I stayed in Practice Room 7 until a production assistant knocked twice, her polite way of telling me my slot was over.
The revised bridge of UNLABELED played quietly in my earbuds as I packed my notebook and tablet. My voice felt tired, but not damaged. Trainer Song had made it clear that I wasn't allowed to test that distinction tonight.
In the corridor, Taeyong emerged from the dance studio with sweat-soaked hair. Minjae stood nearby, reviewing formations on his production tablet. Both greeted me before hurrying off.
They had their own performances to worry about. I still had two group numbers to catch up on.
The cafeteria, however, looked nothing like its usual self.
Production had pushed the tables together into one long arrangement, set for sixteen. White tablecloths covered the familiar scratched surfaces. Someone had brought in proper plates, cloth napkins, and small flower arrangements that seemed almost comically elegant beneath the fluorescent lights.
And the food—
