#rkaug16eval

she thought she knew what she wanted. when it came to her career, tiffany always knew.

whether she lived in denial of it or not, there was a part of her that clung to the dream of being a singer. but she’s been wavering, her resolve is dwindling, and she’s been falling, falling, falling down the more she thinks about it.

perhaps her father had a point all along.

her sister needed her. her family needed her.

this time, it was leo’s turn and cassie wasn’t too far behind.

this time, she wasn’t too far behind.

ryan noticed signs of it first— signs as in, he could hear cassie yelling at ‘code red’ level, a phrase that he picked up early when he and cassie got together and a fact that made tiffany proud because she coached him through it as leo griped and groaned that it was unnecessary ( but that was mostly because he didn’t think ryan would last against their sister ). signs, as in, leo was no longer coming over just to visit emily and eat dinner with them when he was in town for business. signs, as in the way tiffany could see how bloodshot his eyes were every time they video chatted. they were too alike, too stubborn, and tiffany thinks it’s ironic that he isn’t a hardheaded leo like she is but he is still leo.

if she’s falling, he’s the one spiraling and crashing.

it’s a ripple, crests that overwhelm the rest of them, even cheolwoo, who’s too sweet, too kind to complain and say anything but the worry lies in the furrow of his brows and the dullness of a once luminous expression. he’s a puppy with his tail between his legs and she doesn’t know how to help him either.

“you recently renewed your contract.”

“six months have already passed, is that recent?”

it’s a fourth of her contract, to be exact. he rolls his eyes and tiffany can’t help laughing. they hadn’t been this comfortable around this time two years ago but there they were. anyone could see it, the changes in her since she started there and she was grateful, she truly was. still, the moments she wondered if she ought to be there lingered despite her newfound resolve when she did renew her contract to stay.

six months and she was still static in terms of productive success. obviously, tiffany could claim the mga coach position as her newest achievement but that was bittersweet. it is even now and she tries not to grimace at the thought.

“are you sad? a year and a half left with me and my problematic emotional singing.” he arches a brow and she grins, the moment already forgotten as she laughs with him. the truth is, he pushed her ( and no, he’s not a pusher like in mean girls, despite all the movie references she loves to make ) and so did hyunjae.

“how do you feel about your progress?”

“it’s … somewhat acceptable,” definite emphasis on acceptable and she knows the subtle change in his features is a sign for her to ‘oh please go on’ but she can’t think of what exactly to say other than that. “i could always do better— i can do better. that’s what i mean.”

but she doesn’t sound quite so sure. “i can dance better than yesterday. sing better. little accomplishments like that, but by no means do i think i’m done. i don’t ever want to be. it’d be a lie to say i don’t want to debut one day soon or just … i don’t know, begin the process? to be honest with you, i don’t know what the process is. trial groups? collaborations? more competitions? whatever it is, i want to debut. i do, but if i can only do so because i say i’m one hundred percent the best i can absolutely be, then i never will. i don’t want to reach my greatest potential and never improve from there.”

her glasses slip ever so slightly along the bridge of her nose and she nudges them back into place with a soft hum, a brief pause as she thinks of how best to word this, how to approach this — too often was she the type that spoke for days and yet didn’t say anything at all. “as an idol, we’d have constant criticism so i’d want to be the type that listens. oh— to the constructive criticism, i mean, so things like that. it’s similar to how i could prepare my team all i want. they can practice on a borrowed stage i arrange for them but it won’t be the same as performing on the mnet stage live and, each time, you have to take something new from it once you do. you can’t just be complacent. i don’t want that. for anyone and especially for myself. in a roundabout way, i guess i’m saying that i’m actually proud of my progress, don’t get me wrong, but i’m going to make the most of the rest of my time here. it just wouldn’t feel right not to.”

for a second, she’s convinced herself. for a second, she forgets about leo and cassie and everything that’s going on, all the secrets she doesn’t know, all the things unsaid as words endlessly spill from her lips.

