I heaved, struggling to catch my breath.
My lungs burned, my legs ached, and my whole body felt like it had been lit on fire.
I chugged cold water from my bottle.
The chill rushed down my throat and into my stomach—it was such a relief, I didn't want to stop. I kept drinking until my lungs begged for air.
Finally, I tore the bottle away from my lips and gasped.
"I feel like I'm in hell," groaned the guy beside me.
That was 17 year old, Junho Kim. He had black hair parted down the middle, damp strands sticking to his forehead from sweat. His skin was milky pale, his eyes sharp and fox-like. He was the main vocalist of our pre-debut group.
"I think I'm gonna die," whined the one next to him.
That was our maknae, the youngest in our group—sixteen-year-old Sihun Lee. His bowl-cut hair flopped over big, expressive eyes. His lips were naturally pink, and his skin was porcelain-pale.
"Same," muttered the guy lying flat on the floor.
Rowan Park.
He had bleached white hair, pale green eyes, and creamy white skin. Half-Korean, half-white—he always looked angelic but more so right now, with his flushed cheeks giving him a glow. Rowan was our visual.
In K-pop, a "visual" is the designated member of a group who best fits Korea's conventional beauty standards. Their primary role is to represent the group visually — meaning they're often the most featured in promotional materials, music videos, teasers, and brand endorsements.
Rowan more than fit those beauty standards. And unlike most groups where choosing the visual is tough especially within big companies, with us, there was no debate. Rowan stood out even among the most good-looking trainees in within our company. That's how striking he was.
He and I were the same age—nineteen. But standing next to him, I always felt younger. Smaller. Like I had to fight twice as hard just to be seen next to someone like him.
"I can't move anymore," groaned Byuongho Joon Lee, our fourth member.
He towered over the rest of us at 190 centimeters. Half-Dutch, half-Korean, with coffee-brown eyes, a sharp brow bone, and a masculine, chiseled face. His skin was just as pale as the rest of us, but his features screamed "sexy model." even though he was 18 years old, he looked 10 years older than his actual age.
We were all trainees under HY-PE—a company known worldwide for producing top-tier idols. They only accepted the best of the best. Even becoming a trainee was a miracle—most applicants didn't make it past the visual evaluation.
You had to be more than good-looking. You had to sing, dance, and most of all, possess that elusive "star quality." Something untrainable. A spark. A presence. A gravity.
Only 1% made it in.
And somehow, I made it.
I wasn't the best singer, or the best dancer. I wasn't the most handsome or the most charismatic. But I was the last one chosen to join the pre-debut group, ACE.
The others were already stars in the trainee world—standouts. I wasn't. But I had one skill others overlooked: I was good at supporting. At covering mistakes, adapting under pressure, keeping harmony in the group dynamic. The producers said I made my members shine brighter. That I had a "golden retriever" energy—someone warm, consistent, and trustworthy.
That's what got me the final spot.
I remember the announcement like it was yesterday. The trainees clapped as the names were called—no one was surprised until mine came up.
Everyone looked stunned.
Except for Rowan.
He smiled. Radiantly. And clapped louder than anyone.
But one face stood out from the crowd.
Seojun Kang.
He had jet-black hair, flawless white skin, and the kind of smile that could charm a nation. He was everything—vocals, rap, visuals, dance. And he had the IT factor. Everyone expected him to make it.
But he didn't.
Because of me.
The producers had only one spot left. And they picked me—not because I was better, but because I completed the group. I could tell by the looks of the other members. No one said it out loud, but I knew.
They all thought Seojun should've been the fifth member.
—
I was born in the U.S. My dad's Korean. My mom's American. Most people say I take after her. I grew up speaking English, learned Japanese through anime, but I never learned Korean—not until we moved here when I was twelve, after my dad got a better job.
Adjusting was hell.
I didn't know the language, and school felt like a punishment. Korea's education system was intense. After-school classes, test prep, tutors—none of it made sense to me. I hated school. I didn't like anything, really.
I just wanted to hang out with my friends.
That was my life... until the day I was casted.
I remember it clearly:
I was walking home, skipping after-school. I had my hoodie on, music blasting in my ears. A woman stepped in front of me.
I took out my earbuds, confused.
"Hello," I said warily.
"Hello!" she beamed. "You're really handsome!"
"Um... thanks?"
"Do you want to become a star?"
"...Huh?"
"I can make you a star. With a face like yours, you'd pass the visual evaluation easily."
I blinked. "...Okay?"
"Do you sing or dance?"
"No."
Her smile faltered. "Ah, that's a shame... But listen, I'll give you one month."
"One month?"
"You don't need to be great—just decent. Learn three songs. Three dances. Show me effort. If you do that..." She reached into her bag and pulled out a business card. "Contact me. I'll set up your audition."
