Jibeom woke to the soft gray light of a December morning and the quiet realization that his audition was only a few hours away.
For a long moment he simply stared at the ceiling, listening to the muffled hush of snow falling outside. Then the panic hit. He threw the blanket off, scrambled for his phone, and confirmed the time with a muttered curse. There was no room for a slow morning. He washed up in record time, pulled on the cleanest clothes he owned, and double-checked the audition tracks he had chosen the night before.
For the dance evaluation he had settled on a track by NOVAAA, a girl group he used to follow years ago. Their choreography was clean, repetitive, and famously accessible—exactly what someone with as terrible a dancer as he was needed if he wanted to survive the evaluation without collapsing. For vocals he chose ReJoy's ballad "Digress," a song about loving someone without knowing whether the feeling was returned. It was the kind of piece that lived or died on tone and control. If his dancing was going to drag him down, his voice would have to carry the entire audition.
Outside, Seoul was unusually quiet. Thick snow blanketed the streets, softening the usual noise of the city into something distant and muted. Few people were out. Jibeom's breath fogged in front of him as he walked, shoulders hunched against the cold.
"I wonder why they're still taking participants this late," he muttered under his breath. "And if I'm a year in the past… why don't I remember this show existing at all?"
Navi materialized beside him without warning, a soft white sphere against the gray morning.
"The timeline has been adjusted to better support your mission," it said cheerfully.
Jibeom jumped so hard he nearly slipped on the icy sidewalk. "Where did you come from?!"
A couple of pedestrians gave him odd looks. He clamped his mouth shut, shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, and hurried the rest of the way to the audition venue.
He was late enough that the waiting room was already thinning out. The staff handed him a number—128—and pointed him toward a row of plastic chairs. Of course I'm one of the last, he thought bitterly, sinking into a seat. While he waited, his eyes drifted to the unused Draw Ticket still sitting in his inventory. There was no point saving it anymore.
He activated the ticket
A digital claw-machine interface bloomed in front of him, cartoonish and bright. The claw dipped, closed, and rose again with a glowing card.
[S-Rank Trait Acquired]
Unique Vocal Color
– Grants a distinctive, refined vocal tone
– +7% vocal learning speed
Jibeom's eyes widened. An S-rank on the first pull. The change in his voice was immediate and subtle at the same time—like someone had taken the exact same instrument he had always had and simply tuned it better. It still sounded like him. Just… clearer and richer.
A second notification appeared.
[Achievement Unlocked: First Draw]
Reward: 1 Stat Point
Without hesitation he dropped the point into Dance.
Dance: D+
Still terrible. But less terrible.
He glanced around the waiting room and suddenly noticed something new. Faint status windows hovered near a few of the other trainees—fragmented, incomplete, but readable.
"Since when could I see other people's stats?" he whispered.Nari answered "You simply weren't paying attention. You may view the basic ability rankings of other trainees, Their name, height, age ,as well as any traits they currently possess."
Jibeom was still turning that over in his mind when a staff member called out, "So Jibeom, number 128."
He stood, wiped his palms on his jeans, and walked into the evaluation room.
Three producers sat behind a long table. The middle one was a woman in her thirties with sharp eyes and an unreadable expression. Lee Hyuna. Jibeom didn't recognize the name, but the air of authority around her was unmistakable.
He bowed. "Hello. I'm So Jibeom. I'm eighteen years old, and I am a vocalist."
Then he began to sing.
Hyuna had not expected much. Open auditions rarely produced anything memorable. She leaned back, prepared to mark another forgettable candidate, and then Jibeom's voice filled the room.
It was warm. Honeyed. Effortless in a way that made every note feel intentional. He moved through the melody of "Digress" with a control that should not have belonged to someone walking in off the street. Hyuna found herself sitting forward without realizing it.
Who is this kid?
Why hasn't a company already locked him down?
When the final note faded, the producers clapped—polite, but genuinely impressed. The comments that followed were measured.
"His tone is the biggest factor of him," one said. "Technique still needs work, but the color is special."
"Expression is almost nonexistent," another added. "Face barely moved."
Hyuna smiled for the first time. "I love your tone. With proper training, I think you could be really something." She gestured toward the open floor. "Dance evaluation. Whenever you're ready."
The NOVAAA track started. Jibeom moved.
It was… not good.
His timing was off. His limbs felt heavy and disconnected. He missed transitions, stiffened through the chorus, and forgot to use his face entirely. By the final eight-count he was just trying to survive. When the music stopped, the room felt colder.
The producers exchanged glances. Doubt was written across every face except one.
Hyuna leaned forward again. "I'll take responsibility for him."
"A short discussion followed. In the end, the decision was unanimous only because she refused to let it be otherwise.
"Congratulations," she said, smiling wide. "You are one of the eighty contestants on Aether: Idol Paradise. Don't make us regret this."
Jibeom bowed so deeply his forehead nearly touched his knees, then walked out of the building on unsteady legs. The snow was still falling. He barely felt the cold.
He had made it in.
The high lasted until he reached his apartment complex and nearly collided with a small figure in a puffy winter coat.
The boy from that night—the one he had pushed out of the path of a car that hadn't happened yet—stood in front of him, cheeks pink from the cold.
Jibeom's head throbbed once, sharp and sudden. He stumbled. The boy reached out instinctively.
"Mister, are you okay?"
Jibeom forced a smile. "I'm fine. You should get home. It's getting late."
The boy tilted his head, then simply started walking beside him. When they reached the building, the child followed him up the stairs and knocked on the door next to Jibeom's without hesitation.
An older woman opened it, mid-scold already forming on her lips. "Doyoung, how many times have I told you not to come home this late—"
She stopped when she saw Jibeom.
Doyoung beamed. "This is my new friend."
Jibeom opened his mouth to deny it, then closed it again. The woman—Mrs. Han—looked him over with the practical assessment of someone who had raised a child for a long time. She looked at Jibeom and saw a bit of loneliness in him.
"Would your friend like to stay for dinner?" she asked.
Jibeom, who had been surviving on convenience-store kimbap and the occasional free sample, could not bring himself to refuse.
The meal was simple and warm. Over rice and stew, the story came out in pieces: parents gone when he was young, an older sister working as a producer who sent money for rent and little else, the survival show he had just barely scraped into. Mrs. Han listened without pity, only quiet understanding. When he mentioned Aether, she pulled out her phone, looked it up, and nodded once.
"We'll watch," she said. "Doyoung and I. We'll root for you."
Doyoung's eyes lit up like someone had handed him a new game console. "I'll root for my friend!"
Later, after Doyoung had been sent to get ready for bed, Mrs. Han mentioned that her husband worked overseas and that the apartment felt too quiet when he was gone. That was why Doyoung wandered. She told Jibeom he was welcome anytime there were leftovers—which, she added dryly, there almost always were.
Jibeom walked the few steps back to his own unit with a full stomach and an unfamiliar tightness in his chest.
The next two weeks passed in a blur of early mornings and late nights.
He applied to a nearby convenience store on the first day and was hired on the spot. The shifts were long and the pay was modest, but it was enough to keep him fed when he wasn't eating at the Hans'. Every free hour went into training. He finished the fifty-hour dance quest in stolen moments between stock shelves and closing duties, body aching, progress slow but measurable.
On the morning of the first official recording for Aether, Jibeom checked his status one final time.
[Stats]
So Jibeom
175 cm
18 y/o
Vocals: B
Dance: C
Visual: B-
Stage Presence: C-
Quest completed
50 Hours of dancing
Reward Granted!
He closed the window, adjusted the strap of his bag, and stepped out into the winter morning.
The studio was waiting.