The next morning, Practice Room C was a hive of energy as the trainees prepared for their first group evaluation. The tension was palpable, with whispers of nerves and speculation filling the air.

“They’re splitting us into teams today,” Minhee informed Yuna, pulling her into a corner. “Apparently, it’s a performance challenge. Rumor has it Eunji’s already decided she’s the team leader no matter what.”

Yuna sighed, tying her hair into a tight ponytail. “Great. As if the pressure wasn’t enough.”

Before Minhee could reply, Ms. Jung entered with her clipboard, silencing the room.

“You’ll be split into three teams,” she announced, scanning the group. “Each team will have one advanced trainee to guide you. The performance evaluation will be in three days, and you’ll be judged on teamwork, synchronization, and stage presence.”

Yuna felt her stomach twist. Three days didn’t seem like nearly enough time.

“Team leaders are Kim Hyunwoo, Park Eunji, and Seo Jiwon,” Ms. Jung continued.

The room erupted in murmurs, and Yuna glanced at Minhee, who rolled her eyes. “Of course,” Minhee muttered.

Ms. Jung began calling out names, assigning trainees to each team. Yuna’s pulse quickened as she waited for hers.

“Song Yuna,” Ms. Jung finally said, “you’re with Seo Jiwon.”

Yuna’s team assembled in Practice Room D, a mix of nervous rookies and seasoned trainees. Jiwon stood at the front, his expression calm as always, but his sharp eyes scanned each member.

“Let’s get this out of the way,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m not here to carry you. If we’re going to win, everyone has to pull their weight. Got it?”

The room was silent, but everyone nodded.

“Good.” He turned to the whiteboard and wrote the name of their assigned song: “Phoenix Rise.” It was an upbeat track with tricky choreography and layered vocals.

Jiwon glanced at the group. “Who here is confident in vocals?”

A couple of hands went up, including Yuna’s. She wasn’t sure why she did it—maybe it was the lingering echo of his advice from yesterday.

Jiwon nodded, seemingly unsurprised. “You’ll take the second verse, then. We’ll rotate for harmonies. As for the choreography…”

He paused, turning to the mirror. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The first run-through was a disaster.

The group was out of sync, and several trainees stumbled over the fast-paced footwork. Yuna managed to stay on beat, but her movements lacked the sharpness needed for the choreography to pop.

“Stop,” Jiwon said, cutting off the music. He pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration flickering across his face.

“This isn’t going to work,” he said. “You’re all moving like you’re scared of the floor. If you can’t commit to the steps, the audience won’t believe you.”

Yuna felt her cheeks burn but didn’t look away. He wasn’t wrong.

Jiwon sighed. “Let’s break it down. Line up in front of the mirror. One step at a time, and focus on hitting each move cleanly.”

As they worked through the routine, Jiwon moved through the group, correcting angles and offering quick feedback. When he reached Yuna, he stood beside her and demonstrated the next move.

“You’re holding back again,” he said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear. “You’ve got the rhythm, but you need to put more power into it. Watch.”

He executed the step flawlessly, his movements precise yet full of energy.

“Now you.”

Yuna mimicked him, this time exaggerating her movements slightly.

“Better,” he said, nodding. “Keep that up.”

By the end of the first practice, the team was exhausted but starting to come together. Jiwon dismissed them with a reminder to review the choreography on their own time.

As Yuna packed up, she noticed Hyunwoo leaning against the doorway, watching her.

“You’re with Jiwon, huh?” he said, his tone unreadable.

Yuna straightened, unsure how to respond. “Yeah. Why?”

Hyunwoo shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Just curious. He’s good, but he’s… intense. Don’t let him scare you off.”

“I’m not scared,” Yuna said firmly, though her heart skipped a beat.

“Good,” Hyunwoo said, his smirk softening into something almost genuine. “Because you’re going to need thick skin to survive here.”

Before Yuna could respond, he pushed off the wall and disappeared down the hallway.

That night, Yuna stayed late in the practice room, running through the choreography again and again.

“You’re going to wear yourself out,” a voice said from behind her.

Yuna turned to see Jiwon standing in the doorway, his bag slung over his shoulder.

“I just… want to get it right,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

Jiwon stepped inside, setting his bag down. “You’re trying too hard to be perfect. Focus on the feeling of the dance, not just the steps.”

He moved to stand beside her, nodding toward the mirror. “One more time. I’ll do it with you.”

Together, they ran through the routine, their movements mirroring each other. For the first time, Yuna felt like she was truly in sync—not just with the choreography, but with the energy of the performance.

When they finished, Jiwon gave a rare smile. “See? You’ve got it.”

Yuna smiled back, a flicker of pride warming her chest.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

Jiwon grabbed his bag and headed for the door, pausing briefly to glance back. “Don’t hold back tomorrow. You’ve got more in you than you think.”

As the door closed behind him, Yuna stood in the empty room, her reflection staring back at her.

For the first time, she didn’t see a rookie struggling to fit in. She saw someone who belonged.