That’s the thing about being a trainee: you know everyone and everyone knows you. Or at least, for Jae, it feels that way when eyes are on him and his eyes are behind a pair of thick-rimmed frames that drown half his face. For three years he’s kept his eyes down and did his own thing. Three years, and he’s seen change big and small— voices changing, style evolving, musical direction shifting, and people coming and leaving. Three years isn’t a long time but when you count the days according to a debut that may never arrive, every second seems to be a forever. When the pecking order as trainees is at least two infinities worse than it was in high school, and fitting is more like a circus act of walking the tightrope finding where you belong between the ruling elite, the ring leaders, lion tamers, clowns and freaks, who can blame him, then? If behind his easy demeanor were walls that kept his personal bubble small.

Keep your head down and focus on your music, that’s what he was told when he came into the company. For the most part, that’s what he did: he sang, he practiced guitar, learned to rap, and avoided dance class at all costs. Life was an endless loop of breathe, sleep, and repeat. Routine didn’t really bother him, so long as he got a glimpse of a future where music is his life.

But just because Jae keeps his head down doesn’t mean his ears aren’t listening.