[SYSTEM INTERFACE: RESURGENCE V3.2 – AGE 12 UPGRADE]
> Welcome back, Aeon.
Progress Sync Complete.
New Opportunities Unlocked.
---
MAIN DASHBOARD
[Aisha "Aeon" Singh | Age: 12 | Rank: Rising Trainee]
ID: RSRG-2013-EX-4920
System Tier: Stage 3 (Development Core – Intermediate)
Location: Lucknow, India
---
STAT OVERVIEW [Current as of Last Sync: 12y 4m 3d]
> Note: Stats progress in real time. Fluctuations possible based on physical/mental condition.
Vocals: Level 54/100
She has a clearer pitch now, an expanding vocal range, and can comfortably carry both soft and upbeat tracks.
Dance: Level 78/100
Freestyle execution is top-tier. K-pop choreography is executed with near-flawless rhythm and energy.
Rap: Level 64/100
Her articulation and pacing have improved significantly. She's developed a unique tempo and internal rhythm.
Charisma: Level 61/100
Her screen presence and stage aura are sharp, especially in front of cameras or small audiences.
Korean (Language Proficiency): Level 59/100
She can now hold basic conversations and read light texts fluently.
Stage Endurance: Level 48/100
She can perform three full routines with minor breaks. Energy dips slightly after the second.
Public Persona: Level 40/100
Still low due to limited exposure to press and public events, but projected to rise quickly after her first showcase.
---
SPECIALTIES UNLOCKED
Unlocked Talent Tags:
[✓] Dance Prodigy (Minor Title)
[✓] Hidden Rapper Potential
[✓] Lyrical Sensitivity (Songwriting Ability Level 1)
[✓] Charismatic Pulse – Passive boost to crowd engagement (+5%)
[✓] Multilingual Memory (+3% learning efficiency in languages)
[✓] Visual Ace (Scouted stat) – Beauty rating S–Rank in age bracket
---
SKILL TREE – EXPANDED VIEW
VOCAL TREE
Breath Control – 72%
Chest-Head Blend – 53%
Vibrato Control – 38%
Pitch Accuracy – 66%
Ear Training – 57%
DANCE TREE
K-pop Choreo – 89%
Freestyle – 77%
Hip-Hop Foundation – 61%
Isolations – 70%
Synchronization – 74%
RAP TREE
Flow Matching – 68%
Word Economy – 62%
Cypher Instinct – 41%
Breath Rap – 55%
Writing Bars – 47%
---
CURRENT QUESTS
[TRAINING QUESTS]
1. Hit the Notes – Score 90+ in 3 vocal recordings (2/3 completed)
2. Enter the Cypher – Join a live freestyle battle & survive 2 rounds (Locked)
3. Mirror Soul Lv.2 – Master BTS's "Mic Drop" (Remix) choreo with 100% accuracy (In Progress: 88%)
[SYSTEM MILESTONE QUEST]
> Rise of Aeon: 12-Year Sync Milestone
Complete 1 public performance before age 13
Join one hip-hop challenge class or underground freestyle battle
Record first cover MV (self-edited, self-danced, self-sung)
Reward:
Unlock "Idol Aura Passive"
Open STAR FORGE application route
Full system sync upgrade to Tier 4
---
UPCOMING EVENTS
[Underground Kinetic] – Lucknow City Dance Showdown
> Freestyle battles hosted every 3 weeks
Next battle: 12th March | Location: Shalimar Street Hall
Entry: Solo / Pseudonym allowed | Bonus XP Reward
Current Status: Unregistered
[Online Vocal Submission Call] – SoundBank India Open Mic
> Submit 2-min vocal-only track
Deadline: 28th February
Judges include indie producers & YouTube scouts
Reward: Stat boost + feedback report
---
SYSTEM SETTINGS
Avatar Mode: ON (Shows stylized UI avatar of Aisha mid-dance)
Notifications: Personalized (filtered to opportunities related to dance/rap)
Parental Cloak: ACTIVE (all system interface invisible unless authorized)
---
DAILY LOG SUMMARY – 12 FEBRUARY 2025
Dance Routine: 2 hrs – "New Jeans – OMG" (Score: 94%)
Rap Writing: 45 mins – Topic: "New Skin, Same Soul"
Vocal Warm-up: 30 mins – Scales + Ariana Grande run mimic
System Notes: "Fatigue Detected – Suggest partial rest day"
---
[FIRST HIP-HOP BATTLE CLASS – FEBRUARY 2012]
Location: Basement Level, Shalimar Street hall, Charbagh, Lucknow
Time: Saturday, 4:30 PM
Date: 18 February 2012
Class Type: Invite-only, bi-weekly battle prep class
---
1. Atmosphere & Setup
Underground studio with cracked concrete walls and fluorescent tube lights.
