The Day My Voice Disappeared

The spotlight burned white above Yoon Hana's head.

A practice room, one floor below ground. In front of the mirrored wall stood a long table: three teachers, and at the very end, the company president. Behind Hana, eighteen trainees in all sat on the floor in a row, hugging their knees.

The last Friday of November. Monthly evaluation day at Bluefeather Entertainment.

The intro began. Four notes on the piano. Two bars until she had to sing.

In the mirror stood a girl with a milk-tea-colored bob and a pale face. Hana breathed in. I can do this. Today, I can do this.

〈Her again?〉

A voice. But no one had opened their mouth.

〈She's the one who came seventeenth, right?〉

〈Hurry up and finish. I'm next.〉

〈Please mess up. If you mess up, I move up one place.〉

Voices. Voices. Voices. Every heart in the room started talking at once. Covering her ears wouldn't help. They weren't coming from outside. They were ringing inside her head.

Her first note arrived. Hana opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

The piano went on alone. Hana's throat felt packed with stones. It would not move.

"Stop."

One of the teachers raised a hand. The music cut off. In the silent room, the only loud thing was her own heartbeat.

"Yoon Hana. Once more, from the top."

The second time, her voice came out. That was all it did. It was thin, it trembled, and it cracked on the high note of the chorus. Someone in the back row laughed quietly. The laugh was a real sound. The heart-voices that followed were much, much louder.

＊

Ever since she was little, Hana had been able to hear something.

Strong feelings. Words people didn't say out loud reached her head in their own voices. Small, everyday feelings stayed silent. Only the strong ones came through: joy, fear, frustration.

She had never told anyone. Not even her mom. If she did, people would think she was creepy. That was what she'd always believed.

And whenever it really counted, her voice disappeared. Because she got nervous so easily. That was what Hana had always believed, too.

＊

The scores were posted in the hallway an hour later.

First place: Choi Rina. Her sixth month in a row at the top.

Seventeenth: Yoon Hana. Seventeenth out of eighteen. The same place three months in a row.

"Hm. Again?"

Choi Rina stood right beside her. Her long black hair fell straight down her back, and her posture was always as straight as a ruler. Her cold eyes stopped on Hana's name.

"It's... just bad luck."

"Three months in a row of bad luck? What a coincidence."

That was all Rina said before she walked away. Hana couldn't answer. She'd had about ten comebacks in her head, too.

"Hey, hey, Hana, don't let it get to you!"

Her roommate, Oh Mina, grabbed her arm from behind. Mina wore her curly black hair in two bunches and had round glasses. They'd shared a room in the trainee dorm for almost a year.

"Your second try totally had a voice! Actually, the chorus was kind of cool? Right?"

〈Hana, don't cry. Please, please don't cry.〉

Hana heard Mina's heart. Her mouth was joking, but her heart was nothing but worried. Hana managed not to cry.

Then the air in the hallway changed.

The company president, Nam Gyeongho, had come out of the practice room. His graying hair was combed straight back, and he wore thin gold-rimmed glasses. The same navy suit as always. Every trainee straightened up at once.

The president stopped in front of the posted scores and spoke in a quiet voice.

"The next evaluation is on the last Friday of December. At that time, the bottom three will be asked to leave this company."

The hallway froze.

〈No way.〉〈What do I do?〉〈Not me, not me.〉

Heart-voices whirled like a storm. In the middle of it, Hana looked at the president.

She heard nothing from his heart. It was always like that. He was so quiet, it was as if he didn't have a single strong feeling.

And yet he looked at Hana's face much longer than at anyone else's. Then, without a word, he disappeared into the elevator.

Four weeks until the next evaluation. Only twenty-eight days.

＊

When Hana stepped into a bathroom stall, her phone buzzed. A message from her mom in Busan.

"How did today's evaluation go? I kept checking my phone on my break at the fish market."

Hana typed "It went well," then deleted it. She typed "It was okay," and deleted that, too. In the end, she sent only one line.

