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 fourth 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.
"Come in," came a voice—low, confident, feminine.
He entered.
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—vocalist and visual, with 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) and Hyun (17), the inseparable dancer duo who moved like they shared one soul and one brain cell.Chan (19, nearly 20), the human golden retriever and resident vocalist who 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 grin. "Barely survived, 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. We're not aiming for perfection."
Daehyun went first—smooth and high like honey. The type who'd probably already been cast as visual in his own mental drama.
Jiho followed. His tone was rich, steady, and a little too perfect. He stood straight and breathed like he practiced. Ms. Choi nodded, clearly noting how clean his vocal control was.
Then Eunjae and Hyun, performing some upbeat duet with matching movements and matching grins. Dancers, for sure—but neither tone-deaf.
Chan came in loud, energetic, and heartfelt. Classic main-vocal-in-the-making.
Seojun casually slid into a rap verse with a smirk, like he had rhythm for blood.
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. Haneul's aura was the kind that screamed cold male lead, but in reality, he was running 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, 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 clean and smooth. Where did you train?"
"I didn't."
That wasn't a lie. Unless you counted screaming battle commands over voice chat while ordering snacks at the same time.
She narrowed her eyes but didn't push. "Try not to waste that voice, then."
He walked back to his seat. The trainees were still watching him like he'd just shapeshifted mid-song.
"Dude," Chan whispered. "You've been hiding those pipes?"
Daehyun narrowed his eyes. "What the hell was that voice? Who has a bass voice and can rap?"
"I thought he was just the 'silent type,'" Hyun whispered to Eunjae.
"I thought he was just bad at stretching," Eunjae whispered back.
"I thought he was scary," Jiho said with a calm nod.
"I still think he's scary," Seojun muttered.
Haneul sat down wordlessly, pulled his hood halfway over his head, and stared blankly ahead like nothing 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. "You'll all be assigned personal warmups tomorrow. Go drink water. And tell your dance coach I want feedback on your breath control."
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 against the wall, and muttered, "Eight hours of this…"
Chan reappeared beside him, way too energetic for someone who just survived a vocal trial.
"You killed it, bro. Seriously. That rap switch? Legendary."
"Thanks."
"You ever thought of stage names?"
"…No."
"Well, start. With a voice like that, you're gonna need one."
Haneul gave a tired shrug. "If I survive."
Chan grinned. "Come on. Ice Prince can't melt that easy."