The practice room was a cacophony—voices overlapping, footsteps pounding against the floor, the occasional burst of laughter or frustrated groan. Jiayi stood in the corner, her arms crossed, watching as the other trainees rehearsed their parts. The team battles had been announced that morning, and the stakes were higher than ever. The winning team would get a special feature on the Starforge app, while the losing team would face elimination.
Jiayi had been placed on a team with Yoona, Raj, and two other trainees—Hana, a bubbly girl with a powerhouse voice, and Minjun, a quiet boy with a knack for choreography. Their song was a popular girl-crush anthem, with all sharp beats and sultry lyrics. It was a far cry from the reggae and folk tunes Jiayi was used to, and she felt out of place before they'd even started.
"Jiayi," Yoona called, her voice sharp. "Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to join us?"
Jiayi flinched but forced herself to walk over. Yoona was already in position, her movements precise and confident. She'd been assigned the center role, and she wore it like a crown.
"Let's run through the chorus," Yoona said, not waiting for a response. "Jiayi, you're on the second line. Try to keep up."
The music started, and Jiayi stumbled through the choreography, her movements clumsy and out of sync. The Korean lyrics tripped her up, her accent thick and awkward. Yoona's glare burned into her, and Jiayi could feel the frustration radiating from the rest of the team.
"Stop," Yoona snapped, pausing the music. "Jiayi, what are you doing? You're throwing us off."
"I'm trying," Jiayi said, her cheeks burning.
"Try harder," Yoona shot back. "This isn't some reggae concert. This is K-pop. If you can't keep up, you're going to drag us all down."
Jiayi's hands clenched into fists. She wanted to argue, to defend herself, but the words stuck in her throat. Yoona was right—she was out of her depth, and everyone knew it.
Raj stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Yoona cut her some slack. She's doing her best."
"Her best isn't good enough," Yoona said, her tone icy. "We don't have time for this. If she can't get it together, we'll have to cut her from the performance."
Jiayi's stomach dropped. Being cut from the team would mean a certain elimination. She couldn't let that happen—not after everything Mei had said, not after everything she'd been through.
"I'll get it," Jiayi said, her voice trembling. "Just give me a chance."
Yoona raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. "Fine. One more run-through. Don't mess it up."
The next few hours were a blur of repetition and frustration. Jiayi practiced the choreography until her legs ached, her voice growing hoarse from singing the same lines over and over. Yoona's criticisms were relentless, but Jiayi forced herself to keep going, to push through the exhaustion and self-doubt.
During a short break, Raj pulled her aside, his expression concerned. "You okay?"
Jiayi nodded, though her hands were still shaking. "Yeah. Just… tired."
Raj handed her a water bottle. "Don't let Yoona get to you. She's just stressed."
"She's not wrong, though," Jiayi said, her voice low. "I'm not good at this. I don't belong here."
"You do," Raj said firmly. "You just have to find your way. You don't have to be like everyone else."
Jiayi looked at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"
Raj smiled. "You've got something no one else here has. You just have to figure out how to use it."
Before Jiayi could respond, Yoona called them back to practice. The music started again, and Jiayi took a deep breath, trying to focus. But as the song progressed, she could feel herself slipping, her movements growing stiff and awkward.
Then, during the second verse, something unexpected happened.
Jiayi's mic cut out.
The music kept playing, but her voice was gone, swallowed by the silence. Yoona's eyes widened in surprise, and the rest of the team faltered, their movements slowing.
For a moment, Jiayi froze, panic rising in her chest. But then she remembered Raj's words—find your way—and something inside her clicked.
She stepped forward, her voice rising above the music.
"Mi seh, mi nah bow, mi nah kneel," she sang, her voice strong and clear. The Patois lyrics flowed naturally, a sharp contrast to the polished K-pop beats. "Mi stand firm, mi stand real."
The room fell silent, the other trainees staring at her in shock. Even Yoona looked stunned, her usual composure slipping.
Jiayi kept going, her movements looser, more fluid. She wasn't following the choreography anymore—she was making it her own, blending the sharp beats of the song with the rhythms of her heritage.
When she finished, the room was silent for a long moment. Then Raj started clapping, a wide grin on his face.
"That was amazing," he said, his voice full of admiration.
Hana and Minjun joined in, their expressions impressed. Even Yoona looked grudgingly impressed, though she didn't say anything.
Jiayi's heart was pounding, her chest heaving from the effort. She didn't know if what she'd done was right if it would work in the competition. But for the first time in weeks, she felt like herself.
The night before the performance, Jiayi lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The camera was still there, its lens capturing every moment, but she barely noticed it anymore. Her mind was racing, replaying the day's events over and over.
She thought about Raj's words, about finding her way. She thought about Yoona's harsh criticisms, about the pressure to conform. And she thought about her parents, their music, their love.
She reached for her phone and scrolled through the comments on her audition video. Most of them were negative, criticizing her looks, her voice, and her background. But there were a few that stood out—comments from people who saw themselves in her, who felt seen and heard through her music.
One comment in particular caught her eye: "You're not alone. Keep singing."
It was signed by a shadowy figure—Mino?
Jiayi's breath caught. She didn't know if it was him or if he was the one who'd sent the fan letter. But the thought gave her hope, a flicker of light in the darkness.
She closed her eyes, her fingers brushing against the charred page of her mother's songbook.
"Sing louder, Jiayi."
The day of the performance arrived, and the tension in the air was palpable. The teams gathered backstage, their costumes glittering under the bright lights. Jiayi's team was dressed in sleek black outfits, their makeup bold and dramatic.
Yoona stood at the front of the group, her expression calm and confident. "Remember," she said, her voice low. "We're a team. Whatever happens out there, we do it together."
Jiayi nodded, her heart pounding. She didn't know if Yoona's words were genuine or just for the cameras, but they gave her a small measure of comfort.
The music started, and they stepped onto the stage, the audience's cheers echoing in their ears. Jiayi took her place, her hands trembling slightly.
Then the lights came on, and everything else faded away.
The performance was a blur of sound and motion, the sharp beats of the song blending with the rhythm of Jiayi's heart. She stumbled a few times, her movements not as precise as Yoona's or as fluid as Raj's. But when it came time for her part, she stepped forward, her voice rising above the music.
"Mi seh, mi nah bow, mi nah kneel," she sang, her voice strong and clear. "Mi stand firm, mi stand real."
The audience erupted into cheers, their energy feeding into hers. Jiayi felt a surge of confidence, her movements growing bolder, more confident.
When the performance ended, the applause was deafening. Jiayi's chest heaved as she bowed, her heart pounding with a mix of relief and exhilaration.
Backstage, Yoona gave her a small nod, her expression unreadable. "Not bad," she said, her tone grudging.
Jiayi smiled, her chest swelling with pride. For the first time in weeks, she felt like she belonged.