Chapter 11
— Greedy Monster
Yan's breath caught in his throat.
What…?
The word never left his lips, but it exploded inside his head like thunder.
The host stood at the center of the stage, calm and confident, letting the restless noise of the trainees slowly die down. Their excitement from the previous song announcements still lingered in the air, thick and electric. Everyone's eyes were glued to him now.
"And now," the host said, his voice deliberate, "we move to the final song."
The massive screen behind him flickered.
Yan's heartbeat sped up for reasons he couldn't explain.
The screen settled.
"Greedy Monster."
For half a second, the entire hall went completely silent.
Then—
The explosion came.
"Whattt?!" "Greedy Monster?!" "No way—are you serious?!" "That song is legendary!"
The hall erupted into chaos. Trainees jumped from their seats, screaming, clapping, stomping their feet. The noise was deafening.
"That song is always trending!" "It has millions of views!" "It never leaves the charts!" "I want that song—I NEED it!"
The host raised his hand, trying to calm the storm, but even he seemed momentarily overwhelmed by the reaction.
"Greedy Monster," he continued once the noise slightly settled, "has one of the largest fanbases in the industry."
The screen shifted, showing endless scrolling numbers—views climbing, comments flooding in, fan edits looping endlessly.
"It is known for its raw, cunning, and unfiltered emotions," the host said. "Every performance of this song demands hunger, control, and presence."
The trainees were almost vibrating with excitement.
"That song is obsession!" "It's dangerous!" "It eats performers alive!"
Yan stood frozen.
Greedy Monster.
His chest tightened painfully.
That's… my song.
The realization crashed into him with brutal force.
My voice. My lyrics. My story.
His thoughts spiraled uncontrollably.
How is this possible? How can they use my song without informing me? Without my management team? Did they really think I didn't need to know?
His breathing grew uneven.
Oh God… what is happening to me?
The host continued, oblivious—or pretending to be.
"The artist behind this song," he announced, "is one of the most popular singers of this era."
The hall buzzed again.
"All the girls are obsessed with his voice!" "They say it's addictive!" "But no one has ever seen his face." "He never reveals himself!" "No interviews, no live appearances!"
The mystery only fueled the excitement.
Yan's fingers trembled slightly.
They're talking about me… And they don't even know it.
His gaze drifted toward the entrance as subtle movement caught his attention.
Someone was walking into the hall.
The whispers shifted instantly.
"Who's that?" "Staff?" "Wait—look at that suit…"
The host turned toward the newcomer with a polite smile.
"Please welcome our guest."
Yan barely reacted—until the next words struck like ice.
"From HWA Group."
His breath stopped.
HWA…?
That name wasn't just familiar—it was terrifying.
HWA Group controlled everything: media, idol agencies, television networks, movie studios, production houses. Careers were made and destroyed at their whim.
"And this," the host continued, "is Kin."
Yan's blood ran cold.
Kin.
Not just anyone.
Secretary Kin.
The man who stood closest to the real power.
"He is here to treat the trainees," the host said smoothly, "and to officially announce that HWA Group is investing in this project."
The hall exploded again—but this time with pure joy.
"HWA Group?!" "This show just became huge!" "We're lucky!"
"With this investment," the host added, "come special facilities for all trainees."
Smiles bloomed everywhere. Hope surged.
Everyone looked thrilled.
Everyone—
Except Yan.
Yan stared at Kin, his gaze sharp and burning.
Why are you here? Why now? Why my song?
He forced himself to breathe.
Calm down. Don't react.
Kin stepped forward, his voice smooth, controlled, and authoritative.
"This project matters greatly to us," Kin said. "It involves heavy investment. We hope you can achieve what you truly desire."
Yan's jaw tightened.
Kin's eyes swept across the trainees—and for a fraction of a second, passed over Yan.
No reaction.
No recognition.
That hurt more than Yan expected.
"And now," Kin continued, "there is something important you must understand."
The lights dimmed.
"How many trainees," Kin asked calmly, "do you think will debut from the original fifty?"
The screen changed.
A number appeared.
The hall fell silent.
Before anyone could fully process it—
A large table slowly rose from beneath the stage.
On it sat several blue velvet boxes, rich in color, glowing softly under the lights.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Kin stepped closer and opened one box.
Inside lay a shark-shaped batch 🦈, sharp and elegant, crafted from white and blue stones. It looked expensive, dangerous—alive.
"These batches," Kin said, "are attached to your coat."
The trainees leaned forward unconsciously.
"They represent the top trainees," he continued. "Those closest to debut."
Gasps rippled through the hall.
"These batches," the host added, "are awarded based on points."
The screen shifted again.
"Fan votes through the app."
Another pause.
"And stage performance points."
Excitement surged.
"But," the host said firmly, "only seven trainees will receive this shark batch through total points."
Tension tightened.
"The eighth batch," Kin added calmly, "will be awarded by judges' vote."
Yan's eyes darkened.
"So no talent," Kin continued, "goes to waste."
"And the same system," the host said, "will apply in the final."
The hall buzzed with ambition and hunger.
Dreams felt dangerously close.
"Do your best," the host concluded. "Nobody knows your future."
Yan stared at the blue velvet boxes.
At the shark-shaped batches.
At Kin.
Fair?
His fists clenched slowly.
You planned this without my consent.
"Make your future," the host said firmly,
"by yourself."
The trainees erupted into cheers, screams, and applause.
Yan didn't clap.
Didn't cheer.
Didn't smile.
Because now he understood.
This wasn't just a competition.
It was a hunt.
And he was standing in deep water—
While everyone else was cheering for the shark.