Daylight (2)

Before the clean opening punch had even finished rattling my teeth loose, Lee Doha was already rolling into follow-up damage.

At a rate I'd never seen from him before.

"Hajin, you've got a wide vocal range, and you're good at belting. Maybe it's your projection, but rather than pounding high notes non-stop, your tone's way more appealing when the melody moves dynamically and you shift freely between chest and head voice. Or, since your rhythm's solid, you also bring out the groove on mid-to-low melodies where the beat has to loosen up."

"Wait, hang on."

"Daylight's chorus A part starts on high notes and stays on high notes. A part like that goes better with guys who have that clear light tone and can hit them without straining, or with singers who can push straight through with high-register projection. On our team, that's Haru or Siwoo-hyung. I think you'd do better on the B part that comes right after A. It'd fit your singing style more, too."

…This guy's better than the System?

Excuse me?

Wish it'd stop reading my thoughts. But Lee Doha's rapid-fire commentary wasn't done yet.

"You said you got the third-verse ad-lib. If I'd been the one splitting the parts, I'd have handed the ad-lib to someone else and given you the main third-verse chorus part instead. Or had you stacking harmonies on the chorus. The way the song's built, verse three has to push through with power and conviction — and you've got the volume and the projection for it. But for your ad-lib to work, whoever's on the main chorus has to sing as strong as you do — and as far as I know, no one in Feather-class projects at that level. Meaning your ad-lib could end up swallowing them. Also—"

"Got it! I get it, so stop hitting me, punk."

"……? I never hit you."

I mean my mental state, bruised from getting battered by your words. True to being a rapper — the enunciation, the delivery, chef's kiss.

Any more of this and the last thread of sanity I was clinging to felt like it'd snap. I put one hand up at Lee Doha in a settle-down gesture and pressed the other hard against my throbbing temple.

"Telling me I can't handle my own parts is basically hitting me, though."

"No? That's completely different."

Lee Doha scratched the back of his neck. That was his gesture right before landing a big one. I threw my guard up on instinct.

"Hajin, you."

"Yeah, hit me. I'm ready."

"You divided the guys' parts first again, didn't you? Gave them what they could do best."

"……"

…My guard dropped. Because he was right.

"I've been noticing since the last month-end evaluation — you always take what's left over. After you've handed the others the parts they can do best. The parts they can't do, or can't handle."

"……"

"I don't know if that's exactly what Seo Taeil-sunbaenim meant by 'you didn't reach for it'… but from where I'm standing, you don't look like you have the drive either. Why don't you take the parts you'd do best on? It's not like you don't know your own stats."

"…I could, y'know. Right now it seems like you know me better than I do."

"No. From where I'm standing, you read people as well as the guys in New Talent Development do. You clock them. And the same you who put me on dance break, dead certain I could handle it — that guy doesn't know his own ability? Doesn't add up."

Lee Doha looked at me with a face full of conviction. But what was this guy so fired up about. I felt like running. Lee Doha kept dragging out something inside me I wasn't ready to face, and it was making me uncomfortable.

"…It's just, I'm curious."

"……"

"Whether you're confident or you're not. Whether you actually want it or you don't."

At me, lost for words, Lee Doha's counter came flying.

"Whether you actually want to debut."

But that question — I couldn't answer it, right through to the end.

---

In life, when is the first moment a person tastes defeat?

—Hajin got first again? He doesn't even go to cram school, how does he pull that off?

—Kid's good at sports too. Sports day, last leg of the relay, Hajin turned it around.

Might sound obnoxious to say, but from young I was someone who'd hardly ever known the word 'defeat.'

The kid who, despite the family being broke, did above average at everything. Athletic ability, studies, and even the little stuff — flipping jeon at holidays, playing hwatu with the grown-ups.

Most things, I did better than my peers, pulled off better, achieved better.

—Mom, they said I passed the audition.

Getting the acceptance call from my first agency as a trainee hadn't shocked me much either — deep down, I'd known I'd get in. Happy, sure — but not surprised. Nothing new. For most things I set out to do, I generally did fine.

When you succeed at that much at that young an age—

And when a smart kid figures out for himself that he's good — you know what happens?

—Hajin, you're not practicing?

—Guess I should…. Ugh, don't want to.

—Hey, leave him. He doesn't practice once he sees a shot at pulling it off.

Laziness from tasks too easy for his ability.

—Come on. Why can't you guys do this. If this is how it's gonna go, I might as well do it alone.

—…Do you have to say it like that?

—Ha…. Then do it better. If you're worse than me after one day of practice, then what. You want to tank the whole thing, is that it?

No consideration for the ones whose ability didn't match his.

—Hey, Kang Hajin. You the only sharp one? Only think about yourself? You're always the only one who's right, huh?

—Am I wrong, though? Honestly, I'm right. Maybe worry about doing your own job better, sunbae.

Conceit and arrogance about himself.

—Third at the month-end? Little more effort and you could've hit first. Shame.

—Come on, Mom. I couldn't even practice much this time — I was studying for exams too. This is good given all that. Can't you just say I did well?

A hunger for recognition, from being underestimated.

And on top of all of it, self-rationalization.

