The bathroom mirror was still fogged when Hanuel stepped out, towel hanging loose around his shoulders. His damp hair stuck to his forehead, the strands dripping down his cheek as he tugged a plain T-shirt over his head. The cool cotton clung to his skin, already slick with the heat from the shower.
He dragged a hand down his face. "Ugh…"
The water hadn't washed away the frustration. If anything, it had only made it worse.
For the past week, every waking hour had been about training—choreography drills in the day, vocal practice sandwiched in between, conditioning workouts, endless evaluations. Yet, no matter how hard he pushed, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was running after a train already far down the tracks.
Everyone else had years behind them. Years of sweat, muscle memory, and instinct that only came from repeating the same steps a thousand times. Hanuel, in contrast, had been thrown into the lion's den after barely learning the basics.
Now the company was pushing a pre-debut audition in just three weeks. A cutthroat system where the vocal, dance, and rap units would each perform, and the strongest team would be prioritized for debut. It was brutal, but not unusual. Agencies thrived on competition, using it to weed out weakness before the group ever reached the public eye.
Hanuel knew all that. He'd researched idol training systems long before he even stepped into the practice rooms. But knowing and experiencing were two very different beasts.
He sank onto his bed, staring at the glow of the city beyond the dorm window. The neon signs blinked like they were mocking him. His stomach growled, sharp and insistent. He hadn't eaten since lunch, and it was now well past ten.
"Can't even think on an empty stomach," he muttered.
Without bothering to dry his hair fully, Hanuel slipped into sweatpants and sneakers, grabbed his hoodie, and padded quietly out of the dorm. Most of the members were already knocked out or glued to their phones, and no one stopped him as he slipped down the stairwell and out into the night.
The late summer air was thick, carrying the faint smell of car exhaust and fried street food. Hanuel shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket and walked down the familiar alley, sneakers scuffing against uneven pavement.
The stall came into view, its red tarp fluttering under a flickering streetlamp. The small, battered sign read "Minsoo's Ramen & Snacks." The light inside was warm, spilling onto the cracked sidewalk, and the air was filled with the unmistakable aroma of simmering broth, chili oil, and garlic.
Hanuel's shoulders loosened.
There, behind the counter, stood Kang Minsoo.
At twenty-seven, Minsoo looked nothing like the stereotypical "ajusshi" that manned most late-night food stalls. He had messy black hair styled in a ponytail, a lean build, and rolled-up sleeves that revealed toned forearms. A small silver earring glinted under the warm light. His easy grin was the same one Hanuel had come to rely on.
"Ya, Hanuel!" Minsoo called, waving a ladle like a greeting flag. "Back again? That's the third time this week. What is it this time, stress or hunger?"
"Both," Hanuel admitted, sliding onto a rickety stool.
Minsoo chuckled, ladling noodles into a steaming bowl. "Of course. My best customer—the hungry, stressed trainee. Same order?"
"You know it."
"One spicy ramen, extra toppings, coming right up."
As the pot bubbled, Hanuel rested his elbows on the counter, watching the steam curl into the night. He had met Minsoo during his second month as a trainee, wandering the streets after another failed dance practice. The older man had slid him a free bowl of ramen, then listened without judgment as Hanuel complained about sore muscles and impossible choreography.
Since then, Minsoo's stall had become his escape. Whenever frustration threatened to choke him, he found himself here, slurping noodles under the warm glow of the bulbs strung overhead, venting to the one person outside the company who truly listened.
"Here." Minsoo set the bowl in front of him with a flourish. The rich scent of broth hit instantly, spicy enough to sting Hanuel's eyes. "Eat. Then talk."
Hanuel cracked his chopsticks apart and took the first bite. The broth scalded his tongue, but the heat grounded him. After a few mouthfuls, the tightness in his chest began to ease.
Minsoo leaned on the counter, raising a brow. "So? What's got you scowling like someone stole your dessert?"
Hanuel sighed, chopsticks hovering over the bowl. "Our company is holding a pre-debut audition in three weeks. Dance, rap, vocal sections all have to perform. Whichever one the higher-ups like the most gets pushed for debut."
Minsoo gave a low whistle. "Harsh. But not surprising."
"I know." Hanuel pushed his noodles around. "But I just started. I don't have the years of training the others do. They're all… better. And the company keeps hinting I'll be center if we debut. Me? Center? I can't even hit half the steps cleanly."
His voice cracked at the end, frustration bubbling over. "It's like they're pushing me forward, but I don't even know how to stand yet."
For a long moment, the only sound was the bubbling of the broth and the distant hum of cars. Minsoo studied him, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
Then he set his ladle down. "Hanuel-ah… you trust me, right?"
Hanuel looked up, startled. "Of course. Why?"
"Then listen carefully," Minsoo said, straightening. "I'll teach you."
Hanuel froze, chopsticks clattering against the counter. "Teach me… to dance?"
Minsoo grinned. "Why not? I wasn't always a ramen guy, you know. I trained too, years back. Didn't debut, but I picked up more than enough to knock some rhythm into that stiff body of yours."
The words sank in slowly, and then, like a spark catching flame, Hanuel's chest filled with sudden hope. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious." Minsoo leaned closer, eyes gleaming with playful challenge. "But I warn you, I don't go easy. If you call me hyung, you follow my rules. Got it?"
Hanuel's mouth curved into the first real smile he'd had all day. He slammed his chopsticks down and bowed his head. "Hyung, please—teach me."
Minsoo laughed, the sound warm against the night air. "That's more like it. Eat up, Hanuel-ah. Lessons start after this bowl."