," he muttered, tugging at his hair as if trying to undo a bad memory.
Minju's expression softened just a little, but she quickly snapped back to her trainer mode. "Exactly! That's exactly the problem. We need to erase that energy from your face before your next public evaluation or performance." Her tone became more serious. She knew how high the stakes were, even if she liked to keep things light on the surface.
Haru had already survived many tough challenges. He had pushed through grueling dance drills, struggled with vocal scales that made his throat sore, and even faced his first ranking shock—an emotional blow that temporarily knocked his confidence. But today? Today was different. Today felt like war.
Minju had gone as far as declaring it "Smile Boot Camp." Her voice carried a mixture of determination and mischief. She believed that mastering a genuine smile could change everything for Haru, both on stage and in front of the camera.
She gestured toward the large, full-length dorm mirror. "Let's start with the basics," she said, guiding Haru to stand in front of it. "Show me your normal smile. The one you usually do when you're just being yourself."
Haru took a deep breath, trying to summon a relaxed, natural smile. A faint attempt at a grin appeared on his face.
Minju stared at him in horror. Her eyes widened as she examined his expression. Then she let out a small gasp. "Oh no. Oh honey, this is trouble," she said, shaking her head slowly.
Haru looked confused. "Is it that bad?" he asked cautiously.
Minju nodded solemnly. "It's worse than bad. You look like you're silently apologizing to the camera for existing." Her voice was gentle but firm.
"Ouch," Haru muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Minju floated directly in front of him, her gaze sharp but caring. She pulled out a marker from an unseen pocket—probably conjured from some kind of ghostly energy or sheer chaos—and began drawing on a whiteboard she summoned with a quick gesture. The board floated beside her, glowing faintly.
She wrote quickly, creating a list of "SMILE TYPES," each with a cute label and an emoji-like illustration for effect.
"Here's what we're working with," she said, pointing to the chart.
SMILE TYPES:
🌸 Idol Smile – soft, warm, and deeply captivating. It's the kind of smile that makes audiences feel loved and special, yet it carries a subtle danger—just enough to command attention but not too much to scare people off.
🐰 Bunny Smile – shy and adorable. The kind that makes people want to protect you, full of innocence and charm, but often mistaken for nervousness.
🐺 Smirk – confident and mysterious. It hints at hidden depths, often used to convey coolness and allure. Perfect for characters who want to seem in control but not overly friendly.
😬 You're Doing Your Best – the classic default smile, awkward yet earnest. Haru's go-to, it's honest but doesn't exactly turn heads for good reasons.
Minju pointed at the whiteboard's last entry with a grin. "Right now, you're stuck at number 4. That's the default. We need to get you at least moving up to number 2.5, preferably closer to number 1."
Haru nodded solemnly, understanding the importance. "So, you want me to pretend to be someone else?"
She floated closer with a teasing smirk. "No, no. You just need to learn how to turn that shy, awkward grin into something more polished. It's mainly about training your face to relax naturally, so your smile doesn't look forced or fake."
He looked down at his reflection again, then back at Minju. "Can't I just be myself?" he asked, a bit desperately.
Minju giggled softly, shaking her head. "Sorry, but this is K-pop. It's about how well you can connect with your audience. Your genuine feelings are important, but right now, your face needs a little polish. Think of it like makeup. You can't just roll out of bed and expect to look perfect. You need practice."
Haru sighed. He knew she was right. In the world of idols, a smile wasn't just an expression; it was part of the performance. It could make or break a song's success, influence fan reactions, and even affect rankings. Data showed that fans responded more positively when celebrities looked authentic but polished at the same time.
Minju's smile was calm but confident. She watched him closely as he tried again, trying to tap into that "idol smile" she described—a friendly, warm look that still carried a hint of mystery and strength.
This was just the beginning, but Haru could see that mastering his smile was more than just changing his facial muscles. It was about understanding what his face projected and how to control that projection under pressure. The journey to find his perfect expression had only just started.
