The final pose settled.
For the briefest moment—
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Then—
Applause erupted.
It rolled through the auditorium like a wave.
Rows of spectators rose from their seats.
Not all of them.
Enough.
More than enough.
Jiwon’s chest rose and fell heavily.
His lungs burned.
His legs felt weak.
The music had stopped.
His heartbeat hadn’t.
For a second, Team 17 remained frozen beneath the lights.
Almost afraid to break the moment.
Then reality returned.
Kang Taejun adjusted his microphone.
The applause gradually faded.
The legendary vocalist glanced down at his notes.
Then back up.
“The vocals were stable.”
Nobody reacted.
Not yet.
“The choreography was stable.”
A pause.
“The formation changes were clean.”
Another glance at his notes.
Then a small nod.
“What impressed me wasn’t any individual part.”
The room became quiet.
“It was the balance.”
His eyes moved across the five members.
“No one felt disconnected.”
“No one felt isolated.”
A pause.
“This didn’t feel like five trainees performing the same song.”
His gaze lingered on Team 17.
“It felt like a team.”
Jiwon saw Jaehyun’s shoulders relax slightly.
Only slightly.
For Jaehyun, that was practically an emotional breakdown.
Yoon Haejin spoke next.
The producer rested her chin against one hand.
Thoughtful.
“I watched the footage.”
Immediately—
Everyone in Team 17 became nervous again.
The audience laughed.
Haejin smiled.
“Good.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
Minseok narrowed his eyes.
“What does that mean?”
The audience laughed even harder.
“It means exactly what it sounds like.”
The producer looked toward them.
“The strongest part of your performance wasn’t the choreography.”
A pause.
“It wasn’t the vocals either.”
Her finger tapped against the table.
“You kept communicating.”
The room quieted.
“Most teams stop improving once positions are assigned.”
She glanced toward Hyunwoo.
Then Jaehyun.
Then Jiwon.
“You didn’t.”
A pause.
“You continued helping each other.”
Her smile returned.
“It showed.”
For some reason—
That compliment hit harder than expected.
Because it wasn’t about talent.
It was about Team 17.
Han Seongmin spoke next.
The oldest judge smiled warmly.
Which somehow felt dangerous.
Because whenever he smiled—
People usually cried afterward.
“I’ve watched a lot of evaluation stages.”
A few contestants in the audience laughed.
A lot was probably an understatement.
“Over time, something strange happens.”
He folded his hands together.
“People think they’ll remember rankings.”
Silence.
“They usually don’t.”
The room listened.
“They think they’ll remember scores.”
Another pause.
“They usually don’t.”
His eyes settled on Team 17.
“What they remember…”
A smile.
“…are people.”
A second smile.
“And every now and then—”
His gaze moved across the five members.
“—they remember a team.”
For several seconds nobody spoke.
Because everyone understood what he meant.
Minseok immediately pointed.
“Why does that sound sad?”
The audience burst into laughter.
So did Seongmin.
Unfortunately.
Then the final microphone activated.
Rex spun a pen between his fingers.
His expression remained unreadable.
As usual.
His gaze drifted across Team 17.
Then stopped.
Directly on Jiwon.
Naturally.
The pressure returned instantly.
“You.”
Jiwon’s soul left his body.
Again.
Rex pointed toward the giant screen behind them.
The split screen showing older footage and newer footage still remained frozen there.
“As I said before…”
The rapper tilted his head slightly.
“…you looked like somebody standing outside the practice room.”
Silence.
The audience looked toward the screen.
Then toward Jiwon.
Rex pointed toward him.
“Today, you look like somebody opening the door.”
A few people laughed.
Jiwon blinked.
Rex continued staring at him.
Then—
A small grin appeared.
“So in the end…”
A pause.
“…you became a doorman, huh?”
The audience exploded.
Even Kang Taejun lowered his head.
Trying to suppress a smile.
Failing.
Minseok pointed immediately.
“I KNEW IT.”
