The next morning, Yuna stood in the middle of Practice Room C, her nerves crackling like static electricity. The polished floor and mirrored walls reflected the twenty trainees around her, each stretching, chatting, or mentally preparing for their first day of group practice.

“Okay, rookies!” barked a sharp voice. Their dance instructor, Ms. Jung, strode into the room with a clipboard in hand. “Pair up with someone for warm-ups. Quickly. I don’t have all day.”

Yuna scanned the room, her heart sinking as trainees instinctively partnered with their friends. Before she could panic, Minhee waved her over.

“Lucky you,” Minhee said with a wink. “You got the nicest partner in the room.”

Yuna grinned, grateful for the small kindness.

As they stretched, Ms. Jung paced through the pairs, occasionally calling out corrections. When she reached Yuna, she tilted her head.

“Flexible, but your posture needs work,” Ms. Jung said bluntly. “Fix that before evaluations, or you’ll hear about it.”

Yuna nodded, her cheeks burning. She barely had time to dwell on the critique before Ms. Jung clapped her hands.

“Warm-ups are over. Time for choreography,” she announced. “We’re starting with the basics, but don’t let that fool you. If you can’t keep up, this isn’t the place for you.”

The routine was deceptively simple—a fast-paced sequence that required precision and control. Yuna threw herself into it, determined to prove she belonged here.

Halfway through, Ms. Jung shouted, “Stop! Stop, stop, stop!”

Everyone froze, panting.

“You’re all over the place!” she barked, her eyes zeroing in on Yuna and Minhee. “Especially you, Song Yuna. You’re rushing the moves. Control your energy.”

Yuna nodded quickly, feeling the weight of every trainee’s gaze.

“And you,” Ms. Jung said, pointing at Minhee. “You’re lagging behind. Pick up the pace, or find another career.”

Minhee winced, but when Ms. Jung moved on, she whispered, “Don’t let it get to you. She’s tough on everyone.”

Yuna nodded, but doubt gnawed at her. Could she really survive this?

During the break, Yuna collapsed onto the floor beside Minhee, gulping down water. Across the room, a group of advanced trainees practiced a more complex routine.

“Look at them,” Minhee said, nodding toward the group. “That’s the standard we’re trying to reach.”

Yuna’s eyes followed her gaze and landed on a familiar figure. Kim Hyunwoo was in the center of the group, his movements sharp and effortless. He exuded confidence, like he was born for this.

“Unfair, isn’t it?”

Yuna turned to see Park Eunji standing nearby, her arms crossed. “Some of us have to work for years to get noticed. Others just… have it handed to them.”

It was clear she wasn’t talking about herself.

“Hyunwoo’s talented,” Yuna said cautiously, unsure where this was going.

“Sure,” Eunji replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “But talent only gets you so far. If you want to survive here, you’ll need more than that.”

Before Yuna could respond, Eunji sauntered off, her words lingering like a warning.

The afternoon brought vocal practice, which was slightly less intimidating but no less demanding. Each trainee was asked to sing a short piece, and Yuna’s turn came quickly.

She stood before the vocal coach, her hands trembling. Closing her eyes, she sang the first few lines of a ballad she’d practiced endlessly at home.

When she finished, there was silence.

“Your tone is decent,” the coach said finally. “But you’re holding back. Sing with emotion, or no one will care what you have to say.”

Yuna bit her lip and nodded, her cheeks burning again.

As she returned to her seat, Jiwon—who had barely spoken all day—leaned over and whispered, “You sounded good.”

Yuna blinked, surprised. “Thanks.”

He didn’t say anything else, but his quiet compliment stayed with her through the rest of the session.

By the time the day ended, Yuna was sore, exhausted, and overwhelmed. But as she packed up her things, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.

Her posture was still imperfect. Her steps weren’t flawless. But she was still here.

“Tomorrow will be better,” she whispered to herself, determination flickering in her chest like a fragile flame.

As she walked out of the room, she didn’t notice Hyunwoo watching her from the corner, a faint smile tugging at his lips.