Alright. We move forward—Chapter Five.
The van smelled like plastic and nervous sweat.
Eight of us sat inside, knees almost touching, the city sliding past the tinted windows in blurred streaks of gray and neon. No one spoke. Not because we'd agreed not to—but because we were all listening for something.
A cue.
A signal.
The moment when this stopped being training and became record.
I rested my hands on my thighs and focused on breathing.
In.
Out.
The system stayed quiet.
That scared me more than if it hadn't.
"Five minutes," the staff member in the front seat said without turning around.
Five minutes until Rising Stars.
I had watched this show before. Late at night, phone balanced on my chest, wondering what it would feel like to be someone worth voting for. The edits were brutal. One mistake looped endlessly. One awkward silence turned into a personality trait.
I wasn't naïve.
This wasn't about talent.
It was about narrative.
The van slowed.
Then stopped.
The doors slid open.
Noise rushed in.
The studio was larger than I expected—and colder. Bright lights hung overhead like artificial suns, bleaching color from the floor, the walls, our faces. Cables snaked everywhere. Staff moved with practiced urgency, headsets on, clipboards tucked under arms.
And cameras.
So many cameras.
Not pointed at us yet.
But waiting.
"Welcome to Rising Stars," a producer said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "From this moment on, assume you are always being filmed."
Always.
The word settled uncomfortably in my chest.
We were led down a hallway plastered with posters from previous seasons—faces frozen mid-performance, names I recognized. Some had debuted.
Some hadn't.
"Line up here," another staff member instructed.
We stood shoulder to shoulder beneath harsh lighting. I could feel the heat on my skin, the awareness of posture creeping in. Someone shifted their weight. Someone else swallowed hard.
Then the cameras rolled.
A red light blinked on.
Something invisible clicked into place.
"Hello, viewers!" a voice rang out cheerfully. The MC stepped into frame, smile bright, energy effortless. "Welcome back to Rising Stars, where dreams begin—and sometimes end."
A ripple went through the line.
"Today, we're introducing new faces joining the loop. Trainees who believe they're ready to be seen."
The camera swept over us slowly.
When it reached me, instinct kicked in.
[SKILL: CAMERA INSTINCT — PASSIVE ACTIVE]
I didn't stare.
Didn't shy away.
I let my gaze settle just past the lens, expression neutral but open. Not performing. Not hiding.
Present.
The camera lingered half a second longer.
I felt it.
The MC continued, names being called one by one. Short introductions. Company affiliations. Polite applause.
"Min-joon."
I stepped forward.
"Seventeen years old. Trainee for two years."
"Your goal?" the MC asked, microphone angled toward me.
For a split second, the old answer surfaced.
To debut.
Everyone said that.
The system didn't prompt me.
It didn't have to.
"I want to be someone people don't regret watching," I said.
The MC blinked.
Just once.
"Oh?" he said lightly. "That's different."
Behind the cameras, a producer tilted his head.
I stepped back into line, heart steady.
We were ushered into the shared dorm next—a large, open space designed to look casual but framed perfectly for filming. Beds arranged just far enough apart to invite comparison. Mirrors everywhere.
"This is your living space," the staff explained. "Cameras will be active at all times except in designated private areas."
Someone laughed nervously.
Kang Jae-hyun dropped his bag onto a bed near the window like he owned it. No one challenged him.
I chose a spot closer to the door.
Not hidden.
Just… observant.
Later, during the first informal interview, I sat alone in a small room, lights trained on my face. A camera hummed softly in front of me.
"How does it feel," the producer asked from behind the lens, "to join Rising Stars?"
I thought carefully.
"Heavy," I said.
They waited for more.
"Because once people see you," I continued, "they don't unsee you."
Silence stretched.
Then—
"Cut," the producer said. "Good."
Good wasn't praise.
It was confirmation.
That night, after filming slowed and the dorm lights dimmed, I sat on my bed and finally felt it—the weight of being perceived. Every movement replayed. Every word evaluated. Somewhere, editors were already deciding who I was.
The system appeared quietly.
[DAILY QUEST — DAY 5 COMPLETE]
EVENT CONDITION MET: AUTHENTICITY
REWARD PENDING — CONDITIONS NOT YET STABLE
Pending.
I lay back and stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow would be the first on-camera performance.
The first ranking.
The first time the public decided whether I mattered.
I closed my eyes.
"Alright," I whispered to no one. "Let's begin."
Somewhere beyond the walls, the cameras kept watching.
And the loop tightened.