“are you confident you can do all of that?” 

“i’m confident that i’ll put my all into doing my best. i’m confident in my voice and even my acting. i’m confident that if there was any single career i could choose, it’d be this and that’s why i’m here. mostly, i’m confident that i’m more than stubborn enough to do it.”

“that, i can agree with.”

“hey!”

but she can’t argue that he’s wrong.

“what about your weaknesses? let’s go over those.”

“so how much time do you have today? are you sure you have enough time for that question?” she laughs but he doesn’t this time and tiffany knows she should be more serious. “okay, okay, so first, dancing. i think it’ll always be a weakness of mine but that’s why i practice it the most after the day ends. i won’t turn down help when it comes to dancing because i know that’s where i have the most room to improve but that’s what makes it worthwhile: the idea that i could turn a weakness into a strength if i work hard enough and that’s where my stubbornness comes in. that could be a weakness too but i say it’s been a strength while i’ve been here. everyone thinks about it at least once, right? a moment of weakness, for lack of a better phrase, but those of us who are still here. we’re stubborn. determined, loyal, and if it doesn’t pay off in terms of becoming an idol, at least we know we didn’t give up.

that reminds me, i’m confident that i can motivate well? i said before that i wondered why i got chosen as a kt coach but i like to think i can motivate others and maybe that’s a large part of why. i’d love to take a leadership position again. i was upset after the mgas but i have to redeem myself. i still believe in the team i had. that’s why yuri made it into kt, isn’t it? because my team was good. i refuse to accept otherwise. the other teams might’ve performed better but that doesn’t mean my team didn’t do well. who they are, that’s not a weakness so i want to gather strength from that.” another pause and she bluntly adds, “i’m rambling.”

“when aren’t you, ms. hwang?”

they laugh together this time and tiffany is glad for the break in seriousness, the break from her own monologue, even though the facts are the opposite. there was once a time she didn’t speak much at all during training, or to him for that matter but they’ve moved past it. she trusts him again and he believes in her all the same. but here comes the question that she’s been dreading.

“what do you think about your future with kt? what do you want? that’s the main point of this so tell me.”

if she could, she’d blurt out that she doesn’t know. the truth slips out unceremoniously, a spur of the moment bout of utter and pure honesty. “everything.”

it sounds about right now that she thinks of it.

she wants to sing, she wants to act, she wants to lead, she wants to compose and write lyrics. she wants to make her father proud, she wants her mother to see her from heaven and hear her singing on stage. but she also wants to go home. she wants to be there for her siblings, for emily. she wants it all and even though she warns newly signed trainees of the sacrifices one makes, nearly three years later, she still isn’t ready to accept them all quite yet.

staying on her seat as other trainees scatter out of the room, she waits until the room is completely empty except for her and her trainer. clicking her pen and putting it inside her pencil case, she rises from her seat and beelines for the teacher. “min-seonsaeng, can i talk to you for a second?” giving her a small smile, the young rapper waits for a response. it’s hard not to overthink at times where she’s required to reflect over her growth and achievements. a nagging thought at the back of her mind always tells her that she’s not accomplishing enough. as much as that is a fuel, it also gets her down at times.

“yeah seungmi, what’s up?” the teacher looks at her with a broad smile, his snapback on backwards. lyric writing is something she’s taken for a while alongside her rap classes, hoping to wow everyone with her ability to write impressively. classes are always interesting and challenging, and she cannot express in words how grateful she is to have coach min as her guide.

“can i do the reflection with you? this month’s evaluation is a bit different, as you probably know already... and i feel like you’ll be a great listener to my current train of thoughts.” small smile on the young female’s face, she folds her arms on the table. in her head, there are already a few questions she’d like to ask, and a few ideas she’d like to propose.

“of course. you can start talking and i’ll listen to what you have to say first.” with an encouraging nod, the older woman tells her to begin. a torrent of thoughts quickly fill her mind and she finds it hard to sort everything into coherent pieces of information she can easily break down. humming, she scratches the side of her cheeks.

