The sun hadn't even risen, but the alarm blared like a fire drill through Dorm Room 17. Han Mirae bolted upright, heart racing. Her limbs ached from the evaluations, and her ankle throbbed as if still stuck in the sprint.
"Rise. Five minutes. Uniforms on. Stretch outside."
Master Seo's voice echoed from the dorm speaker. No room for argument.
Mirae swung her legs down. Mistake. Pain shot up her ankle. She bit down a gasp.
Below, Taeha, the girl with bandaged knuckles, was already lacing her shoes with robotic precision. Jiwoo, the one with headphones, barely blinked as she adjusted her ponytail.
No one asked how Mirae was.
By the time they lined up in the cold training yard, the sky was still dark. Over forty trainees stood in rows, breath visible in the chill. Mirae stood in the back, trying to hide the way she leaned her weight off her right foot.
"Today is physical conditioning day," Master Seo said. "You will complete seven rounds of circuit drills. If you fall behind, your team suffers. You become a burden."
Mirae's heart sank. Seven rounds?
The circuit began.
Jump squats. Sprints. Push-ups. Planks. Repeat.
The first round was hard, but manageable. By the second, Mirae was already sweating. Her ankle burned. When she landed a squat wrong, her foot buckled.
She caught herself. Barely.
But someone saw.
"Hey," Kang Jiwon said from two rows over, voice too loud, too cheerful. "Is she limping?"
The nearest trainer glanced over. Mirae straightened.
"I'm fine," she said quickly. Too quickly.
By the fourth round, the limp was impossible to hide. Every sprint felt like punishment. She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood.
Jiwoo passed her on the run and muttered, "If you can't handle it, quit."
Mirae didn't answer.
In the fifth round, during high knees, her ankle gave out.
She collapsed hard onto her knees. Grit scraped her palms. Gasps echoed around her.
Master Seo walked over slowly. "Trainee 83."
Mirae tried to get up. Failed. She forced herself onto her feet.
"I'm fine," she repeated, voice shaking.
Master Seo stared at her. Then said, "Again."
Mirae nodded. She restarted the drill.
Kang Jiwon gave a high-pitched giggle. "She's gonna get us docked points. Should we carry her next?"
A few snickers followed.
Mirae's throat burned.
She made it through all seven rounds. Barely. When the whistle blew, her entire body trembled.
"Endurance score: 42nd out of 42," a voice announced from the screen.
Someone clapped mockingly.
"Get used to the bottom," Jiwon whispered as she passed.
--------
After lunch, they were split into groups for partner drills. Mirae was paired with a tall, stoic trainee named Sena. Their task: mirrored choreography.
For every step Sena took forward, Mirae had to match back. It required rhythm. Speed. Balance.
Three moves in, Mirae stumbled.
"Reset," the trainer barked.
They started again. Stumble.
Again. Lag.
Again. Off-time.
Sena's expression remained blank, but her jaw tightened more with every reset.
On the sixth attempt, Sena finally spoke. "If you're going to be weak, at least don't drag me down."
Mirae flinched. "I'll get it."
"Then do it."
They restarted.
By the tenth attempt, the trainer stopped them. "Switch partners."
They were moved. Mirae ended up in the group of four—three trainees who clearly already knew each other, synced like dancers from the same company.
Mirae tried to keep up.
The gap widened.
She missed a turn. Her ankle screamed. She faked a smile. They didn't fake their annoyance.
After the set, one girl spoke quietly, "Can't believe she made it in. Must've been a PR stunt."
"She's lucky cameras aren't on," said another.
"She'd be out already."
Mirae kept her face blank. But her hands trembled when she grabbed her water bottle.
---------
That night, she soaked her ankle in freezing water. Her fingers brushed the angry bruise forming at the joint.
"Still pretending you're fine?"
Mirae looked up.
Taeha stood in the doorway.
"I don't need to pretend," Mirae said. Her voice cracked.
Taeha didn't smile. Didn't sneer. Just stared.
"Everyone here wants to survive," Taeha said. "But survival doesn't come from lying to yourself."
Mirae didn't answer. She lowered her head.
"Good," Taeha added. "Then stop limping in secret. Show them you're standing in pain. They'll still hate you. But at least it'll be on your terms."
When she left, Mirae let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
She pulled her red bracelet from under the sleeve.
It glowed faintly.
Do or Die.
--------
The next morning, the challenge was a team-based relay obstacle course.
Six teams. Mirae was placed with trainees she hadn't even spoken to. They looked at her like she was a landmine waiting to go off.
"Don't slow us down," one said.
Another added, "If she screws it up, we report it to Master Seo."
The whistle blew.
Mirae sprinted with her group. Mud pits. Ropes. Balance beams. She pushed harder than she had in days.
Halfway through, they hit the coordination wall. Two partners had to vault over it using each other as leverage.
No one wanted Mirae.
She stepped forward anyway. "I'll go with her," she said, pointing to a girl named Daeun.
Daeun frowned. "You sure you won't fall again?"
Mirae didn't answer. She cupped her hands and boosted Daeun up.
The lift almost failed. Mirae's ankle twisted. Pain blinded her.
But Daeun made it over.
Then reached down.
Mirae took her hand and climbed. Barely.
They cleared it.
The team finished fifth. Not great, not last.
But no one praised her.
"You dragged us," someone said.
Another added, "If we had a full team, we'd have placed third."
--------
When Mirae returned to her dorm, her bunk was covered in sticky notes.
Dead weight
Try harder
This isn't a rehab center
Her chest tightened.
She sat on the bed and peeled each note off one by one.
No one claimed them.
No one denied them either.
She lay down and stared at the ceiling.
That night, no one spoke to her.
Even the bracelet didn't glow.