BREATHE
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September 2020

Nine boys were packing their belongings into their respective suitcases, getting ready to see sunlight and civilisation after months of being locked up in a facility. Now that Jaero thought about it, it all seemed too dramatic. Being locked up for months as if they’re going to war, even though all they’re fighting for is a chance to debut.

But then, the war analogy kind of makes sense. Debuting is a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and thousands of trainees each year compete for the spot of, maybe, one of the three ‘it’ groups of the year. In a way, it reminds him of movies like Hunger Games—everyone starts off as friends wishing to debut together, but only a very small percentage can make it through the debut qualifications. And even if they managed to debut at all, they’ll have to compete with thousands of rookies debuting that year, and older groups who have established their own name within the industry.

Jaero looked around the pristine-white room, silently observing the chatter between his fellow contestants. This is their last day in I-LAND, finally able to escape this hellhole and the bubbling anxiety each time the alarm rings. He doesn’t even need to analyse much into the gaze in all of the boys’ eyes—the difference between those who debuted is so stark to those who didn’t. It’s as if he can see an invisible gleam of glow around Heeseung, Sunghoon, Jongseong—his friends who were announced as the seven winners of the survival show.

And then, his gaze shifted towards the mirror. There it is, the little boy that’s gotten a little too familiar with himself. He looked the same as he did when he competed in another survival show three years ago, albeit much thinner and not in a way that he’d like to see. Even trainees that he didn’t know very well—like Riki and Hanbin, showed a lot of concern for the seemingly swift change in Jaero’s appearance. Even legendary artists that he could only dream of seeing, told the same thing.

When Jaero saw Heeseung on their first day in I-LAND, he saw that certain something. That faint glow of gold, reminiscent of stars both in the night sky and on the stage. While Heeseung’s glow only got brighter by each day he trained in the facility, Jaero was the exact opposite. Other trainees like Sunghoon and Jungwon dealt with the mental pressure well, but Jaero didn’t. This was a lot worse than what he had experienced in Produce 101, despite the better facilities. There’s just that inkling of desperation when you’ve trained for a long time, and the fear that you’ll be the majority of the trainees that never made it. Jaero wasn’t alone in this—there’s also people like Heeseung and Seon who trained around the same amount of time as himself, and they’re both even more competitive than he is.

Maybe he should’ve been fiercer, greedier, more energetic—show the audience and producers that he’s worthy. He wouldn’t even dare looking at the possible comments regarding his performance throughout the show. Jaero himself knew that he’s getting worse and worse with each episode, while the others improved little by little. Even the little boy in the mirror knows that he’s in no place to complain.

“You okay there?”

Jaero heard a familiar voice followed by a tap on his shoulder. When he turned back to face whoever was behind him, he only needed to see the looming figure and sharp eyes to recognise Jongseong, not that he didn’t recognise him by the voice earlier.

Actually, that’s the question—would it be rude to just call him “Jongseongie” like he always did? It should be “Jay sunbaenim” for him now that he’s debuted as a