Kang Ian scrubbed at his tears, but the more he wiped, the harder they fell. It was like his body finally decided, Nope, we're leaking today.
"Can you tell us why you rejected our offer?" Tuesday asked gently. There was no judgment in her voice—just concern. "We'd like to understand where you were coming from."
Kang Ian nodded, sniffing as he tried to steady himself.
"I'm… I'm not originally from Korea," he began. "My parents immigrated from the US, and I was born and raised in America. I moved to Korea on my own when I was fourteen to pursue an idol career."
A few trainees gasped under their breath. Fourteen. Alone.
"I auditioned everywhere," he continued. "One day, a small company approached me. The contract looked amazing at first glance. They were convincing… too convincing. And I was young, alone, and just excited. I didn't know better. All I could think about was debuting."
His voice shook.
"It wasn't until I was already in too deep that I realized the contract was a scam. The company was infamous for preying on desperate kids like me—giving sweet promises, then guilt-tripping and gaslighting us into being okay with… with being pimped out to influential people."
Some trainees covered their mouths. Others stared, horrified.
"Thankfully, I got out. The police raided the company, and it was shut down immediately."
He lowered his gaze.
"After that… trusting anyone became hard. I'm still working through that trauma."
The room remained painfully still.
"And that's why I rejected your offer," Kang Ian said, voice trembling. "The moment I saw the contract, everything came rushing back. I panicked. Even when Silas—someone I'd started to trust—told me the contract was legit and showed me reports from lawyers… I just couldn't believe him. I couldn't believe anyone."
His tears fell harder.
"I only realized later that I passed up an incredible opportunity because of my stupidity. My stubbornness."
When he finished, there wasn't a single dry eye in the entire arena.
Tuesday wiped her cheeks and leaned forward, her voice firm and warm all at once.
"I don't ever want to hear you call yourself stupid again. Do you understand?" she said, passion shaking through every word. "You're strong. You're resilient. You were taken advantage of. Your reaction was human and completely understandable. So thank you… for taking another leap of faith. Thank you for trusting us enough to come here."
Then she stood, walked straight to him, and wrapped him in a deep, protective hug.
The moment she touched him, Kang Ian shattered. Years of fear, pain, and loneliness cracked open, overflowing in desperate sobs. Tuesday just held him—steady, warm, unyielding—as he finally let himself break.
And she didn't let go. Not until he could breathe again.
****
After a while, Kang Ian's breathing finally steadied. Tuesday leaned in and whispered, "Are you alright now?" He nodded, bowing gratefully before she returned to her seat.
Everyone was still emotional… but the show had to continue.
"Kang Ian," Foca began, his voice soft, warm—so different from earlier. "Thank you for trusting us. And thank you for sharing your story. I truly hope this program helps you heal, even a little."
The trainees erupted in cheers and encouragement, calling his name, clapping, giving him strength.
After the noise settled, Foca cleared his throat.
"As much as my heart is with you… you understand that this will not affect your evaluation, correct?" His tone shifted, steady and professional. "It may sound harsh to some, but as I promised, you will all be evaluated on effort, hard work, perseverance, character, and talent alone. No exceptions."
"Yes, I completely understand," Kang Ian said. No hurt, no bitterness—just acceptance. If anything, relief. He didn't want pity points. He didn't want to be remembered as "the trainee who broke down." He wanted to be judged for what he gave on that stage.
"Good." Foca nodded. "With that settled… I want to commend you for the excellence, sophistication, and attention to detail in your performance."
"Thank you," Kang Ian said, this time smiling.
"I guess it just proves we weren't wrong when we tried to scout you the first time," Luca added with a proud grin. "What you showed today—that's the standard we expect before we even consider signing an artist to Bread Music. Truly, well done."
"You were excellent, Kang Ian," Tuesday said, beaming. "I'll leave it at that."
"Thank you. Thank you so much!" Kang Ian bowed deeply, overwhelmed.
His fellow trainees cheered wildly.
"Good job, Kang Ian. Please leave the stage," Cat said with a bright smile.
Kang Ian walked off feeling lighter—like the weight he'd been dragging for years finally shifted, even if just a bit. Not gone, but no longer suffocating.
The moment he reached his seat, the trainees around him lit up.
"Good job, Kang Ian!"
"You killed it, bro!"
"Dude, you were insane!"
Warmth spread across his face as he sat down, surrounded by genuine praise—for his performance, for his story, for his strength.
****
And with that, the evaluations rolled on.
One by one, trainees stepped onto the stage and showed what they were made of.
Adel—who had been dying a slow, dramatic death on the boat ride earlier—finally looked human again. And, did he make up for it. The moment he opened his mouth, a haunting voice poured out, the kind that crawled under your skin and left goosebumps you didn't ask for. The good kind… and the slightly uncomfortable kind.
Then came Isaac, the small-town southern gentleman with the charm of a warm front porch sunset. He brought an acoustic guitar and sang like he was serenading the cows back on the farm—tender, honest, unpolished in the perfect way. He wasn't flashy. He wasn't dramatic. He was just him, and that alone made the whole room melt.
Of course, where there were gems… there were also brave souls who reached a little too damn high.
Some trainees simply bit off more than they could chew.
One trainee decided to go full turbo from the first beat—dancing like his rent depended on it. By the midpoint, he looked ready to pass out, wobbling like a baby deer. Singing wasn't even an option anymore; he could barely remain vertical.
Another trainee chose a song miles outside his vocal range. When the high notes came, it sounded like nails on a chalkboard having a crisis. He screeched, cracked, and nearly shredded his vocal cords right there on stage. Foca had to stop the performance out of pure concern before the boy blew his voice box into another dimension.
It was a long day—hours of performances, breaks for food, water, and sanity—but finally, the very last trainee stepped into the spotlight.
Bobby stood center stage with a mic stand, looking equal parts confident and "God please let this go well."
"The last and final trainee. Please introduce yourself," Cat encouraged.
"Hello everybody, my name's Bobby Miller. I'm twenty years old, and I'm from London." He flashed a charming smile, the kind that could probably get him out of parking tickets.
"As the last trainee to perform," Cat asked, "what do you have in store for us?"
"Well," Bobby said, gripping the mic, "I'll be performing an original song that I wrote."
"Oh? An original? Aren't you worried that might be a bit too risky?"
"Now I'm starting to be," he admitted honestly, making everyone laugh. "I was pretty confident a few minutes ago… but now? I'm not so sure."
Cat chuckled. "Well, Bobby… the stage is yours."
****
PS -
Adel sung DESERT ROSE by Faouzia
Isaac sung Iris by Goo Goo Dolls