Chapter 73: No Secrets (3)

A refreshing morning.

Instructor Yoo Minseo visited Doubles early in the morning for the reality shoot.

“Kids, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Since she was originally a vocal trainer based here, the Doubles practice room felt like her home now.

“Everyone’s been doing well… right?”

Instructor Yoo Minseo waved her hand as she entered and witnessed a peculiar sight.

Right behind leader Kang Siwoo, the members were lined up handing over their cell phones.

I thought strict practices like that had disappeared these days—unless it was during the old tough days of Doubles.

“What is this, a school?”

“Please submit your phones.”

“Did the manager order this?”

“Oh, no. We agreed among ourselves. During practice time, we submit our phones.”

“Wait… to focus on practice?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Upon hearing Kang Siwoo’s explanation, Instructor Yoo Minseo’s eyes widened.

Are they really boys with an average age of 19.7?

Why are they that obedient?

“Oh, Teacher is here?”

Instructor Yoo Minseo turned toward choreographer Choi Myunghwan, who had followed in, and began chattering.

Just from the pleased smile on her lips, it was as if she had personally given birth to Stardust.

“Survival shows are scary. Since they only picked determined kids, look how mature they are at that age. They’re even handing in their phones to practice hard.”

“Every day?”

“It seems like it.”

Voluntarily turning in phones without being told?

Choi Myunghwan crossed his arms in surprise.

“Oh, can we look forward to something today?”

“You’re not just putting on a persona because the cameras are rolling?”

“No way, really not.”

Kang Siwoo shook the white basket and collected the members’ phones.

One person hadn’t handed theirs in yet.

Cha Seongbin quietly raised his hand.

“Oh, I’ll hand mine in too.”

At the moment he placed his phone into the basket with a soft thud—

“What’s this?”

As the lock screen lit up, a notification count displayed at the top caught Instructor Yoo Minseo’s eye.

There were so many that it immediately drew her gaze.

“Seongbin, did you oversleep this morning?”

“Huh?”

“Why are there so many missed calls?”

“I wonder.”

Cha Seongbin shrugged his shoulders with an unusually calm voice and slipped back.

“…….”

The other members sensed the atmosphere around Cha Seongbin and subtly stepped back a pace.

It felt a bit awkward somehow.

Instructor Yoo Minseo hardly noticed—her full attention was focused on the midterm evaluation.

And it was urgent.

“Your debut isn’t far away, right?”

“Yes!”

“There’s even a debut date article.”

“That’s right!”

April 27.

It was less than two weeks away.

Choreographer Choi Myunghwan nodded and spoke up.

“Then shall we have a look?”

The reality cameras were rolling, and choreographer Choi Myunghwan and trainer Yoo Minseo—who had been the teachers during the Stardust days—were standing by to evaluate.

Naturally, there was pressure about that, but considering how much they had practiced so far.

I believed they would do well enough.

With that conviction, Instructor Yoo Minseo looked at the members.

“Let’s begin.”

With Kang Siwoo’s short signal, the raw MR burst through the practice room.

From the introduction, the beat by Yuyeong (spacewalk) was outstanding.

Do Seohan led the start.

This is my universe

I was swimming through the universe—

Only light and me could reach distances over 500 light‑years away

His clean vocal technique was so sharp it didn’t feel like a practice room.

As the center of the debut song, Do Seohan stepped forward from the beginning, firmly asserting his presence.

“Wow, after all, he’s a main vocal.”

Seohan softly twisted his body and took center, balancing himself.

The corners of his mouth curled up as he smiled brightly at the front.

Folding the universe in half

I caught up with the time that had passed

Like starlight, the members spread out in choreography to all directions, then came together again.

Choreographer Choi Myunghwan’s direct hand made it neat and seamless.

“That’s so beautiful to watch.”

Immediately following the smooth formation, Cha Seongbin and Kang Siwoo’s pair choreography began.

Kang Siwoo quietly dropped rapid-fire lines in his rap and Cha Seongbin received them.

It’s been a long time

In those old times so many things had changed

Rewinding time to correct it so I can hold you

Can you catch my time?

Kang Siwoo’s diction was perfect.

It was regrettable that during the Stardust days he couldn’t fully show that charm and got cut from editing—Kang Siwoo was a capable rapper.

And.

There was one more raw talent worthy of a main rapper.

That planet missed you so I painted you again

I flew, I fly to….

“…your sky.”

Instructor Yoo Minseo’s eyebrows twitched.

“Oh, Seongbin?”

The guy who rapped like a madman so well somehow skipped lyrics.

Soon he even missed a beat and rushed through the choreography.

Once touching that utopia →

That planet is piercingly blue.

I can’t forget it because it’s beautiful.

I’m stuck in you

Was it that one mistake completely threw him off pace?

Cha Seongbin continued making mistakes.

‘What the—he keeps messing up?’

It wasn’t the vocals that were the problem now.

Even to vocal trainer Yoo Minseo, it was obvious that Cha Seongbin couldn’t keep up with the tempo of the choreography at all.

Trainer Choi Myunghwan’s expression grew more rigid in real time.

To you, spacewalk

Even if I can’t make it, I’m okay with dying….

Thud—

He eventually collided with Do Seohan, who was coming in on his mark.

“Hold on a sec.”

Unable to watch anymore, Instructor Yoo Minseo called out a stop.

