Chapter 12— Deep Water Decisions
The host's voice rang out across the hall again, sharper now, carrying an authority that instantly cut through the lingering chaos.
"You now have fifteen minutes," he announced, gesturing toward the massive screen behind him, "to decide which song your team is interested in."
The lights dimmed slightly.
A digital clock appeared.
15:00
The numbers glowed red, like a warning carved into the air.
For half a second, no one moved.
Then the hall erupted.
Chairs screeched against the floor as trainees jumped up. Voices collided, arguments sparked instantly, excitement and fear tangling together into something frantic and wild. Some teams pulled together tightly, whispering urgently, while others spoke loudly, confidence bordering on arrogance.
This wasn't just song selection.
This was positioning.
Song choice meant screen time. It meant concept. It meant whether fans would notice you—or forget you entirely.
Yan's team instinctively gathered near the back of the hall.
Except—
Yan wasn't there.
One of the members looked around, frowning. "Where's Yan?"
Another teammate scanned the entrance, unease creeping into his expression. "He said he needed some air. He'll be back."
The words sounded casual, but the tension beneath them was unmistakable.
Yan never left during moments like this.
Not when decisions mattered.
Not when survival was on the line.
The clock ticked down.
14:12
"He better come back soon," someone muttered. "We can't decide without him."
Across the hall, voices grew louder. Teams were already fighting over songs. Some names were shouted repeatedly—popular tracks, trending hits, safe choices. Others argued for riskier concepts, hunger shining in their eyes.
Yan's absence felt heavier with every second.
Backstage, the air was colder.
The corridor stretched long and empty, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above. Yan's footsteps echoed sharply as he walked, each step carrying restrained fury. His breathing was uneven, chest tight, as if something invisible was pressing down on him.
One name echoed in his mind.
Kin.
The moment Yan had seen him earlier, something deep inside had gone cold.
Not surprise.
Certainty.
Kin didn't appear without reason.
And now, standing just a few steps away from him, Yan finally let the anger surface.
"What are you doing here?"
His voice was low, tight, sharp enough to cut.
Kin stopped mid-step and turned calmly, his expression perfectly composed. No panic. No guilt. Almost… prepared.
"Boss," Kin greeted respectfully.
"Don't call me that here," Yan snapped.
Kin inclined his head slightly. "Understood."
Yan took a step forward, eyes burning. "Why are you here, Kin? And don't insult me by pretending this is coincidence."
"Our company has invested in this project," Kin replied evenly.
Yan laughed—short, bitter, humorless. "Since when does our company invest in survival shows?"
"From now," Kin answered.
The words landed heavily.
Yan stared at him, disbelief sharpening into anger. "You think saying that makes it normal?"
Silence stretched between them.
Yan's fists clenched. "I'm suffering here," he said tightly. "I didn't come here to be trapped. End this. Do something. Get me out."
Kin's jaw tightened slightly.
"That," he said after a pause, "I can't do."
Yan's eyes widened. "Why?"
Kin lowered his voice, as if the walls themselves could hear.
"Because the chairwoman already knows you're here."
The words struck like ice water.
"…What?"
"The chairwoman is fully aware," Kin repeated carefully, "that you joined this survival show."
Yan staggered back a step.
His thoughts scrambled, colliding violently.
"So this was planned," he muttered. "She wanted this."
Kin nodded once.
"Why?" Yan demanded, voice cracking. "Doesn't she want me to handle the company?"
"When she first found out," Kin said, choosing his words carefully, "she was shocked. She never expected you to choose such a public, brutal way to step into the world."
Yan turned away, jaw clenched, nails biting into his palms.
"But when she learned," Kin continued, "that this show was connected to the East Project… she changed her mind."
Yan froze.
"The East Project?" he whispered.
"She decided this experience would discipline you," Kin replied. "She believes that when you return, you'll finally understand what survival really means."
Yan let out a hollow laugh. "Does she realize I could be eliminated in one round?"
Kin stepped closer. "Boss, please listen—"
"What else?" Yan snapped. "Say it."
Kin inhaled and spoke quickly. "She already knows you're AJ."
Time stopped.
"…What?"
"She knows," Kin confirmed. "She controls contracts, production records—everything."
Yan's throat went dry.
What she handle....
"…Media."
Kin nodded.
The truth settled heavily.
"So what does she want from me now?" Yan asked quietly.
"The mission hasn't changed," Kin replied. "Only one rule has."
Yan's chest tightened. "Which is?"
"You can't give up."
Yan exhaled slowly, bitterness flooding his veins. "So I'm trapped here."
"Yes."
"And?" Yan pressed.
Kin hesitated. "Your songs… AJ's songs… including Greedy Monster… were recommended by our company."
Yan closed his eyes.
Everything made sense now.
The stage.
The song.
A voice thundered suddenly through the speakers.
"Your time is up! I hope all teams have finalized their choices."
Yan cursed under his breath. "I have to go."
Kin reached out slightly. "Boss—don't fight this."
Yan scoffed as he passed him. "Idiot."
Then, quieter—
"My messed-up life…"
When Yan returned to the hall, the atmosphere had changed completely.
The chaos was gone.
What remained was hunger.
Teams stood with confidence now, eyes sharp, smiles calculated. Decisions had been made. There was no turning back.
Yan scanned the hall until he reached his team.
One of the members smiled proudly. "We chose AJ's song."
Yan froze.
"…What?"
"It fits us perfectly," another teammate said eagerly. "Powerful. Emotional. Fans will love it."
Yan felt the floor tilt beneath him.
My song.
My voice.
My trap.
"Oh God…" he muttered, covering his face.
Around them, announcements continued.
"To everyone's surprise," the host said dramatically, "William's team has chosen a song many didn't expect."
Gasps rippled through the hall.
William stood stiffly, expression unreadable.
Lee, beside him, looked furious.
Different reactions. Same stakes.
Yan barely noticed.
His thoughts spiraled endlessly.
This wasn't coincidence.
This wasn't chance.
It was design.
"You've made your choices," the host said. "Now—wait."
The screen shifted.
10 DAYS
"In ten days," the host continued, "we will see…"
The lights dimmed.
"…the true owners of these batches."
The blue velvet boxes glimmered ominously.
Shark-shaped badges.
The hall erupted into cheers.
Yan didn't move.
Because now he understood.
This wasn't a competition.
It was a hunt.
And he was already in deep water—
while everyone else was cheering for the shark. 🦈