I reached for the card, but she held it tightly.
"Are you really going to contact me in a month?" Her eyes narrowed, probing.
I hesitated.
"...What's the name of your company?"
"I can't say yet. But trust me—we're a big name. Now, answer me. Are you in?"
I thought for a moment. I had nothing to lose. And something about her—her conviction—stuck with me.
"...Yeah," I said. "I'll do it."
She smiled. Big and bright.
I contacted her a month later and did the audition — and I passed.
At some point, I became passionate about it and poured my heart into every practice. But even that wasn't enough. I was competing against people for whom talent was common, almost effortless. It was hard to stand out when everyone was just so good.
I was always at the bottom of the rankings, never shining in anything. But I wasn't going to quit. I told myself, if I'm going down, I want it to be by the judges' decision, not mine. I'd already spent too much time and effort in this to quit. I was used to this grind now.
So I pushed myself harder than ever. Even when my muscles ached and my voice cracked, I kept going. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't catch up to the high ranks. I couldn't even come close.
I cried. I trained harder. I pushed through injuries and exhaustion so intense that getting out of bed felt impossible.
No one noticed me. All I ever got were critiques — harsh and constant.
Except for one person. Manager Kim Seo-in.
She saw me after a performance in front of the judges.
I was grouped with the top trainees — Rowan Park, Sihan Lee, and Seojun Kang.
Rowan was always first place — rap, vocals, dance, visuals. Everyone wanted to be close to him; it was clear he was debut-bound. Sihan and Seojun were always in the top five, safely in the debut team. And then there was me — ranked twentieth, the last spot in the pre-debut group ACE.
When everyone found out I was grouped with the company's aces, they gave me strange looks. I was just as shocked — but determined to keep up. I wanted to support my members, help them shine, whatever it took.
After our performance, the judges gave their remarks. Of course, they praised Rowan's leadership and skill. They gave minor critiques to Seojun and Sihan — nothing serious. And then it was finally my turn.
Manager Kim Seo-in, one of the judges, smiled at me.
Manager Kim Seo-in, one of the judges, gave me a small but genuine smile and leaned forward slightly. "Kai Song, right?" she asked, her voice calm but warm.
I bowed deeply, trying to steady my racing heart. "Yes, ma'am."
She nodded thoughtfully, her eyes locking onto mine with a sharpness that made me sit up straighter. "I've been watching you. You have a real talent — not just in your performance, but in how you support the entire group."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Supporting...?"
She smiled softly, as if she understood my surprise. "Most trainees focus on making themselves shine. But you? You know how to lift your teammates, how to make them better. You help them shine brighter than they would alone."
Her gaze flicked over to the other judges, who exchanged quiet, surprised looks.
"You all performed well, no doubt. But there's something missing — chemistry. I see it in other groups, too. It's that elusive spark that turns good performances into unforgettable ones."
She turned back to me, her voice lowering just enough to feel like a personal encouragement.
"Every time I see you perform with your group, Kai, I see that spark. You're the thread pulling the team all together — the one creating connection. It's not perfect yet, and it can't be done alone, but you're the glue. If the others learn to work with you, to follow your lead, this group could be something incredible."
I felt a rush of heat in my cheeks, the pressure of their stares settling on me like a spotlight. But instead of shrinking back, I held her gaze and nodded silently.
That moment — that recognition — gave me a surge of energy I hadn't felt before. It was as if, despite all the doubt and struggle, someone had finally seen me.
—
My members and I lay sprawled on the floor.
After catching our breath, we all waited for Rowan to speak.
Rowan was the leader of our group. Whatever he said, went. We all respected him and acknowledged his skill—enough to follow his lead without question. We admired him that much.
"We have the evaluation tomorrow, so let's end things here," Rowan said at last. "We're all gonna pass it. Honestly, we didn't even need to put this much effort in."
"We nailed it. Honestly, we didn't even need practice today," Junho said as he scooted closer to Rowan and gently pinched his cheeks before resting his head against him.
Junho was only ever affectionate with Sihun and Rowan—especially Rowan. Those two were like peas in a pod. Sometimes it was cute. Other times, it made things awkward for the rest of us. Whenever that happened, I always slipped out. If I could avoid an awkward situation, I always did.
Rowan just shrugged and wrapped his arm around Junho. "Better to be safe than sorry."
We all nodded.
"Good job, guys!" Rowan said cheerfully, his smile radiant. "You're all dismissed. I'm gonna stop by the convenience store for ice cream—anyone wanna come?"
"Count me in!" Junho chimed immediately.
"Me too!" Sihun added.
"Same," Byuongho said.
I stood up and pulled my cap down over my eyes. "I'm good. I'm too tired for ice cream."
I grabbed my backpack.
