The silence that followed Mirae's name being called was louder than any scream.
She stood slowly, masking the wince that flared in her ankle like a siren. The practice room had fallen still—the hush of fear and sympathy mixing into a heavy, stifling fog. Even the overhead lights seemed dimmer now. Her heart pounded as she limped toward the judges' table, the weight of every uncertain step pressing into her like a countdown to doom.
Kwon Jihwan's voice cut through the tension like glass. "Han Mirae. Your performance was… complicated."
Complicated.
The word hit harder than a slap.
Mirae stood before the table, spine straight despite the tremor in her legs. Her teammates watched from the back wall—Sujin biting her lip, Hana folding her arms as if bracing herself for the worst, Sojin's eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"We reviewed your footage," said another judge, the main vocal trainer. Her perfectly manicured fingers tapped the table in a steady rhythm. "Your vocal delivery was emotionally resonant, but technically unrefined. There were at least three missed notes."
"Four," Jihwan corrected coldly. "And her footwork lagged behind every time the choreography transitioned into a new formation. That alone could've brought the whole team down."
Mirae lowered her gaze for a second—not in shame, but in quiet acknowledgment. They were right. She'd been dragging her foot, even when she'd given everything.
Her ankle pulsed again, angry and swollen inside her shoe. But she stayed still, her expression impassive.
"You were ranked the lowest among your team, and among all ten teams, Han Mirae," the third judge said. "But…"
That pause. That one syllable was a knife.
"…your emotional presence in the bridge saved the performance from being forgettable."
The vocal trainer sighed. "You pulled the audience in when you hit that harmony—despite your limits, it created an impact. That's rare."
"Rare doesn't mean safe," Jihwan snapped. "She's inconsistent. You can't debut someone who might collapse mid-set."
"I didn't collapse," Mirae said quietly.
The judges looked up, startled.
"I didn't collapse," she repeated, louder this time. "Even when I should've. Even when I couldn't breathe from the pain. I didn't collapse because this team needed someone who wouldn't."
Her words shocked even herself. But they were true. She hadn't faltered out of pride—she'd done it because she couldn't afford to let the others down.
For a second, no one responded.
Then the system whispered in her mind:
> [System Alert: Unyielding Spirit Detected. Debut Probability +2%. Hidden Trait Unlocked: "Survivor's Grit"]
"Regardless," Jihwan said, lips pressed tight, "your ranking remains unchanged. Mirae, you are ranked last among all participants."
Gasps echoed across the room.
Sujin covered her mouth.
Sojin whimpered, "No…"
Hana closed her eyes, but her fists trembled.
Mirae simply nodded. She'd already known. Her legs felt like stilts, but she remained upright.
"But," the head judge continued, "your case is under internal review. Your continuation in this program… is under discussion."
The air left Mirae's lungs.
What?
"We are not eliminating you today," the judge said. "But you are now on probation. One mistake. One missed step. And you're done. Understand?"
"Yes," Mirae whispered.
Louder: "Yes, ma'am."
> [System Alert: New Status – Conditional Probation. All Stats Temporarily Reduced. Performance Pressure Multiplier x2 Active.]
As Mirae turned to walk back to Team C, the lights above seemed harsher. The eyes of every trainee in the room followed her. Some pitied her. Others just looked relieved it wasn't them.
Her teammates made space.
Sujin grabbed her arm gently. "Hey. You're still here."
"Barely," Mirae said, voice thin.
"No," Hana interrupted. "That performance—none of us could've finished it with an injury like that. You held it together."
"You kept us together," Sojin added, tears running freely now. "I was going to freeze up if I didn't see you moving."
Even Jiwon, quiet and distant, spoke. "You're not ranked last to us."
The dam broke inside Mirae. She pressed her palm to her bracelet, trying to push down the lump in her throat. The red light pulsed back.
[Remaining Time: 87 Days 04 Hours 51 Minutes]
So little time. So much at stake.
But maybe… maybe she wasn't alone in this.
Still, the shame of being named last pressed against her like a weight she couldn't lift.
---
That night, Mirae sat alone on the fire escape outside the dorms. Cold air brushed against her sweat-damp skin. She had wrapped her ankle with ice packs, but the pain hadn't dulled much.
The sky above Seoul was too polluted for stars, but Mirae imagined them anyway—stars she might've reached if things had gone differently. If she'd been stronger. If she'd trained longer. If she hadn't been born to a life where dreams cost more than reality could afford.
Footsteps broke the silence.
It was Kwon Jihwan.
"Don't speak," he said flatly. "Just listen."
She nodded.
"You're not the worst I've seen. But you're close."
Mirae flinched.
He stepped closer. "But you fight harder than most. And sometimes, that's enough to survive another round. Not to win. Not to debut. Just… to survive."
Mirae looked up. "Do you think I can change that?"
Jihwan didn't answer immediately. Then he said, "Ask yourself this—are you chasing the stage because you love it, or because you've got nothing else left?"
"I don't know anymore," she whispered.
"That's your problem. Figure it out fast. Because next time? No one's going to pull you back up."
He turned and walked away.
Mirae exhaled, staring at her red bracelet again.
No excuses. No more hesitation.
If she was going to survive, it had to be with everything she had left.
---
The next morning, the rankings were posted.
Ten rows of names. Fifty-nine girls ranked above one.
Mirae scrolled all the way to the bottom.
#60 – Han Mirae
She didn't cry.
Instead, she tore a page from her notebook and wrote three words:
"Climb or die."
Then she turned to the mirror and said aloud, "I'm not leaving here ranked last again."