The sharp ping of her email app sliced through the mellow hum of her dorm room. Ayesha Singh, nestled cross-legged on her bed, was in the middle of scribbling messy choreography notes while casually rewatching The Show performances for inspiration. The timing was terrible—or perfect.
Her phone lit up:
[FORGE Global Auditions: Round 2 Selection Notice]
Ayesha froze.
The world went eerily silent, save for the rustle of her blanket as she lunged for her phone. Her brain screamed through a dozen possibilities. Did they like her? Did she mess up the audio in the video? Was this a joke?
She tapped the notification, her thumb trembling.
> Dear Ayesha Singh,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to proceed to Round 2 of the FORGE Global Auditions. Congratulations!
"OH. MY. GOD."
She shot up like she'd been hit with a Confundo spell. "I MADE IT?! I FREAKING MADE IT!"
Her excitement exploded into the room like confetti in a wind tunnel. She screamed into her pillow. Then screamed again. Then spun around, nearly knocking over the rickety floor fan she'd duct-taped just that morning.
A muffled voice came from the hallway. "Shut up, Ayesha! Some of us are cramming for finals!"
"SOME OF US JUST GOT INTO ROUND TWO OF FORGE AUDITIONS!" she bellowed back. "SO Y'ALL CAN CRAM THESE VIBES INSTEAD!"
She jumped into a victory dance, arms flailing in something between a hype-boy routine and a toddler on espresso. Her dorm mate, Lia, cracked the door open with an unimpressed look. "You're unhinged."
"I'm ascending," Ayesha corrected dramatically, flinging herself onto the bed and dialing her parents.
---
"Hello?" Her mom's voice answered on the first ring.
"Mama! Baba! I GOT IN!" Ayesha practically yelled, sounding breathless and on the verge of combusting.
Her father's voice filtered through in the background. "I told you. I told you she would!"
"Oh, beti," her mother said, voice wobbling with emotion. "You've always wanted this. I'm so proud of you. Just... promise you'll eat something that's not instant ramen today."
"I will," Ayesha laughed, wiping her tears with the hem of her hoodie. "Actually... I'm going to celebrate. I'm taking myself out tonight."
"Good," her mom said. "Celebrate big. Because this is just the beginning."
---
That evening, Ayesha strolled into her favorite hidden gem—a tiny Korean fusion restaurant tucked between two laundromats. She wore a sunflower-yellow cardigan over a white tee and beige cargos, and her wavy black hair fell down her back like silken ink. Her lip tint was peachy, her eyeliner fierce. She looked like an idol already. Or at least a web drama lead.
She ordered a kimchi cheese rice bowl, extra gochujang, and a mango smoothie—comfort food, celebration food.
Sitting by the window, she glanced at her phone lockscreen—her favorite shot of Han from Stray Kids during the Miroh era(She had to bully the pic out of the system , apparently something about her being spoiled to demand future photoshoot pics). "Oppa, manifest for me," she whispered, then grinned and lifted her smoothie in a toast.
"To me," she murmured. "To baby Ayesha with her ten-year-old YouTube covers. To the girl who learned three languages for this. To the girl who's doing it. For real."
Outside, the streetlamps twinkled like the world was clapping back. Somewhere, fate was smiling.
She didn't know what the group would be called. She didn't know if she'd make it all the way. But she had stepped through the door.
And that... was everything.
---
Ayesha's dorm was buzzing with a quiet kind of electricity. Her phone lay on her desk, still open on the email.
> "Congratulations. You've been selected for Round 2 of the Global Online Auditions – FORGE Initiative."
Her breath had caught the moment she read it, and it hadn't fully returned since. She spun around once, then twice, then flopped onto her bed, limbs flung dramatically across her blanket.
"I did it," she whispered.
A shiver passed through her—one she recognized.
> [System: Active.]
[Phase Two Initiated – Directive: Elevation.]
She blinked at the ceiling. The familiar presence brushed her consciousness. Soft. Immediate. Steady.
"You've always been there," she murmured, smiling slightly.
> [Correct. Passive Surveillance Mode until Trigger: External Selection Event.]
She sat up slowly. Her eyes gleamed with the weight of realization. "Okay. Round 2. I need to nail this."
> [Parameters: 1. One-take, live-recorded performance. 2. Must include vocal cover of existing K-pop track. 3. Dance performance with choreography fidelity >85%, optional enhancement. 4. Optional rap section. 5. Optional multilingual integration.]
"Right." Ayesha stood, tying her hair up as she paced. "So, vocals from an existing K-pop song. I'll need to choose something powerful but within my vocal range."
