“A survival show.” Shin Ryuahn repeats slowly. 

She stares at her manager, who - dressed head to toe in the latest fashion trends she’s heard people talk about, with bright pink streaks popping amidst her black hair, and one of those lensless glasses people wear for some goddamn reason sitting on the bridge of the nose - fits all too well with the buzzy, hipster coffee shop. Then she blinks for good measure, slowly, like it will scatter this unpleasant dream and she’ll wake up.

God, and there she was, happy to get out of the house and do something, anything - even if it’s just grabbing a meal with another human being. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Meeting up was supposed to be a good thing. It always meant a booked schedule, or at least the prospect of one, and she has been so excited…

  She even splurged and got an extra topping for her boba. She may not be uselessly dressed to impress like her companion, but damn it, she put on a bra, a fresh one, straight out of the laundry. Her s smell like roses, and it was all for a ing survival show.

Joohyun takes a long sip from her bubble tea. It does little to conceal her wince. “They’re supposed to call in a meeting and tell you about it tomorrow, but I heard it from Sua and thought it would be better to let you know first.”

“Thanks, I guess,” says Ryuahn dryly. She reaches for her own plastic cup - filled with extra boba: precious, undeserved, extra-costing boba - and lets the tea fill as she counts:one, two, three… all the way to ten. It doesn’t help to calm her down as much as she has hoped. “A survival show though? Really?”

She knew things weren’t peachy with Starship, knew that her music wasn’t selling as much as they originally thought - oh she knew that all too well. But she didn’t think it was that bad. Survival-show level of bad.

“Maybe it’s a good thing? Maybe it will get you exposure for your solo career, Chugnha style? I know it’s not optimal, but at least it’s something.” Joohyun tries half-heartedly, even though both of them know it’s bull. It’s as obvious as the bright pink against the darkness of her manager’s hair.

A pregnant pause stretches the air thin; uncomfortable, quiet, and awkward despite the hums of coffee machines and chatter that keep the cafe busy with sounds. 

“You’re not going to stop being my manager?” Ryuahn wants it to sound like a sure statement. But she also never wants to be in a survival show either, and that one is out of the window too.

“No one told me anything about it, so until someone does I’m just going to ignore it.”

Her manager of almost two years raises her plastic cup into the air. Ryuahn follows the cue with a sardonic smile, raising her own milky bubble tea and clinking it against its counterpart. Black boba shakes inside the blue and yellow bodies of liquid before setting at the bottom of the cups, and it’s like realization has finally settled.

“I guess I’m going on a survival show.” she says sardonically and grabs the straw between her teeth.

The tea tastes too bitter for it to be the start of anything good.

Yoon Saeyool walks out of the manager's office, a million stones lifting off of her heart.

A sigh heaves itself out of her lips, a breath she hasn’t realized she’s been holding, making way to a wild grin, all thirty-two teeth showing.

She feels so relieved it's not even funny.

No more “Yes, they disbanded my group, dad, and no it doesn’t mean I won’t debut again”. No more “mom, it’s After School, not After Shock” - well, maybe still some of that. But no more “concerned” questions that come off as patronizing. No more weirdly empathic and mildly worried glances from the new trainees that follow her with their hungry, dream-filled little eyes. This… This means debut (err, comeback? Re-debut? What is even the right term?), and one that couldn’t have come quickly enough. Polishing her dancing skill is fun, but Saeyool has forgotten how utterly ty training can be.

She’s going to be in this survival show what Somi was in Produce 101.

She and Youju, they’re going to be together again, realizes Saeyool, a swell of excitement piling in the pit of her stomach. Just how it was meant to be, another stone off her heart, a scary thought she didn’t dare think and now doesn’t have to. And they’re going to be the Somi and the Gaeun, and they’ll be back on Weekly Idol by the end of the (horrible, horrible) year, and this nightmare would be all but forgotten.

She tries to control the grin as she takes her usual route down the elevator and out of the building. They said not to tell anyone, but Saeyool knows that her -eating grin is just too damn obvious. It doesn’t help that she wants to yell the news for the whole world to know. That would shut reporters up for sure. Hell, even if it’s one less “Pristin disbanded” article and one more “Yoon Saeyool moves on” article… she’s just so tired of being sad, and depressed, and guilty, and confused.

Yoon Saeyool is tired of being anything but happy, and she is happy now. The world deserves to know exactly how happy she is.

