Ayoung trudged toward the company building, following the address on the company card in her hand. Her hoodie smelled faintly of cigarettes and yesterday's alcohol, and the sleeves were worn thin at the elbows. I don’t even know what I’m doing when I get there… she thought, dragging her feet. I haven’t danced or sung in months. Hell, maybe years. I don't even know if this is legit. And what if they kick me out after seeing me like this…

By the time she reached the front of the mid-sized office building, which was a lot smaller than she thought it would be, she could feel the curious stares already. The guard, a middle-aged man leaning against the doorframe, gave her a sharp and assessing look. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“I… uh… I’m here for the audition that's supposed to be taking place today...could you let me go in?” she stammered, hesitating as he frowned.

The guard frowned, eyes flicking from her scuffed shoes to her hoodie. “Auditions ended an hour ago.”

My luck really is shit.

Before she could respond, a familiar voice cut in from behind.

“She’s with us.”

The scout from last night stepped forward, clipboard tucked under his arm. “She came in late, but she’s on the list.”

The guard exhaled through his nose, unimpressed, but stepped aside.

Ayoung ducked her head and slipped inside, grateful the scout had kept a spot for her regardless of whether she'd come.

The lobby smelled like disinfectant and coffee. Too clean. Too bright. She suddenly felt painfully aware of how out of place she looked among the other girls who were gathered there looking polished, dressed carefully, some whispering with parents at their side.

Her stomach slightly twisted.

A staff member soon approached her, offering a tight smile. “You’ll need to remove your hoodie. Here.”

They handed her a plain white t-shirt.

Ayoung didn’t argue and took the t-shirt. She just nodded and headed for the restroom, locking herself into a stall. She changed quickly, then lingered at the sink, splashing water on her wrists, dabbing at her neck, scrubbing her hands until the cigarette smell faded just enough to be tolerable.

She caught her reflection in the mirror.

Pale. Tired. Still… somewhat pretty, fortunately.

She scoffed quietly. Pretty doesn’t pay rent.

When she stepped back out, the staff barely spared her a glance. “This way.”

Ayoung was guided into a waiting room where a the participants were waiting. The room was small and had a few chairs around the walls. She sat down and waited, a million thoughts running through her head. 

One of the staff called out a name.

“Miss Takatsuki Mina?”

Ayoung’s head snapped up instinctively.

A tall pink haired girl approached from beside her. Ayoung recognized her immedietely. So, that's her name. The girl walked towards the staff suddenly making eye contact with her. 

Oh god, this is so humiliating...Is she auditioning as well? Ayoung thought, as she instinctively turned her head trying to conceal her face, remembering her embarassing words from the previous day, but she knew she had already been seen. 

The girl from the convenience store stepped forward, posture straight, expression composed. The staff had butchered her surname, vowels awkward and off.

Mina’s jaw tightened.

“I already said,” she corrected calmly, “just Mina is fine. Or Cho Mina.”

The staff blinked, flustered. “Ah—yes. Sorry.”

Mina nodded once and moved past them, disappearing into another room.

Ayoung looked up again quickly, heart beating too fast. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding her breath.

Don’t think about her. Worry about your audition first.

“Next. Seo Ayoung,” called out a staff member from the audition room. 

She stepped forward and walked into the room, pulse roaring in her ears.

The audition room was smaller than she expected. Bare walls. A speaker in the corner. Three judges seated behind a table, expressions neutral, unreadable.

She didn’t see the masked judge at first.

Only later—when she was already standing in place, microphone cool in her palm—did she notice someone sitting behind the tinted glass wall to the side. A silhouette. Tall. Still.

Watching.

“One song,” one of the judges said. “We’ll start with something light and easy. Upbeat.”

Ayoung swallowed.

The staff handed her a song sheet—an energetic bubbly track, soft yet high, the kind that demanded confidence and charisma.

She despised cute concepts.

But she nodded anyway.

She sang.

Technically, she did fine. She sang the first verse and chorus of the song, and hit the notes perfectly. Her voice was steady, husky but controlled. But the room stayed cold. Her body stayed stiff. The lyrics felt hollow in her mouth, like borrowed words that didn’t belong to her.

One of the judges took notes of something, looking unimpressed, then asked, "Do you have any experience in dance?" 

Of course they would ask about something she had no practice for. 

"No."

"We'll play a beat for you then and assess your sense of rhythm. You may freestyle or move to the beat as you will."

The beat started.

She moved.

Awkward. Uneven. She followed the rhythm, but there was no proper flow in it. No instinct. Just survival.

When it ended, silence stretched across the room.

She heard the judges murmuring things like “Her range isn’t suited for that concept” or "we could still consider her for modelling". 

“Thank you,” a judge said politely. “That will be it.”

Ayoung bowed, her chest tight.

That’s it. I knew it. 

Just as she was about to step out, she saw from the corner of her eye, the person behind the tinted glass immedietly stand up and say something into their headphones, when suddenly one of the judges called out. 

"Wait." 

Ayoung looked up.

The judge hesitated, then said, “One more thing. Sing something you’re comfortable with.”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“Your choice.”

Behind the glass, the silhouette shifted.

Ayoung walked back in slowly, heart pounding.

She took a moment and thought deep and hard to pick a song, until one popped up into her head.

She started to sing a song she used to sing all the time as a child, a song from the early 2000s.

Her mother’s favorite.

A gentle but difficult melody. Low. Warm. The kind of song you sang at night, sitting on the floor of a small apartment, practicing over and over until your throat ached—because maybe, if you sang it perfectly, your mother would smile and forget to tell you to study and praise you for once.

Her voice cracked on the first line.

Then it steadied.

This time, she didn’t force it. She let it sink into her chest, into memory, into everything she’d lost. The room felt different—quieter. Heavier.

One judge stopped writing.

When she finished, no one spoke for a moment.

“Thank you,” the head judge finally said. 

No praise. No rejection.

Just professional distance.

Ayoung bowed anxiously once again and left.

Three days passed. There was still a few more days till she got evicted. She really did not have any money left to buy herself time. Then one evening the call came.

She stared at her phone for a long moment before answering.

“Seo Ayoung,” the voice said, “You have passed the first audition. Please come for the second evaluation the day after tomorrow.”

Her knees nearly gave out.

As she hung up, she let out a deep sigh of relief she didn't realise she was holding.

Thank god...Oh thank god....One more round and I'll finally get a job and a life out of this dump...

Ayoung sat up and walked to her window, thinking about the person behind the glass at the audition room. Was it because of them that she didn't get rejected? Regardless of what the answer was, Ayoung was greatful she made it through the first round. 

She walked back feeling happy and suddenly enthusiastic about passing, and immediately grabbed her phone to search about how second rounds of auditions usually go, and after an hour or so, she came to the conclusion she needed to be able to dance if she wanted to get accepted. 

She suddenly cringed at the though of her awkwardly moving to the beat at the audition, so she decided she would practice. 

That night Ayoung stayed up, and practiced the choruses of every popular K-pop song she knew infront of her small rusty mirror, determined and motivated more than ever to pass the second round and get her life repaired.