The practice room was eerily quiet, the hum of the building’s ventilation the only sound. The other trainees had long since gone home, leaving Yuna alone with her thoughts and the faint ache in her muscles. She sat cross-legged on the floor, replaying the day’s events in her mind.

The group had improved, but it still wasn’t enough. Jiwon’s words lingered in her head: “You’ve got more in you than you think.”

But what if she didn’t?

The door creaked open, pulling Yuna from her thoughts. She turned to see Jiwon stepping inside, his usual calm demeanor intact. He carried a water bottle and a small towel slung over his shoulder.

“You’re still here,” he said, his voice low but not surprised.

Yuna shrugged, glancing down at her hands. “Could say the same about you.”

Jiwon walked over, setting his things on the bench before sitting down beside her. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d check on my team.”

Yuna smirked faintly. “Checking on us or checking on me?”

His lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. “You tell me.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional squeak of Yuna’s sneakers as she adjusted her position.

“Do you ever feel like you’re not good enough?” she asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jiwon glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “All the time.”

Yuna blinked, startled by his honesty. “Really? But you’re… you’re so good at everything. Everyone looks up to you.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t doubt myself,” he said, leaning back against the mirror. “Especially when I transferred here. It felt like starting over. Like I had to prove myself all over again.”

Yuna tilted her head. “Why did you transfer?”

Jiwon hesitated, his gaze drifting to the floor. For a moment, Yuna thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“Skyline wasn’t the right place for me,” he said finally. “Too much politics, not enough support. I needed a fresh start.”

Yuna nodded slowly. She could sense there was more to the story, but she didn’t push.

“What about you?” Jiwon asked, turning the question back on her. “Why are you here?”

Yuna laughed softly, though there was no humor in it. “Because it’s all I’ve ever wanted. But sometimes I wonder if wanting it is enough. I’m not like you or Hyunwoo or Eunji. I don’t have that natural talent.”

Jiwon frowned, his eyes locking onto hers. “Talent only gets you so far. Hard work matters more. And you work harder than anyone I’ve seen here.”

Yuna’s heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his tone.

“You really think so?” she asked, her voice small.

“I know so,” he said firmly.

The intensity of his gaze made Yuna look away, her cheeks warming. She fiddled with the hem of her shirt, unsure how to respond.

“Don’t let them get into your head,” Jiwon said after a moment, his voice softer now. “Not Hyunwoo, not Eunji, not anyone. You’ve got something they don’t.”

Yuna frowned, confused. “What’s that?”

“Heart,” he said simply. “When you perform, it’s not just about hitting the right notes or steps. You put yourself into it. That’s what makes people watch you.”

Yuna felt a lump rise in her throat, and she swallowed hard. No one had ever said something like that to her before.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, her voice almost breaking.

Jiwon smiled faintly. “Don’t mention it.”

They sat in silence for a while longer, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air.

Finally, Jiwon stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Come on. One last run-through before we call it a night.”

Yuna groaned but got to her feet, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t take breaks, do you?”

“Not when it matters,” Jiwon said, his eyes twinkling with a rare hint of mischief.

As they moved through the routine together, Yuna felt lighter, the doubts that had plagued her earlier fading into the background. For the first time in weeks, she believed that she might actually belong here.

And maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t alone in feeling that way.