The Starforge dorm was a labyrinth of glass and steel, its hallways echoing with the sounds of rehearsals, whispered gossip, and the occasional sob. Jiayi sat on the edge of her bunk, staring at the cracked screen of her phone. The voicemails were still there, untouched since the last time she'd listened to them. Her father's voice, warm and gravelly, singing a Bob Marley lyric off-key. Her mother's soft hum, a Chinese lullaby she'd sung to Jiayi every night.
She couldn't bring herself to press play.
The door creaked open, and Raj slipped in, his shaved head gleaming under the fluorescent lights. He held out a steaming cup of tea. "Chamomile. For the nerves."
Jiayi took it, her fingers brushing against his. "Thanks."
Raj sat cross-legged on the floor, his glittering bindis catching the light. "You okay? You've been quiet all day."
Jiayi shrugged. "Just tired. The rehearsals are…"
"A nightmare," Raj finished for her, grinning. "But you killed it today. That Patois rap? Iconic."
Jiayi managed a small smile. "Yoona looked like she wanted to murder me."
"Yoona always looks like that. It's her resting face."
They laughed, the sound echoing in the small room. For a moment, Jiayi felt lighter, as if the weight of the competition, the cameras, the expectations, had lifted. But then her phone buzzed, and the moment shattered.
It was Mei.
Meet me in the lounge. Now.
Jiayi's stomach twisted. She hadn't seen Mei since the audition, but her aunt's presence loomed over everything—her sharp words, her calculating gaze, the way she seemed to know exactly where to press to make Jiayi bleed.
"Everything okay?" Raj asked, his brow furrowing.
"Yeah," Jiayi lied, standing up. "Just… something I need to take care of."
The lounge was empty except for Mei, who sat perched on a sleek leather couch, her phone in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. She looked out of place in the sterile, modern room, her tailored suit and sharp heels a stark contrast to the neon lights and glossy surfaces.
"Sit," Mei said, not looking up.
Jiayi hesitated, then sat across from her, her hands clenched in her lap.
Mei finally looked up, her gaze piercing. "You're slipping."
"What?"
"Your ranking. Your performance. You're barely scraping by."
Jiayi's cheeks burned. "I'm trying."
"Trying isn't enough," Mei snapped. "Do you think Yoona is trying? Do you think Raj is trying? They're fighting for their lives out there. And you're just… floating."
Jiayi looked away, her throat tight. "I don't belong here."
"You don't have a choice," Mei said coldly. "That land in Jamaica? The loans? If you don't make it in this competition, we lose everything. Is that what you want?"
Jiayi didn't answer. She couldn't.
Mei leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You think I don't know what you're going through? You think I don't understand what it's like to lose everything?"
Jiayi looked up, startled. Mei's face was unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—a flicker of pain, quickly buried.
"When I was your age," Mei said, her voice low, "my father—your grandfather—was one of the most powerful men in K-pop. He owned a company and managed some of the biggest stars in the industry. And he was a monster."
Jiayi's breath caught. She had never heard Mei talk about her past.
"He wanted me to be perfect," Mei continued, her fingers tightening around her glass. "Perfect face, perfect voice, perfect image. And when I wasn't… he made sure I knew it."
Jiayi's stomach churned. "What did he do?"
Mei's smile was bitter. "What didn't he do? He controlled every aspect of my life—what I ate, what I wore, who I talked to. And when I rebelled… he made sure I paid for it."
She set her glass down, her hands trembling slightly. "I ran away when I was seventeen. Cut ties with him, changed my name, and started over. But the scars… they never really go away."
Jiayi stared at her, her chest aching. She had always seen Mei as cold, calculating, unfeeling. But now…
"I'm not telling you this for sympathy," Mei said, her voice hardening. "I'm telling you because you need to understand what's at stake. This industry… eats people like us alive. If you're not strong enough to fight back, it will destroy you."
Jiayi swallowed hard. "I don't know if I can."
"You don't have a choice," Mei repeated. "You have to survive. For your parents. For yourself."
There was a long silence, broken only by the hum of the air conditioner. Then Mei reached into her bag and pulled out a small, sleek device.
"What's that?" Jiayi asked.
"A camera," Mei said, her tone matter-of-fact. "I've arranged for one of the crew to film you during rehearsals, interviews, even in the dorm. We need to capture every moment—your struggles, your breakthroughs, your vulnerability. It's what the audience wants."
Jiayi's stomach dropped. "You're spying on me?"
"I'm protecting you," Mei corrected. "The more they see of your journey, the more invested they'll be. And the more likely they are to keep you in the competition."
Jiayi shook her head, her chest tightening. "I don't want this. I don't want to be some… some spectacle."
"You don't have a choice," Mei said again, her voice like steel. "This is how the game is played. And if you want to win, you have to play it."
Jiayi stared at the camera, her hands trembling. She wanted to argue, to fight back, but the words wouldn't come.
Mei stood, smoothing her suit. "I'll be watching. Don't disappoint me."
She left, her heels clicking against the floor, leaving Jiayi alone with the camera and the weight of her aunt's expectations.
That night, Jiayi lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The camera was hidden somewhere in the room, its lens capturing every move, every breath. She felt exposed, raw, as if her skin had been peeled back to reveal the fragile, trembling thing beneath.
She thought about Mei's story, the pain in her eyes, the scars she carried. She thought about her parents, their laughter, their music, the life they'd built together. And she thought about herself—broken, lost, trying to find her way in a world that didn't want her.
For the first time in months, she reached for her phone and pressed play on the voicemails. Her father's voice filled the room, singing softly, off-key but full of love.
"Sing louder, Jiayi."
She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks. And for the first time in a long time, she sang.