The judges huddled together, their whispered conversation barely audible over the auditorium's tense silence.
Coach Miyeon spoke first when they separated.
"Technically, there were flaws. Your breathing needs work, and that high note..." She paused, her sharp features softening just slightly.
"But I felt something, and that's not easy to do."
Vocal Trainer Song nodded, leaning forward in his chair.
"Your delivery had genuine conviction. Too many trainees focus on hitting every note perfectly but forget to actually communicate with their audience. You made me believe every word."
Ryu Seongwoo's expression remained unreadable as he took the microphone.
"Performing an original composition is incredibly risky. You're not riding on familiarity or nostalgia—every element has to stand on its own merit."
My heart sank. This sounded like the buildup to criticism.
"However," Seongwoo continued, "you took that risk and delivered something authentic."
The judges revealed their scores simultaneously.
A solid B ranking.
Yuhyun's face broke into a relieved smile as he bowed deeply to the judges.
"Thank you! I'll work harder!"
As he jogged off stage, our eyes met briefly in the audience. He flashed that same warm grin I remembered from childhood.
My chest loosened slightly. A B rank wasn't spectacular, but it proved that raw emotion could compete with technical perfection.
Maybe there was hope for someone like me after all.
The announcer's voice cut through my thoughts.
"Next up, number 44."
Three more performances, then my turn.
The next two performances blurred together, competent but utterly forgettable.
One trainee from a mid-tier company stumbled through a dance routine, earning a generous C.
Another delivered a safe ballad cover that left the judges looking bored, resulting in a predictable D.
My palms grew clammy as the numbers ticked closer to 47.
"Number 46, Titan Entertainment!"
The auditorium's energy shifted instantly. Conversations died as five trainees took the stage.
Seo Haejun stood at the center, radiating the confidence born of years of elite training.
The other four flanked him—all tall, all polished, all carrying themselves like they already owned the stage.
Their matching black training gear looked expensive and fitted perfectly to their lean builds.
"We'll be performing 'Mad Wolf' from Alpha 6." Haejun announced the performance.
My stomach twisted. Of course they'd choose a song from their own company's biggest group—a guaranteed crowd-pleaser with built-in familiarity.
The judges leaned forward with obvious interest.
PD Kwon's voice boomed across the auditorium, cutting through the anticipatory silence.
"Now that's a bold move—performing a song when the original artist is sitting right there as your judge."
He gestured toward Ryu Seongwoo with, clearly relishing the drama this would create for the cameras.
Seongwoo's lips curved into the faintest smile, though something cold flickered behind his eyes.
"I'm confident my juniors will do the song justice," he said, his tone measured and professional.
"They've been training under our system for years."
He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle over the stage.
"However, I'll also be holding them to the highest standards. When you choose to perform something this close to home, there's no room for anything less than perfection."
The Titan trainees didn't flinch. If anything, Haejun's expression grew more determined.
My mouth went dry. They weren't just performing—they were making a statement about their company's superiority and their own readiness to debut.
The pressure in the room ratcheted up another notch.
The opening beats of "Mad Wolf" thundered through the auditorium's sound system—that unmistakable synth growl that had dominated charts for months.
Haejun and his teammates snapped into formation with military precision, their bodies moving as one.
The choreography was brutal. It featured sharp isolations, lightning-fast footwork, and formation changes that necessitated precise timing.
I'd watched countless dance practice videos of this routine online, knowing I'd never attempt something so demanding.
Yet they made it look effortless.
Haejun commanded the center position as if he was destined for it.
When the first verse hit, his voice carried the rapid-fire lyrics without a single missed syllable.
The other four orbited around him, their synchronized movements creating geometric patterns across the stage.
During the pre-chorus buildup, they executed a sequence of backflips and floor spins that drew gasps from the audience.
But it was Haejun's rap section that truly showcased why Titan Entertainment dominated the industry.
His flow was relentless, each word hitting like a hammer blow while he maintained perfect pitch and rhythm.
He didn't just perform the choreography—he elevated it, adding subtle variations that made the routine feel fresh.
The final chorus brought all five voices together in a harmony that raised goosebumps along my arms.
Their vocal blend was flawless, each part fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.
As the last note faded, they held their ending pose. Haejun knelt in the center of the stage, the others arranged around him in a perfect diamond formation.
The auditorium erupted in applause.
Even I found myself clapping, despite knowing they'd just set an impossibly high bar for everyone who followed.
Especially for performance number 47.
The judges didn't need to deliberate long.
Coach Miyeon spoke first, her usual stern expression replaced with something approaching admiration.
"That was textbook perfection. The formation changes were flawless, and the energy never dropped for a single second."
Vocal Trainer Song nodded approvingly.
"Your vocal control during those demanding movements was exceptional. Most trainees sacrifice technique for choreography, but you maintained both."
Ryu Seongwoo leaned back in his chair, studying his company's trainees with calculating eyes.
"You've proven why Titan Entertainment sets the industry standard."
He paused, building suspense that had the entire auditorium holding its breath.
"Four A ranks."
The teammates bowed gratefully, but Seongwoo wasn't finished.
"And one S rank—the first of this competition."
Haejun's name flashed on the screen above the judges' table.
My heart plummeted. An S rank. The mythical grade that seemed impossible just minutes ago.
Haejun accepted the ranking with a slight bow, no surprise crossing his features. Like he'd expected nothing less.
As the Titan trainees filed off stage, the weight of what I'd just witnessed settled over me.
How could anyone follow that performance?
How could I?