> [Suggestion Queue:
— "Gashina" by Sunmi
— "Stay" by BLACKPINK
— "Heaven" by Ailee
— "Into the New World" by Girls' Generation (emotion-focused choice)]
She paused. "Stay is emotional but low-key… Heaven is a power track. Gashina would show confidence... Ailee though—if I can pull that off... that's it."
> [Confirmed: Primary Vocal – "Heaven" by Ailee.]
"Okay. What about dance?"
> [Suggestions:
— "Fake Love" by BTS
— "Ddu-Du Ddu-Du" by BLACKPINK
— "Monster" by EXO
— "View" by SHINee
Recommended: BTS – 'Fake Love.' High-intensity, emotionally cohesive with chosen song.]
She nodded. "I'll keep the structure but smooth out the footwork. Make it sharper. Cleaner. Like I'm not just dancing to survive, but to speak."
> [Accepted. Rap section to follow final chorus. Recommend 8 bars – custom-written. Language options: Korean, Japanese, English. Highlight: Japanese fluency – underused strength in co-ed audition pools.]
She smiled. "So, Korean vocals, English-Japanese rap, and choreography from a BTS hit. It's almost unfair."
> [Correction: Statistically optimized. Not unfair.]
"Fair," she laughed. "Then let's get to work."
She grabbed her notebook, already scribbling rap ideas, and opened her laptop to review dance tutorials. The System pulsed gently in the back of her mind, sending muscle memory triggers, breathing cues, lyric inflection overlays.
---
Ayesha stood barefoot in her university dorm room, the evening sun casting golden streaks across the wooden floor. Her hoodie swayed with each step as she danced to the beat of TWICE's "Cheer Up", her phone propped up on a mug and angled toward her as a camera.
> "Cheer up baby~ cheer up baby~"
She twirled, clapped, and hit the signature point choreography with a grin, light on her feet and glowing. The joy in her eyes wasn't just from the music—it was from everything starting to fall into place.
Then the track shifted. She clicked her playlist to "Fake Love" by BTS, taking a deep breath. Her face grew serious, gaze locked in the mirror.
> [System: Posture at 91%. Core tension detected. Ready? Begin.]
Ayesha launched into the opening sequence, her arms slicing through the air, her hair trailing behind her. She didn't need to speak out loud anymore—the System understood her rhythm, her determination. Every correction came silently, like an invisible coach syncing with her heartbeat.
Sweat pooled at her collarbone as she practiced her vocals next—this time singing Taeyeon's "I", her voice growing steadier with each pass. A slightly breathy start morphed into powerful, clear lines. The System displayed pitch overlays and resonance curves on her screen in real time, and Ayesha adjusted accordingly.
And then—her phone rang.
She froze mid-step, frowning when she saw the caller ID:
Embassy of the Republic of Korea – Visa Processing
Her stomach dropped. "Oh no."
She grabbed the phone. "Hello?"
> "Is this Ms. Ayesha Singh?"
"Yes, speaking."
"I'm calling from the South Korean Visa Office. We're finalizing the documents for your D-4 Visa. There's a minor discrepancy in the sponsor contact number you provided."
Ayesha's heart thundered. "Is that going to be a problem?"
> "Not at all. If you can email us the correct contact today, we'll finalize everything by the end of the week. Your visa is almost ready."
"Oh—yes! Absolutely, I'll do that right away. Thank you so much!"
> "No worries. Have a good day, Ms. Singh."
Ayesha set the phone down and let herself fall backward onto the bed, arms splayed wide, laughing.
> [System: Crisis Level—2%. Resolution confirmed. Resume training?]
"You just watched me panic and said nothing?"
> [Emotional experience enhances long-term performance. Carry on, starlet.]
She groaned, rolled back onto her feet, and hit play again. The room lit up with TWICE's voices as she spun with renewed energy.
> "Cheer up baby~ Cheer up baby~"
---
The room was silent now—no backing tracks, no choreography drills. Just Ayesha, a worn notebook, and the beat looping softly through her headphones. The low pulse of a minimalist trap instrumental hummed beneath her words as she sat cross-legged on the floor, pen tapping against her lip.
Her notes were a mess of scratched-out rhymes, arrows, stars, and stray doodles. But slowly, something was taking form.
> [System: RAP section—original composition. Theme selected: Passion and purpose. Wordplay optimized. Progress: 38%.]
Ayesha nodded and whispered the lines under her breath.
> "Didn't come from studios, came from street noise /
Buskin' in the sun, fightin' fear with my voice /
Notes in my blood, rhythm in my spine /
Didn't chase the dream—it chased me, line by line."
She paused. Reread. Her fingers tapped out a counter-rhythm on her thigh.
> "I saw stars not in the sky, but in my mirror /
Saw a stage in every shadow that drew nearer /
I'm not just a girl who's got flow, I got flame /
I bleed soundwaves, and I brand it with my name."
She exhaled. The words felt right now—raw, but hers.