“so far i feel like kt has been a great decision i took. training here has allowed me to improve in a lot of skill areas, and i will never forget how thankful i feel right now. there are times when i thought i should give up, but i realized that giving up in the middle will only make me a quitter.

the staff asked us to tell our coaches how we envision our future with the company. i say, i can imagine myself as an in-house producer. i know it sounds silly, but i’ve been having tons of fun writing lyrics lately, and i hope to be able to use all the midi recorders and learn about chord progressions in the future. that’s why i hope i can get your insight on this coach min.”

a proud smile blooms on the older female’s face, and the rapper can’t help but smile along. no matter how much she improves in dancing and singing, her passion rests within the magics of writing and creating. you can give her the choice of being a great dancer or a slightly better lyricist than she already is, and she’d pick the creation over the expertise.

“with your progress so far, i can see producing becoming one of your fortes. it’s still a long way though, and i hope you’ll stay long enough with the company to see your dreams come true. for now, i feel like you’ll need to put a hundred percent to your idol training and make sure you’re not well behind others. won’t want a rapper be ashamed in front of the public won’t we?”

Funny how he was fine with performing on stages in front of thousands of eyes and just as many cameras, how he could dance his heart out for company staff or stand in a recording booth with a producer tearing his lack of vocal ability apart, and yet, the thought of sitting down for an actual conversation with one of the coaches he trained under every day absolutely terrified him.

“Can we talk now?” He asked reluctantly, after a one-on-one dance practice with his favorite coach, a man named Junsu, whom Ricky had grown quite attached to since his first day at Nova. He was tall, muscled, and always looked somewhat disheveled in a way that made him appear intimidating and unpredictable, like something out of an action movie. He was no nonsense, and was one of the very few coaches who still talked to Ricky as if he was human, a young adult willing to learn and grow, and not as if he were a robot with a heart of tin or a child in need of constant coddling. Ricky could trust Junsu to be honest, straightforward, but without growing frustrated with the way the trainee’s insecurities translated into off days of having to do the same thing over and over again. He knew how to bring out the best of Ricky’s skills, knew how to nudge him toward the best of his abilities, without cracking an invisible whip at his back with every misstep.

“Sure,” Junsu answered easily, shutting the room’s speaker system off and dabbing the towel hanging on his shoulder across his shining brow. At the look on Ricky’s face, he added, with the slightest tinge of amusement, “We’ll have to do it eventually, Ricky.”

“I know, I just...”

“It’s no big deal. You’re overthinking it.” Like you do when you dance, was the unspoken implication behind his words, the same thing he often scolded Ricky for during all their one-on-one training sessions.

Junsu knelt until he was sitting cross-legged against one of the mirrorless walls and Ricky sat a couple feet across from him, wringing his half-empty water bottle nervously.

“Where do you want to start?”

Ricky took a breath, glanced up at his coach with a pleading look that garnered a light chuckle from the man, who casually reached for his own water bottle.

“Okay, I’ll start then. How’ve you been doing lately?”

“Seriously?”

Another laugh, because the distraught expression on Ricky’s face was almost entirely comical.

“Just talk to me like you talk to Dr. Oh.”

“I hate talking to Dr. Oh.”

“Okay, then talk to me like you talk to the other trainees.”

“Well...I don’t...Really,” he confessed, embarrassment tinging his cheeks with a hint of pink, his eyes averting to the dented plastic between his fingertips. Junsu urged him to continue with the slight nod of his head, pleasantly surprised at the sudden honesty coming from the young trainee.

“It’s just...Since the MGAs...Maybe even before that...I don’t know, it doesn’t feel like I’m very close with anyone anymore. It feels like everyone...Nevermind, it’s stupid.”

“What’s stupid?”

“I...” he hesitated, hating the way the thoughts that had plagued him for ages sounded out loud, “It feels like they all hate me. And not just the other Nova trainees, just everyone. It feels like I let everyone down.”

