Dreams of Stardom

The sun dipped low beyond the rooftops of Busan, casting a warm, golden glow through the kitchen window where Yuna stood on tiptoe, clutching her favorite microphone—a simple toy gifted by her mother months ago. The hum of the city outside softened into a gentle lullaby, and inside the cozy apartment, the scent of freshly brewed barley tea mingled with the faint aroma of sweet rice cakes cooling on the counter. Her heart thudded with a mixture of nerves and excitement as she cleared her throat, the small stage of the living room awaiting her debut.

“Okay, Yuna, whenever you’re ready,” her mother said gently, perched on the edge of the worn sofa, eyes sparkling with encouragement. Her father, leaning against the doorway with arms crossed, wore a quiet smile that seemed to say, “We believe in you.”

The moment stretched thin in the thickening air as Yuna closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, feeling the pulsing rhythm of a song she’d heard countless times on the radio. It wasn’t just a melody; it was a promise, a whisper of a dream that had nestled itself deep inside her since she was little. The moment her lips parted, a cascade of notes spilled forth—a crystalline, pure voice…

The dormitory smells of fresh paint and lemon cleaner, but underneath it, Yuna catches something else—nervous sweat, dozens of hopeful hearts pressed into one building. She stands at the edge of the practice room at seven in the morning, her duffel bag slung over one shoulder, her hair pulled into a tight ponytail exactly the way the orientation packet instructed.

The room stretches wide before her, mirrors lining every wall, multiplying the handful of trainees already gathered into a small army. A boy near the window catches her eye first—lanky, with tousled hair and a crooked, easy smile that seems out of place amid all the tension humming through the space.

"You're new," he says, ambling over. "I can tell. Everyone else looks like they're about to throw up. You just look terrified."

Yuna laughs despite herself, the sound startling in the quiet room. "Is that supposed to be better?"

"Much better." He extends a hand, formal and silly all at once. "Jin. I've been here three weeks, which basically makes me a village elder."

"Yuna." She shakes his hand, grateful for the warmth of it, for something familiar in this unfamiliar place. "Three weeks, huh? Any advice for the newest…

The rankings go up on Friday morning, taped to the bulletin board outside the vocal studio, and by the time Yuna arrives, a knot of trainees has already gathered before it, murmuring in tight, restless voices. She pushes through the edge of the crowd, heart hammering, until she finds her own name printed halfway down a list of twenty.

*3. Kim Yuna.*

Relief floods through her, warm and dizzying, but it doesn't last long. Beside her, a girl with sleek dark hair pulled into a high ponytail leans forward, scanning the same list with narrowed eyes. Her gaze lands on the number one spot, then drifts down to the third, and something tightens in her expression—brief, controlled, gone almost as soon as it appears.

"Third place," the girl says, not quite looking at Yuna. "Not bad, for someone who's only been here a month."

"Thanks," Yuna says carefully, unsure if it was meant as a compliment.

"I'm Areum." The girl finally turns, extending a hand with the kind of polished formality that makes Yuna feel suddenly aware of the wrinkles in her own uniform. "I've been training for two years. I placed first this month, in case you didn't notice."

"I noticed." Yuna shakes her hand, the grip…