Faint scent of chalk, sweat, and incense.
Portable boombox playing a remix of Missy Elliott and Bohemia.
Wall mirror with a spiderweb crack on one end.
About 15 dancers in attendance—ages 11–22.
Instructor: Bhavesh "B-Rawk" Yadav (age 24), street dancer with B-boy roots, teaches from instinct not structure.
---
2. Class Breakdown
a. Warm-Up (10 mins)
Rhythmic body rolls, neck isolations, low bounce.
Aisha sticks close to the corners, mimicking movements quickly—her energy is watchful but determined.
b. Foundation Segment (25 mins)
Grooves taught: Toprock, Crisscross, C-Walk intro.
Aisha keeps her groove clean, but lacks aggression.
Bhavesh notices. "You're counting beats, not feeling them," he says.
c. Freestyle Drill (20 mins)
Random music drops—each dancer steps in and reacts.
Aisha hesitates when her turn comes.
She ends up doing a basic 8-count, sharp and on-beat. Someone claps lightly.
d. Mini Battle Circle (20 mins)
Friendly 1v1s. Bhavesh watches silently.
Aisha goes up against a loud-mouthed 13-year-old boy.
She surprises everyone with sharp shoulder pops and a clean turn out.
---
ZAYNAH "Z-ZAP" ALI: THE OLDER DANCER ENCOUNTER
Age: 17
Style: Krump x Street Fusion
Reputation: Known among Lucknow's older dancers for showing up uninvited, making her mark, then disappearing.
---
The Scene
After Aisha's mini-battle ends and people take a break, she walks toward the water bottles near the exit.
A girl's voice cuts in:
> "You play too safe. Why?"
Aisha looks up. A tall, lean girl leans against a support beam, eyes half-lidded, one earbud dangling from her hoodie.
> "I—I just don't know all the moves yet."
"Neither do I. Doesn't stop me from killing it."
Aisha blinks.
> "You know what your problem is?"
"What?"
"You dance from your brain. Real ones dance from scars."
Without another word, Zaynah turns, pulls her hoodie over her head, and joins an older dancer for a brief freestyle. Her movements are raw and jarring—there's pain in her style.
Aisha watches, frozen—somewhere between awe and envy.
---
System Emotion Tag Update [Internal Development Log: Aisha]
Tag Unlocked: "Grit Envy"
New Thought Loop Added: "I need to stop dancing like I'm asking permission."
Confidence Tier (Battle Context): +2 during next freestyle attempt when emotionally provoked.
---
Two Weeks Later – First Week of March, 2012
Saturday, Late Afternoon – Kala Manch Studio, Lucknow
The streets buzzed with election flyers and vegetable vendors shouting down the alleys. Aisha weaved through the crowded Charbagh footpaths, her faded canvas bag slung over one shoulder and a bottled Thums Up swinging in her other hand. She didn't stop to look at the billboards or the kids on the sidewalk trying breakdance steps; her mind was elsewhere.
Zaynah's words hadn't left her since that last class:
"You dance from your brain. Real ones dance from scars."
It haunted her in the best way possible. And now, she was back—not just to learn moves, but to feel something deeper.
Inside the Kala Manch studio, the mood was more intense than usual. The familiar fluorescent buzz was still there, but the dancers were tighter today—more serious. Aisha could feel it before she even entered the circle. Bhavesh was already setting the pace, slapping his palm rhythmically against a metal stool, looping a beat with his voice like a human metronome.
> "Today's format is ruthless. No teaching, just pressure. Mini-cyphers. You survive with style or get spun out."
No warm-up. No prep. Aisha's heart began to pound as a circle formed. The boombox spat out a track—pure 90s funk-hop with heavy basslines. Everyone moved back, giving space.
She watched the first pair battle—two older teens who threw aggressive footwork and wide-armed gestures. Not perfect, but hungry. The crowd clapped and cheered, creating a pulse that fed the energy in the room.
Then, a hand tapped her shoulder.
Bhavesh. His eyes glinted.
> "You're up next. Pair up with Jeetu."
Jeetu, the same loud-mouthed boy from two weeks ago, grinned, cracking his knuckles.
> "Ready to freeze up again?"
Aisha stepped forward, jaw clenched. She didn't speak.
