[LANCE]
"What do you mean we couldn't push through with making a music video?" Lance growled at Jerry, their so-called manager. His fists clenched on the table. "Didn't you just hear our demo? It's the break we needed!"
Jerry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No matter how good the music is, the higher-ups don't have the budget for you. If you hand the track to MIRACLE, they could work something out. Exposure for you boys—maybe as their backup dancers."
"The hell not!" Lance barked.
Kai leaned forward, his jaw tight. "This is our music. We should be the ones singing it."
"Is there nothing you can do?" Eric asked, his voice desperate. "Even if they don't pay us . . . just to make the video?"
Jerry gave a humorless laugh. "You think music videos are cheap? You don't just press record and suddenly look like million-dollar idols. STAR won't throw money at little artists like you. When I say no budget, I mean we're lucky if we can even afford enough snacks to bribe the lighting guy."
The boys fell silent.
Jerry leaned back, his tone sharp. "AUREA's still a small-time boy band. You've got talent, sure. But resources? Zero. Cameras, CGI, stylists, choreographers—none of it exists for you. Convincing STAR to approve an MV is like negotiating world peace. They nod, smile, then shove you off till 'next quarter.' And when next quarter comes, they shrug again."
Ren's voice was small. "Is there no other way?"
"You know how good this track is, Jerry," Eric pressed.
Jerry's sigh was heavy. "Exactly. That's why the higher-ups want MIRACLE to sing it. You can be their backup dancers. Maybe, maybe, I could even negotiate for a line or two."
"Forget it," Eric said coldly. "We'll raise the money ourselves."
"That's a breach of contract," Jerry shot back.
"A breach of contract is you not having a budget for us!" Lance snapped.
Jerry's face hardened. "Read the fine print, boy. If you can't bring revenue, the company has every right to cut your budget. Your debts already piled up. That's why I'm sending you to small gigs—build a name, maybe then I can beg the higher-ups for another chance. Until then, you're nobodies."
Eric's eyes were ice. "Forget it. If you won't help us, we'll find our own way."
Jerry stood, brushing invisible dust from his coat. "If you change your mind, I'm ready to talk. Otherwise, your contract ends soon . . . and so will your career."
With that, he left. The group sat in tense silence, the air suffocating.
Lance suddenly rose.
"Where are you going?" Kai asked.
"I'm going to change his mind," Lance muttered, storming out.
Eric frowned, but said nothing. None of them thought much of it—until Lance was already halfway down the hall, chasing Jerry.
"Wait!" Lance called, his voice sharp.
Jerry turned, irritation flickering across his face. "What now? I don't have time to waste on you."
Lance's chest rose and fell, his fists trembling. He swallowed hard, then forced the words out. "Who do I need to sleep with?"
Jerry froze. His eyes widened, then narrowed. "What did you just say?"
Lance stepped closer, his expression carved from stone. "Who do I need to sleep with to get that music video out there?"
For a moment, Jerry only stared—then a slow, exciting smile crept across his face. He could already think of so much money.
In truth, there were plenty of investors who wanted more than just AUREA's music. The boys were all strikingly good-looking, and that alone drew a certain kind of attention—the kind that had nothing to do with talent or artistry.
It was one of the unspoken reasons management kept pressing them, cornering them, dangling promises of opportunities that always came with strings attached.
Behind the polished smiles and staged photoshoots, there was a dirtier reality: the company saw their beauty as currency.
If the boys could be forced—or "persuaded"—to entertain investors in private, it meant more money flowing into STAR Entertainment's coffers. To the higher-ups, it wasn't exploitation. It was business.
And that was the part that made it unbearable. Their looks, the very gift that should have been their strength, were being twisted into shackles.
"So . . . your group has changed its mind?"
"No," Lance said firmly. "This is only me. They don't know about this."
Jerry tilted his head. "Only you?"
Lance slammed his hand against the wall beside Jerry, the sound echoing down the corridor.
Jerry flinched, shrinking back. With Lance's height, his bronzed skin glistening with sweat, and his sharp, hardened stare, he looked every bit the man who would trade his soul if it meant protecting the others.
"Yes," Lance hissed. "Only me. I don't care how many. I don't care what you ask of me. If that's the price for our music to live, I'll pay it. I'll do it. No matter what it costs me. Just leave the others out of it."
The hallway fell silent, heavy with the weight of his words. Lance stood there, his jaw set, willing to break himself just so AUREA could rise.
And Jerry . . . smiled like a vulture that had just spotted fresh prey.