Giovanni looked at Ren, then at the pack of cigarettes held out to him.
He realized the stiff posture belonged to a teenager, but in the evolving landscape of Rich City, juvenile delinquency masquerading as adulthood was a common sight. He was too drained to care.
Giovanni took one. Ren took one for himself.
"Frustrated promoter. Struggling agency. Am I warm?" Ren asked, leaning against the wall beside Giovanni as if settling in for a confession.
Giovanni, weighed down by the pressure, nodded. One of Sid and Ciel's friends, he thought. He struck a light. Smoke swirled around his face.
Ren held up his unlit cigarette, gripping it awkwardly between his left fingers. "Can I get a light?"
Giovanni instinctively leaned in, bringing his flame to the tip of Ren's cigarette. For a split second, the small flicker of the lighter reflected in Ren's icy gaze. This sudden proximity caught Giovanni off guard—he failed to notice Ren's rigid movements, giving Ren the perfect window to gauge the man's vulnerability.
The relief of a sympathetic ear loosened Giovanni's tongue.
"Dammit. You see that?" Giovanni pointed to a nearby digital billboard. "CLOVER is a masterpiece on paper. The government promised capital, support—the works. But the suits? They just give us insane deadlines without any infrastructure. I need a face. I need potential. And that girl, Ciel... she's got it all."
Ren flicked the cigarette between his fingers to drop the ash, though he hadn't taken a single drag. "Who promised this government support?"
Giovanni leaned his head back against the cold brick. "Who else? Prime Minister Daniel. Word is, his own son is going to run CLOVER once he graduates. It's a vanity project to polish the image of the New Rich City. Bastards."
The information hit Ren like a cold jolt of electricity. This was internal—details the government hadn't gone public with yet. It confirmed everything Daniel had hinted at regarding Zero.
Ren had to milk this informant for everything he was worth. "When's the deadline?"
"One month. Then a year of total quarantine. The idols debut a month after the official launch." Giovanni took a deep drag, exhaling a thick cloud.
Too much information for a stranger, Ren thought. But he'd take the win. It gave him a blueprint for his next year.
One year. Enough time to prepare.
There were still too many remnants of the Marble Kingdom to scour. One false move and his targets would vanish into the wind.
Ren dropped the unburnt cigarette and crushed it under his boot. "I suspect your hard work is about to pay off."
Giovanni stared at the crushed cigarette, then at his own. "Wait. You don't even smoke?"
Ren turned toward the shadows, a faint, ghost-like smile dancing on his lips. "I'm looking forward to your choice for the debut."
Giovanni stood alone under the flickering streetlight, a sudden chill creeping down his spine. He stared into the darkness where Ren had vanished. That kid just interrogated me, he realized with a start. He blew out a final puff of smoke, but the unease didn't leave him: the boy hadn't even given a name, but he had walked away with every secret Giovanni held.
ARENA DISTRICT PERIMETER | MAY 2323
As if woven by fate, Ren's words to Giovanni became reality.
A month later, exactly one day before the deadline that had been haunting Giovanni, he found his golden ticket.
Giovanni, dressed too sharply for his frayed nerves, was walking through the Arena District when he stopped dead in front of a modern cafe—all glass and steel. Through the window, he saw her.
The 'Visual Potential.'
She sat at a small table with a friend. Even in the crowded district, she was a beacon: elegant pink hair, sharp, aristocratic features, and eyes that simmered with hidden ambition.
Giovanni burst inside, his heart hammering against the ticking clock. He reached her table, panting.
"Forgive the intrusion, Miss," Giovanni began, trying to summon a professional mask. The pink-haired girl remained calm, while her dark-haired friend glared at him with suspicion.
Giovanni produced a business card and a QR code. His face was a map of desperation and exhaustion.
"My name is Giovanni. I'm a promoter for CLOVER. I'll get straight to the point," he said, his words tumbling out. "Your visual potential is staggering. CLOVER is an idol agency backed by the Prime Minister. You have exactly the aura Rich City needs for this project. My deadline is tomorrow. We need you."
"Wait, Rena. You don't even know this guy!" Nadia, the dark-haired girl, tried to pull her friend's arm.
Rena ignored her. She scanned the code, her slender fingers tracing the digital form on her screen.
She focused on the logo—a four-leaf clover, etched in silver. She listened as Giovanni rattled off the benefits: the contract, the quarantine, the debut projections. When he finished, silence hung in the air.
Leverage.
Rena knew an agency funded by Daniel offered more than just a stage. It was an entry point. It was political access, a loophole in the bureaucracy that she could never find elsewhere.