But she can’t tell anyone, manager’s orders -

Well. She can tell someone.

She dials Youju’s number as she steps out of Pledis’ Headquarters, and stops fighting the muscles of her face.

The grin reaches full -eating capacities even as it goes to voicemail.

Song Jaekyung stares from the mirror and taunts.

The reflection’s taunt is mighty - there are the eyes, and nose, and full red lips, the yellow crop top that shows her toned midriff just the way she likes. There is the mole - no, beauty mark - under the eye, and there is the hair, dark and cascading and long. Song Jaekyung the trainee is a familiar sight, yet the confident smile on her lips wavers the longer she looks.

She looks exactly like that - a trainee. She doesn’t look like an idol whatsoever.

Jaekyung can’t shake off that feeling. It’s in the back of her head, spoiling whatever joy she’s felt from knowing she’s one step closer to debut and is going to participate in that new show that’s been rumored to happen for months now. It’s like a rotten fruit that ruins the entire basket, she knows that and she knows that she shouldn’t think that way. She is the best Starship has to offer. Everyone knows that. There isn’t any chance whatsoever that she’s not going to debut. She’s going to be an idol by the end of the year.

But she is not an idol now. She’s a trainee. Trainees aren’t guaranteed anything.

The thought follows her like a stray for the rest of the day, a stupid nagging that she knows accomplishes nothing but can’t do anything about. How does an idol look? They’re regular people, Jaekyung knows that. Take away the stylists, and the makeup, and the pretty things, and they’re the same as her. No one is an idol. They just look like that.

Really, would they look like idols without their pretty makeup, and expensive clothes, and their dyed hair -

No, they wouldn’t, she realizes with a jolt. And neither would she.

A trip to the hair salon later, she looks in the mirror, and it’s not Song Jaekyung the trainee that smirks back at her triumphantly. 

Red is the color of debut.

It takes Lee Choyeon less than two minutes to get from the trainee manager office to the practice room.

Yoon Saeyool greets her at the door, on her way out, face red with exhaustion and hair plastered with sweat to her scalp - the hair (Choyeon notices through a rush of smugness at how unattractive the other girl looks at the moment) that has been bleached at the ends and trimmed slightly. It makes her wonder if perhaps..?

No, that wouldn’t make sense, would it? Smug, pretentious I’m-better-than-everything-and-everyone Yoon Saeyool would never be able to keep something like that quiet. It’s nothing. Nothing that should rain on Choyeon’s parade at least.

“Saeyool, hi,” she greets cooly, smiling that polite smile that never quite manages to reach her eyes.

“Oh, Choyeon!” the other girl exclaims as if she hasn’t seen her approach through the glass walls. Choyeon tries her very best not to roll her eyes. “A bit too late to train, even for you! What’s the occasion?”

An alarm bell goes off in the back of her head, a feeling deep in her gut that makes her squint her eyes ever so slightly in suspicion. What a weird thing to say, unless...  “Monthly evaluations are coming up, I wanted to practice the dance routine a bit,” she lies, “You remember what that’s like, right?”

To Choyeon’s immense exasperation, Saeyool smiles as if recalling a fond memory. “Huh, yeah… Well, I’ll leave you to it then. Bye!”

She watches the ex Pristin girl’s back, her eyes free at last to roll as they please.

But suspicion is nesting inside of her, a suspicion she really doesn’t wish to be proven true.

It just wouldn’t be fair.

God, it would be so ing unfair if Yoon Saeyool is the one that got another chance. If she’s going to be there, if she took Jiahui’s spot, or Miyoung’s spot, hell even Sera’s spot… 

Choyeon sighs loudly and starts her stretches. Nothing she can do about it, whether she likes it or not. It doesn’t matter who’s going to go against her. She’d much rather kick Saeyool’s than Jiahui’s, but in the end, there is a competition, and it’s her against them. She’s learned from her mistakes, and she’d be damned if she’s going to be the moron that repeats them. 

She is a goddamn star, and everyone is going to know that. She can't afford anyone standing in the way. There just isn't any other choice.

