The elevator ride felt like punishment.
Jung Haneul stood inside the chrome box, hoodie halfway unzipped, hair slightly damp from training sweat, soul already packed and halfway to the afterlife. As the floor numbers ticked upward, he leaned against the mirrored wall, praying for the sweet mercy of a power outage.
No such luck.
Ding.
He stepped out onto the third floor, where the words Vocal Training – Room A glowed softly on a frosted glass door. Behind it, Haneul could hear muffled piano notes. Then someone wailing a high note so loud, it could pierce armor.
He exhaled. "I survived a thousand boss raids. I can survive this," he whispered.
He knocked lightly and pushed the door open.
The room was bright and calm, with floor-length mirrors, a piano in the corner, and a faint scent of vanilla and eucalyptus in the air. Seven chairs were lined up against the wall—six already taken.
The other trainees turned to look at him with varying levels of judgment and curiosity.
There was Daehyun (19), the pretty boy with eternal lip gloss—a vocalist and main visual candidate whose sharp jawline beautifully contrasted with his long lashes. Seojun (17), tall and sharp-featured with a laid-back attitude and a blunt tongue—definitely a rapper by posture alone. Eunjae (17), the hyper-energetic ace who had already been named the group's official Main Dancer, sitting right next to Hyun (17), the exceptionally talented Lead Dancer; the two moved like they shared one soul and one brain cell. Chanho (19, nearly 20), whom everyone just called Chan—the human golden retriever and resident powerhouse vocalist who naturally acted like everyone's older brother. And finally, Jiho (19). Clean-cut, sharp-browed, and quiet—a perfectionist. The kind of guy who labeled his water bottles and side-eyed anyone who breathed out of rhythm. Also a vocalist.
Haneul, the youngest to join at 18, took the last seat quietly."You made it," said Chan, flashing a bright grin. "Barely survived the buzz-cut demon downstairs, huh?"
"I died," Haneul muttered. "This is my ghost."
"Nice hair for a ghost."
Before Haneul could respond, the instructor entered—and all conversation stopped.
She was tall and graceful, with long brunette hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. Subtle black streaks ran through it, catching the light as she moved. She wore a black blouse tucked into wide-leg pants, and her heels clicked with quiet authority.
Her gaze swept over the room like a scan. When her eyes landed on Haneul, they paused—just for a second."I'm Choi Sena," she said. "Call me Ms. Choi. I'll be your vocal coach. For the next few months, I own your voice. Understood?"
"Yes, Ms. Choi," the boys chorused.
"Good. Today's goal is simple. We test your range and tone. No judgment. Just observation." She walked to the piano and tapped a few keys. "When I call your name, come forward and sing a verse of your choice. Something natural."
"Daehyun, let's start with you."Daehyun stood gracefully, adjusting his collar before delivering a verse that was smooth and high like honey.
Ms. Choi paused her hands on the keys. "Your falsetto transitions are incredibly natural, Daehyun, but you're leaning entirely on your visual performance to mask a lack of breath support. Don't let your eyes do the singing for you."
Daehyun offered a flawless, practiced smile. "Understood, Ms. Choi. I'll ground it more next time."
"Jiho, you're up."Jiho stepped forward, his posture rigid and perfectly aligned. His tone was rich, steady, and technically immaculate. He sang exactly on beat, executing his breathing patterns like a clockwork machine.
Ms. Choi nodded slowly. "The control is beautiful, Jiho. It's clean. But you sound like a textbook. Where is the color? Music isn't a math equation. Relax your shoulders before you choke your own vibrato."
Jiho lowered his head respectfully, his jaw tightening slightly. "Thank you. I will work on the delivery."
Next, Eunjae and Hyun bounded forward together, launching into an upbeat, rhythmic pop duet with matching grins and perfectly synchronized bouncy hand movements. They were clearly dancers first, but neither was anywhere near tone-deaf.
"A lot of character," Ms. Choi observed, a small smirk playing on her lips. "But Eunjae, you're projecting from your throat when you push for energy. And Hyun, you're letting your vocal line drift to match his pacing. Sync your lungs, not just your steps."
"Got it! More lung power, less throat!" Eunjae cheered, giving Hyun a high-five as they jogged back to their seats.
"Chan, let's hear the core."Chan stepped up with zero hesitation. His voice came out loud, deeply energetic, and fiercely heartfelt. It was the classic, soaring tone of a main-vocal-in-the-making, easily filling the room.
