How to Avoid Debut

Chapter 32

༺ How To Avoid Debut – 32 ༻

“Hahyun, at your level, you can definitely get into Korea Arts University.”

Those were the words my homeroom teacher had quietly told me in the faculty office at the beginning of my freshman year. Although I wanted to attend a prestigious university, I hadn’t given much thought to college admissions. The teacher continued to shower me with sweet praises time and again.

“All you need to do is build a good track record of awards from now on, and you can make it.”

I left the office with a simple nod, not thinking much of it. However, as time passed, the comments from the teachers began to sound repetitive.

“Hahyun could even aim for the top spot.”

It was nice to be praised, but I couldn’t understand why everything was always linked to college. While I did wish to graduate from a reputable institution, I hadn’t had a clear goal in mind until Korea Arts University came into the picture.

Everyone seemed to take it for granted that I should attend such a prestigious university. I heard these sentiments so often that I began to feel an obsessive compulsion to get in.

Apart from the times spent enjoying novels, I had hardly indulged in any hobbies or leisure activities. The only times I felt a sigh of relief was when I watched novel-related films or attended performances. When I envisioned myself on stage, performing in front of thousands of fans, I didn’t regret any moment spent in preparation. The people involved in those novels were the only ones I cherished during my entrance exam preparation.

“Are you going to apply?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll handle the paperwork for you. Go ahead.”

My first year was busy, but my sophomore year was even busier. To maintain my record, I participated in every competition available and had to keep up with my grades. While the Korea Arts University didn’t heavily weigh school grades for admission, they weren’t entirely negligible either. During exam periods, I didn’t forget to study whenever I could.

“Do you want to hang out after this?”

“I have classes at my academy; I can’t.”

“You have academy classes every day?”

After the summer vacation of my sophomore year, even I thought my schedule had become excessively packed. Both my tutors and school teachers constantly praised my efforts. But I couldn’t let my guard down. In the warzone of college admissions, everyone was fervently striving to survive, and amidst that competition, I had to work harder than ever. I couldn’t just rely on my innate talent. Everyone was pushing this hard, after all.

“Wow, are you insane? You corrected everything that was pointed out yesterday?”

“I practiced.”

“You’re seriously superhuman. Let me lay down some stairs for you to ascend to heaven.”

My friends often teased me with such comments. Everyone was preparing for university entrance and worked hard, never skimping on practice. Still, they were often left speechless by my efforts.

As I truly plunged into the college admissions race, the ever-mounting expectations began to suffocate me. Everyone said I could do it, and I felt obligated to meet those expectations no matter what.

“You’ve achieved the highest award in this competition too. You’ll effortlessly get into the university you want.”

Teachers seemed particularly impatient, feeling as if they couldn’t provide the right stepping stones for my future. They were the first to recommend every competition, big or small, and whenever there was an opportunity to stand on an official stage, they came to me first.

I soon realized why. Our school, renowned nationwide for consistently producing students accepted into the Korea Arts University, needed to maintain its prestigious reputation. The school required someone to be the poster child for external promotions. I, having been chosen for this role, received unwavering support from the institution. It was only natural that some students would feel resentful.

“He won another award? Again?”

“He’s so lucky. Just sitting around, and the teacher finds him all these opportunities.”

“But does he really dance that well? Inchul performs just as well, right?”

The familiar sarcastic comments reached my ears, and I quietly placed down my spoon. The clear favoritism from the teachers was obviously displeasing to other students, and I refrained from responding to their whispers. If anything, my friends seemed even more upset on my behalf.

No matter what a few students, with whom I wasn’t on good terms, said, I believed that demonstrating my skills would prove everything. I managed both academic and club activities without a hitch. I faced no challenges, be it in senior-junior relationships or friendships.

“It’s only natural to recommend students with high potential for awards, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“He dances that well? They all know it too, and yet they still talk nonsense.”

