Ji-ho and Eun-gyeom had been quite close since their trainee days. In fact, Ji-ho and Eun-gyeom were originally colleagues eagerly awaiting their debut together. Not to mention Tae-oh, who spent six years in YC, spending most of his teenage years here. Eun-gyeom was well aware of how much effort Tae-oh had put in since a young age, enduring the challenges within the group of older brothers and persevering with the dream of becoming an idol.
At one point, the three of them even lived together in a cramped room, sharing close quarters. The image of him struggling to interact with the older trainees due to his gruff and inflexible personality still lingered vividly. Even the recent moments of despair that Tae-oh had experienced were etched in Eun-gyeom’s memory, making him feel unexpectedly guilty. Eun-gyeom touched his eyebrow thoughtfully and cast a brief sidelong glance at Sol.
When evaluating from a third-person perspective, it wasn’t an exaggeration to say that Sol had the ideal conditions to be born for the purpose of becoming an idol. His face, without much grooming, was naturally beautiful to the point that people might find it a shame. Even if one were to search through broadcasting stations, it would be hard to find looks more outstanding than his, even though the person himself might not be aware of it.
He also had a sense of using his body and a deep understanding of using muscles, developed through years of dancing. Moreover, he excelled in conveying emotions and incorporating the distinctive acting style inherent in dance into his body.
It was puzzling why he gave up dancing to pursue this path. Not only did Sol have the looks, but his singing wasn’t bad either. Despite his unadorned, innocent vocal style, with proper training, he could at least be a competent sub-vocal, if not a main one. Even Eun-gyeom, as a senior, felt somewhat inadequate in the face of Sol’s potential and talent. However, this assessment was clearly focused on the future.
Unfortunately, both Ji-ho and Tae-oh were probably looking for fully prepared members who could debut immediately. With the debut plans having fallen through multiple times already, it was clear that there was no room for flexibility. Understanding this, Eun-gyeom found himself sympathizing with Sol’s hesitancy to speak. Regardless of the circumstances, he thought he should help Sol, even if he didn’t know the full story.
Practicing after a long time brought back the excitement of the debut days, but Eun-gyeom couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease or sadness in Sol’s appearance that was quite noticeable. Helping Sol not only allowed Eun-gyeom to fulfill his responsibilities toward Tae-oh and Ji-ho, but also relieved some of his guilt.
While Eun-gyeom briefly organized his thoughts, Sol, without making any movement, looked intently at him, mentioning that he had a prior commitment. Smiling while meeting Sol’s gaze directly, Eun-gyeom checked the time and started moving hastily. Grabbing the neglected laptop, he tidied up the scattered sheets and notebooks. As he hurriedly left the practice room, Eun-gyeom paused, turned back, and patted Sol’s shoulder. The round shoulders were drenched in sweat.
“Try to eat and then practice. You need to build up some stamina. If you’re already struggling this much after just doing this, it’s concerning. You’re too skinny.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“If I have time later, let’s do this again.”
“It’s okay. I’ve taken up too much of your time.”
“It’s fine. It reminded me of my debut days after a long time, and it was fun. Anyway, see you later. Fighting!”
“Yes, thank you.”
“We agreed to be friends, so don’t greet me so formally. It’s awkward. And make sure to eat!”
Eun-gyeom said a mouthful of nagging words at Sol’s comment about skipping meals. Unlike Sol, who still had some awkwardness, Eun-gyeom’s actions felt intimate, as if they had known each other for a long time. When Sol tried to distance himself from him, Eun-gyeom only smiled wider and cheered him on in a cute way.
As Eun-gyeom’s footsteps gradually faded away, leaving the practice room, silence settled in. The once narrow practice room seemed to suddenly expand. Finally alone, Sol looked at his reflection in the mirror.
A face, pale and wan, that could not be concealed even with messy bangs hanging down chaotically. It didn’t look as healthy, just as Eun-gyeom had mentioned. Once completely alone, the thought that he no longer had to hide anything made Sol’s hands tremble. Upon closer inspection, the subtle trembling, which might or might not have been noticeable at first glance, started intensifying, resembling the shivering of someone who had become a drug addict.
Suddenly, a chill washed over his entire body. Feeling extremely cold and with a heavy body, Sol crouched down and laid his face on the floor of the practice room. The rough and dusty floor touched his cheeks. As the acrid smell of dust reached his nose, Sol listened attentively to the sounds coming from the floor. The sound of wind passing through the empty space under the dance floor resonated.
It was a behavior Sol occasionally did, even while dancing. The hollow space underneath the dance floor was there to take the strain off one’s feet during jumps and technical moves. Using wood with elastic properties for the material, creating a floor above that space, helped absorb the impact upon landing.
So, as Sol pressed his ear to the floor, they could hear sounds like someone walking on the floor above, or sitting and chatting, and the sound of wind flowing through the corridor. And that familiar noise brought a sense of comfort to Sol.
As the trembling and cold subsided a bit, Sol began to worry if everything was really okay. Fearing the glittering quest window in the corner, Sol was pushing through for now, but there was no certainty how long this method of suppressing and enduring would last.