“At the MGAs?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled sheepishly, knowing how ridiculous it sounded.

“But you won.”

“I know, but-” he paused to check his frustration with himself, with his own nonsensical thoughts, “Everyone was so upset about Seokjin hyung, and everyone was fighting, and even my friends were mad. I don’t really have friends outside of Nova anymore, but I found out even they hate me. I don’t know how to be like Seokjin hyung.”

“Why do you want to be like Seokjin-ssi?”

“Everyone likes him so much and he didn’t even do anything. He left and then he came back and sang and we won because of him--”

“You won because of the whole team, Ricky. Yourself included.”

“It doesn’t feel like that.”

“Would you have felt better if you hadn’t won?”

Ricky hesitated, almost shook his head, then shrugged instead.

“You don’t know?”

“People wouldn’t have been upset.”

“What about your fans? I’m sure they would have been upset if you didn’t win.”

“I don’t have any fans-”

Junsu sighed, a clear sign that he disagreed entirely with Ricky’s doubts.

“Nova’s fans, then.”

“It feels like I let them down too. Because it felt like a scandal.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, though.”

“It feels like I did. It feels like I did everything wrong.”

“Listen, I’ve seen the MYNAME kids go through much worse for doing much less. It’s something you’re going to have to get used to in this industry. And you’re lucky that you’ve had so much experience with it early on. When you debut, it’s going to be experience that you share with your group members, and these things are a lot easier to get through when you don’t feel like you’re on your own.”

Ricky’s lips pursed in a thoughtful pout, his eyes scanning the grain of a nearby freshly-waxed floorboard and the way it had been interrupted by the slate gray scuff of someone’s brand new sneakers.

“Do you feel like that now? Like you’re on your own?”

Yes, he wanted to answer automatically.

“I have Huidong hyung, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I do.”

“But you don’t feel like you can share in this experience with him?”

“It’d be burdensome for him.”

“You’re thinking ‘it’s not his problem, it’s mine’, right?”

Another beat of hesitation from Ricky, who wasn’t sure, based on Junsu’s tone, whether such a thought was right or wrong.

“But if you’re friends, I’m sure he’d be willing to lend you an ear at the very least,” a brief pause ensued as Junsu adjusted his position, stretching out his right leg in front of him, “I’m not always going to see the world the same as you do, Ricky. I’m an old man-”

“So is Huidong hyung,” Ricky retorted jokingly, garnering a laugh from Junsu and even the slightest of timid smiles from the trainee.

“Right, but he’s training alongside you, so your perspectives are more similar. If things like this are troubling you, you have to share them with the people around you. Let them help.”

“I guess…”

Junsu tugged the towel off his shoulder and flicked it lightly at Ricky’s shoulder.

“Yah, don’t ‘I guess’ me. Respect your elders,” but his tone suggested nothing but a sort of mentor’s playfulness that Ricky never saw from any of the other coaches but Junsu, “Well what about your training then? Do you think you’ve made any progress?”

“Well, yeah...at least I hope so.”

“Your dancing has definitely improved, I can tell you that much.”

“It’s what I feel most confident in. That and cameras. I’m not that great at anything else.”

“You’re good with scripts, your improvisation techniques have improved.”

“But I mean, performing stuff. I’m still not that great of a singer…”

“Singing, from what I know, which is only so much (I only ever worked as a backup dancer for a reason), requires confidence. It’s not just a melody and a harmony and a rhythm. It’s just like dancing. It’s just like any aspect of performance, really. You dance well because you know you dance well, and it shows. Even if you overthink it,” punctuated with a pointed glance in Ricky’s direction, “You let your natural instincts to do well at it shine through. You’ve just got apply that to your singing.”

“But it comes so naturally to other people. And they get so frustrated with me in the recording booth…”

“You weren’t a born singer, and maybe you’ll never be a lead vocalist, but you can carry a tune and you’ve got all the right resources to get better. You’ve been at the forefront of this company a lot lately, and they wouldn’t let that happen if they didn’t see absolute talent in you. Nobody wants someone untalented representing their business.”