“- But then I thought, maybe I should add a dance break somewhere? I’d have to find a song that won’t be too hard then, but maybe it’d be better since I’d be showing more than one skill. Because I saw Nari practicing - oh, oops, I’m not supposed to know she’s participating too, right? But it’s pretty obvious, I think everyone knows at this point. That’s not the point though, I saw her practicing, and she was dancing and singing, and Nari is, like, the best at dancing! So if Nari is dancing and singing, maybe I should be singing and dancing? I probably won’t be able to use a ballad then, which would be a shame, but maybe I could sing Taeyeon-sunbaenim’s Why, or Hwasa-sunbaenim’s Twit, or maybe one of your songs? And maybe I should bring my guitar - no, I’ll definitely bring my guitar, but then how will I do the dance break? Oh my gosh, this is so hard!”

Park Jiyoon stops her rambling and takes a deep breath.

“What do you think, unnie?” she asks.

Soyou has this expression on her face, as if she ate an entire lemon, got stung by a bee, and hit her pinky toe against the corner of the wall, all while trying really freaking hard to keep a straight face.

“You’re - Uh, just try to take it easy, kid.” the other woman says slowly.

“But, unnie! I need to have the perfect introduction!” protests Jiyoon, picking up the pace and rounding the corner right after the senior artist. Soyou has picked up the pace, but she’s not the only one who’s been working out. No way is she going to outrun The Park Thighs. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me that I should work my darn hardest, because this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, anyway?”

“I’ve been mentoring enough survival shows to know that’s not how it goes,” Soyou waves her off with a swoosh of a very expensive looking manicure. Very fresh, too, judging by how the purple matches her heels exactly. Her own chipped nails shamefully hide behind her back.  “Everyone’s hardworking when it comes to competitions like this. That’s not what’s going to make you stand out, not in a thousand years.”

“But-”

“But, nothing. You want my advice, Jiyoon? Go with that ballad, wear a dress, and bring your guitar. Focus on that, work hard on that. There are only three main vocalists on the show, so that’s guaranteed to make you stand out. Plus, pretty girls who play the guitar are hot. The innocent vibe is very in right now.”

Lee Doori lies in her bunk bed, a fortress of used ramyun packages and sticky cocoa-stained mugs. In the dark trainee dorm, the only source of light is the bright screen of her glittery pink-cased phone.

is a perfectly round circle. The muscles have begun to ache but. It can’t be helped.

Doori stays up all night, cocooned in her extra soft (the softest) blanket, watching every survival show performance she can find, and she just can’t believe that soon that is going to be her.

And for one small moment, she dares to wonder if someone is going to lie in a dark room, cocooned in the softest blanket, surrounded by half-eaten ramyun, and watch her performance too one day.

Shin Minha hears it from Jaekyung first.

Shin Minha ing hears it from Jaekyung. First.

They’re in the company toilets - she, Jaekyung, and Nari - and they’re sharing a box of fried chicken they have managed to sneak in (always a tricky procedure, but Minha has her ways). It’s the same toilet she caught Eunseo and Soobin that one time, the one hidden between the janitor’s closet and the emergency exist, forgotten by most passersby of the company that don't feel constant hunger during every moment of the day. Not even the sneakiest of managers have found this little trainee safe haven. She’s the only one who’s been able to do it, so she knows no one will find them here. She was good. The others… Amateurs.

Couldn’t even tell her about something as big as this.

It’s when she is halfway through shoving a piece of chicken down that Jaekyung decides to say it, and Minha nearly chokes.

She coughs violently, and Nari - bless her sweet, innocent, fetus heart - panics and tries to pat her back. 

It only makes her cough harder, which in return makes Nari panic even more. Through watery eyes, she sees the amused grin on Jaekyung’s face and the bottle of coke she offers with an outstretched hand. 

“So you didn’t know about the show?”

“I did,” Minha manages to croak out after the coughing fit is over. “But I didn’t know they were at the stage of recruiting specific trainees already.”

Joohyun has failed her.

“Wait, you knew about the show and didn’t tell us?”

“I didn’t want to tell you guys about something that wasn’t confirmed!”

“When has that stopped you before!?”

“Never - But - well -”  the other girl raises her brow in that ridiculously sassy way of hers, and if such a thing is possible, the red color makes it even sassier. “Look, they swore me to secrecy!”

“And when has that stopped you before either?”

“I have to pick my battles! It was either that or fried chicken!”

“Fried chicken’s important, unnie.” says Nari. “Like, really important. I’m okay with not knowing about it in advance if it means we get to eat food once a week.”