I can say for certain — it wasn't that I hadn't worked hard every step of the way. Just—

—Hajin… feels like you could do better, so why do you always stop at just-enough?

I always stopped at the level I 'could pull off.' To leave myself somewhere to run when the results turned out bad.

—Kang Hajin got bumped from the debut lineup again.

—Kid seems good, though — why does he keep getting bumped?

—Guys hungrier than him? One or two, in this place?

So the moment 'just-enough' stopped being enough, I ran.

Because I was too scared of the version of me that would shatter after going all in. Because I didn't want a failure where I'd poured everything I had into it.

—Mom, sometimes I—

—……

—I'm scared of my nothing-special future. That you'll be disappointed.

Because I didn't want to let down parents who — despite never having it easy — poured everything into cheering their kids on.

—If you believe in me this much and I still can't make something of it, then it's genuinely all on me, right?

—……

—So I'll just do something else. Not what might work — what I'm good at.

Even after quitting as a trainee and taking a different path, I thought back to those days from time to time.

—If I hadn't given up back then and had seen it all the way through, would something have been different?

—If I got sent back to that time, could I put everything on the line and go for it?

Only then did the me who — before the regression — had lost all drive and just cycled through self-criticism finally get it. Why I couldn't forget that moment. Why, at every point of failure, I kept coming back to it.

That day had been my first time running.

And my first defeat — one even I hadn't recognized.

'And now?'

Drifting above those old memories, I asked myself.

Was I, right now, running again?

---

The day of the mentor evaluation dawned.

"Kangha-hyung. What're you thinking about."

"Huh?"

"What's up with you today, keep spacing out?"

Snapped back by Kim Wonho tapping my back, I shook my head, telling him it was nothing.

"Bit much 'deposed crown prince mourning his lost kingdom' for nothing, though."

The specificity of the reference got a laugh out of me.

"Thanks for the promotion — deposed crown prince, no less."

"Honestly, if we're going on looks, Eunchan fits it better than you."

"Isn't he more the northern grand duke type? The one who's falsely rumored to be a tyrant, but turns out to be warm to his woman."

"…Nothing hyung just said made sense to me except 'warm to his woman.'"

Ah, right. What was I saying to a muggle.

"Nothing. Didn't sleep well, guess I zoned out."

I hadn't actually slept well, so I brushed it off with that and clapped Kim Wonho's shoulder.

"You prepped alright?"

"Me? I mean…. Just worked hard. Hyung told me to."

"Think you can beat Lee Yugeon?"

"Dunno. Him and me both, neither of us have that many parts this time."

"Why?"

"I'm rap, and Doha-hyung's on our team. And Lee Yugeon… his live vocals apparently aren't as strong as you'd think. Siwoo-hyung didn't hand him many parts. He didn't complain either. And on dance, Seo Taehyun and Ju Eunchan are center."

Ah, right. Running back through the Wings-class member lineup, I nodded. Yeah — Lee Yugeon's vocals did seem weaker than his dancing.

"What about Han Seongwoo-hyung?"

"That hyung? That hyung, well…. Come to think of it, he grabbed the whole killing part. 'Hi. It's me.' — that's him."

"Surprising. I figured they'd give it to Seo Taehyun."

Terror-of-the-fact-checkers Lee Doha was right there — and they just handed it to Han Seongwoo, no pushback? Sensing what I was about to ask, Kim Wonho shrugged.

"I mean… he is battling. He argued that you're leader with a bunch of parts, so he wanted at least one guaranteed-win part for himself too."

"And Seo Taehyun just said okay? Didn't say he'd do it himself?"

"Uh… Doha-hyung did originally suggest giving that part to Seo Taehyun."

Kim Wonho rolled his eyes up like he was picturing the moment.

"Seo Taehyun said whatever part he takes ends up being the killing part anyway, so he didn't care."

"Can't argue with him — pisses me off."

"Yeah. Doha-hyung and Siwoo-hyung heard that and okayed giving Seongwoo-hyung the part."

Unlike me — Seo Taehyun, a guy with 'real' conviction in his own ability — I couldn't laugh at what he'd said. Ever since the walking-path conversation with Lee Doha, this state had just kept going.

'Get it together, Kang Hajin. Mentor evaluation is today.'

The complex Lee Doha had shown me — one I hadn't even known about — couldn't affect this mission at all. Even if a part didn't suit me, with only two days left before the evaluation, swapping parts around on nothing but my own selfish call was out of the question.

'That part… I'll think it through step by step, next mission.'

Right then.

Really?

"…What."

"Huh? What's up?"

The System window, normally blue, glitched and flickered red. Then, in a tone I'd never heard from it, it asked me:

"Hyung! Hajin-hyung!"

"Hyung, we've got a problem!"

Before I could even properly register what had come up on the System window, our team came pounding down the hall calling for me. I didn't need words — one look at their faces and I could feel something was seriously off.

"Jaeyoung — Jaeyoung got taken to the ER just now!"

"What?"

"His fever's at 39, what do we do. The PD and the manager-hyungs are all looking for you!"

"What — what are we gonna do about our mentor evaluation?"

The System window shuddered once more.

If you had the chance, this time — you wouldn't run?

At the System's question, I lost my words.