Ignoring the unhelpful young voices was the answer. I took a 30-second pause, then mechanically lifted my spoon, scooping a large bite of rice, and swallowed it without much thought.

* * *

Holding the freshly printed exam slip in my hand, I took a slow breath. Less than two weeks remained before the practical exam. While managing my grades adequately, I also diligently filled out my activity record and had prepared for interviews by the end of September. All that was left was the practical exam.

Not wanting to waste even a moment, I headed straight to the academy after arriving. As per usual, I began by stretching my body. Despite having lesser physical strength than others, which was distinct from my reasons for taking physical education, strength training was essential. By consistently following the academy’s regimen, my body had become considerably robust. I had developed lean muscles and abs, but my entire body ached from muscle soreness.

It felt like I had practiced my brief major piece, lasting not even two minutes, over a thousand times. Now, just hearing the song made my body reflexively move, to the point where I felt nauseous. It had been nearly three months since I had checked the video of the novel stage performance I occasionally did. Reducing even the time for practice, I was in a state where I couldn’t possibly afford to think fondly of it.

“This isn’t right.”

With limited time left, the more I practiced, the more the flaws seemed glaringly evident. My academy teacher said it was enough, but I didn’t see it that way. I had to prepare even more meticulously. So that anyone who saw would say, ‘He definitely deserves to pass,’ and gain universal acknowledgment.

The standards I set for myself became increasingly stringent. Almost eliminating sleep entirely, I practiced relentlessly. Given the exam preparation period, I always left the academy, which stayed open till the early hours, last. Not once had my body failed to move as I desired, yet now it felt foreign. The unexpected shock and growing anxiety wreaked havoc on both my skills and my body.

My sensitive state didn’t even allow for proper digestion. The hastily bought meals, consumed amidst hectic practice sessions, were often thrown up not long after. As the situation grew graver, I hardly had the time to acknowledge it, for I was incessantly showered with expectations and attention from those around me.

“The exam’s on the 15th, right?”

“Yes.”

“Why does your voice sound so weak? You absolutely, positively have to pass.”

“Ah, Teacher, don’t worry. It’s hard to imagine him not getting in.”

Hearing the reassuring voice of my friend, my heart sank heavily. Already overwhelmed with anxiety, my mind couldn’t act rationally. After finishing, I rushed to the academy and practiced until my breathing became ragged and painful. By the time I arrived home, my body hurt so much that it was hard to move.

I tried to apply a pain relief patch, but I couldn’t reach the spot on my shoulder. The patch kept crumpling under my touch. Since I was alone in the empty house, there was no one to help. That day, I shed a few tears.

It felt like someone was constantly chasing me from behind. Even though there was nothing, I tortured myself with the illusion of an imagined threat. And the result was a fainting spell on the eve of the practical exam.

“……”

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the white ceiling of the hospital. No thoughts crossed my mind. My head had hurt so badly that I had skipped school and gone to the hospital. Feeling nauseous and dizzy, I had barely made it into the hospital building. I had decided to take a break and not practice that day, but that was the last thing I remembered.

Despite the IV drip in my arm, I quickly got up and tried to get off the bed. I bumped into my brother who was just entering the room.

“Where do you think you’re going? Lie down now!”

I had never seen him shout like that before, so I hesitated before slowly climbing back onto the bed. But the nagging worry wouldn’t go away.

“What time is it? What day is it, bro? It’s still the 14th, right?”

He didn’t answer. Instinctively, I realized. Ah, I missed the exam time. I was supposed to arrive at the exam venue by 4 p.m. on the 15th.

“You haven’t eaten or slept. Were you trying to die instead of taking the exam?”

“No……”

The realization that everything was over drained all the strength from my body, and my mind finally cleared. Maybe because I had slept deeply and replenished my nutrients, clear thoughts began to flood in. Flashbacks of the forced practices due to anxiety, where my body couldn’t even keep up, passed through my mind.