Minha points her finger at the younger girl, but Jaekyung doesn’t seem convinced. “Yes! See!? I need to feed the baby! Think of the baby!”

“I am thinking, Minha-unnie.” she argues in return, reaching for the second to last piece of chicken. The food has disappeared too quickly. “We could’ve had more time to prepare for it. It could be the most important thing we do as trainees, and we need to show our best. More time would have made all the difference in the world. A day can mean the difference between a great dance, and a perfect dance.”

“I take it you’re preparing a dance?” she asks.

Jaekyung scoffs. “Naturally. And Riri will too, once they tell her she’s in.”

“Um, I’m not sure they’ll pick me for the show, unnie…” says Nari weakly.

“Why wouldn’t they?” the red-haired girl waves her off, hair falling off her shoulder in the most regal way a bleach-damaged strand of hair can. “You’re one of the best dancers at the company, probably the best, you’re young, and you’re beautiful. It’ll be fine. And Minha-unnie is both pretty and has the entire ex-manager story going on for her. I will bet our first check that you two will be called up to the trainee manager office by the end of the week.”

Shin Minha goes to the trainee manager fifteen minutes later, out for blood.

A thorough interrogation session (and some bribing with the information he did not know she possessed. Amateur) later, she receives the news that she will, in fact, be a participant in this new Planet Idol show. Koo Nari is called right after that.

Wendy Song spends three hours on the phone with her brother. Joshua tells her all about broadcasts, and cameras, and Korean television shows. She chews on a (way too expensive) piece of pineapple and takes notes on a piece of paper that she swears she will never throw away.

Then, she calls Vernon for good measure.

This means nothing, Gyeong Aeri knows that like she knows the moves to Into the New World.

Every company she auditioned for, Into the New World was the song she used, and just as she grew up, that song grew up with her. It wasn’t anything impressive at first - oh no, her first audition was as cringe-worthy as childhood memories went, but it was enough to score her a training contract which is what matters in the end.

And it improved. She improved. She grew up, she practiced again and again and again until she could dance to it in her sleep.

A decade.

A decade worth of Into the New World, and a decade of being a part of this industry and learning everything there is to know about it just like the steps to that song.

She’s been in this game far too long to be fooled by the congratulatory tone of the trainers and the approving smiles of the producers. It makes her wonder if other girls - whoever they are, they did say to keep it a secret for whatever reason - are naive enough to believe the “you’re a step away from debut” bull.

Well, Aeri thinks with a scoff,  of course they are. People are like that. But at least she has learned her lessons.

You’re never one step away from debut until you’re standing in your stage outfit and the producer is ushering you on stage.

They tell Oh Miyoung that she needs to prepare something for the first episode of the show.

She forgets to ask what.

It’s just so typically Miyoung of her, to not ask this thing that could impact, like, the rest of her life. 

She groans and flips on her back, staring at the ceiling of the training room as if it would have an answer. The coolness of the floor feels awful on that tiny strip of skin that got exposed where her shirt has ridden up, but it seems like a fitting punishment for her stupidity, so Miyoung takes it like a man. She deserves it after all. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

What can she even do? They probably want a performance, a show of her skill. Miyoung has watched enough survival show to know how it goes. But she’s only really good at rapping, and it’s not good enough to make people go all holy-mother-of-wow on her - she’s no Jeon Soyeon, she knows that. Dance, maybe? But there are way too many dancers at Pledis that are really good, so that’s a no-no too. She could try performing a song, but what song could she even use… maybe Jennie’s Solo - ugh, no, it wouldn’t look as impressive without all the back dancers. CL’s Hello es? Damn, censorship problems all around.

“Why am I like this?” she sighs exasperatedly, and as expected, the ceiling has no answer.

Dong Bongcha enters the dorm with the confidence of someone who’s just won the lottery. In her hand is a bag of the most delicious burger and fries her taste buds have had the pleasure of experiencing, and she all but drools in anticipation of the upcoming meal.

One, good meal, a goodbye that will have to last for months - who knows when or if she’ll have an opportunity to sneak in a proper meal during the shooting of that show, and so she’s planning to make the most of it now.

With bruger and fries. And maybe some ramyun later. Definitely ice cream too.

Im Hwayoung lifts her eyes from the phone and takes one look at Bongcha and her bag of goods. “What are you smiling about?”

