MIRAE
Yuna Hyeon – The Voice That Holds the Silence
With black hair and eyes as deep as the night that keeps its secrets, Yuna Hyeon is the leader of MIRAE—not by force, but by presence. Her leadership isn’t loud; it’s felt. She’s the one who listens before speaking, who steadies the group when emotions overflow, and who turns the invisible into form.
Yuna doesn’t sing to be admired; she sings so others can recognize themselves. Her voice carries the calm of someone who sees beyond words, and the strength of someone who has felt deeply without losing herself. In every performance, there’s a story that doesn’t need explanation—only resonance.
As a songwriter and lyricist, Yuna writes from the edge of the intangible: emotions without names, memories that can’t be touched, synchronies that happen between glances. Her style is restrained, elegant, yet charged with an intensity that doesn’t impose—it seeps in slowly, quietly.
In MIRAE’s universe, Yuna is the dark thread that gives contrast and depth to the tapestry. She sets the emotional rhythm of the group, guiding Lina and Nova not with instructions, but with intuition. Her leadership is emotional, artistic, and silent—like a compass that doesn’t need to be seen to be followed.
Yuna Hyeon doesn’t seek to be understood. She seeks for the listener to understand themselves through her.
Lina Hyeon – The Whisper That Blooms
With pink hair and eyes like a sunset that refuses to end, Lina Hyeon is MIRAE’s quietest voice—and its most revealing. Her shyness isn’t weakness: it’s a way of seeing the world deeply, of feeling without rush, of existing without needing to take up space. Lina sings like someone breathing for the first time, with a fragility that doesn’t break, but transforms.
Her presence in the group is like a breeze that changes the weather without anyone noticing. She doesn’t lead, interrupt, or demand. But when her voice appears, everything stops. There’s a sweetness in her delivery that doesn’t aim to move you—but it does. Every word she sings feels like it’s been thought about for years, as if it carries the weight of everything left unsaid.
As a lyricist, Lina writes from the intimate: thoughts that aren’t shared, emotions hidden behind smiles, moments that exist only in the memory of the one who lived them. Her style is introspective, delicate, but full of truth. She doesn’t need to shout to be heard; her silence echoes.
In MIRAE, Lina is the petal that balances the root. She’s the pause in the whirlwind, the reminder that beauty can be quiet too. Her voice doesn’t seek the spotlight, but becomes the emotional center of the songs that reach deepest.
Lina Hyeon doesn’t sing to be seen. She sings so that someone, somewhere, feels less alone.
Nova Hyeon – The Eclipse That Smiles (and Burns)
Nova Hyeon doesn’t enter the stage—she bursts into it. She’s the youngest member of MIRAE, but also the strongest, the loudest, the most impossible to ignore. Her golden hair and blue eyes don’t deceive: behind that beauty, there’s fire. Nova doesn’t smile out of politeness—she smiles like a challenge. Always on guard, always ready to protect. Not out of impulse, but instinct. Nova doesn’t attack—she defends. Herself, Lina, and above all, Yuna.
Never dare to look at Yuna with questionable intentions. Nova senses it before it even happens, as if her body were designed to shield her. Though she’s the youngest, Nova believes it’s her duty to protect her older sisters—especially Yuna, the smallest physically, the most beautiful, the purest. Nova doesn’t get angry for no reason—she ignites out of love. Her rage is a shield, not a weapon. Yuna is her treasure, her star, her reason. There is no one worthy of Yuna’s heart or attention, and Nova knows this with a certainty that needs no explanation. Only Yuna can calm her, with a single soft and steady glance. Not because Nova fears her, but because she respects her with a devotion that borders on the sacred.
Extroverted, physical, commanding with just a look. Her presence isn’t shared—it dominates. There’s something in her that disarms, unsettles, fascinates. Nova doesn’t seek attention, but attention follows her. She’s the one who watches while others act, who understands without asking, who sings as if revealing a secret no one deserves to hear.
On stage, she’s a storm. Her voice doesn’t ask permission—it strikes. She doesn’t sing to move you—she sings to protect. There’s something ritualistic in her performance, something that turns the ordinary into magic. When Nova sings, the world seems to pause, waiting to understand what’s happening.
As a lyricist, Nova writes from urgency, from the body, from fierce love. Her lyrics are screams disguised as poetry, truths that don’t seek approval. She’s the one who breaks the balance, who pushes the limits, who turns vulnerability into strength.
Nova Hyeon doesn’t want to be understood. She wants to be felt, respected, and never—ever—challenged when it comes to what she protects.
