The atmosphere in the vocal practice room was thick with anticipation. The trainees were seated in rows, waiting for their turn to perform their assigned songs for the vocal coach, Ms. Lim. It was the first vocal evaluation since the group project had been announced, and everyone was on edge.

Yuna sat in the second row, nervously twisting the hem of her shirt. She had practiced the song endlessly, but the pressure of performing in front of the coach—and the other trainees—was weighing on her.

“Relax,” Minhee whispered from beside her, nudging her arm. “You’ve got this.”

Yuna nodded, but her stomach churned as Ms. Lim called out names. One by one, trainees stepped forward, their voices filling the room with varying levels of confidence and skill.

When Jiwon’s name was called, the room went silent.

He walked to the center of the room with his usual calm confidence, his gaze steady. The backing track began to play, and as soon as he opened his mouth, it was clear why he had been placed in the advanced group.

His voice was rich and emotive, each note perfectly controlled. The trainees were captivated, some even leaning forward as if to catch every nuance of his performance. When he finished, the room erupted in quiet murmurs of admiration.

Even Ms. Lim looked impressed. “Excellent control, Jiwon. Well done.”

He nodded politely and returned to his seat, his expression as composed as ever.

“Song Yuna,” Ms. Lim called next.

Yuna felt her heart race as she stood, her legs shaky. She caught Jiwon’s gaze as she walked past, and he gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod.

The instrumental track started, and Yuna took a deep breath, remembering Jiwon’s advice: Don’t hold back.

Her voice started off soft but steady, growing stronger as she immersed herself in the song’s emotions. She focused on the story the lyrics told, pouring her feelings into every line.

When she finished, the room was quiet for a moment before Ms. Lim spoke.

“Good progress, Yuna. You’re starting to find your voice. Keep working on projecting your emotions even more.”

Yuna exhaled in relief, a small smile creeping onto her face as she returned to her seat.

After the evaluations, the trainees dispersed for lunch. Yuna was heading toward the cafeteria when Jiwon caught up with her.

“You did well,” he said, falling into step beside her.

“Thanks,” Yuna said, glancing up at him. “Your performance was amazing, as always.”

He shrugged, his usual modesty in place. “You’re improving fast. It’s noticeable.”

Before Yuna could respond, a familiar voice cut in.

“Well, not everyone gets personal coaching from Jiwon, do they?”

Yuna turned to see Hyunwoo leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yuna asked, frowning.

Hyunwoo straightened, his eyes flicking between her and Jiwon. “Nothing. Just seems like he’s taking a special interest in you, that’s all.”

Yuna opened her mouth to retort, but Jiwon spoke first.

“I’m focused on the team,” he said evenly. “If someone’s improving, that’s a good thing.”

Hyunwoo snorted. “Sure. Just make sure you’re not playing favorites. Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

The tension in the hallway was palpable, and Yuna felt her cheeks flush.

“Let’s go,” Jiwon said, ignoring Hyunwoo and gesturing for Yuna to follow.

The cafeteria was bustling, but Jiwon and Yuna managed to find a quiet corner.

“Does Hyunwoo always have to be like that?” Yuna asked, her frustration evident.

Jiwon took a sip of water before replying. “He’s competitive. And stubborn. But don’t let him get to you.”

“It’s not fair,” Yuna muttered. “I’m working hard, just like everyone else.”

Jiwon leaned forward slightly, his expression softening. “I know. And it’s paying off. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.”

Yuna met his gaze, her frustration easing under the weight of his words. For a moment, the noise of the cafeteria faded, and it was just the two of them.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

Meanwhile, across the room, Hyunwoo watched them from his table, his jaw tight. Minhee noticed and nudged him.

“What’s your problem?” she asked.

Hyunwoo tore his gaze away, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Minhee said, smirking. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

“Jealous?” Hyunwoo scoffed. “Of Jiwon? Please.”

Minhee leaned back, crossing her arms. “Sure, whatever you say. But if you ask me, you’re more obvious than you think.”

Hyunwoo didn’t respond, but his clenched fists under the table told a different story.

Later that evening, Yuna stayed late in the practice room again, determined to perfect the harmony section for the group song.

To her surprise, Jiwon appeared once more, his expression softer than usual.

“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” he teased lightly.

Yuna smiled. “Practice makes perfect, right?”

“Not if you burn yourself out,” he said, sitting down beside her.

They spent the next hour working on the harmonies together, their voices blending seamlessly.

As the final notes echoed through the room, Yuna glanced at Jiwon. “Why are you helping me so much?”

Jiwon hesitated, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting hers. “Because I see potential in you. And… I don’t want you to give up on yourself the way I almost did.”

Yuna’s heart skipped a beat at his confession, a warmth spreading through her chest.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Jiwon nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t mention it.”

But as they left the practice room that night, neither could shake the feeling that something unspoken lingered between them—something that went beyond music and practice.