“I always worry...Because...There are more talented people than me-”

“There are, in some ways, yes. And the truth is there is always going to be someone who does something better than you. That’s just a fact of life. But you’re a natural in front of a camera. You memorize lines and choreography and music at the drop of a hat. You’ve had industry experience ingrained in you since you were a child. You’re not an incredible vocalist or rapper, but you’re not horrible at either. Even in this business, where all anyone does is compete, it’s a matter of being the best you you can be, not the best someone else. That’s what you need to focus on. That’s how you see the greatest improvement in yourself.”

“I just want to be able to make people happy...with what I do…”

“And you can’t do that until you’re happy with what you do. Trust me.”

Ricky found himself rendered silent, speechless, the grain of the wood floors unfocused compared to the images of his coach’s words that kept replaying in his head over and over again, making too much sense for him to discard or ignore.

“And if recent events are anything to go by, I’m sure the company must have great things planned for you, and if I’m wrong, I owe you a meal,” said with the same casual dry humor Junsu was notorious for, “But I’m not. I’ve seen trainees come and go for nearly a decade now, and they don’t usually put the kids they don’t have faith in in the spotlight. Nova doesn’t invest valuable resources in a face they haven’t put serious stock in, alright? Cheer up, Changhyun.”

He leaned forward to ruffle Ricky’s hair, pulling the trainee’s gaze up from the floor.

“But what about you? Regardless of how Bin-nim sees it, what do you think your future at Nova looks like?”

It’d be a massive question for anyone in Ricky’s position, for any hopeful trainee watching days tick by in anticipation of a debut without any signs of whether or not that debut was ever actually going to happen.

“I just want to debut,” he answers simply, timidly, after yet another beat of hesitation, already embarrassed at an answer that feels pitiful and childish rolling off his tongue, “I want to debut and be successful and happy and make other people happy with my performances. I want to be...the best I can be...I don’t want to be forgotten. I want people to remember me as someone great. As someone who made their lives better. But all I know how to do is sing and dance and act for cameras so...So this is the only way I know how. I don’t want to do anything else.”

“And you love it, right?”

A fervent nod from Ricky, the only sure answer he felt totally confident in since they’d started their talk.

Wendy has just arrived to training after settling her tuition fees for the upcoming Fall semester at school. As she approaches the recording studio where Seunghee seonsaengnim’s office is, a thousand questions race through Wendy’s mind. How do these kinds of evaluations go? What is she supposed to say? How honest is she allowed to be without it being held against her? It’s almost like coming unprepared for an exam or competing without having trained enough. No… It’s not that. It’s almost like playing a chess game while being blindfolded. And if there’s anything Wendy hates, it’s not knowing what to expect. After all, this is the strictest of all her trainers at Nova so far, yet probably the one who knows her best.

She raps at the door three times. “Seunghee seonsaengnim?” she whispers before she lets the door creak gently and lets herself in. The short, stern-looking lady smile is uncharacteristically gentle as she beckons Wendy to enter. Who is this woman and what did she do with Seunghee seonsaengnim? Wendy takes the seat in front of her vocal trainer, whose steely gaze pierces straight into her soul. Wendy’s hands twitch as she hears her heart pounding.

"You're still pretty new here, what do you want to get out of Nova? When you picture yourself debuting, what does it look like? We want to help you, after all."   

Wendy blinks. She wasn’t expecting Seunghee seonsaengnim to go straight to the point. But then again, she shouldn’t have been surprised, considering the trainer’s no-nonsense attitude in class. This is pretty easy to answer. Wendy’s shoulders relax a little, but she still maintains her posture. After all, she is still in her coach’s office.

“I would like to become an artist similar to Kim Jongwan,” she replies, before she can stop herself. “I want to be able to tell a story to the world. I’d love to be able to touch and change someone’s life for the better the way Nell’s music helped me through a rough period in my life.”