There’s suspicion in her voice, a leer of her eyes that makes Bongcha gulp. The manager and producers of the show specifically said to keep everything a secret from the other trainees, and here she is, screwing it up on the very first day. Shouldn’t have brought the food here. She should’ve just ate it behind the tree in the park - not like she hasn’t done that before when she was hiding from any potential onlookers, but today has felt like celebration and it really wouldn’t have been celebration if it’s shamefully hiding behind the tree, and -  

- Wait.

Bongcha’s eyes narrow. Hwayoung’s lip is trembling, up and up and up - and is that a…?

“What are you smiling about?” she asks slowly.

It’s Hwayoung’s turn to go on the defensive, only she doesn’t and stares right. back. Their eyes lock in an engaging battle, the other girl’s eyes a glistening steel. Bongcha knows that if there’s ever been a time to retreat, it’s NOW.

She takes a slow step backwards, then another, all while keeping the enemy in her sight. Hwayoung’s eyes follow her like a vulture until Bongcha is behind the door and the immediate danger has passed. But Bongcha knows the war is far from over.

Shameful celebration behind the tree it is.

“Don’t you think it would be logical, though?” muses Zhuang Jiahui, “Singing one of Pristin’s songs would score her a pity edit and some Pristin Fan Points.”

“Saeyool really is the last person I want to talk about.” retorts Choyeon. Eyes still glued to her reflection in the mirror, the muscles of her face contort funnily, shifting quickly from one expression to the other like a caricature of a still film movie. Her right eyebrow is throbbing, desperately trying to rise to her hairline all while keeping the left one grounded above her eye. “I honestly don’t care. I don’t.” she adds forcefully at Jiahui’s doubtful expression. “What are you preparing, anyway?”

Jiahui shrugs. “Haven’t decided yet. I’ve got a couple ideas, but I don’t know which one to go with.”

Said ideas have been meticulously listed in descending order of “what will get noticed/will have the highest chance to be broadcasted”: something as uninspiring as a simple cover (sorry Choyeon) has been discarded early on, but an original hip-hop/contemporary choreography, a traditional dai dance (with appropriate attire, for maximum uniqueness, of course), and a self-composed song still topped the list. Question is, which one of these is the best. And what a question it was, keeping Jiahui wondering for a few wasteful days. Choyeon has already memorized her performance, picked an outfit, and dyed her hair a ridiculously awesome ombre of purples in the meantime.

“Well?” Choyeon looked away from the mirror long enough to twist around and raise a brow - much better now, the left one almost doesn’t wiggle. “Tell me!”

“What? Why?”

“Because you need a second opinion. I know how used you are to riding solo, but you’re stuck. You helped me with my expressions, and it’s not like I’m being sneaky like Miyoung and trying to figure out what everyone’s doing. I’d be a pretty spy, considering you know all about my performance.” Jiahui hums noncomittingly, and Choyeon quickly adds, “I mean, unless you don’t want to? Nothing wrong with doing it solo either. That’s totally cool, too. I just -”

“No, no -” Jiahui starts, shifting as awkwardly as the other girl. She scours her Korean vocabulary for a way to convey her thoughts in a way that wouldn’t be mid-to-highkey offensive, but a few long moments pass and Choyeon is waiting with wide eyes, so she settles for, “Alright, sure.”

A quick shuffle later, Choyeon sits cross-legged next to her on the floor of their room. It’s a pretty tight fit in the small, narrow dorm,  between all the clothes scattered around them, and the large cushion on which Jiahui’s most prized possession, her laptop, sits high and mighty like a king. She turns the device slightly so that Choyeon could see, and clicks on a folder. There’s a soft cry of wonder from the purple-haired girl’s end when she scrolls through the various files: song lyrics, unfinished stories, a dump of aesthetically-pleasing words she’s heard and wanted to use, until she finds what she’s looking for. Devilishly hidden in the middle, the Potential Performance List file unfolds into an anticlimactic list of ten lines, seven crossed out in a thick, bold line.

Choyeon looks over it for a long minute. “No guzheng?”

“I couldn’t figure out how to get one to the filming location.”

“Ah. Welp. Hip-hop or contemporary seems like the easiest thing to do then, doesn’t it?”

Jiahui sighs. “It does, but I think a lot of people are going to do a cover.”

“So what? You’re a great dancer!”