Looking at his reflection in the mirror while crouched down as if about to fall asleep, Sol took a brief pause, thinking he would rest only until the trembling subsided, and then resume practicing. Tears flowed, and the swollen eyelids felt heavy.
***
The song, having reached its end, briefly paused before playing again. Barely allowing time to catch their breath, the song that repeated playback was <Hot Trick> by <D-Block>. Perhaps due to the rebellious concept, the latter part of the choreography in “Hot Trick” had many movements resembling running away, making it somewhat challenging even for Tae-oh, who rarely showed any signs of shaking. Garam abruptly switched off the song that urged non-stop running.
“Hyung, I’m hungry.”
“Let’s eat first and then continue.”
“I want to eat jjajangmyeon.”
“Yeong-ho hyung is probably lurking in front of the Chinese restaurant.”
“Then ice cream...”
“Deuk-yong-ah... I want to eat that as well.”
Deuk-yong pushed his hand into his hoodie, patting his protruding belly, and grumbled. Deuk-yong, who easily gained weight if he let his guard down, was in the midst of following the dietary plan set by the rookie development team leader’s strict instructions.
He was reluctantly eating only chicken breast and salad, but from the way the team leader glared with salty eyes, it seemed like he had consumed too much. Despite Ji-ho, who always carefully took care of the members’ meals, setting limits, Deuk-yong insisted his stomach wasn’t full and proceeded to eat three or four pieces of chicken breast in one sitting.
This morning, Deuk-yong, who had promised to eat properly, had eaten a bowl of cereal. Every time he opened his mouth, he mentioned something he wanted to eat. Sitting beside Deuk-yong, Ji-ho chuckled as he stretched, unable to suppress his laughter.
The members were refraining from late-night snacks or junk food as a show of solidarity for Deuk-yong, who was struggling with his diet. Thanks to this, it had been a long time since Ji-ho had eaten ice cream. Tae-ho checked his watch as Ji-ho played along with Deuk-yong.
“Stomach? Hungry, hungry, rumble, rumble.”
Ji-ho, who naturally loved singing and couldn’t stand a moment of silence, started singing a song suitable for children to sing. It was a song sung by cartoon characters, but all the members had gotten used to it and didn’t mind. Deuk-yong, who had been quietly listening, joined in with his characteristic loud and strong voice. Ji-ho’s melodious voice echoed loudly outside the practice room.
“I’ll bring Sung Sol.”
“Oh, right. I forgot.”
“Let’s just go together.”
“Okay. Take a break for a minute.”
“You take a break too.”
“I am. I’ll bring him after resting.”
Ga-ram’s usually quiet and sluggish voice was somewhat sharp today. It was a tough time. Everyone seemed on edge, ready to explode at the slightest touch. They were trying not to show it, but they had become more sensitive.
That’s why Do Ji-ho was singing that silly song. To try to prevent the atmosphere from becoming too tense, and to give themselves a little bit of relaxation. Exhausted from repeated practice and waiting without certainty, the group of young people who couldn’t see the future were gathered in this underground room, this practice room.
Tae-oh sighed as he opened the door to practice room number 2. His shoulders slumped against the tightly closed door. Tae-oh, who briefly showed signs of exhaustion, returned to his usual calm expression as he heard approaching footsteps. When the familiar figure came into view, Tae-oh nodded, feeling satisfied with his timing.
“Sung-kwang hyung.”
“Oh, Yoon Tae-oh. Are you still here?”
“Hello. Practice room 6 is being used by one of our members, but I’ll clean it up in a minute.”
“No need, I’ve quit, man.”
“What?”
“I came to pack my stuff.”
Upon Sung-kwang’s response, Tae-oh looked up at him. They weren’t exactly on the best of terms, but it felt a little strange to hear him say he was leaving. Sung-kwang was the oldest trainee at YC. When Tae-oh joined YC, Sung-kwang was like the head of the dorm, exerting a subtle influence as the eldest and longest-serving trainee. Every time, Tae-oh and Ga-ram, the youngest, had to be cautious around him. And the next year, it was Deuk-yong.
The younger guys were always uncomfortable with him. Especially when Tae-oh, who entered the dorm at a young age with outstanding visuals and physique, became the main target of his torment. It was a kind of jealousy.
Yet, Tae-oh never ignored him because Sung-kwang always declared, ‘I will never quit. I will never leave the company with my own feet.’ This relentless determination, expressed through his words, was the reason Tae-oh never ignored him.
Sung-kwang was truly persistent. The trainee dorm saw a constant flow of people. In the cramped and small dorm, people come in and out every day, repeating the cycle. Out of all those people, Sung-kwang was the oldest, his dancing wasn’t really that good, and his singing and appearance were only a little better than average at best.
As a result, on evaluation days, he was always subject to harsh criticism. Even when everyone else complained about the tough evaluations and expressed their frustration, Sung-kwang always glared with determination.
It felt strange to hear Sung-kwang, who had declared he would never leave the company, say that he was quitting as a trainee. Despite the realization that things were turning out this way, Tae-oh felt a peculiar connection to Sung-kwang’s situation, as if it were his own future.
“You’re quitting as a trainee?”
“Yeah.”