The System chimed gently.
> [Power level—82%. Syllabic cadence synced. Suggested variation: increase speed in second bar. Proceed?]
"Yeah, let's push it."
She stood, rolled her shoulders, and stepped into position. Ayesha raised her mic—just a highlighter she was pretending with—and began to rap with crisp, precise timing:
> "Didn't come from studios, came from street noise—
Buskin' in the sun, fightin' fear with my voice!"
Her eyes blazed.
> "I saw stars not in the sky but in my mirror—
Every day I grew sharper, every dream got clearer!"
> "This ain't a wish, it's war. This ain't a phase, it's lore.
And I ain't knockin'—I'm breakin' the whole damn door."
Her voice hit hard, her breath flowing like a trained performer. It wasn't perfect—but it was undeniable. It was her.
When the beat faded out, she stood in the silence, chest rising and falling.
> [System: RAP section—completed. Sentiment: Authentic. Impact: High. You have created a lyrical signature.]
She wiped sweat from her brow, grinning like she'd just won a battle.
"I hope FORGE is ready for me."
---
In the ever-evolving landscape of K-pop, where innovation is both currency and risk, a new venture was quietly gaining traction—one that threatened to redefine the very core of the idol industry.
For decades, the notion of co-ed groups in K-pop had lingered on the periphery. Though a handful had debuted, few had managed to carve out a lasting legacy. The market, deeply segmented and fervently loyal, had never fully embraced the concept. Most agencies, acutely aware of the volatile balance between fame and failure, steered clear of the co-ed experiment. The stakes were simply too high—until two industry giants dared to rewrite the rules.
Big Hit Entertainment—now HYBE—known for its meteoric rise through narrative-driven groups and fan-focused innovation, had the vision. JYP Entertainment, one of the original powerhouses of Hallyu, brought with it decades of experience, global reach, and an unparalleled track record in artist development. Each, on their own, had toyed with the idea of debuting a co-ed group. Each had shelved the concept, wary of the industry's resistance.
But together?
Together, they saw possibility where others saw peril.
In a historic partnership, HYBE and JYP joined forces to create ONYX, a new subsidiary company devoted entirely to the conceptualization, training, and debut of co-ed K-pop groups. ONYX would not follow the existing blueprint—it would forge a new one. The name itself was deliberate: a gemstone associated with strength, duality, and transformation. Just like the future they envisioned.
The first project under ONYX was nothing short of ambitious.
FORGE, a global survival program, would serve as both debut platform and testing ground. Aspiring idols from all corners of the world would compete, collaborate, and evolve. Backed by MNET, South Korea's leading music broadcast channel, and sponsored by KBS World, the program had already generated unprecedented industry buzz. This wasn't just another idol show. It was the collaboration of the decade, the first of its kind, and everyone in the industry was watching.
The stakes? Immense.
The reward? Limitless.
Trainees from both HYBE and JYP Entertainment—selected through internal evaluations and instructor recommendations—have officially entered the FORGE competition. This unprecedented move reflects the companies' deep commitment to the project. These trainees, already sharpened by years of professional training, will now go head-to-head with independent aspirants from around the globe, placing FORGE in a category of its own.
And this is only the beginning.
FORGE is more than a survival show—it is a proving ground, a crucible for the future of K-pop.
Phase Zero: The Global Call
The first stage began quietly but resonated loudly.
FORGE's online audition platform opened to the world—no borders, no bias. From Seoul to São Paulo, from Lagos to London, tens of thousands of aspiring idols submitted their audition videos, each one hoping to be seen, to be heard, to be chosen. Dancers, vocalists, rappers, and multilingual performers all surged forward to answer the same call: Forge your future.
After weeks of evaluation by internal review teams from HYBE, JYP, and ONYX, the flood of entries was narrowed to just 1,000 global candidates—the very best of the best.
Phase One: The Live Auditions
These 1,000 contenders have now been formally invited to participate in Live Audition Rounds, to be held across international audition centers in Seoul, Tokyo, New York, Paris, Bangkok, and Sydney. Under the scrutiny of in-house trainers and guest evaluators, these performers will compete in front of the cameras for a chance to make it to the next level.
Only 200 candidates will emerge from these rounds.
Phase Two: Arrival in Korea
The surviving 200 will then be flown to Seoul, South Korea, where they will step onto the main stage—both literally and figuratively. In the capital of K-pop, the pressure intensifies.
In front of a panel of celebrity judges, choreographers, vocal coaches, and A&R professionals, the participants will undergo a multi-layered screening designed to test their stage presence, vocal control, dance precision, group synergy, and global marketability.
From this trial by fire, only 50 will remain.
Phase Three: The Forge Begins
This is the heart of the programme.
