The next morning, the trainees gathered in the main hall, bleary-eyed and murmuring amongst themselves. A bright digital board lit up at the front of the room, displaying the announcement for the second round of the competition.
GROUP PERFORMANCE CHALLENGE – ROUND TWO
Concept Theme: Awakening
All trainees have been grouped randomly. Please check the list below. Training starts today.
Haru squeezed in between taller trainees to get a better look.
His name was there—Group 3. And right below it, he spotted Ren's name. Relief spread through him. Then Daiki, Shiro, and someone named Kenta, a soft-spoken guy with long bangs who usually kept to himself. Haru turned to Ren beside him.
"Same group again," he said, smiling.
"Looks like we're lucky," Ren replied. "Though I don't know about Shiro. You think he'll cooperate this time?"
As if summoned, Shiro appeared at Haru's side, hands in his pockets.
"If we're doing this, let's get it over with," he said coolly.
That was about as enthusiastic as Shiro got, but Haru didn't mind. They'd come a long way from the awkwardness of week one.
Their mentor for this round was a woman named Sayaka, a no-nonsense vocal coach with hawk-like precision. She led them into a practice room with mirrored walls and dropped five folders onto the floor.
"Song's called 'Echoes of Me.' It's custom-written for the show. Soft intro, building into a powerful chorus. Harmonies matter. So does unity."
Kenta knelt to pick up a folder, flipping it open. "This is in a weird time signature."
"Good catch," Sayaka said. "It's a 5/4 rhythm. You'll need to internalize it fast. The challenge is not to be flashy. It's to be in sync."
They divided the lines, tested harmonies, and tried a first run-through.
It was a mess.
Ren tripped on his timing, Haru was too soft on the key change, and Shiro flat-out stopped singing halfway through the bridge.
"I'm not hitting that falsetto," Shiro said, crossing his arms.
"You can," Sayaka said without blinking. "You just don't want to."
Shiro's mouth tightened, but he stayed silent.
Haru was beginning to understand—this round wasn't just about skill. It was about chemistry. The kind that didn't happen overnight.
Still, as the days passed, something began to shift.
Kenta offered to help Ren adjust his pitch. Daiki found a creative way to visualize the rhythm using foot patterns, which helped Haru immensely. And Shiro—though gruff and critical—started showing up early and staying late.
One evening, after a long rehearsal, Haru lingered in the studio to practice alone. The others had gone back to the dorm, but Haru couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't quite clicked into the choreography yet.
The music started, and he danced through the verse—small, sharp steps leading into a sweeping arm movement. But on the final turn, he stumbled again.
"Too much weight on your back foot," a voice said.
Haru turned—and froze.
Aoki was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching him. He wore his usual black jacket, but tonight his eyes seemed darker than usual, his expression unreadable.
"I didn't know you were here," Haru said breathlessly.
"You were focused," Aoki replied, stepping closer. "You almost had it."
"Almost isn't enough," Haru said with a sheepish laugh. "Not if I want to debut."
Aoki tilted his head. "You will."
Haru blinked. "You think so?"
"You work harder than anyone I've seen," Aoki said simply. "And… you make people want to follow you."
Haru looked down, suddenly flustered. The praise, coming from him, felt different. He nodded slowly, trying to focus on his breath.
Aoki didn't move.
Silence stretched between them, thick with something Haru couldn't name. Then Aoki took another step forward.
"Haru."
The way his name sounded in Aoki's voice—it made something tremble in Haru's chest.
"I need to tell you something," Aoki said. "And I need you not to panic."
Haru's brows furrowed. "Okay…"
Without another word, Aoki reached up and tugged the collar of his shirt to the side, just enough to reveal the curve of his shoulder.
There—just below the bone—was a pattern of dark, iridescent scales. They shimmered in the studio light like black crystal, edged in subtle gold.
Haru stared.
"I'm a draconic." Aoki said quietly. "I can usually hide my features just like you. But lately, I've been slipping. Around you."
Haru's heart hammered in his chest. "Why me?"
Aoki hesitated. "Because I feel something. Something that goes beyond admiration."
Haru didn't move.
"I didn't want to say anything," Aoki continued. "But those like me… when we imprint, we can't ignore it. I didn't choose this, Haru. But it happened. And I'm not asking for anything in return. I just… needed you to know."
Haru looked up slowly.
Aoki's eyes, so often cool and unreadable, were filled with quiet longing. And something else—fear. Like he was ready to be rejected.
"I don't know what I feel," Haru said finally. "I've never really… felt this before. I don't know if it's admiration or—"
"It's okay," Aoki said. "You don't have to decide now. I'll wait."
"I don't want to hurt you," Haru whispered.
Aoki smiled faintly. "You won't."
He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway.
"I'm still rooting for you."
And then he was gone.
Haru stood alone in the quiet studio, heart pounding, mind racing.
What was he supposed to do with this?
What did it mean to be imprinted on by a dragon?
More importantly… why did the idea of Aoki waiting for him not feel like pressure, but comfort?
He didn't have the answers yet.
But as he turned the music back on and stepped into the first move of their routine, he knew one thing, he didn't want to run from it either.