“There are a lot of good dancers though,” she points out, “And there are a lot who are better than me. I won’t stand out.”

“You? Won’t stand out?” snorts Choyeon. “Jiahui, you’re literally the prettiest girl I know.”

“There are a lot of pretty girls.” says Jiahui. 

And there are. Choyeon is beautiful, and so is Miyoung. Doori has the rural beauty charm, and Sera, whether she’s in the competition or not, is positively stunning. The industry is filled to the brim with beauty. 

It really doesn’t mean anything, not in Korea, not in Kpop.

Not that it matters. Jiahui has other things she can bring to the table. She might not be the best, but she is different.

Karen Cheng wonders if maybe Elkie will see the news and call.

Serena Moon slurps the last noodle of the takeout jjajangmyeon, and with it the inexplicable feeling of shame and disgust and regret.

“Don’t slurp too quickly or you’ll choke.” her mom jokes half-heartedly at the sour expression on her face, and all Serena can do is will her eyes not to roll into the next dimension and wash it down with coke.

She looks at her mother - still in the restaurant's black uniform stinking of soy sauce, a sticky-looking dark stain on her elbow, prematurely greying hair jumping out of the bun in all directions. She watches as her mom wipes the jjajangmyeon sauce from the corners of her cigarette stained dry, thin lips, and she feels so terribly sorry.

How can her mom eat so happily, she wonders bitterly. The noodles are cold - a customer has returned them because they were too dry or too wet or whatever, Serena honestly couldn’t care less - and they’re with ground meat, which is objectively the worst kind of jjajangmyeon. It’s the kind of ground beef you'd expect in something like Chilli Con Carne, but it’s in soy and noodles and it’s just wrong. If her stomach hasn’t been rumbling like a ing marching band, Serena wouldn’t have touched it.

God. Serena places the takeout cup on the table and drinks more coke.

The jjajangmyeon she’s had in Los Angeles, now that was Jjajangmyeon, with a capital J. LA’s Koreatown has had the best food, and they always ordered from that really posh place. And it really was posh as hell, with its imported silks and handmade cutlery, and the poor waitresses that had to wear real hanboks even in the high heat of summer - but it had the best food. The best jjajangmyeon, especially the one with seafood.

Her gut does a small somersault, and Serena isn’t sure if it’s the memories of how amazing that dish was, or them fighting against the disgusting noodles she forced down before.

No wonder the customers returned it. , no wonder her mom gets so much . Who wouldn’t get pissed at this disgusting bull?

But the glimmer of anger that’s building up inside of her isn’t for the disgusting place her mom works at. If anything, it’s toward that posh place in LA. Or perhaps towards her mom’s prematurely greying hair, and cigarette stained lips, and the soy sauce that’s stuck to her elbow. That stain is so annoying, Serena wants to wipe it out of existence.

, that woman could wipe out any hints of a broken marriage for years but can’t wipe away a freaking teriyaki stain.

And she wants to tell her all that - , she wants to tell her so badly, but instead Serena says, “Pledis is doing a survival show. Like some stuff to make their new girl group or something, and I’m going to be in it. So I might be debuting in, like, four months.”

And her mother’s eyes light up with pure glee. It’s almost as bright the lights of that one posh LA restaurant.

Im Hwayoung sniffs at the air. 

Once, twice, then another long sniff for good measure. The air smells stale and kind of stinking, as toilets tend to do. But there. Amidst the stink of pee and cleaning supplies’ battle for domination, it’s there. The faintest trace.

“Someone’s eaten fried chicken here recently,” she concludes.

“Amateurs,” snorts Dayoung, head shaking. She taps the box of tteokbokki affectionately. “Everybody knows fried chicken and pizza leave smelling evidence.” 

Hwayoung nods as she closes the door behind them, checking one last time that no one has followed them. Managers could be sneaky little bastards. “I bet it was Minha-unnie, she likes the adrenaline of the added risk.”

“And she can bull her way out, don’t forget that,” Dayoung points out, “Give it to the manager to know all the ways to sneak past her kind.”

The floor is cold and welcoming like an old, slightly shameful friend. The spicy aroma of the tteokbokki sauce mixes with the usual smell of the toilets. Hwayoung knows how weird it is for something like that to smell nice, comforting. But it does. And man if it doesn’t say a lot about being a trainee.