To find her mother's killer, Rena needed to be in the inner circle. The authorities called her mother's death a "terrorist incident," but the forensic report she'd glimpsed told a different story.
Rena needed to be untouchable. She would become the Number One Idol in Rich City, using the glare of the spotlights to hide the darkness of her intent.
Rena locked her phone and looked at Giovanni—not with hesitation, but with a cold, absolute resolve.
"I'm in," she said. Short. Sharp.
Nadia gasped, nearly dropping her glass. "What? Rena? You're joking!"
Giovanni needed two full seconds to process it. His despair crumbled, replaced by an overwhelming wave of relief.
Suddenly, he remembered the strange boy from the Merge District—the one who vanished like smoke after saying, 'I'm looking forward to your choice.'
Impossible, Giovanni thought, his pulse racing. He didn't know who that kid was, but Rena's arrival felt like a gift from a very dark, very strange god.
"I'll fill it out now. When will I hear back?" Rena asked.
"G-great. I mean... thank you! Two days at the latest. You'll be notified via email."
Giovanni hovered, making sure every field was filled. Nadia could only watch with wide eyes, unable to fathom why Rena would choose such an absurd, high-risk path.
"Forgive me, Miss Rena, it seems you missed the field for your mother's name. Could you provide that?" Giovanni pointed to his tablet.
"Ah. You're right," Rena said, offering a sweet, haunting smile. "My mother's name... was Riko."
CLOVER HEADQUARTERS | AUDITION DAY
The day arrived. Rena reached the CLOVER building an hour early. In the waiting room, she watched other girls tremble with nerves. On the outside, Rena was a statue; on the inside, she was a storm.
Two hours later, her name was called.
She entered the interview room—a sterile glass box on the second floor. Three people sat across from her at a gleaming white table.
In the center sat a young man. He was calm, but he radiated a stiff, absolute authority. The nameplate on his desk read: ZERO.
He had ash-blonde hair, perfectly styled, and a suit that looked more like an armor than an outfit. To his sides sat two middle-aged directors, acting as silent observers. Zero looked at Rena, but not with admiration. He looked at her like a manager evaluating an asset.
"Welcome, Miss Rena," Zero said, his voice flat and clinical. "We've reviewed your file. Your visuals are... sufficient. Let's skip the talent pleasantries."
Zero leaned back. "I am Zero. I will be managing CLOVER upon my graduation. My question is simple: Why an idol? Someone with your intelligence and visual command could choose a stable path. Why choose a year of isolation and the risk of public failure?"
Rena resisted the urge to smile. Zero was a machine—he cared only for efficiency.
"An idol is an illusion of control, Mr. Zero," Rena replied, her voice a calm whisper. "An idol is the face the public trusts. A political brand. I'm not interested in the stage itself. I'm interested in the platform it provides."
One of the directors scribbled a note. Zero merely tilted his head.
"You sound like you're applying for a CEO position, not a girl group," Zero countered, his tone analytical.
"I know what I'm doing. In the New Rich City, true power doesn't hide behind closed doors—it stands in front of a camera broadcast to millions," Rena said, her gaze sharpening. "To reach my goal, I need to be untouchable. I need to be Number One. And CLOVER is the only shortcut to that kind of visibility."
Zero raised a hand, silencing a director who tried to interrupt. "We require absolute commitment. One year. No outside world, no private life. Only training," Zero challenged, his tone turning predatory. "We will mold you from start to finish. What makes you think you can survive? Isn't that too high a price for 'visibility'?"
Rena thought of the life she had lived—of the night the Marble Kingdom fell and her mother, Riko, became a "casualty." She was well-acquainted with the cost of survival.
"The price you're asking is nothing compared to what I've already lost, Mr. Zero," Rena replied. "I don't see this as a sacrifice. I see it as a transaction. I give you my time; you give me the platform."
Zero nodded slowly, his expression unchanging, though his eyes remained locked on hers.
"Interesting. At CLOVER, we don't need sentimental stars. We need assets who understand the mechanics of power," Zero concluded. "We will use you to embody the new image of Rich City. And we know exactly how to control our image."
The three men whispered briefly. Rena waited, her spine straight, prepared for any outcome.
Zero didn't offer a handshake. "You will hear from us the day after tomorrow. You're dismissed."
"Thank you. I look forward to it," Rena said, standing. She turned and walked out, leaving the room's heavy silence behind her.
Zero didn't speak until the door clicked shut. He tapped his tablet, pulling up Rena's digital profile. He stared at it for a long time, his eyes stopping on a name he recognized.
Riko... Zero thought. Your daughter is a perfect product.