The beeping from the door panel should've been comforting.
But it wasn't.
Jung Haneul stood stiff in front of his apartment—his old apartment—with one hand on the keypad and the other holding his phone, ready to call customer support. Again.
He tried the code. 9-7-3-2.
Beep. Red light.
Again. Slower this time.
Beep. Denied.
"…You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered.
He rubbed his face with both hands and dialed his mother.
She picked up on the second ring. "You finished practice?"
"The door's locked."
"I know."
"…You changed the code?"
"Correct."
"You changed the code to my apartment?!"
"Sweetheart," she said lightly, "it's not your apartment anymore."
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I've had your lease terminated and your belongings transferred. You now live in the Aurora trainee dorms. As you should have from the beginning."
"You what?!"
"Your things should already be there. I made sure the staff delivered them this afternoon."
"You—you evicted me?!"
"Yes, you need to build character."
"I don't need character! I need my console!"
"You need friends. And leadership training. And maybe—just maybe—a little humility."
The call ended before he could yell anything back.
He stood there for a full five seconds, hand frozen mid-air, before letting out a long sigh and dragging his suitcase toward the taxi queue.
"Banished," he muttered. "I've been banished by my own mom. I must be the unluckiest person to have such a mother."
The dorm building looked like it hadn't been power-washed since the invention of Wi-Fi.
He entered through the side gate, checked the address on his phone again, and found the fourth-floor unit: D-401.
He punched in the code 6-3-1-7-0 and slowly stepped inside.
The moment the door opened, chaos greeted him like a slap.
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO TOUCH MY SOCKS—"
"You left it on the TV remote!"
"That doesn't mean it's public property!"
"Hey, stop throwing—oh my god, that's a banana!"
Six boys turned to look at him.
A can of soda rolled to his feet.
"…Uh," he said, blinking behind his hoodie. "Wrong floor?"
"Wait," Chan said, eyes widening. "Aren't you—Haneul?"
Eunjae popped up from behind the couch, holding one sock like a trophy. "The new guy from vocals?!"
"Why are you in our dorm?" Daehyun asked, brows scrunching as he adjusted his hair in the mirror.
"I live here now."
Hyun, sitting cross-legged on the floor, tilted his head. "Seriously?"
Jiho appeared from the hallway, towel draped around his neck. "Top bunk in Room A is free. Don't track dirt inside."
"I can explain—" Haneul began.
"Lemme guess," Chan grinned. "Your mom kicked you out?"
Haneul dropped his bag and rubbed his eyes. "...Something like that."
Eunjae cackled. "Welcome to prison, hyung!"
"I'm only eighteen."
"Youngest!" Eunjae declared.
"No," Haneul said flatly.
"Yes! After all, you're the youngest to enter the company so you're the youngest."
"No," Haneul snapped.
"Yes," the room echoed in unison.
That night, Eunjae demanded a "proper squad intro."
They sat in a lopsided circle on the floor, legs crossed, bowls of convenience store ramen in their laps.
"Okay," Eunjae started, pointing chopsticks at each person like a microphone. "Name, age, specialty, weird fact."
"Ahn Jiho," said the sharp-browed one, brushing a hair off his forehead. "Nineteen. Vocalist. I label my socks."
"Kang Chanho," said the golden retriever with a tired smile. "Nineteen. Almost twenty. Vocalist. Dorm mom."
"Moon Daehyun. Nineteen. Vocal and visual. Weird fact: I'm allergic to fake compliments."
"Baek Seojun," said the one slouched with chopsticks halfway in his mouth. "Seventeen. Rapper. I sleep with my lyrics under my pillow."
"Min Eunjae!" the sock thief grinned. "Seventeen. Dancer. I have a talent for surviving on one banana and three hours of sleep."
"Lee Hyun," came the quiet voice. "Seventeen. Dancer. I sleep through Eunjae's nonsense."
Everyone looked at Haneul.
He stirred his noodles once, then said, "Jung Haneul. Eighteen. Vocals and rap. I don't share snacks and am not a morning person."
"Cold," Chan muttered.
"Cool," Daehyun said.
"Respect," Seojun nodded.
The next day, over breakfast, Haneul learned the rest.
Aurora Entertainment had thirty active male trainees, split into five trainee groups: Sections A through E.
Each section trained independently with their own team leaders and choreographers.
"Basically," said Chan, pouring milk into his cereal like it was sacred ritual, "we're rivals. The company evaluates sections over the next year. The best one gets chosen as the 'Present Team' — like the official pre-debut group."
"The ones who get public exposure," Jiho added. "Interviews. Profiles. Maybe a reality show."
"Only one section gets picked," Hyun said. "And right now, everyone thinks it'll be Section B."
"They're the favorites," Daehyun scoffed. "Pretty boys with clean cuts and zero personality."
"You're literally a pretty boy," Seojun said without looking up from his bowl.
"I have personality. It's charisma."
Eunjae leaned toward Haneul. "Section D is known for being a little... chaotic. We've got skills, but we're like a bag of mixed snacks. Crunchy but disorganized."
"Sounds delicious," Haneul muttered.
Later that week, the tension hit.
During dance drills, they were practicing a high-tempo routine. Jiho counted the beats under his breath. Eunjae and Hyun flowed like water.
Daehyun spun out of sync to add a freestyle flourish.
"Stop doing that!" Seojun snapped, catching his breath. "We're not at a solo concert."
"It's called charisma, Seojun."
"It's called throwing off the whole group."
"I'm trying to make us stand out!"
"By ignoring the choreo?!"
Chan raised both hands. "Guys, let's not—"
"I'm not dancing next to him anymore," Seojun muttered, stepping back.
"Great. I don't want to catch whatever mood you're in," Daehyun shot back.
The trainer sighed. "Take five. Or ten. Or just go."
Nobody spoke as they left the studio.
That night, the dorm buzzed with awkward tension.
Hyun wore headphones. Jiho was washing dishes more aggressively than necessary. Seojun stayed holed up in his room, and Daehyun kept checking his reflection like he was avoiding the situation.
Chan tried to joke about it during dinner but ended up quiet halfway through.
After midnight, Haneul wandered out to grab water—and found Chan sitting outside the dorm building, hoodie pulled over his head, feet up on the stairwell railing.
The vending machine hummed softly nearby.
Without a word, Haneul padded over and sat next to him.
"Want some?"
Chan didn't look at him. Just opened the water and sighed.
"…I thought I could keep this crew from falling apart," he muttered. "Guess I was wrong."
Haneul unscrewed the cap of his water bottle and took a long sip.
"I've tried talking. Teasing. Even assigning roles like a kindergarten teacher." Chan rubbed his temple. "Daehyun wants attention. Seojun wants perfection. Jiho just wants silence. And Eunjae... is Eunjae."
"What about Hyun?"
"Hyun is Eunjae's supporter."
Haneul reached into his hoodie pocket, pulled out a protein bar, and slid it over.
Chan looked down at it, then at him. "You always do this thing where you don't speak but still speak."
Haneul raised an eyebrow.
"It's kind of annoying," Chan added, taking the bar and opening it. "But also… comforting."
Silence again. The good kind.
After a while, Chan nudged him lightly with his shoulder.
"Thanks. Ice Prince."
Haneul let out a quiet snort.
"Don't melt too fast," Chan smirked.