Later that night, AUREA slumped inside their rented van, exhausted. They had sung and danced until the crack of dawn, pouring every last ounce of strength into the stage—yet still, not a single paycheck.
"Your performance is good," their manager Jerry said, adjusting his thinning hair with a greasy hand, "but not that good to land you another stage in there."
Lance's head snapped up. "What are you saying? The crowd was wild back there! Didn't you see them? They loved us!"
Jerry let out a dry chuckle. "Wild? Sure. But once the alcohol wears off, they won't even remember your faces. That's reality."
The words sank like stones into the silence. No one dared respond. The van fell quiet except for the faint hum of the engine. Fatigue, disappointment, and something heavier pressed against their chests.
When the van finally stopped at their rundown apartment building, Jerry turned before leaving. His small eyes landed on Ren. "Ren, think about that offer I told you. Don't take too long."
And then he was gone.
Kai frowned immediately, looking at Ren. "Offer? What offer?"
Eric's face stiffened. His lips pressed into a thin line before he shook his head. "It's nothing."
"It doesn't feel like nothing," Kai muttered under his breath, clutching his bag as he trudged toward the door.
Lance followed last, dragging his feet, grumbling. "Are we gonna keep living like this forever? Singing and dancing our lungs out every night for what—nothing? I'm tired, man. Sometimes I wonder if it's just better to quit."
Ren didn't say a word. He never did. He just kept his eyes down, carrying the silence for all of them.
They hadn't come together by accident. Each of them was handpicked from different contests, auditions, and training camps, molded and packaged into what Start Entertainment hoped would be the next big boy group.
It was the company's cycle—every other year or three years, release a fresh set of faces, polished enough to shine under stage lights, and hope one of them caught fire with the masses.
Some groups made it big. Others burned out before the spark could even catch.
AUREA had been given the same treatment. The company had poured money into their debut—stylists, choreographers, a splashy music video. On paper, it should've worked.
But fate had other plans.
Their very first stage was swallowed whole by a tidal wave named MIRACLE—the reigning kings of the boy group scene.
MIRACLE's world tour overlapped with AUREA's debut showcase, and the industry only had eyes for them.
Nobody noticed the rookies fighting for a sliver of spotlight.
The buzz died almost immediately. The fan chants faded before they even began. By the time their debut song dropped, it was as if it had never existed at all.
From then on, AUREA lived in the shadows of bigger names. They sang, they danced, they hustled—but the masses scrolled past their content, the industry whispered about them as "forgettable."
And in the cutthroat world of idols, being forgotten was worse than being hated.
Now, with their one-year contract nearing its expiration, whispers grew louder. Would Start Entertainment even bother renewing them?
Or would AUREA be quietly discarded, just another failed experiment in an endless cycle of disposable dreams?
Inside, the apartment felt colder than usual. The four of them huddled together in the small living room, shoulders slumped, each lost in their own storm of thoughts. That was when Eric finally broke.
"Jerry said . . ." His voice was low, dangerous, almost ashamed. "He said the fastest way to climb up is if we . . . sleep with the higher-ups or investors."
The room erupted.
"Absolutely not!" Lance growled, fists clenching. His voice shook with anger.
Kai's face paled. He shook his head so fast it looked like he was trying to fling the words out of his ears. "No . . . no way . . . That's not us. That's not AUREA."
Ren stayed still. Silent. His expression unreadable, as always.
Eric's jaw tightened. "Relax. We're not rock bottom yet to even consider something like that. But . . ." His eyes flickered with determination. "We just need one big break. Just one chance, and everything changes."
The group talked deep into the night, sharing frustrations, venting, reminding each other why they started in the first place. Even in despair, even in hopelessness, they clung to the bond that kept them together.
Hours later, when the others finally retreated into their rooms, Ren lay awake in the dark. His eyes drifted toward the folder he was still carrying—the one he had picked up earlier by chance.
He sat up, curiosity gnawing at him. The woman who dropped it had seemed desperate, rushing like her life depended on it. Maybe it was important.
He opened the folder carefully. Inside was a resume, complete with an address and contact information. So she was trying to get into the industry too . . .
But then his hand froze.
Beneath the resume was a piece of paper. Lyrics, neat yet passionate, lines etched with fire and heartbreak. A song.
And not just any song—Ren's eyes widened as he read.
This wasn't amateur scribbling. This was . . . brilliant.
Something stirred in his chest. Reading the song, it felt familiar, like it was speaking to him.
For the first time in months, maybe years, his heart beat faster—not from exhaustion, not from despair, but from hope.
The song could be their chance.
Their big break.