“Ah, you scared me so much…”

I silently watched my brother as he sat down on the floor and rubbed his face. Blood oozed from the spot where the IV had been forcibly removed.

The conclusion was clear: everything was over. Three years of effort had crumbled into nothingness.

After a week of hospitalization and subsequent discharge, I returned to school. Since I had missed the practical exam, it was inevitable that I would receive a notice of failure. The first person I sought out upon wearing my school uniform and returning to school was the homeroom teacher.

“Hahyun, how did you manage your condition so poorly that you passed out? What about everything you’ve been working on?”

Instead of asking about my condition after a week-long hospital stay, the homeroom teacher held his forehead in distress. The subsequent flood of words went in one ear and out the other. I wanted to ignore them, but they inevitably piled up in my heart.

Such reprimands accumulated like loyalty points. The lecturing seemed relentless, as if teachers took turns drilling their words into my ears. My friends couldn’t easily speak to me and just looked on cautiously. As I walked the corridors, whispers of “He passed out,” were constantly audible. At first, I wondered if I was being overly paranoid, but the whispers were too evident.

“Isn’t managing your condition also a skill?”

“He must have been so obsessed with practicing to end up like that.”

Their mocking laughter contained truths I couldn’t refute, so I blankly rested my forehead on the desk. My friends no longer raised their voices in objection to those mocking tones. Perhaps they believed there was truth in those words.

“Just take the college entrance exam at least. Aim for the minimum score.”

Because my brother insisted I get the exam admission ticket, I had applied without much thought. The homeroom teacher advised me to start preparing for it. There was less than two months left for the exam. I knew that even with intense studying during that period, I wouldn’t get into an art university, let alone a provincial college.

Time passed, and the acceptance list for the Korean National University of Arts was announced. Jung Inchul from my class got accepted. He was known as a good guy among the students, but he disliked me.

“Hahyun, I got in. Uh… I’ll work hard for both of us.”

And that jerk flaunted his acceptance to me, as if to show off. He seemed intent on boasting to everyone in the class. He added that he’d work hard for my sake too, even though I never asked him to.

To others, I must have looked distressing. Since the mismanagement of my condition was entirely my fault, I held back from lashing out at someone undeserving.

“Inchull finally beat you.”

“Congrats on escaping Lee Inja.”

“Hey, stop it. Hahyun is right here.”

The kids described my exam absence as a dramatic turnaround for Jung Inchul. After he bragged for a while and left, my friends belatedly asked if I was okay, but I didn’t hear them. Not just once or twice, but the entire school talked about me for several days.

From that day, I skipped school for three days straight. Locked up alone at home, ignoring family calls, I behaved as if I were the most pitiable person in the world and abstained from food and drink. Even when I finally mustered the will to go to school, my mind had long since drifted away. The college entrance exam day arrived while my body just mechanically attended school.

“……”

The exam paper was blurry in my sight. I tried reading the questions, squinting hard, but the words remained faint. I could only discern that white was the paper and black were the letters. Thinking I might be crying, I blinked several times, but no moisture emerged. Still, the test paper remained unclear.

In the end, I just stared at the test paper for the entire duration. I didn’t even pick up my pen. After the last subject was over, I mindlessly shuffled out of the exam hall and went home. I thought I’d at least try to attempt some answers. As soon as I arrived home, I threw away my musical album and called the tutoring academy, where I had been absent for a long time, to quit.

I graduated without receiving an acceptance notice from any university. The homeroom teacher suggested I take a gap year to retake the exam, but I lacked the confidence. I didn’t have the courage to go another year and wasn’t sure I wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes.

“I understand. Then, perhaps… next year?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t retake the exam.”

I felt I couldn’t bear any more expectations. My parents accepted my weak response without any comments. As soon as they hung up the phone, they immediately took a flight to Korea.

Embraced in my mother’s arms after a long time, I thought it might be best to leave dance as a past memory and hobby.

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