Chapter 11: Don’t Hold Me Back

The spot where Lee Haemin should have been felt hollow, as if a hole had been punched through the formation, but no one showed it as they danced.

—A burning passion once hidden deep in the darkness.

A decision rising in my heart, TAKE chance.

When it came to Lee Haemin’s part, that feeling reached its peak.
Yet not a single person wavered or danced with their eyes lowered to the floor.

Finally, it was Shim Eun-chan’s part.

He wasn’t particularly outstanding in either rap or vocals, so Shim Eun-chan had been given a fairly even distribution of both.

Dancing to the MR while singing live, he was caught off guard by his own recorded voice.
To be honest, it was jarring.

—The next step, the heart I kept hidden.

Us, just as we are, together.

The chance I tucked away, pulled back up again—big shoot!

It was the rap section, and he couldn’t help wondering if he’d really been this bad.

Even accounting for how hard it was to judge one’s own voice objectively, it was far below Shim Eun-chan’s pre-regression skill level.
He knew he could do better.
That this had been approved as “okay” was hard to believe.

When it came time to record Hyun Woo-young’s part later, Shim Eun-chan resolved to ask for a retake no matter what.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to bear the embarrassment every time they went on stage.
No matter how much mental calibration dulled the impact of most mistakes, he didn’t want to use that as an excuse to gloss over something this sloppy and call it acceptable.

—In my memories, you’re ambitious like ice!

The final part had the same lyrics as the opening, but Do Jun-seo’s singing style was completely different.

Unlike the delicate tone he used at the beginning, he finished the song with a powerful, rasping voice, as if scratching at his throat.
As his part ended, the four who had been moving intensely froze, as though someone had pressed a pause button.

They had only run through it once, yet everyone was already breathing hard.

“Eun-chan.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll practice so I can keep up.”

At Moon Se-byeol calling his name, Shim Eun-chan lowered his head.
He didn’t offer any excuses.
From the other members’ perspective, it must have been absurd.
A member who had always kept up suddenly waking up one day unable to perform properly, as if he were a different person entirely.

“It’s okay. We still have time. It’s fine.”

They say you don’t call a fool a fool to their face.
Instead of scolding Shim Eun-chan, who had been making an unusual number of mistakes, they offered encouragement.
Moon Se-byeol lightly patted his shoulder in reassurance.

“Want to try matching it together this time? Some of the moves are tricky, so it might take a while, but we can do it dozens of times if we need to. We’ll keep going until you’re satisfied, okay?”

Moon Se-byeol wasn’t speaking only to Hyun Woo-young.
Shim Eun-chan nodded along with him, saying he understood.
He was grateful simply for the chance to dance and sing again.
And he realized anew just how much he loved it.

No matter how many times, he could do it again.

His motivation flared brightly.

Hyun Woo-young’s ability to pick up choreography was astonishingly fast, so it didn’t even take five tries.

By the second run-through, it was nearly perfect, with barely any mistakes.
Only trivial things, like the slightly crooked angle of a fist, were off.
Even those were noticed only by Moon Se-byeol’s hawk-like eyes; otherwise, they might have been overlooked.

It wasn’t just technical skill—his natural lines in dance were genuinely artistic.
Though his limbs were long, there was none of that flailing awkwardness.
Instead, he made those proportions work even more to his advantage.

Even a single strand of hair swaying naturally without styling looked like part of the performance.

Even Shim Eun-chan, who knew Hyun Woo-young’s stats, couldn’t help clicking his tongue in admiration.
For the other members, it went without saying.

How someone like him had ended up in a company like PotenHigh, or become an additional member of B the 1, became an unsolved mystery.
It wasn’t exactly something you could ask him directly.
But it seemed Shim Eun-chan wasn’t the only one thinking that.

They didn’t need words; when their eyes met, they could tell from each other’s expressions and gazes.

Moon Se-byeol, impressed, patted Hyun Woo-young on the back.

“Woo-young, you’re amazing. You pulled this off in one day.”

“That’s because you explained it so well.”

Contrary to his first impression, Hyun Woo-young had a surprisingly easygoing side.
It must have been a confusing situation, completely unplanned, yet he didn’t show a single hint of displeasure about coming to the practice room and learning the choreography.

The problem was Shim Eun-chan.

He’d improved a lot compared to before, but with this level of skill, he couldn’t go on stage.

“Eun-chan, come here. Let’s do some one-on-one coaching.”