“You absolutely did not.”
Jiwon answered.
“I thought it.”
“No.”
“I thought it very loudly.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“It is in my heart.”
Nobody paid attention to him.
As expected.
Rex spun his pen again.
The smile disappeared.
“But seriously.”
The room quieted immediately.
“The vocals improved.”
A tap of the pen.
“The dancing improved.”
Another tap.
“But that’s not what stood out.”
His eyes remained fixed on Jiwon.
“A week ago, I would’ve remembered the mistakes.”
Silence.
“Today, I remembered you.”
Jiwon’s breath caught.
The rapper leaned back.
Satisfied.
“Good improvement.”
Simple.
Direct.
Coming from Rex—
That felt enormous.
Kang Taejun glanced toward the five trainees again.
“Looks like Team 17 spent their week well.”
Yoon Haejin closed her notebook.
“I hope the next stage of the program treats you the same way.”
Han Seongmin smiled.
“I think everyone here is looking forward to seeing where all of you end up.”
The giant screen faded.
The practice footage disappeared.
The stage lights brightened.
The judges reached for their pens again.
The evaluation was over.
The performance was over.
The stage that Team 17 had spent weeks preparing for was finally behind them.
And for some reason—
That realization felt heavier than expected.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
The moment they stepped behind the curtain, the noise disappeared.
Not completely.
Just enough.
The applause became distant.
Muted.
Like something happening in another world.
For a few seconds, nobody spoke.
The five of them simply walked.
Breathing.
Recovering.
Trying to process what had just happened.
Eventually—
Minseok stopped.
Then immediately collapsed into a nearby chair.
“I’m dead.”
“You’ve been saying that for three weeks.”
Jaehyun replied.
“This time I mean it.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
As expected.
The exchange felt strangely comforting.
The kind of stupid conversation people only had when something stressful was finally over.
A staff member approached.
“Good work.”
Minseok immediately pointed at him.
“Do I look alive?”
“…”
The staff member hesitated.
“Mostly?”
“I’ll take it.”
The man wisely chose to leave.
For a moment, the room fell quiet.
Then Doyoung frowned.
His hand disappeared into his pocket.
Then another.
Then the pocket of his jacket.
Jiwon watched for a few seconds.
“…Are you looking for a pen?”
Doyoung paused.
“…Yes.”
The room immediately stared at him.
“We finished.”
Jaehyun said.
“I know.”
“The performance is over.”
“I know.”
Minseok narrowed his eyes.
“Do you already want to take notes?”
A pause.
Then Doyoung answered completely seriously.
“I might forget something.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
Minseok looked genuinely disturbed.
“Forget?”
“Yes.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“That’s horrifying.”
“It is.”
The analyst finally seemed to remember where he was.
His eyes lowered toward his empty hand.
Then he sighed.
A rare event.
“I left it in the waiting room.”
“Good.”
Minseok replied immediately.
“No more notes.”
“That’s not how notes work.”
“It is if the pen is gone.”
The room laughed.
Even Hyunwoo.
Barely.
But enough.
Jiwon sat down.
Then finally allowed himself to exhale.
The performance was over.
Actually over.
No more practice.
No more corrections.
No more arguing over formations.
No more obsessing over transitions.
Nothing left to fix.
A strange feeling settled in his chest.
Relief.
Followed immediately by something else.
Something heavier.
Because if the performance was over…
Then Team 17’s time was almost over too.
The thought lingered.
Uncomfortable.
Unwelcome.
Before it could settle completely—
The monitor hanging on the wall lit up again.
Another team was being called.
The survival program moved forward without hesitation.
As if Team 17 had never existed.
As if tomorrow would arrive regardless.
The camera feed switched to the stage.
A new group stepped into the spotlight.
And just like that—
The waiting began.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
The monitor hanging on the wall lit up again.
Another team was already walking onto the stage.
The show moved forward without hesitation.
As if Team 17 had never performed.
Jiwon leaned back in his chair.