"Good power," Ms. Choi praised, her tone genuinely warm. "You have great chest resonance, Chan. Just be careful not to overshoot the pitch when your emotions take over the melody."
"Yes ma'am! Keeping a lid on it," Chan grinned, flashing a thumbs-up.
Seojun casually slid forward next, slipping his hands into his pockets with a confident smirk. He launched into a rapid rap verse, letting the rhythm dictate his speech seamlessly.
Ms. Choi let out a short hum. "You have excellent enunciation under speed, Seojun. The cadence is sharp. Just don't get so laid back that you drop your projection at the end of your bars."
"Mm. On it," Seojun muttered, tilting his head with a lazy grin.
Then—her eyes met his.
"Jung Haneul."He stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his pants. The other trainees watched him with mild curiosity. None of them had heard him speak much beyond "don't talk to me" levels since he arrived. Haneul's aura was the kind that screamed cold male lead, but in reality, he was running entirely on stress and suppressed gamer rage.
He stepped forward."Do you have a song prepared?" Ms. Choi asked.
He nodded.
She raised a brow. "Confident. Let's hear it."
He took a breath.
Song: "No Signal" by HALO5🎵
"Don't blink, I'm gone—like I'm out of range,You tried to read me, but I flipped the game.Heartbeat static, voice like flame—You chase a ghost, but I don't stay."
No theatrics. No big gestures. Just a low, rich voice that slid through the melody like velvet. His bass tone was smooth. He didn't even mean to impress. He just… sang the way he spoke when gaming. Fast, clear, and low.
Then, when the chorus hit, he transitioned into a short rap—his words flowed fast and controlled, the rhythm sharp but effortless. Each syllable landed with crisp precision.
It was instinct, like comboing in a game: press, switch, combo, execute. His lips moved fast, syllables snapping in place, the room oddly silent except for the sound of his voice bouncing off the walls.
When he finished, he stepped back and said nothing.Dead silence. Even the pianist blinked."…Huh," Ms. Choi murmured, her lips twitching at the corner. "That was… unexpected."
Haneul shrugged. "I talk fast."Ms. Choi's eyes glimmered. "That wasn't just fast. That was incredibly clean and smooth. Where exactly did you train before this?"
"I didn't."
That wasn't a lie. Unless you counted screaming tactical battle commands over high-speed voice chat while ordering snacks at the exact same time.
She narrowed her eyes but didn't push. "Try not to waste that natural bass placement, then. We're going to need that contrast."
He walked back to his seat. The trainees were still watching him with admiration and weary eyes even when he went to sit down."
Dude," Chan whispered, leaning over. "You've been hiding those massive pipes this whole time?"
Daehyun narrowed his eyes, examining Haneul's face. "What the hell was that voice? Who has a heavy bass register but can still rap that fast?"
"I thought he was just the scary 'silent type,'" Hyun whispered over to Eunjae.
"I thought he was just bad at stretching," Eunjae whispered back, looking at Haneul with newfound respect.
"I thought he was scary," Jiho added with a very calm, serious nod.
"I still think he's scary," Seojun muttered under his breath.
Haneul sat down wordlessly, pulled his hood halfway back over his head, and stared blankly ahead like nothing had happened. But inside? He was glowing just a bit. Not from pride. Definitely not. Just… relief. He didn't suck at everything here.
One Hour Later – Returning to the Dance Studio"
Alright, that's it for vocals today," Ms. Choi said, snapping her folder shut. "You'll all be assigned personal warmups tomorrow. Go drink water. And tell your dance coach I want feedback on your breath control during heavy movement."
The moment they were dismissed, the other trainees bolted like school kids on lunch break. Except Haneul.
He took a long sip from his water bottle, leaned his heavy head against the mirror wall, and muttered, "Eight hours of this every day…"
Chan reappeared right beside him, way too energetic for someone who had just survived a vocal trial. "You absolutely killed it, bro. Seriously. That rap switch? Legendary stuff."
"Thanks."
"You ever thought of stage names yet?"
"…No."
"Well, start thinking. With a unique tone like that, you're gonna need a good one."
Haneul gave a tired, defeated shrug. "If I even survive the week."
Chan grinned, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "Come on. Our Ice Prince can't melt that easy."