Training sessions were intense and quite detailed. The trainees started by watching popular fancams—videos taken by fans of idols performing on stage or during rehearsals. They paid close attention to the facial expressions that made these clips viral. Then they would try to imitate those expressions as closely as possible, aiming to capture the same energy and charm. It was not just about copying but also understanding how to make each expression feel natural and authentic.
Next, the focus shifted to practicing different kinds of smiles. Trainees spent hours smiling while talking, singing, walking, or even doing exercises like squats. The goal was to make their smiles appear genuine no matter what activity they were doing. They learned to maintain a positive, confident expression even while moving quickly or under stress. For example, during rehearsals, some would try to keep smiling while they practiced dance routines, trying to keep their muscles relaxed and their eyes bright.
A particularly tough drill involved holding eye contact with Minju while she made silly faces—like exaggerated pouts, goofy grins, or winking gestures. She would challenge the trainees to keep a steady gaze through all of her antics with the phrase, "If you can survive this, you can survive the fan cam." It was their way of pushing boundaries and building mental resilience. For Haru especially, this was a test of focus. At one point, he ended up grinning so widely that his cheeks cramped up, and he couldn't stop chuckling. It was obvious he was struggling, but he kept going. The trainers watched him, noting his determination.
Haru's frustration was clear. He muttered under his breath, "This is torture," as he tried to hold his best, unflinching face. Jokes drifted around him, with others teasing him back, "It's character development!" A strange kind of playful encouragement. As the days went on, the other trainees began noticing subtle changes. Riki, walking into the bathroom during a break, caught Haru rehearsing his smile in the mirror. Riki raised an eyebrow and said softly, "You… okay?" His tone was both curious and amused.
Minhee, during lunch, also took notice. He leaned over to get a better look at Haru's face and said with a teasing smile, "Your face is doing a thing. Are you in pain or flirting?"
He was clearly joking, but the comment still pointed out how strained Haru's expressions had become.
Jae, chewing on a rice ball nearby, simply nodded without looking up. His quiet response was enough.
"Improvement," he said, like it was a stamp of approval.
Haru, overwhelmed, buried his face into his tray and refused to look up. His cheeks still hurt from all the smiling practice. Minju, who had been observing from behind him, let out a laugh. Her voice was light but warm as she said, "You're getting noticed." Haru looked up quickly, confused. Minju grinned and clarified, "Not because you look like you're losing it, but because you're glowing." The comment made Haru blush, unsure if she was joking or encouraging him.
Later that week, a new challenge was announced. The trainees were scheduled to shoot a short clip titled "Meet the Trainee." It was a quick 15-second video in which each trainee would introduce themselves—saying their name and flashing their best smile. This seemed like a big deal, especially for nervous Haru. He felt his stomach tighten at the thought of speaking on camera.
The anxiety grew as he rehearsed over and over. Questions flooded his mind. What if he forgot his lines? What if his smile looked fake? The pressure was mounting. When he confided in Minju in the dressing room, she stood calmly in front of the mirror. Crossed arms and a gentle expression, she looked at him and assured, "You won't mess up." Her tone was reassuring but firm.
Haru hesitated, trying to voice his worries, "But—" he started.
Minju interrupted softly, "Listen, Haru. This isn't just about saying your name and smiling. It's about showing who you are. Not me. Not some fake version of yourself. Just… you." She gazed at him through the mirror, her eyes reflecting sincerity. Her words hit a chord inside him. For a moment, he saw her glow faintly, like a warm light shining through her words, pushing away some of his fears.
He took a deep breath, feeling the weight lift slightly. Then he nodded, determined. "Okay. I'll try." His voice was quieter than usual, but there was a hint of resolve. Minju offered him a supportive smile, and for the first time that day, Haru felt a flicker of confidence. It was a small step, but it meant everything. The moment of truth was ahead, and now he was ready, at least a little more prepared to show the world the real him.