The others huddled together. They were all high-ranking trainees, so they'd naturally grown close. Honestly, I felt out of place around them—but I never showed it. It was going to take time to connect with them, and right now, I didn't have the energy. All I wanted was to collapse into bed and sleep for twenty-four hours straight.
I walked out of the room alone.
What time is it?
I checked my phone. 6:30.
By the time I got to bed, it'd be closer to 8 a.m., and the evaluation started at noon. I'd have to wake up by 10 a.m.—that'd give the makeup artist and hairstylist enough time to prep me. Changing into my performance costume would take a minute. That meant two hours of sleep.
I kept walking, lost in thought.
"Kai?"
A soft, feminine voice called my name.
Immediately I lost my train of thought as I looked up. It was Dahira Kim. Not just a girl—a young woman. She was nineteen, a star trainee under another girl group's pre-debut team. I'd heard she had already been given the "visual" position in her group, which didn't surprise me at all.
She was stunning. Thick, waist-length hair that made people question if it was a wig. Snow-white skin, soft pink lips, and lashes so long they framed her crescent-shaped eyes like artwork. Today, she wore trainer pants, a white tank top, and a jacket slung over her shoulders.
We met three years ago. I was at a restaurant, staring helplessly at the menu when I turned to the girl behind me and asked what she recommended. She smiled and helped me choose. That girl was Dahira. We ended up eating together and found out we were both trainees at the same company. Since then, we'd grown pretty close—though the heavy workload lately made it hard to stay in touch.
But now I'd heard the rumors: a girl group under our label was debuting in a week, called Les Fleurs—and Dahira made it. She was going to be the main vocalist and visual.
"Dahira?" I smiled, lifting my cap so I could see her better.
She gave a little bounce of excitement. "Yay!" she whispered cheerfully.
I chuckled. "How've you been? I heard you're finally debuting! Congratulations!"
Her smile widened. "Thank you!"
I lifted my arms halfway, unsure. "Do you wanna hug or... is that too awkward?"
She smirked and raised her arms wide. "Give me a hug."
I stepped in and wrapped my arms around her in a warm bear hug. "I'm so happy for you! Your dream's finally coming true."
Dahira pulled back, fanning her face. "Ahh, stop! You're gonna make me emotional."
"Come on! You're crying—this is supposed to be a happy moment."
"I am happy! I just can't believe it's real." She blinked rapidly, trying to get rid of the tears. "But enough about me! I heard you made it onto the pre-debut team! That means we're going to debut under the same company!"
I smiled wide. "Barely made it, but yeah. Looks like we'll be seeing each other more often."
"No way—your dancing skills is way better than mine."
"I wouldn't say that, but that's not the point. The guys in my group are on a different level. Their dancing, their vocals... and they don't even sound winded when they perform. It's insane."
"You're incredible too, Kai! But I get it. I heard the male pre-debut group is full of geniuses. Even the producers won't shut up about you guys." She ran a hand through her scalp. "I heard there's a star trainee named Rowan?"
I nodded. "Yeah. He's in a league of his own. He's got everything."
"I figured. Why else would a non-debuted trainee stir up that much buzz? Everyone's talking about him—even we know about him, and I bet the artists already debuted have too."
"Yeah, he's that good. He's not lacking in anything." I glanced at her. "Have you seen his face?"
Dahira shook her head. "No, but I heard he's half-Korean and half foreign—with a ridiculously good-looking face."
"He is. 100% natural, too. He's our visual."
"No way!" she said, shocked.
"Why are you surprised? Have you seen the other members? Is there one that stood to you?"
"No," she admitted. "I just assumed you were the visual."
I let out a laugh. "You're too nice, Dahira. But trust me—I'm considered ugly compared to the others. They're seriously handsome."
She gave me a doubtful look.
"I'm not joking," I said. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"
"I just thought I'd walk around and get familiar with the building. I just signed the contract."
"I see. Well, now that you've debuted, you might want to avoid walking in this area."
"Why?"
"Because this is where the male trainees hang out. And now that you're debuting, you've got to start thinking about your image."
In the K-pop world, newly debuted idols are expected to avoid being seen interacting with the opposite gender. Fans don't take it well when their idol is seen dating or even if they're just friends. Some will even go as far as abandoning them—or worse, spreading rumors that could end their careers. Our company won't hesitate to drop an artist if it means preserving the group and the company's image.
"Oh, that makes sense," she said, visibly alarmed, clearly wanting to avoid making a scandal. She turned to leave, then paused. "You're heading out too, right?"
"Yeah. I need some sleep."
"I can tell," she said with a smile. "Wanna walk together and go our separate ways from there?"
"Sure."
--
By the time I fell face-first onto my bed, it was 8:17AM.
My hair was still wet, but I didn't have the energy to dry it. I shut my eyes and slipped straight into oblivion.