“You know, I bet she’s on the show too.” says Hwayoung, mouth full of spicy rice cakes.

“The one Luda-unnie is MCing? Planet Idol?” asks Dayoung.

“Yeah, and she came to celebrate. Right. Here.” Hwayoung sniffs at the air again. “With Jaekyung-unnie, probably. Possibly with Nari too. So that, with Jiyoon and Bongcha and me, makes at least six.”

“It’s definitely going to be more than six. I’ve never heard of a survival show with so few people in it.”

“Definitely. These are just the ones I've figured out. They told us to keep it a secret even from each other, but man, some of them... I caught Dong Bongcha marching straight into the dorm yesterday with fast food. She’s never looked this freaked out. Yeeted right out of the door.”

She does a very good impression of Bongcha’s Deer-Caught-In-the-Headlights eyes that will forever be engraved into her mind as the best prank she never pulled. Dayoung snorts so forcefully a few droplets of red sauce land on Hwayoung’s cheek.

It was so worth it, even if Bongcha’s very, ahem, inconspicuous attempt at smuggling burgers into the dorm has left Hwayoung drooling all over her phone. She’s been craving some all day, and…

… and Dayoung has finished her promotions not long ago. And she just got some very, very good news that were definitely worth celebrating. 

The more she thinks about it, the more Hwayoung thinks that this tteokbokki box is just not going to cut it.

And those burgers and fries smelled really freaking good.

“Hey, let’s get some burgers after this.” she tells Dayoung.

Her best friend smiles devilishly at her. “You read my mind.”

.

Kim Yeojung listens to Yohan’s various suggestions for an introduction performance. Then she casts them all aside.

All of them are very Yohan, and Yeojung doesn’t want to be Yohan. God knows she’ll get plenty of comparisons without that. No, she’s going to take this thing seriously. Yohan was all cute and charming and adorable and skating right into everyone’s hearts on freaking wheelies, that clever bastard. No wonder he’s won. Yeojung has never been more proud. But just because it’s Yohan’s way, doesn’t mean it has to be hers too. 

So Yeojung going to be serious, and take this seriously, and maybe even sway her hips a bit.

She is keeping the karate kick, though.

Na Hyunhee immediately starts packing.

She packs extra socks and underwear; newly bought, still in their packaging, just in case one of the other girls runs out/forgets/mysteriously loses hers. She packs her journal and her pens, more than she probably should’ve but picking up the top five pens is impossible - how is she even supposed to rank them? Prettiness? Practicality? Longevity? It’s too complicated of a task, and it’s not like Hyunhee has to choose a favorite. She packs her books, just two of them since they’re so heavy, but she packs them just in case. She packs snacks and candy and instant ramyun, either for comforting or bribing purposes.

She doesn’t know what to do with the plants. Ranking them is too complicated of a task too, but they’re not pens. She can’t gather them all and toss them into a tiny nook in the bottom of her suitcase. But how is she supposed to tank them? Prettiness? Practicality? Oxygen Production Levels? Ability to survive the longest without water?

Hyunhee refuses to choose. How can a mother pick a favorite amongst her children? She refuses.

“I’ll take care of them, sure.” her sister agrees, but Hyunhee needs to know.

“You can’t just water all of them at the same time. Juno needs to be watered once a day, but Ceres only once a week. And you can’t do more than that, Ceres can’t absorb more water than that and will drown to death.”

“Gruesome.”

“Sol needs to soak in the sun, so make sure to always leave the shades open during the day. And Liber needs to be trimmed when you start noticing its leaves browning, it’s very important Jiae.”

Her sister rolls her eyes playfully. “Just text me the instructions. There’s no way I’m going to remember all this.”

“Don’t you dare kill any of them, Jiae.” says Hyunhee, looking her sister straight in the eye. “I’ll kill you.”

Her sister only squeals and attacks her cute, how do I have such an adorable sister looking at you trying to be all scary with your round cheeks.

Hyunhee starts planning a funeral. Just in case.

The silence in the dining room is so deafening Han Eunkyung can practically hear her father chew his food.

One would think that ten words being exchanged in the span of an hour would be rude by average social standards, but Han Dongwon has apparently forsaken all he has taught his daughter for the sake of a lesson learned.

He has forgotten, obviously, that Eunkyung has learned it all long ago. She knows his games by now, and she no longer plays by his rules. She makes her own.