For the first time all day—
There was nothing to do.
No choreography to fix.
No vocals to rehearse.
No positions to discuss.
Just wait.
Which was somehow worse.
Much worse.
The next performance started.
Nobody spoke.
They watched.
Occasionally somebody would comment.
Mostly Minseok.
Naturally.
“Oh.”
Nobody looked at him.
“That guy is scary.”
Jiwon followed his finger.
One of the performers had just executed a difficult turn.
Immediately transitioning into live vocals.
Cleanly.
Annoyingly cleanly.
“Good technique.”
Jaehyun admitted.
“I hate him.”
“As expected.”
Another team appeared.
Then another.
Then another.
Hours passed.
Slowly.
Painfully.
At some point, somebody delivered bottled water.
Nobody remembered drinking it.
Yet somehow every bottle was eventually empty.
The performances blurred together.
Not all of them.
A few stood out.
Enough to keep Team 17 nervous.
One group delivered vocals that made Kang Taejun visibly smile.
Which was terrifying.
Another had choreography so synchronized that even Doyoung stopped looking for his missing pen.
Which was somehow more terrifying.
Every time a strong team appeared—
The atmosphere in the room changed slightly.
Nobody said it aloud.
But everyone thought the same thing.
They were good.
A little later, another team stepped onto the stage.
Five boys.
Dark outfits.
Sharp styling.
The kind of team that looked expensive.
The music started.
And immediately—
The room became quiet.
Their synchronization was absurd.
Every turn.
Every step.
Every transition.
Perfect.
Not close.
Perfect.
Minseok slowly sat forward.
“…”
“…”
“…”
“I don’t like this.”
“Understandable.”
Jiwon replied.
One of the contestants moved into center.
The audience reacted instantly.
The judges looked up from their notes.
Even through a monitor screen, the team felt strong.
Dangerously strong.
Hyunwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Watching.
Studying.
For the first time in a while, he looked genuinely interested.
That alone was concerning.
Very concerning.
The chorus arrived.
The formation exploded outward.
The vocals remained stable.
The choreography never wavered.
When the performance ended—
Nobody in Team 17 spoke immediately.
Then Minseok pointed at the screen.
“I hate them.”
“As expected.”
Jaehyun replied.
“No, seriously.”
The dancer looked genuinely offended.
“Why are there so many good people?”
Nobody had an answer.
Because they were all wondering the same thing.
The monitor switched to the next stage.
And suddenly—
Waiting for the results felt significantly more difficult.
As the evening approached, more and more participants began gathering in the main auditorium.
The performances were over.
Which meant only one thing remained.
Results.
A staff member entered their waiting room.
“All teams to the auditorium, please.”
Immediately—
Everyone sat up.
The air changed.
No jokes.
No complaints.
No arguments.
Just tension.
Pure tension.
Minseok stood.
Then immediately sat back down.
Then stood again.
Jiwon frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“…”
“…”
“I’m stressed.”
“Understandable.”
The five of them followed the crowd through the hallways.
The building felt different now.
Quieter.
The adrenaline was gone.
Only anticipation remained.
Eventually, the doors to the main auditorium opened.
And Jiwon froze.
Rows.
And rows.
And rows.
Of contestants.
Almost every seat was occupied.
More than five hundred participants filled the room.
Talking.
Waiting.
Whispering.
Looking toward the giant screen.
One hundred teams.
One hundred dreams.
One hundred opportunities to fail.
The realization settled heavily in his chest.
For a moment—
Team 17 felt very small.
They found their assigned row.
Sat down.
Waited.
The giant screen flickered.
The room gradually quieted.
Then the announcer appeared.
A smile on his face.
Which immediately made Minseok suspicious.
“I don’t trust him.”
“Why?”
“He looks happy.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It is in my heart.”
Nobody acknowledged the statement.
As expected.
Then the announcer raised a card.
“The rankings are ready.”
And suddenly—
The waiting became the hardest part.