A week passed.
No call.
No email.
Nothing.
Kim Chong tried not to check his phone every hour, but his thumb moved on its own—screen on, notifications refreshed, disappointment swallowed. Each buzz of a group chat or weather update made his pulse spike. And each time, it wasn't them, he felt like someone had pulled the ground just slightly out from under his feet.
Ha-eun noticed.
"You're pacing like someone who owes money," Ha-eun said, tossing him a lukewarm bottle of water after dance practice. Her forehead glistened with sweat, but her smirk was intact.
Kim let out a tired breath, plopping down next to her. "I just… really want this one."
Ha-eun stretched her legs out, staring at the studio's scuffed ceiling. "We all do. That's what makes this life brutal. Sometimes even your best isn't enough."
He leaned back on his palms. "So why do we keep trying?"
Ha-eun shrugged. "Because not trying is worse."
There was a beat of silence. Just the hum of the heater, the distant bass from another practice room, and the squeak of a trainee's sneakers somewhere down the hall.
"I don't know how many times I can take this," he admitted.
Ha-eun turned to look at him—really look at him. "Then don't count."
That evening, Kim sat on the rooftop of his apartment building, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like armor. The city below blinked and glittered—taillights like fireflies, neon signs flickering like impatient hearts.
The wind bit at his cheeks, but he didn't move.
He thought of his mother, curled under a heated pad, breathing shallow, the medicine bottles lined up like tiny glass soldiers.
He thought of Seokjin, coming home with grocery bags and a joke, always covering his fatigue with laughter.
They gave up so much for me.
And here he was. Still in limbo.
Still chasing a dream that might never fully open the door.
The ache bloomed sharp in his chest, the kind that makes your throat tight even when you're not crying.
He closed his eyes. The night was quiet.
"You're already enough. You just have to get better."
His brother's words floated back to him like smoke.
Then—
A buzz.
His phone lit up in the dark.
Kim's breath caught.
One unread email.
Subject: Second Round Invitation.
He tapped it. Slowly. Hands trembling.
Dear Kim Chong,
Thank you for auditioning with us. We were impressed with your performance and would like to invite you for a second round of evaluation next week.
Further details will follow shortly.
Sincerely,
Talent Recruitment Team
For a second, he just stared at the screen.
Then—
His lips parted.
A breathless laugh escaped.
Then another.
He stood up. The blanket slipped off his shoulders, forgotten in a puddle around his feet. His breath misted in the cold, curling like smoke into the sky.
The lights of Seoul blurred behind tears he didn't try to stop.
He threw his hands up and laughed again—louder this time. Into the stars. Into the smog. Into every sleepless night and bruised foot and failed note and old rejection letter.
The dream was no longer a whisper.
It was real.
And this time—
he was ready.
Kim raced down the rooftop stairs two steps at a time, nearly tripping over the edge of his own excitement. He didn't even bother texting—he just called.
Ha-eun picked up on the second ring. "Kim? It's late. What's wrong?"
He didn't answer right away. His breath came fast. Then, voice cracking from grinning too hard, he said, "I got it."
A pause. "Got what?"
"The callback. Second round. They want to see me again."
There was silence on the other end.
Then—
A loud squeal that nearly burst his eardrum.
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"
He laughed. "Yes! I'm not dreaming, I triple-checked. They sent an email and everything. I'll forward it if you—"
"Kim. Stop talking," Ha-eun said. "I'm coming over."
"What? No, it's—wait, you're already in pyjamas, aren't you?"
"Shut up," Ha-eun said breathlessly. "I'll be there in fifteen."
True to her word, twelve minutes later there was a rapid knock at his front door.
He opened it to find Ha-eun standing in mismatched slippers, hair in a messy bun, a hoodie thrown over pyjama pants with cartoon eggs all over them.
"You look ridiculous," Kim said, beaming.
Ha-eun didn't answer. She just threw her arms around him.
For a moment, he didn't move. Then he hugged her back. Tightly. Like she was the one thing holding him to the ground.
She pulled back, her hands still on his arms. Her eyes were glassy, but her grin was full wattage.
"I told you," Ha-eun said. "I told you you were getting better."
Kim chong gave a sheepish smile. "You were right."
"I'm always right."
Then she whacked him lightly on the shoulder. "And you didn't tell me immediately? What if I'd been asleep and missed this??"
"I did call you immediately!"
"Late by thirty seconds," Ha-eun said dramatically, wiping under her eye. "Unforgivable."
He laughed, the sound bright and easy. "You're unbelievable."
Ha-eun looked at him seriously for a second, then added softly, "I'm proud of you."
Those words did something to him. Settled deep. Warmed the coldest parts of him.
Kim swallowed. "Thanks… Ha-eun."
She pulled back, clapped her hands together. "Okay, enough feelings. We're celebrating."
"At midnight?"
"Obviously. Do you have any snacks?"
He stared at her. "You really are always hungry."
She grinned. "That's why I'm the brains of this operation. Now move—I'm checking your kitchen."
As she barged past him like she owned the place, Kim Chong stood in the doorway a moment longer, watching her with quiet gratitude.
His dream felt real now.
But somehow, this—
This felt even more real.