The filming finally started. The crew was quiet as the camera gear was set up. A single director's call was heard, and then it was time. The focus shifted to Haru Kim, who was designated as Trainee #13. He stepped up in front of the camera, looking straight into the bright lens. His eyes briefly flicked over the shiny glass, then settled. He inhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the moment. Without overthinking it, Haru offered a wide, genuine smile. His lips curved naturally, not forced or rehearsed. It wasn't a flawless smile, not a perfect shot meant for a magazine cover. It was messy, a little awkward even. Yet, there was honesty behind it. That fleeting expression captured something real — a glimpse of the person beneath the trainee number.
Once he finished, the director gave an approving nod, signaling the end of the shot. The crew started packing up small pieces of equipment, but Haru didn't move. He lingered, watching as the camera team rechecked their gear. The moment felt oddly full — more than just a practice run, almost like a window into who he was. The next morning, the edited clip was uploaded online. It was brief, just a short video of him speaking into the camera, then smiling. It didn't last long before it started gaining views. But it wasn't a viral sensation overnight, not some huge explosion. No all-night trending frenzy. Still, it did well enough. It quietly pushed its way into the trending list, enough to catch people's attention. It was simple, authentic enough to stand out among the countless polished clips online.
Comments soon poured in from viewers. Most were curious, some playful. Someone asked, "Who's the guy at #13?" Others found his smile... a little awkward but refreshingly honest. "His smile is awkward but kinda honest??" one comment read. Another user said, "I feel like he's the only one who isn't pretending," hinting at how many others seemed fake or overly rehearsed in their videos. Haru's friends weren't shy about sharing their reactions either. Riki immediately shoved his phone in Haru's face and grinned. "Bro, you're getting fans now," he said with a quick laugh, eyes bright. Jae looked over and commented, "Good teeth. Nice addition to your charm." Minhee smirked knowingly, adding, "Your cheeks still twitch though," teasing him about the nervous habit that crept up sometimes.
Haru blinked, suddenly unsure how to respond. "What?" he asked, feeling overwhelmed by their quick reactions. Minju squealed excitedly, her voice loud and clear. "My boy is going viral!" she cheered, practically bouncing on her heels. It wasn't some massive explosion of fame, but it was enough for his circle to start noticing. The little video marked a small milestone for Haru, waking his peers up to the fact that he might actually have what it takes to stand out.
That night, after the buzz cooled down a bit, they climbed back onto their favorite rooftop. The city lights flickered around them as they settled onto the familiar spot. Haru sat on the ledge, legs dangling over the edge. His feet swung back and forth, feeling the cool wind brush over his ankles. Quietly, he admitted, "I honestly didn't think anyone would care." His voice was soft, almost like he was unsure if saying it aloud was okay. Minju sat cross-legged beside him, twirling what looked like ghost-stardust between her fingers, a habit she had picked up from somewhere. She looked at him with a gentle smile. "People see more than you think," she said softly. "Sometimes, you just have to give them a little chance to see it."
Haru hesitated before speaking again. "I wasn't trying to impress anyone," he admitted, his voice rough with honesty.
He looked out over the city, doubt and hope flickering in his eyes.
Minju nodded, her smile turning a little mischievous. "That's exactly why you already did," she said knowingly—simple words, but they hit hard.
Haru turned to her, confused. "What do you mean?" he asked, unsure whether to feel encouraged or exposed.
Minju leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, perfectly at ease. "Sometimes, just being yourself is enough to win people over," she said.
Then, with a wink and a grin, she added, "Look at you—finally acting alive."
Haru blinked, startled.
There was a quiet pause as her words settled into him. He looked at her closely, suddenly aware of the contradiction standing beside him.
She was a ghost—unseen, untouchable—yet somehow, more vibrant than most people he knew.
Maybe it was her defiance. Her unwillingness to fade. Or the way she still clung to dreams like they were lifelines.
Minju caught his stare and smiled gently, her voice softer now. "I guess… I never stopped dreaming," she said, almost to herself.
Her words hung in the cool night air.
And in that moment, Haru realized—ghost or not, Minju believed in something most people had already given up on.
Hope.
Her presence on this rooftop—their quiet escape—felt more real than anything else in his life.
And somehow, that made him feel less alone.