She cuts a piece of Kobe Steak and lets it melt in , before smiling widely at the other end of the long table.

Her father’s immaculate brow twitches.

“Congratulations are in order, I believe,” he says in a tone that implies nothing but casualness, but it’s an immense victory for Eunkyung nonetheless. He’s gotten soft. Old and stupid and soft.

Her smile widens ever so slightly. “Oh?”

“I hear you’ve made it on the tv show that music company of yours is producing.”

“Pledis, yes. Did uncle Jaehyun tell you that?”

“You know we are not on speaking terms since the cj&em investigation.” her father says harshly, which Eunkyung takes as a yes.

“Well, thank you. It is set to air in a few weeks. I hope you’ll watch?”

“Of course. I am quite looking forward to see how you will do. On your own, of course.”

He smiles at her, lips stretched thin.

Once upon a time, it would’ve made her cower. But Eunkyung is not a little girl anymore. She knows there’s a world beyond her father. She knows that she is as much of a shark as he is, but her nose is sharper and her taste for blood is fresh.

She takes another bite and smiles right back.

Koo Nari doesn’t really know what to do. But Minha and Jaekyung are here to rescue.

Jaekyung tells her she should dance - “you’re the best of us when it comes to that,” - and she tells her to call Junsun and ask him for help with the choreography. Nari’s not sure if she wants to, she thought about maybe choreographing something on her own, but Jaekyung-unnie can be a bit scary and she doesn’t really want to argue. So in the end she calls Junsun-oppa, and he sends her a few clips of moves for her to master like he always does.

Minha helps her pick a song, something cool and popular, but also something that would fit her tone - “if there’s a chance for you to show your voice while we’re at it, why not? Not everyone needs to show just their main main talent, shhht don’t tell Jaekyung I said that.” - and when Nari finally settles on one, she helps her with the English pronunciation as much as she can (her English isn’t perfect either, but that has never stopped Minha-unnie before).

She dances and sings and sings and dances, and by the end of the week, Nari has a performance.

Jaekyung and Minha look like proud mothers as they nod approvingly at the end of what she shows them. Even Jaekyung-unnie looks impressed if her smile and lifted eyebrows are anything to go by. It’s their nods and their approval that get her to think that maybe, just maybe she will get praised on the show too. Maybe it won’t be as bad as she fears.

And another part of her thinks that were she alone she would’ve been left with absolutely nothing.

Kim Youju cries all night.

Here it is! the prelude to the story, our full cast revealed!
I want to thank again everyone who has applied - choosing the final cast has been a struggle that kept me staring at the screen for hours.
In the end, it was a decision made on what characters would work well together and bring different perspectives and storylines to the show.
I will try my best to mention the characters who weren't chosen somehow, but in any case, I hope that you will stick around and check the story out anyway!
I would love to see your characters shine in a different story - be it a future story of mine or anyone else's!
As for the chosen cast, congratulations!

Apologies to the characters whose drabbles aren't as long as the others's, I tried to use various lengths to offer variety and mystery, so don't worry, they will definitely
get their spotlight once the actual story begins!
I will update one more time before the first episode, with more of a graphic chapter, and with it I will release the voting document. Yes, you will be able to vote before the story
begins, based on your first impressions as the "netizens" who have seen the first released images of the girls and have that first impression.
A quick note about voting: you will vote once per episode, unless I state otherwise. Yes, that includes the pre-released episode I mentioned! There will be a section where you
pick your top 7 girls and your favorite concept, as well as an optional section where you can pick what concept you think suits
each girl best - that will be used in later episodes, but you will be able to choose from the first episode because I want more than one answer to determine that.

Thank you for going through this very long author note! I hope you will stick around and check this story out. I really appreciate constructive criticism, so if you think there
is something I can improve in my writing, or if you're unsatisfied with the way I'm writing your character,
or if there's anything else you'd like to tell me, don't hesitate! I will appreciate it no matter how harsh.
same thing goes for compliments! telling me what I do well will make me write more of that!

Lastly, thanks to everyone who sent me recommendations for applyfics to check out! I subbed or will sub to all of them, and will comment on all of them in the following days -
right after I reply to your comments that I've neglected!

P.S: A huge round of applause for _alessia_ who has kindly shown me how to add indents to the paragraphs! The chapter is as pretty as it is solely thanks to her!!