“Let’s go again, Seongbin. Focus.”

“Yes, understood!”

I thought things would get better with just one reset.

But the second attempt wasn’t much different.

“Seongbin…?”

A guy who never made choreography mistakes even on bigger stages was suddenly falling apart.

Choreographer Choi Myunghwan swallowed dryly and gestured toward the cameraman.

“We’re going to turn off the cameras for a bit.”

“Yeah, filming doesn’t seem to be the issue right now.”

More important than the reality shoot was the quality of the debut stage.

The two who had watched Cha Seongbin since the Stardust days knew just how serious the situation was.

That proud Cha Seongbin?

The one who used to ace performances is now making these mistakes?

Silence fell, too hard to break with any words.

“……”

The other members were nervously watching and swallowing their saliva.

Cha Seongbin, knowing that the midterm evaluation had stopped because of him, hung his head low.

“Seongbin, what’s going on? You not in your right mind?”

“I-I’m sorry.”

You said you were practicing hard.

Why are you messing up basic steps? Choi Myunghwan’s criticism made Cha Seongbin’s face go pale.

Cha Seongbin had never been scolded by Choi Myunghwan during the Stardust days.

He was the type to handle things on his own, and even if he got criticized, he’d laugh it off smoothly and sneak away.

But today, he couldn’t do that.

Cha Seongbin stammered out with a trembling voice.

“Today, I think I was just… not feeling well.”

“What?”

Of course, that excuse didn’t work at all on Choi Myunghwan.

“Seongbin. Do you really think that counts as an excuse?”

“……”

“You gonna mess up the main stage too because you’re not feeling well?”

“N-no.”

Cha Seongbin shook his head in panic.

Choi Myunghwan frowned and spoke coldly.

“You’re going to debut now. You’re not a trainee anymore. You bomb a stage and blame it on your condition? You think anyone’s going to buy that? You think people will understand?”

“……”

“What people care about is the result. And the result they’ll see is you screwing up the choreography on your debut stage. You don’t seriously think they’ll say nice things, do you?”

Choreographer Choi Myunghwan’s words were harsh but true.

With that one line, Cha Seongbin’s face didn’t just pale—it turned completely ashen.

He staggered, looking like he might collapse, and a small voice escaped his lips.

“I’m really… really sorry.”

Cha Seongbin repeatedly bowed his head in apology.

His lips, drained of color, trembled as he spoke.

“I’ll just go clear my head for a bit.”

And then.

Something he wouldn’t normally do—Cha Seongbin hurriedly bolted out.

“H-Hey, Seongbin!”

“Hey, Cha Seongbin!”

As Cha Seongbin fled the practice room, Choi Myunghwan looked around in confusion and called out to him.

But the firmly closed door let the boy run off without a plan.

“What the hell, did I scold him too hard?”

“I don’t think it’s that… I’m sorry.”

Kang Siwoo bowed with an awkward expression.

Cha Seongbin had run away, unable to handle the feedback.

The members were just as flustered by the situation, but they could somewhat understand what was going on.

That guy’s not the type to be like this.

‘Ah, it was a mistake. Just a mistake! I’ll go extra hard next time~.’

Normally, he would’ve laughed it off and moved on, not gone completely pale and tried to escape the whole situation.

“Sigh…”

In the spot Cha Seongbin had suddenly left behind.

Jin Sehyun tightly shut his eyes, then opened them.

His gaze met Seohan’s.

“You saw it too, right?”

“…One hundred percent.”

Seohan had seen the lock screen earlier when Cha Seongbin handed in his phone.

Was it 57 missed calls?

Getting that many missed calls out of the blue one day—you’d have to notice.

Seohan bit his lower lip, facing the reality.

“What do we do about that sunfish?”

Something had happened to Cha Seongbin.

They had to fix it.

The malicious rumors about Cha Seongbin.

All of them were being spread by a single bastard.

This is just my guess, but—

Isn’t that jerk the reason Cha Seongbin left the group?

I don’t know the full story from the Stardust days….

But someone who made a mess in this life probably made one in the last life too.

If this had happened at the beginning of his debut, malicious rumors would have been spread relentlessly.

Since companies rarely step in for personal rumor accounts like that, it was obvious that Doubles wouldn’t have come up with a countermeasure.

Inside all of that, Cha Seongbin’s insides must have rotted away.

And on top of that, the endless messes from the Stardust members, both inside and out.

Unable to endure all of it, the ocean sunfish chose to leave the team.

“So that’s what happened.”

At first, I didn’t understand.

The position that everyone was dying to get into.

Why on earth did he give it up and walk away?

For Cha Seongbin, it was a kind of self-defense.

Because desperately holding on in a situation where you feel like you can’t endure is no different from hell.

He left Stardust with his own feet in search of his version of paradise.

Would he make the same choice in this life?

I couldn’t say for sure.

Then in this situation….

What should I do?

“What the hell… should I….”

I swallowed dryly as I tried to sort out my relationship with Cha Seongbin in my head.

Was I even close with that guy?

Absolutely not.

We’d only just started speaking casually, and we didn’t even get along—what would make us close?

If we weren’t in the same team, we would never have crossed paths in our entire lives.

But.

We crossed paths.

We ended up on the same team.

How could I pretend not to see?

We’re one team.

And I can see that person falling apart like that.

“I’m really sorry, but I think I need to go out.”

I couldn’t leave him alone.

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