The music changed—slower, deeper groove with chopped vocals. The kind you don't just dance to—you respond to.
Jeetu moved first, flaring with exaggerated windmills, stomping too hard and waving wildly. The crowd gave him half-hearted claps. He bowed like a cartoon villain.
Then came her turn.
And something shifted.
She didn't go for clean lines. She didn't chase tempo. She let her body lean into the beat like it was whispering secrets in her ear. Shoulders ticking. One leg sliding forward, locking into a knee drop. Her arms waved like smoke before snapping into an angular pose—sharp, still, defiant.
The room hushed for a second. Then erupted.
Even Bhavesh raised an eyebrow.
> "Okay, okay! Look who woke up."
Jeetu scoffed and rolled his eyes, but Aisha didn't see him. She was staring at the floor, chest rising and falling, adrenaline crashing through her limbs.
Across the room, near the wall mirror, someone slow-clapped.
Zaynah.
She was half-hidden in the shadows again, this time with her face half-covered by a dupatta.
Their eyes met briefly. Zaynah didn't say anything. Just nodded. Once.
Then she disappeared through the back door, just like before.
---
Later That Evening – Rooftop at Home
Aisha sat cross-legged with her walkman headphones resting loosely around her neck. She didn't press play. The music was still in her head.
She hadn't won the battle, not officially. Bhavesh had waved both dancers out, calling it a draw. But for the first time, Aisha felt like she belonged in the circle.
That invisible barrier—the need for permission, the hesitance to be seen—was cracking. And through it, something raw and unpolished was emerging.
Something real.
---
Mid-March 2012 – Saturday Evening Cypher at The Undershed
It was a hole-in-the-wall basement behind a shuttered paan shop in Aminabad—called The Undershed by those who knew it. No AC, one wall fan, broken tiled floor, and music that punched through the sweat-humid air like it was fighting to exist.
Aisha came alone. She didn't tell Bhavesh she was coming. She didn't even plan to dance.
She just wanted to watch.
But The Undershed didn't let dancers sit still.
Inside, kids from all corners of Lucknow's underground hip-hop scene filled the room—old-schoolers from Alambagh, lyrical stylers from Nishatganj, and a girl from Indira Nagar who danced in ankle boots and spoke only in verses. Aisha stood quietly near the wall, her backpack hugged tight to her chest.
Then, the MC shouted over the mic:
> "Open floor cypher—freestyle heat round! You get 20 seconds to cook. Winner gets two things: bragging rights and the slot for the Chaitra Battle Royale next month!"
Gasps. That was a big deal.
One by one, dancers stepped into the circle. Some got laughs, some got love. A few were decent. But no one owned it.
Then the mic hand pointed her way.
> "You. Backpack girl. You dancing or hiding?"
Whispers circled. Someone laughed. Aisha almost shook her head. Almost.
Then she stepped in.
Shoes squeaked as she took position in the middle. Someone behind her snorted. The beat dropped—an old remix of Dil Se layered over tribal drum loops and scratching vinyl.
Aisha didn't flinch.
She exhaled.
Her body spoke.
Not with violence or technical flair, but fluidity with hard snaps, sudden locks, low glides that made the floor look like a river under her shoes. She hit every beat with instinct, not thought. Then—at the very end—she spun into a knee drop, one palm stretched like she was offering the whole cypher her heart.
Silence.
Then: eruption.
> "DAMN."
"WHO IS THIS CHICK?"
"What even—yo, did she just—?"
The MC raised a hand.
> "Winner's clear. Backpack girl got the floor."
No one argued.
---
Post-Cypher – Stairwell Outside The Undershed
Aisha sat on the chipped stone steps, sweat cooling down her neck, her hands trembling not with nerves but disbelief.
She didn't plan to win. But something inside her had waited for this—for a moment where she wasn't someone's student, sister, or daughter. She wasn't even Aisha.
She was just a dancer.
And the city finally saw her.
---
Mid-March 2012 – After School, Bedroom Mirror
The first thing she did when she got home from school that day was throw her backpack onto the bed and lock her door.
Not out of anger. Not excitement either.
She was just tired—but not from the outside. It was the weight in her chest.
She turned on her small desktop speakers and played the same song she'd played every week for years: Lucifer by SHINee. The Korean lyrics flowed like muscle memory in her head, and as the beat dropped, her body almost responded automatically—arms sharp, hips calculating, steps structured in the polished routine she'd memorized from endless YouTube clips.
But midway through the chorus, she froze.
