The locker room was never supposed to feel like this.
After every audition, it was always buzzing—whispered critiques, nervous giggles, the occasional sob muffled into a sweater sleeve. But now, the air was thick with something heavier. Something final.
Mei stood at her locker, her reflection in the mirror unnaturally still. The other trainees were statues around her, their usual energy drained away, leaving only the hollow aftermath of shattered dreams.
Then, the first sob broke. It came from Yoon.
The youngest of them, the one who had shone the brightest, crumpled onto the bench like a puppet with its strings cut. Her hands pressed against her mouth, but the sound escaped anyway—a wounded, gasping thing that seemed too raw to come from someone so young.
The others rushed to her, a flurry of comforting hands and hushed reassurances.
"Yoon-ah, it's okay—"
"You'll get another chance—"
"They don't know what they're missing—"
Mei didn't move.
She had trained for this moment for ten years. Ten years of early mornings and bleeding feet and meals skipped to keep her weight in check. Ten years of swallowing every criticism, every injustice, every time someone told her she was too old, too plain, too forgettable.
And now, she had made it.
So why did it feel like she hadn't won anything at all?
Yoon's crying grew louder, jagged and uncontrolled. "I—I did everything right!" she choked out between sobs. "I practiced until my feet bled! I—I gave up everything—"
Amy rubbed her back. "We know, we know…"
Then, Yoon's tear-filled eyes locked onto Mei.
"You."
The word was a knife. Mei didn't react. She had spent a decade perfecting the art of stillness.
"You didn't even want it!" Yoon's voice cracked. "You just—you just stood there, like you always do, like nothing matters to you—"
The others stiffened. A few glanced at Mei, waiting for her to snap, to argue, to do something. But Mei just zipped up her bag. They didn't know how badly she wanted this debut, how she changed herself to be the perfect trainee, the perfect idol, the perfect image. How many years of training and criticisms have broken her bit by bit, but she continues for her dream.
Yoon let out a broken laugh. "Of course. Of course, you don't care. You're just—just a placeholder until they find someone better."
A beat of silence.
Then—
"I wish you were the one who got hit by a truck."
The words hung in the air, sharp and ugly.
For the first time, Mei's hands faltered. Just for a second. Just enough to notice.
Then she straightened, slung her bag over her shoulder, and walked out without a word.
Behind her, Yoon burst into fresh sobs.
It was raining outside, and Mei just stepped out of the company's back exit like she was instructed to.
The agency's back exit led to an alleyway, the pavement slick with rain. Mei stepped into it without hesitation.
The cold didn't bother her. Neither did the way her clothes clung to her skin, soaked through in seconds. She had endured worse.
She walked slowly, her footsteps steady, her posture perfect.
Idols don't slouch. Idols don't rush. Idols endure.
The streets were nearly empty at this hour, the glow of neon signs reflecting off the wet pavement. Somewhere in the distance, a car honked.
Mei kept walking.
She had spent ten years being told she wasn't enough. Ten years of being too old, too plain, too unremarkable. And now, she had finally made it—not because she was the best, but because she was the safest.
The thought should have stung.
But all she felt was numb.
Suddenly, headlights came out of nowhere.
One second, the street was quiet. Next, the screech of tires cut through the rain, and the world was suddenly too bright, too loud, too close.
Mei turned. For the first time in ten years—the very last time—she let the mask slip.
"…Fuck you, Yoon."
Then— Impact.
Darkness.
Then—a spotlight.
Mei blinked. She was standing on a stage—no, not a stage. A void of glittering black, stretching endlessly in every direction, like the universe itself had been swapped for an empty concert hall.
And in the center, bathed in a halo of pink light, was a girl.
Dark purpleish hair. Star-pupiled eyes. A smile so bright it hurt to look at.
"Ta-dah!~" the girl sang, spreading her arms like she was greeting an adoring crowd. "Welcome to your very special encore, Mei-chan!"
Mei's breath caught. There was something… wrong about that smile. It was too perfect. Like a diamond carved to refract light in every direction, blinding anyone who stared too long.
"You…" Mei's voice faltered. "Are you… God?"
The girl giggled—a sound like wind chimes and razor blades. "Silly! Gods are boring. I'm Hoshino Ai—your number one fan!" She winked. "Well, and the divine incarnation of the Idol Path. But details, details~"
She twirled off her throne, her dress (was it a dress? Or just light shaped like one?) shimmering with every movement.
"I've been watching you, Mei-chan. Ten whole years of you grinding yourself to dust for a dream that didn't even love you back!" Ai sighed, tilting her head. "Kinda pathetic… but also super entertaining!"
Mei flinched.
Ai's grin never wavered. She skipped forward, cupping Mei's face in hands that felt both warm and ice-cold.
"But that's okay! Because now?" Her starry eyes glowed. "You get to start over! A whole new world, a whole new you… And this time, I'll be your producer!"
Mei swallowed. "Why?"
Ai's smile softened. For a heartbeat, it almost looked real.
"Because you're interesting, Mei. You finally showed me something real right at the end." She leaned in, her whisper a secret shared between idols:
"'Fuck you, Yoon.'"
She pulled back, laughing as Mei's eyes widened. "That's the girl I wanna see more of! Not the perfect little robot everyone pushed around."
A snap of her fingers.
The void swirled into petals, Mei's body dissolving into light. Ai watched, her glittering smile never fading—until Mei's form grew faint.
Then, for just a heartbeat, Ai's starry eyes dimmed.
"Mei-chan."
Her voice was different now. No theatrics. No glitter. Just quiet.
"Next time… sing for yourself first, okay?"**
A flicker of something real crossed her face—not a goddess's grin, but the tired smile of a girl who'd learned too late what honesty cost.
Then, like a curtain falling, the sparkle rushed back.
"Kira!~ Break a leg out there! Or a scull! Whatever~!"
Light swallowed Mei whole.
And Ai was left alone on her stage, humming a lullaby no one could hear. "これは絶対嘘じゃない愛してる"
And then—
Darkness.