Seunghee seonsaengnim nods at that. Wendy internally cringes. She just opened a door to them prying into her past. Now, she wonders if she should have even said anything at all.

“Yes, as I heard. You used to skate competitively, and with the Winter Olympics coming up… Do you miss it?”

Wendy will never say this outloud, but she’s still haunted by all those what ifs. A dream forcibly taken from her hands, a life that suddenly spiralled out of her control… All she had wanted back then was to be an Olympic superstar who can tell her story to the world. She was supposed to be the future of Korean skating… Kim Yuna’s heir-apparent.

There are dreams that cannot be.

“Of course there are days I miss it, but I must put that completely behind me now,” she sighs, trying to keep the bitterness off her voice. “After all, there isn’t any use going back to change things now, is there?”

Seunghee seonsaengnim writes something on her clipboard before turning to Wendy again. “I can confirm you already have strong singing skills, and you’re determined to improve on that even more. You’ve been attentive and putting into practice what you learned from both composing and lyric-writing workshops with a diligence we’d like to see from our trainees… but…”

“I need to work on everything else, right?”

“At least we’re on the same page here. Your dance instructors say you know how to follow choreography and interpret it, which is probably from your skating training, but when left to improvise, you’re a fish out of water. Charisma… it could use a little more improvement. You know how to draw people’s attention when you’re alone, but you tend to fade out when surrounded by others—except when it’s your turn to sing. As for rapping… I don’t need to tell you that you need to at least try working on that some more, do I?”

Wendy sighs. She knows she shouldn’t be upset since Seunghee seonsaengnim is just telling it like it is.

“The new term is starting next week, isn’t it? How were your grades affected by the sudden change in lifestyle?”

Wendy frowns at her vocal instructor. She definitely wasn’t expecting this question. Then again, she sees her instructor’s eyes on the school forms in Wendy’s hands. She tries not to groan as she swallows the bitterness in her throat as her grades from the spring term glare back at her.

“I ranked fifth in my year for my department,” Wendy sighs, staring at her vocal instructor. “I know it’s not bad, but my professors all told me that I could have ranked first if I hadn’t become a trainee. I haven’t lost my scholarship yet, since I managed to maintain the average I need… but… I’m just scared…”

“Of what?”

“Of losing it all. I already lost my skating dream. I can’t afford to lose everything else. My high grades, my scholarship, my spot here at Nova… I want to do everything, but it always feels like I always have to choose!”

Wendy is suddenly aware that she is on her feet, her voice has risen to a scream, and that tears are streaming down her face. She has never ranked below tenth in school before, and she refuses to entertain the possibility of that happening because she doesn’t have enough time for extra studying and after-school activities anymore. “I’m sorry,” she whispers with her head down as she sits down again.

Seunghee seonsaengnim simply hands her a tissue, which she quietly accepts. “Listen.” Wendy looks up, taking note of the steely tone in her instructor’s voice, which is only present when she’s giving serious advice.

“Fifth place in your entire department is impressive, for someone who has to study and train at the same time. Your diligence in training hasn’t been affected by being a full-time student, except on testing days, when you skipped training in order to study. An intelligent, educated idol is more likely to earn favor with the public, and dropping out is obviously not an option for you,” she continues. “I hope you scheduled your classes in a way that you can get as much training in as possible without affecting your studies.”

Wendy says nothing as her tears somewhat subside. When she calms down, Seunghee seonsaengnim asks, “How much do you want this?”

She should have seen that question coming, but somehow, she’s still thrown off as it’s asked so bluntly. She’s not one of those who’ve wanted to be an idol ever since she could walk or talk. She’s entertained the idea, but never in her wildest dreams did she think she could actually make it. Fate must have been playing a joke on her when Team Nova actually won the MGAs.