It wasn't off-beat. It wasn't fatigue.
It was disconnection.
Aisha stopped dancing. Stared at her own reflection. Her foot hovered mid-step before gently dropping to the floor.
> "It's too… perfect," she whispered.
In her last life, K-pop had been the dream. She had followed choreographers, tracked comebacks like eclipses, even practiced the same routines in the dead of night just to mimic the exact head tilt of her favorite idols. Becoming part of that world had felt achievable once—distant, yes, but reachable.
But this world's K-pop sphere?
Unreachable.
It wasn't just an industry here—it was another planet. Hyper-fast, surgically skilled, saturated with trainees raised from the age of eight, their lives consumed by cameras, contracts, and cold glass studios in Seoul.
Aisha had done the research over the past few months. She saw the difference now. She knew.
This world didn't just have higher standards—it had walls.
> "You're good," she whispered to herself, voice flat. "But you're not that."
The realization didn't hurt.
It just landed.
Like stepping onto a different road than you thought you were on—and realizing it still had room to run.
She sat on the floor, pulled off her socks, and leaned back, head against the edge of her bed.
> "So… I won't be an idol," she said, eyes closed.
Then, after a pause, a small smile.
> "But I can still be me."
--
The quiet hum of the evening city filtered through the dance studio's high windows. Seoul never really slept, Aisha had come to realize. It pulsed. It beat like a living thing, especially here — where the concrete was stained with the dreams of idols, the echoes of music battles, and the sharp hiss of breath drawn mid-dance move.
She sat on the edge of the practice platform, sweat dampening her collarbone, the ache in her calves dull but present. Her eyes traced the skyline through the glass: high-rises lit up like stages, moving billboards playing highlight reels of idol comebacks. Every third ad was a new group. Every fourth, a solo debut. The faces were impossibly beautiful, dangerously charismatic, and terrifyingly young.
Aisha exhaled.
Only a few weeks ago, she'd scoffed at how dramatic everything was. The training regimens. The cutthroat competitions. The obsession.
But now… she got it.
It wasn't just South Korea. In this world — this version of 2012 — K-pop wasn't a regional cultural export. It was the global nucleus of pop culture. America? Britain? Japan? All of them still produced music, yes. But none with the gravitational pull K-pop had achieved here.
It wasn't just idols on screens. It was K-pop-themed cafés in Paris. Fan chant practice groups in Nairobi. Trainee exchange programs in Brazil. Stadiums selling out in mere minutes across continents. A single scandal from a third-tier group could shake stock markets. Rookie debuts trended on global networks. And fandoms were less "groups of teenage girls" and more structured grassroots movements with global reach.
Compared to her old world, where a few Western artists ruled with multi-platinum sales and arena tours, this… this was an entirely different ecosystem. In her old timeline, Taylor Swift had been untouchable.
Here?
She might've been a sub-vocalist in a fourth-gen girl group if she were lucky.
Aisha felt a shiver crawl down her spine — not fear, but the dawning realization of scale. The why was finally clicking into place. Why the system had selected this version of the world. Why it had thrown her into this timeline and not some cozy alternate where she could dawdle into stardom through sheer novelty.
Because this world didn't make stars by accident. It refined them.
This world was a crucible.
And if you could rise here — really rise — then you'd be forged in platinum, not gold.
A small, tired smile curved her lips. She'd been treating this like some kind of elaborate cheat code. But it was never going to be easy.
No wonder the system chose this world. Here, the entertainment industry was the world's beating heart. And K-pop was its rhythm.
She stood up, stretching out the stiffness in her limbs, heart beating a little faster now. Not with exhaustion, but resolve.
---
April 8, 2012.
The fan creaked above her, stirring the humid air as Aisha sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, laptop screen angled just right on the low table. The curtains were half-drawn, the world outside lit with lazy golden afternoon light, but Aisha's world was centered entirely on what was unfolding on that 14-inch screen.
Twelve boys. One name. EXO.
Aisha stood frozen in front of the screen, a half-eaten tangerine in one hand and a rolled-up hoodie sleeve clenched in the other. Her breath hitched. They were here. All of them — exactly as she remembered.
Suho's calm grace. Kai's magnetic presence. D.O's steady intensity. Baekhyun's cheeky smile. Sehun, Chen, Chanyeol, Xiumin… and even the three who would later leave: Kris, Luhan, Tao.
Nothing had changed.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she placed the tangerine down and stepped closer, almost like she could touch them through the screen. Their debut stage was just like she'd remembered watching all those years ago — powerful, slick, otherworldly. The moment "MAMA" began, the memory hit her like a wave.