Moon Se-byeol casually offered to go over the choreography with him first.
He spoke lightly, probably thinking it would be hard for Shim Eun-chan to bring it up himself.
It felt odd to prioritize him over Hyun Woo-young, who was learning today’s choreography for the first time, but this wasn’t the time to be picky.
To be honest, the one who truly needed Moon Se-byeol’s guidance was Shim Eun-chan.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long to revive his overall memory of the choreography.
It wasn’t a level he could be satisfied with yet, but at least he barely avoided being an eyesore.
This was only the beginning.
He needed to raise the level of completion even higher.

Shim Eun-chan was aiming higher than that.

To show it to the fans and the public, this wasn’t enough.
He practiced by repeating the routine from start to finish.

By the time he came to his senses, six hours had flown by.

They’d suggested practicing together, but none of them had planned to go this far, so even Shim Eun-chan was surprised.
Hyun Woo-young, however, not only didn’t complain but suggested doing a bit more, brimming with enthusiasm.
Who could dislike that?

In the end, they practiced for an additional two hours before leaving the studio.
They could have gone on longer, but since Hyun Woo-young’s family home was in Gyeonggi Province, they wrapped up early.

Maybe because they’d spent several hours working so closely together on their first meeting, the atmosphere was far warmer when they left than it had been at the start.

Shim Eun-chan was more at ease now and managing to keep up, but Do Jun-seo’s silence bothered him.
He never initiated conversation.
Given how sentimental he was, it was probably hard for him to accept Hyun Woo-young after Lee Haemin had left.

If teamwork was off, it would show on stage.
They even shared a room, and more than anything, Shim Eun-chan, being mentally the oldest, felt he should take care of it.

Hyun Woo-young, who hadn’t brought his things and had to return home, seemed to be planning to take the bus.

“Eun-chan hyung, could you walk me to the bus stop?”

Hyun Woo-young singled him out.
Shim Eun-chan had already planned to see him off, since he was the one who’d brought him all the way to the practice room, but he hadn’t expected to be named outright.

“Sure. No reason I can’t.”

After he agreed without hesitation, Ryu Seo-oh spoke to him.

“You okay? You must be tired.”

“I’m fine. Even if I go back now, I won’t be able to shower right away anyway.”

“True.”

Ryu Seo-oh nodded in agreement.

As they stepped outside the practice room, a biting, knife-like wind greeted them.
It felt even colder now that night had fallen.
While Shim Eun-chan shivered and drew himself in, Hyun Woo-young said goodbye to the others.

“This way.”

He followed Shim Eun-chan’s gesture.
Even though they’d practiced for a long time, it wasn’t that late, so there were still plenty of people around.
Shim Eun-chan could feel passersby glancing at Hyun Woo-young.
He definitely had a face that drew attention even when he did nothing.

Perhaps he sensed Shim Eun-chan’s sidelong glances.
Without turning his head, Hyun Woo-young spoke.

“Eun-chan hyung.”

“Yes?”

“I have to be the best. So please don’t hold me back.”

At those declarative words, Shim Eun-chan doubted his ears and slowly turned his head.
Hyun Woo-young had already turned to face him fully.

His expression was serious—this was neither a joke nor teasing.

He’s saying this here, all of a sudden?

Shim Eun-chan had never expected to hear something as blunt as “don’t hold me back.”
The impact was strong enough that all he could manage was a blink.

Whatever Hyun Woo-young made of that reaction, he hardened his expression and continued.

“I’m confident I can be the best. If someone holds me back, I could still climb up with them dragging at my ankle—but that would be a waste of time. So please, put in the effort.”

Shim Eun-chan raised an eyebrow.

So this is why he asked me to walk him out.

It was clear he hadn’t been satisfied with Shim Eun-chan’s grasp of the choreography or his recorded singing during practice that day.
But to say it this directly, right to his face?
Maybe it was because he was young, or maybe that was just how he was—he really didn’t hold back.

He was startled, but he didn’t find it cringeworthy or rude.
Strangely enough, he wasn’t even angry.

It just felt bold, the way Hyun Woo-young laid his thoughts bare without hiding anything.
And that passion and drive shone so brightly it was almost enviable.

Blurting out your ambitions like that wasn’t easy.
That alone was worth respecting.
Of course, he wouldn’t deny that it also felt brazen.

And he didn’t want to simply nod and say he understood.

“Wow, you scared me.”

Shim Eun-chan pressed a hand to his chest and spoke dramatically.
Then, meeting Hyun Woo-young’s eyes, he slowly curled his lips into a smile.