“I want it enough to do my best in something I made a commitment to,” she replies. It’s the safest, yet closest to honest answer she can give. After all, Wendy herself has no idea how far she’d go just to reach for this dream. She’s already had her dreams ripped away from her once, and she wouldn’t be surprised if it can happen again.

“You do realize that the only way all this can end is when you stop fighting for it, right, Wendy?” Seunghee seonsaengnim asks, staring straight into her eyes. Wendy fights back a shudder, refraining from putting her walls back up. After all, this might be the only chance she could get for honest feedback and advice as to how she should proceed.

Wendy tries not to react as she realizes that this is the first time Seunghee seonsaengnim called her by her English name rather than her Korean one. This is probably her best chance to ask any questions, so she decides to start off with the one that has been bothering her since the MGAs.

“I just genuinely wonder what CEO Hyun Bin saw in me at the MGAs,” she says, finally mustering the courage to speak up. “Of course, I’m grateful and flattered that he and Ricky oppa chose me to be part of Team Nova… but what did he see in me? I mean... I’m not the best vocalist there is. I was probably the only unattractive member of Team Nova. My dancing is average, at best. And… I’m not even sure if I would have gotten a contract offer if Team Nova didn’t win the competition.”

Seunghee seonsaengnim’s face changes from impassivity to confusion to a flash of some emotion Wendy doesn’t understand, before reverting to its default stoic state in less than a minute.

“Nova only invests in people that Hyun Bin sees potential in,” Seunghee seonsaengnim starts. Wendy almost wants to butt in to ask what they were inhaling when she auditioned at the MGAs. After all, she wasn’t the most skilled vocalist in their team, let alone the entire competition. “I can see the potential he saw in you. You deserve to be here, Wendy, there’s no doubt about that. People wouldn’t have voted for you if you don’t. You’ve exceeded expectations before, this isn’t the time to start falling short, Wendy. ”

Wendy nods, not completely convinced but the tone in Seunghee seonsaengnim’s voice says she refuses to discuss the topic any further.

“Are you happy here?”

“I’m fine,” Wendy says almost robotically. She can’t give off the impression that she isn’t content to be here. She’s only been here for two months.

Seunghee seonsaengnim simply stares back at her. “You’re not being completely honest with me, are you?”

Shit.

Fatigue, stress, and all these expectations and responsibilities are beginning to catch up to her. It doesn’t help that all the other trainees she encounters look so dead inside. It’s as if they have become empty shells of what they once were, almost as if they have forgotten what it’s like to be happy. This negativity is slowly catching up to Wendy, and she refuses to let it win any more than it has.

As Seunghee seonsaengnim stares at her, Wendy almost feels as if the older woman is trying to enter her mind. There’s no way she can tell her vocal coach that she refuses to become the zombie some of the other trainees are beginning to turn into.

“It… It’s not something I can explain just yet,” Wendy sighs as Seunghee seonsaengnim clears her throat. “Maybe… I’m still just adjusting to living the trainee life.”

Seunghee seonsaengnim nods, and Wendy hopes she’ll take it for what it is. “We need you to be as fully committed to this as possible in order to fulfill it. Your eyes tell me you have passion and dedication in all that you do. It takes commitment and willingness on your part to keep that passion alive. Don’t let anyone else extinguish that fire in you… Nothing else should distract you from your goals.”

When Seunghee seonsaengnim waves her hand, Wendy takes that as a sign she is dismissed and can go now. As Wendy bows and takes her leave, Seunghee seonsaengnim calls out, “I’m not certain how much help this will be, but if anything, the pace you’re adjusting to everything and how you’re going about this is just fine, Seungwan.”

It’s not necessarily a pat on the back, but at least she feels more assured of her choices now than she had been ever since she signed that contract. Wendy certainly wasn’t expecting to get some assurance from her instructor. She was almost expecting them to highlight her weaknesses. However, this is probably the only time she can be honest, and for some reason, she’s relieved she got some things out of the way. She smiles at her instructor before handing her the small box of candy she brought as a token of appreciation for her time.