She remembered sitting in her old room, back in her old life, barely a teenager, wide-eyed and blown away by the epicness of it all. The way the concept lore had sunk its claws into her. How the synchronized choreography had haunted her dreams. How she'd quietly imagined herself sharing a stage with people like them.
She blinked hard.
This wasn't just nostalgia. This was confirmation.
They were here. In this world too. And in the same formation.
Her presence — her reincarnation, her training, her system — hadn't caused some cosmic butterfly effect that reshuffled the K-pop world entirely. It meant one thing, and one thing only:
Hope.
It meant that even in this hypercharged version of reality, where K-pop ruled like a monarchy and the entertainment industry was tighter and tougher, some things were still grounded. The canon of this world — or at least the timeline — was still familiar.
She could still hold onto something.
Aisha let herself sit down cross-legged in front of the screen. Her knees bumped with some other girls. No one minded. They were all enraptured by the spectacle, some cheering for the visuals, others for the vocals, and a few already picking biases like this was a sacred ritual.
But Aisha… she watched with reverence.
Because this wasn't just a debut to her.
It was a lifeline.
It meant she might one day see her other favorites debut too. The fourth-generation legends who had once been light in her old world — Stray Kids, ATEEZ, TXT, NewJeans, Le Sserafim, and more — maybe they were still out there, yet to debut. Maybe she could still witness it all again… only this time, from the inside.
Tears prickled in her eyes, but she didn't wipe them.
Thank you, she whispered in her heart. Whether it was to the system, fate, or this alternate world — she didn't know. But gratitude bloomed like spring inside her chest.
And in that moment, she renewed her vow silently.
One day, she'd be on a debut stage like this.
And maybe, just maybe, someone like her — watching from some corner of the world — would feel this same fire light up in their chest.
---
April 22, 2012 – Underground Dance Arena, Lucknow
The basement smelled of sweat, smoke, and ambition.
Neon strips flickered along the ceiling, casting shadows over a tightly packed crowd circling the worn-out tiled floor that served as the stage. Aisha's sneakers tapped nervously against the concrete, the thrum of bass from the subwoofers echoing in her chest like a second heartbeat.
She was dressed simply — black cargo pants, an oversized tee, a single braid slung over her shoulder. No glam, no flair. Just raw nerve and the fire in her limbs.
The Underground Royale had attracted over two dozen competitors. All had fallen, one by one, as Aisha advanced — popping through the eliminations, gliding through the semis, surprising even the hardened judges with her sharp isolations, her quick footwork, and above all, her presence.
Now, only two remained.
Aisha.
And the girl they called "Bricks."
A seventeen-year-old powerhouse known in the circuit — dreadlocks, combat boots, years of training carved into her every motion. Bricks moved like thunder; Aisha, like lightning.
"Final round! 90 seconds freestyle. Theme is: Retaliation."
The crowd roared.
Bricks went first. And she crushed it.
Her body was war. Angles, grit, teeth clenched, a punch of rhythm that had the crowd hollering by the end. She finished with a knee slide that stopped inches from Aisha's feet, daring her.
Aisha inhaled sharply.
This was it.
Her turn.
The beat dropped — glitchy, sharp-edged, fast. Her body responded before her brain could think. Aisha danced like her life was on the line. No plans. Just instinct. A storm of sharp pops, controlled waves, foot slides that tore across the floor.
She spun on her heel — hit a clean shoulder roll — dipped — and froze mid-pose, staring straight into Bricks' eyes.
The crowd screamed.
But when the final vote came in… it was close. So close, even Aisha thought for a second she might've done it.
She hadn't.
Bricks took the win — arms raised, face triumphant, as her crew swarmed her in a tangle of cheers and hollers.
Aisha stood still, sweat dripping down her neck, heart hammering so hard it hurt. She clapped — stiffly — as the judge handed her the runner-up medal.
It felt heavy.
Outside, after the crowd began to thin, she sat on the ledge near the parking lot, staring up at the violet Lucknow sky.
Second place.
It shouldn't have stung so much. She was twelve, dancing in a teenage circuit. She had no coach, no studio backing. She had no business even being this far.
But she wanted to win.
She wanted it so badly, it hurt.
She blinked hard, wiping her eyes with the back of her arm.
Just then, a voice cut the silence.
"You dance like you've got something to prove."
Aisha looked up.
It was Bricks — still catching her breath, arms crossed, her eyes unreadable.