"Sorry. I messed up again."

The reply came right away.

"I know your voice better than anyone, Hana. When you were little, we sang together in the kitchen, remember? That voice is still inside you."

It was an old song. Her mom used to hum it softly while she cleaned fish. Hana didn't even know its title, but she still remembered the melody.

Hana pressed the phone to her chest. The tears she'd held back through the whole evaluation finally spilled over. Here, no one could see her. Here, she couldn't hear anyone's heart.

"...I'll keep trying."

She said it in a small voice. And her voice came out just fine.

＊

After nine at night, the building went quiet.

Hana went up to the roof. Up here, no heart-voices could reach her. It was her own private place, where she could sing alone.

When she opened the door, cold wind hit her face. Seoul's night view spread out into the distance like tiny grains of light. She looked around. No one was there.

Hana stood a little away from the railing and began to sing today's assigned song.

Her voice came out.

It was always like this when she was alone. Her throat opened, and her voice rose easily all the way to the high notes. Even the part of the chorus where she'd cracked earlier, she cleared it cleanly now. The last note melted into the night sky.

Why. Why can't I do this when it counts?

"So it comes out when you're alone."

Her heart almost stopped.

From the other side of the water tank, a tall young man stepped out. He must have been sitting on the bench there. Short silver hair. A long black coat. Black headphones around his neck. A small black stud glinted in his left ear.

Kang Jiwoo.

The most famous trainee in the company. A final candidate for the group debuting next spring. Every trainee knew who he was. Hana had never once spoken to him.

"G-good evening!"

She bowed and tried to flee straight for the door.

"Hey. You. Trainee."

A low voice stopped her.

"Y-yes?"

"Seventeenth, right? Earlier today."

Hana's face went hot. Debut candidates didn't take part in the monthly evaluations. He shouldn't have been in the room.

"...You saw that?"

"Through the window in the door. It was awful."

Awful. What was awful was the way he said it. Without thinking, Hana tried to listen to Jiwoo's heart. What did he really think? A strong feeling should come through, the way it always did.

She heard nothing.

Not a single word. Instead, a melody flowed toward her. A gentle sound, like a piano. A song she had never heard before. Sad, and yet somehow bright. A short phrase, repeating, the kind she wanted to keep listening to forever.

His heart wasn't speaking in words. It was music. She had never met anyone like that.

"Why are you spacing out?"

"Huh? Oh, no. ...It's nothing."

Jiwoo took two steps closer. He was a full head taller than Hana. His gray eyes looked down at her.

"Your voice doesn't vanish because of your throat."

"...I know."

"If you know, why don't you fix it?"

"Because I don't know how!"

The moment she said it, Hana covered her mouth. It was the first time she had talked back since joining the company.

Jiwoo narrowed his eyes slightly. She couldn't tell whether he was smiling.

"Every night at ten. Practice room two, in the basement. Until the next evaluation."

"What?"

"If you don't show up, that's it. I won't say it twice."

That was all. Jiwoo walked past her, putting his headphones over his ears.

As he passed, Hana noticed something. No sound was leaking from his headphones. He wore them all the time, and yet. He must listen with the volume very low, Hana thought.

"Wait! Why me?"

At the door, Jiwoo looked back.

"I'll tell you if you make the top ten."

The door closed. Only the sound of the wind was left on the roof.

That melody was still playing deep in her ears.

＊

Before heading back to the dorm, Hana went down to the basement to get her things from her locker.

When she opened it, a sheet of white paper, folded in four, was lying on top of her gray hoodie.

She unfolded it. One short line, printed from a computer.

"I know about your ears."

Her fingertips went cold.

Her ears. That power she had never told anyone about. What else could it mean?

Hana looked around. The locker room at night was empty. She couldn't hear a single heart.

Twenty-eight days until the next evaluation. The bottom three would have to leave.

Every night at ten, practice room two, in the basement.

And someone knew Hana's secret.