The rankings were updated after the first group performance, and Jiayi's name sat at the very bottom:#99. The number burned into her vision as she stared at the screen in the dorm's common room, her stomach twisting into knots. The other contestants whispered around her, their voices a low hum of judgment and pity.
"How is she still here?" someone muttered. "She can't even dance."
"They're keeping her for the drama," another replied. "Broken sells, remember?"
Jiayi clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor and never come back. But she couldn't. She was trapped here, in this glittering prison of ambition and judgment.
Yoona sauntered over, her icy blue highlights catching the light. She glanced at the rankings and smirked. "Go home, charity case," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "You're wasting everyone's time."
Jiayi's chest tightened, but she didn't respond. She just turned and walked away, her legs carrying her blindly down the hallway. She didn't know where she was going, didn't care. She just needed to get away.
She ended up in the bathroom again, the same stall where Raj had found her the night before. She slid to the floor, her back against the cold tile, and buried her face in her hands. The tears came then, hot and relentless, streaming down her face as she struggled to breathe.
She didn't know how long she sat there, lost in her grief and self-loathing, before the door creaked open. She tensed, expecting Yoona or one of the other girls to come in and mock her. But instead, she heard Raj's voice.
"Jiayi? You in here?"
Jiayi didn't respond, but Raj found her anyway. They slid down to sit beside her, their presence warm and steady in the cold, sterile space.
"Hey," Raj said softly. "It's okay. You're okay."
Jiayi shook her head, her throat too tight to speak. She wasn't okay. She didn't know if she'd ever be okay again.
Raj sighed and reached out, placing a hand on Jiayi's shoulder. "Listen, I know it feels like the world's ending right now. But it's not. You're stronger than this. You're stronger than them."
Jiayi looked up, her eyes red and swollen. "How?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "How am I supposed to keep going when everyone hates me?"
"They don't hate you," Raj said. "They're scared of you. You're different, and that scares them. But different is good. Different is what this industry needs."
Jiayi didn't know if she believed that, but Raj's words were a lifeline, a flicker of hope in the darkness. She took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped her eyes. "I don't know if I can do this."
"You can," Raj said firmly. "And you will. But you don't have to do it alone. I've got your back, okay?"
Jiayi nodded, her chest aching with gratitude. She didn't know what she'd done to deserve Raj's kindness, but she was determined to prove herself worthy of it.
The next challenge was announced the following day: a solo performance. Each contestant would have to choose a song that represented who they were and perform it in front of the judges and a live audience. The stakes were high, and the pressure was even higher.
Jiayi spent hours agonizing over her song choice. She didn't know what to pick, didn't know how to sum up who she was in three minutes or less. She thought about the Jamaican folk tune she'd hummed during the first task, the Creole hymn she'd sung in the audition tape. But neither felt right. Not this time.
And then, late that night, she had a dream.
She was back in Kingston, standing in her parents' restaurant. Her mother was singing a Chinese lullaby, her voice soft and melodic, while her father drummed a nyabinghi rhythm on the counter. The two melodies blended, creating something new and beautiful, something that was uniquely them.
Jiayi woke with a start, her heart racing. She grabbed her notebook and began scribbling down the melody, her hands trembling with excitement. This was it. This was the song.
The day of the solo performance arrived, and Jiayi felt like she was walking to her execution. The backstage area was a chaotic whirlwind of activity, with contestants rushing around in a frenzy of last-minute preparations. Jiayi stood in a corner, her hands clenched around her notebook, her mind racing.
Raj found her and gave her a reassuring smile. "You've got this," they said. "Just be you. That's all anyone can ask for."
Jiayi nodded, though her stomach was in knots. She didn't know if she could do this, didn't know if she was ready. But she didn't have a choice. She had to try.
When her name was called, she stepped onto the stage, her legs trembling. The lights were blinding, the audience a sea of faceless shadows. She took a deep breath and began to sing.
The melody was haunting, a blend of her mother's lullaby and her father's rhythm. The lyrics were in a mix of Mandarin and Patois, a tribute to her heritage and her parents' legacy. Her voice was raw and unfiltered, filled with the pain and longing she'd been carrying for so long.
When she finished, there was a moment of silence. And then the audience erupted into applause.
Jiayi stood there, her chest heaving, her eyes stinging with tears. She didn't know if she'd done enough, didn't know if she'd survive the cut. But for the first time in a long time, she felt like she'd done something real. Something true.