Once the specialized creativity class led by Foca came to an end, every trainee rose to their feet, giving respect where it was due. Applause filled the stage set—cheers loud, genuine, still buzzing from the high of the day's lesson.
"Truly, it has been an honor and a joy to teach and bond with all of you," Foca said warmly. He bowed briefly, letting the sound wash over him before stepping away from the stage.
Even after Foca exited, the trainees were instructed to remain seated.
Confusion rippled through the room. Murmurs broke out—quiet speculation, exchanged glances, that unmistakable something's coming tension hanging in the air.
Then Cat entered the stage set, greeting the trainees with an easy smile.
"Hello, trainees! Did you enjoy the class led by our very own CEO?"
A unified chorus of "Yes!" rang out in response.
"Good," Cat said, nodding. "Because now, it's time to announce your assignment for the upcoming evaluation."
A wave of groans rolled through the trainees—some playful, some very much not.
"For this next evaluation, you'll be putting everything you learned today to the test." Cat continued. "There will be two paths you may choose from: vocal/rap or dance."
The room immediately grew more attentive.
"Once you've chosen your path, you'll form your own groups. The number of members is entirely up to you—but this time, no solo performances are allowed."
That detail alone earned a few dramatic sighs.
"After your groups are formed, you'll have the freedom to choose your own song or music," Cat said, pausing just long enough to let them relax—before delivering the punchline.
"But here's the catch: your chosen piece must be far outside your comfort zone."
The tension spiked instantly.
"For the vocal and rap teams, you'll be required to rearrange your chosen song however you see fit," Cat continued. "You'll also be writing your own rap verses."
A few trainees swallowed hard.
"And for the dance teams," Cat added, eyes sweeping the room, "you are required to incorporate one or more dance styles into your performance that are in no way, shape, or form related to hip hop."
Silence.
Then—collective internal screaming.
The challenge was clear.
Comfort was officially off the table.
"Alright!" Cat clapped once, cutting clean through the noise. "Those who want to do vocal and rap, head over and group up to my right. Those choosing dance, to my left."
The trainees sprang to their feet.
Some moved instantly—no hesitation, no second-guessing, like their bodies had already decided long before their minds caught up. Others lingered, frozen mid-stand, staring back and forth as if the floor itself might give them advice.
For some, it was strategy.
For others, it was a full-on internal cage match between logic and instinct.
After about five minutes of shuffling, pacing, and last-second switches, everyone had finally made their choice.
The division turned out to be surprisingly even—dance edging ahead by just a small margin.
Naturally, eyes started roaming. People quietly took stock of who stood beside them… and that's when the surprises hit.
Nikola and Eli—both known for their solid vocals and sharp rap delivery—were standing firmly on the dance side. Monarch, a certified vocal powerhouse, had also chosen dance. Even Isaac, whose raw, emotional vocals had already left an impression, stood there as well.
A few brows shot up. A few whispers slipped out.
Cat noticed immediately.
"Alright," she said firmly. "Now that you've chosen, there is no going back."
That shut everyone up real quick.
"Since tomorrow is Sunday—a designated rest and mental health day—you're free to form your groups and discuss your concepts," Cat continued. "But let me be very clear: no rehearsals until Monday. Understood?"
A collective nod, followed by a clear, unified response.
"Yes."
"Good," Cat smiled. "You all did great today. You're free for the rest of the day."
She clapped first—loud, proud—and the trainees quickly followed, applause echoing through the stage set as the weight of the challenge finally settled in.
Dismissed… but the real battle had only just begun.
****
As the trainees filed out of the Jenga Tower—still loud, still buzzing, still very much a pack of rambunctious young men—Yone quietly reached out and grabbed Jordan by the arm.
Jordan barely had time to inhale before Yone clamped a hand over his mouth.
"Shhh…" Yone murmured, eyes darting around like he was planning a damn heist.
Jordan's soul briefly left his body.
"Quietly grab Eli and Isaac," Yone whispered, voice low and urgent. "Be as stealthy as possible and meet me and the other guys at the cafeteria café. Nod if you understand."
Jordan nodded immediately. Rapidly. Violently. Like his life depended on it.
And so, Jordan did exactly as instructed.
He slipped back into the crowd, carefully peeled Eli and Isaac away from the others, and once he was sure no one was watching, ushered them toward the meeting spot. The moment he slapped a finger over his lips and looked at them with wide, pleading eyes, Eli and Isaac got the hint and kept quiet.
They figured it was some kind of prank. A weird one—but hey, this place was full of weird.
That assumption died the second they arrived.
Because waiting there were Yone… Nikola… and Monarch.
Jordan immediately crumbled.
"I brought them just like you instructed," he said, voice trembling as he clasped his hands together. "Please don't hurt me."
"…What?" Yone blinked. "Who the hell is hurting you?"
"I—I thought you were…" Jordan hesitated, then blurted out, "You grabbed me, covered my mouth, and told me to bring them here in the most menacing way possible. So I thought I was about to be murdered."
There was a beat.
Then everyone lost it.
They doubled over, laughing their asses off, tears threatening to spill.
"Dude, nobody's hurting you," Yone said between laughs, reaching out to ruffle Jordan's hair. "I told you to be quiet because I want to team up with you guys."
"…Wait."
Jordan froze. "Really?"
He wasn't the only one stunned.
Eli stared. Nikola looked like he'd seen a ghost. Monarch's jaw straight-up dropped. Isaac's eyes widened.
Yone was the unspoken, undisputed front-runner when it came to dance. And the fact that he had personally picked them?
It felt unreal.
"Wait—are you for real?" Eli asked.
"Bruh, stop playing right now," Nikola groaned, clutching his chest. "My heart can't take this."
"Oh my God," Monarch blurted. "Please let this be real."
"Guys, it's not that serious," Yone snorted.
"Like hell it's not serious," Nikola shot back. "Are you kidding me?"
"Okay, okay," Yone laughed. "Yes. I'd like you guys to be on my team. You okay with—"
"I WOULD LOVE TO!" Isaac blurted out before Yone could even finish.
"Me too! Me too!" Jordan raised his hand immediately, like this was class participation.
The rest didn't hesitate.
It was unanimous.
Just like that, the six of them were a group—and none of them quite realized yet what kind of monster they were about to become together.