Chapter 9
A Grade: Team 1 (Shin Haemi, Nakamura Mizuki, Namgung Yujeong, Hwang Dajeong, Lim Minju)
B Grade: Team 3 (Moon Hayan, Jeon Minsu, No Jua, Tak Ji-eum, Chen Xiaojing)
C Grade: Team 2 (Hong Heera, Han Jinsol, Catherine, Lee Seri, Jo Yeeun)
After the grades were announced, the tension seemed to ease—but Hayan quickly straightened up again.
The group evaluation wasn’t the real issue.
The individual rankings were.
Heera still looks dangerously close to elimination.
If Heera had gone to Team 3, she would’ve definitely been eliminated.
Hayan’s heart pounded.
“Good job, everyone.”
“You all worked really hard.”
Minsu looked at the team lined up beside her.
Everyone looked drained, but they slowly gathered and patted each other on the back.
“We really pulled that off in two days.”
“Yeah… two days.”
“This is a human victory.”
It was true.
A human victory.
“…Hey.”
“Hm?”
Jua quietly spoke to Hayan.
“Thanks—”
“Oh, don’t mention it.”
“What are you doing after this?”
What kind of line is that? Hayan answered suspiciously.
“…Practice.”
“Personal practice?”
“Yeah. I got called out, so I should at least practice.”
Jua nodded awkwardly.
She looked like she had more to say but just paced around with her hands behind her back.
What’s with her?
Then Hayan suddenly grabbed her.
“Wait!”
“What?”
“When this is over…!”
* * *
“I can only wish—for—”
Hayan gently knocked her forehead against the vocal room wall.
Jua didn’t even flinch.
Yeah. Still not working.
Hayan had tried pushing past her limits with items, wondering if it would permanently affect her base stats.
But her voice still cracked apart like the Red Sea.
That high note on stage was just beginner’s luck.
Now, she needed to focus on vocal training.
“I can—”
“Ba—”
Hayan tried every possible vocal technique in existence.
Nothing felt right.
Breaking away from her old style was both a challenge and a huge risk.
“From long ago—”
“Mmm.”
“Is it weird?”
“Yeah.”
“…Sigh.”
Hayan collapsed to the floor in an OTL pose.
How many times had she repeated the same line?
Jua could’ve easily said, “It’s getting better,” just to be polite.
But she kept saying it was weird.
Painfully honest.
That’s exactly why I asked her for help.
Hayan saw her old self in Jua.
Rigid. Overconfident in effort. Lacking flexibility.
But that same rigidity also meant honesty.
Jua would never sugarcoat.
After repeating her own voice endlessly, Hayan had lost objectivity.
She needed someone to watch her struggle—and judge it honestly.
“It sounds… thick. Like it’s splitting. Not clean. Sounds like my little brother.”
“…Your brother?”
“He’s a heavy smoker.”
“……”
Let’s pretend I didn’t hear that.
The unnatural tone could easily be fixed if she returned to her usual nasal style.
But then she’d hear the same criticism as before.
I wish I could send my resonance chamber in for repairs.
Her thoughts spiraled.
“By the way.”
While Hayan was staring at the floor, Jua spoke again.
“…Why do you want to be an idol?”
“…Out of nowhere?”
“Just curious.”
“Then why do you?”
“…I asked first.”
“Should I answer first?”
“You first.”
“No, you.”
Two 21-year-olds are discussing their future in a very mature (?) way.
“I…”
Hayan leaned back and looked at the ceiling tiles.
Forty-two patterns per tile.
She knew that without counting.
I know the ceiling patterns but can’t answer why I want to be an idol.
She let out a small laugh.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Just thinking.”
For some reason, when she felt lost, she looked up instead of down.
Looking down suffocated her.
Looking up didn’t magically fix things—
But at least she could breathe.
“I didn’t have a big reason at first.”
She began slowly.
“The first senior I met after joining the company was Lara.”
Lara was DIP’s early solo artist.
“They were giving me a tour. We passed by the recording room. Lara was there.”
“Wow.”
“It was my first time seeing a celebrity. I must’ve looked like a middle schooler staring in awe. She told me I could watch the recording.”
That day, Lara was recording a B-side from her 4th album: ‘Tropical Day.’
The title track, ‘Shadow,’ had been a mega hit.
‘Tropical Day’ had almost no recognition.
But—
The three minutes of her voice through the microphone—
I want to be like that.
That was the beginning of everything.
‘Tropical Day’ was autobiographical.
Dark, introspective.
Lara once said in an interview:
“Everyone loves ‘Shadow,’ but I personally love ‘Tropical Day’ the most.”
“It’s based on my own experiences. It’s a story I poured myself into.”
A story filled with yourself, turned into a song, and cherished.
How full must that feel?
“Maybe it’s inertia.”
“Inertia?”
“I’ve thought about other careers. But no matter what, I always ended up back in the practice room.”
She looked at their reflection in the mirror.
“I decided dancing and singing were my inertia. Something I always return to.”
“From the practice room’s perspective, you’re basically a cursed doll.”
Jua shattered the mood instantly.
“What’s your MBTI? T, right?”
“IDOL.”
“Maybe change it to DOL-I (crazy).”
Jua glared.
Hayan shrugged.
Tomorrow—
There would be the ranking announcement.
And the first eliminations.
Jua sighed.
Hayan’s leg trembled.
“Hey. You still haven’t answered. Why do you want to?”
“I’ll tell you if I survive.”
“…”
They both lowered their heads.
People with dreams shine in their eyes.
Then what are people like me?
They headed back toward the dorm.
Until—
“What are you doing here at this hour?”
“Hello.”
They ran into Han Juhwan in the elevator.
Co-CEO of DIP.
Vocal trainer.
Producer of the senior group Only Stay.
Too many titles.
Of all places.
“Is Fight for DI-World going well?”
“Yes… we’re working hard.”
“I watched the broadcast today with the staff.”
“…Oh.”
“You’d better improve.”
Thank goodness she was wearing a mask.
Her teeth clenched instantly.
He had been her vocal trainer since her trainee days.
Her nasal tone—her entire vocal foundation—was largely shaped by him.
“How many times have I told you? Make your voice thinner.”
She stared blankly, waiting for the elevator doors to open.
Finally—
Escape.
“…Is he always like that?” Jua asked.
“Yeah. He hasn’t changed.”
“I thought his direction was kind of weird.”
“Hm?”
“I’m not in a position to judge, but telling someone to just make their voice prettier and thinner? Anyone can say that.”
“…”
“Better to go to a real vocal academy.”
Hayan didn’t know what to say.
She had never questioned Juhwan’s teaching.
He was her “teacher.”
Thin voice. Nasal tone.
Many called nasal tone a flaw.
But she didn’t think so.
“Your image is delicate. Just use your nasal voice.”
She had agreed back then.
It became her foundation.
Back in her room, she ran until her lungs burned.
Her stamina was terrible.
I need to fix this.
She opened the system shop.
Scrolled past vocal items.
Jua might be right.
She’d never critically examined Juhwan’s teachings.
‘Thin voice… nasal tone…’
She scrolled further.
Items that boosted pitch.
Items that deepened tone.
Items that altered vocal color.
Should I buy this?
What kind of tone would she get?
She hesitated.
Then—
Her finger stopped.
Why does this cost 15 Presence?
She stared at the item.
Then her eyes widened.
This is it.