"You were scary good," Bricks said. "Come back next year. You'll probably eat all of us alive."
And just like that, she walked off.
Aisha stared after her.
She didn't win. But she had arrived.
And the fire in her chest — the one that got her this far — only blazed brighter now.
---
The rest of 2012 moved like fire in the bloodstream.
Aisha's days had never been more packed, nor more unpredictable. As the underground battle scene faded into the background, the heat of competition lingered. She had tasted that rare sensation of being noticed. Of standing in the spotlight. Even if just for a breath. That taste didn't leave. It only fermented.
And yet, she made a decision that surprised even herself.
She quit classical vocal lessons.
Not out of boredom. But because she had hit a stage she didn't want to advance past in classical music. Afterall idol singing and classical singing were two different trees of just the same roots.
But she had another reason too. She had to make space in her schedule.
In her last life, she had trusted too easily. Believed too naively. And when danger had come, it had caught her off guard. This life, she vowed, would be different.
So on a warm afternoon in May, she unpinned the old sheet music from her wall and replaced it with a printed schedule of Taekwondo classes.
Her parents had been puzzled, of course. Her mother worried she was giving up on classical music. Her father asked gently if she was being bullied. But Aisha only smiled, tied her long hair into a bun, and told them it was a matter of discipline. That she wanted to grow tougher — inside and out.
They let her.
She joined a small dojang not far from her school, the floor mats slightly torn at the edges, the ceiling fans forever creaking. But the instructor — Master Pradeep — was a retired national-level martial artist with the stern calm of a mountain. He didn't treat her like a child.
He treated her like a student.
And she became one. Diligently.
Kicks, blocks, stance discipline, foot pivoting, core drills. At first, her limbs were too loose. Her muscles too soft. She had the fluidity of a dancer, but none of the steel.
It took months.
But by October, she was sparring with older girls. Earning bruises like badges. Her body changed — leaner, stronger. Her rhythm shifted. Her movements gained sharpness. In every pirouette she attempted for dance class now, there was a breath of combat.
The change didn't go unnoticed by the system.
SYSTEM PROMPT - UNLOCKED
[IDOL SYSTEM V3.9 - HIDDEN PATH MODULE ACTIVATED]
> "Notice: User has entered a statistically rare trajectory — Physical Self-Defense Focus. Module unlocked: IDOL SAFETY TRAINING TREE."
+ MODULE: Self-Defense for Performers + Status: INITIATED + Analysis: Physical Training Pathway recognized. Threat awareness detected. Personal trauma imprint flagged in previous lifetime. Generating safety optimization module.
---
SYSTEM UI OVERVIEW - IDOL SAFETY TRAINING TREE
Path Branches:
1. Foundations of Physical Defense
Taekwondo Rank Progression: [White → Yellow → Green → Blue → Red → Black]
Conditioning Level: Moderate [Progressing to High]
Flexibility & Reflex Bonus: +15% (Dance Synergy Detected)
2. Situational Awareness & Reflex Conditioning
Street Situations Simulated: 6/20 Completed
Threat Identification: Intermediate
3. Verbal Self-Defense and De-escalation Tactics
Social Training Status: LOCKED
Requires: [Trigger Event - Verbal Conflict Encounter]
4. Performance Space Security
Backstage Safety Protocols: NOT YET AVAILABLE
Will unlock upon entering professional event environments.
5. Trauma Resilience Building (Psych-Eval Subpath)
Mental Resilience Index: 62%
Sleep Disruption Analysis: LOW
Recommendation: Journaling module + Breathing Meditation Techniques (Add-on available)
---
System Note:
> "An idol, especially in a hyper-competitive entertainment industry, is vulnerable to psychological and physical threats. User has proactively chosen self-preservation over aesthetic conformity. SYSTEM SUPPORT ACTIVATED."
Reward: +10% Increased Mental Fortitude
+5% Physical Agility (Dance-Combat Blend)
Temporary Skill Unlocked: "Kick-Spin Reversal" (Taekwondo x Contemporary Dance Fusion)
---
Aisha had stared at the system window long after it faded.
She had never seen this path mentioned in any forum of her previous world's idol game communities. This wasn't a secret route — this was a forgotten one.
And she was walking it.
By December 2012, Aisha was a very different girl from the one who'd sobbed at her second-place dance loss. She was still stubborn. Still unsure at times. But now, she walked a little taller. She kept her shoulders back in the street. She looked people in the eye.
She didn't need to be famous yet.
She just needed to be ready.
And in 2013, she promised herself — she would be.