A frustrated huff rolls off Baby's chest as he flings the lyric notes down on the table. The balcony is usually a safe haven for him to come and practice, to sing to the sky to his heart's content.

He wants to be a rapper, desperately. But sometimes his tongue ties, and he can't get the words out fast enough. Like his brain works too fast for his lips to keep up. Not fast enough, not skilled enough, not rhythmic enough. Not enough.

Baby glances out at the city of Seoul, that crippling feeling of yearning clutching at his heart again before it morphs into hopelessness. He'll never have his name on a billboard. The band will never hit the big stage.

Sometimes, he can't tell what are his own self-deprecating thoughts or if he's hearing things. Sometimes, it feels like there's a malicious voice in his ear, whispering promises of K-pop stardom if he just gave in. But... gave into what?

This idol thing just isn't taking off. The boys have been trying so hard to get their group off the ground, but no matter how many Instagram posts or TikTok dances they do, nothing is working.

Baby glances back at the box of juices that Dr Han had given them with a frown, the miracle serums that were supposed to fix his rap abilities. Even if they taste suspiciously like the grape juice pouches from the corner store a block away from Dr Han's practice.