The 50 final contenders will enter Phase 1 of the FORGE Survival Programme, a grueling two-month journey of discipline, development, and transformation. They will be housed together, trained rigorously, and monitored constantly—on and off camera. The world will watch as new alliances form, rivalries flare, and stars are born.
Here, under the watchful eyes of global mentors and the judgment of international audiences, the 50 will be tested not just as individuals—but as potential members of something bigger.
At the conclusion of Phase 1, only 25 candidates will remain. Their fate will be decided by a combination of global fan voting and official judge evaluations, emphasizing both talent and mass appeal.
Phase Four: The Final Showdown
Phase 4 marks the final crucible.
The remaining 25 trainees will now face a series of high-production performances, media challenges, and collaboration missions across six live broadcast episodes. Each week, eliminations will bring them closer to the ultimate moment.
By the end, only 5 will debut as the first global co-ed group under ONYX Entertainment—an act born from fire, selected by the world, and built to lead a new era of K-pop.
---
From her glass-walled office in the heart of Seoul, Lee Hyun-ah sat perched on the edge of her seat, her gaze fixed on the large monitor before her. The city pulsed beneath the skyline beyond the window, its neon veins mirroring the electricity tingling in her own nerves. It had been a whirlwind since JYP Entertainment seconded her to ONYX Entertainment as the main vocal instructor for the upcoming survival programme FORGE.
It was the kind of offer that usually came wrapped in fanfare—a new position, high exposure, a larger creative portfolio. But Hyun-ah knew what it truly was: a gamble.
A co-ed idol group? It was an audacious move in an industry known for careful branding and risk aversion. While co-ed groups had emerged in the past, none had carved a lasting legacy. This—this was uncharted water. And yet, the pairing of JYP's pedigree and HYBE's boldness gave her the quiet confidence that this wasn't just another experimental project. It was history in the making.
Still, history came with pressure.
Behind her, members of her evaluation team filed in quietly, tablets in hand, as they prepared for their first regional Zoom screening. Out of a thousand globally shortlisted candidates, fifty applicants from South and Central Asia had been assigned to her team for the second round of auditions.
Hyun-ah tugged at her dark blazer and rolled her shoulders. "Let's begin," she said.
The monitor split into multiple thumbnails as the Zoom call connected. One by one, the faces of excited, anxious, and eager young artists filled the screen. Each of them stood before a makeshift stage—bedrooms, dance studios, community centers, rooftops. All transformed into hopeful launchpads for dreams.
"Candidate 1123, please begin," her assistant called out.
A boy from Nepal performed a heartfelt acoustic cover. Technically shaky, but sincere. A girl from Pakistan danced to ITZY's Wannabe with commendable energy. Hyun-ah nodded subtly, making mental notes as her team typed away beside her. She wasn't looking for perfection—not yet. She was hunting for something raw, formless, but powerful.
A few more passed—some forgettable, others promising. Then came the Chinese girl. Candidate 1138.
She had a composed air to her, elegant and poised. As the music swelled, she began to sing a Mandarin ballad with strong vocal control and excellent breathing technique. Hyun-ah raised a brow.
"Good pitch. Minimal strain on the high notes," she murmured to her assistant.
"Idol material?" the assistant asked.
Hyun-ah shrugged. "Not a star yet. But definitely moldable."
And then… the screen flickered. The next candidate entered.
Candidate 1142 – Stage Name: Aeon.
Aeon, or Ayesha, stood tall at 5'9.5", her milky white skin glowing subtly in the soft lighting. Long black hair fell neatly down her back, framing a face that was delicate yet defined, her expression calm, unshaken by nerves. But what struck Hyun Ah most were her eyes—grey-black with hints of brown—piercing and alive, like she already belonged under stage lights. Her dancer-toned figure, from long legs to a graceful, powerful frame, moved with easy poise, like she had done this hundreds of times before. And despite the casual outfit, her natural beauty was striking—almost cinematic.
Her audition space was well-lit and minimal—just a black background and a single spotlight. She didn't look nervous. If anything, she looked prepared. Over-prepared, even. Like she knew exactly what she wanted to show the world.
Hyun-ah leaned forward.
The rap began first—original verses, delivered in crisp Korean with inflections of English and Japanese woven naturally. The lyrics struck like arrows:
> "Didn't come here to chase a dream / I'm here to claim it—stage and scream / Born for the mic, raised by the beat / This heart is a fire, and it don't know defeat."
The rhythm, the diction, the confidence—professional tier.
Without pause, she transitioned into the dance segment—a reconstructed and intensified version of BTS's Fake Love choreography. It wasn't just mimicry. She interpreted the emotion in it, and the technical execution was pristine—every angle, every expression, honed like she'd lived the routine a hundred times over.
And then came the vocal.
Heaven.
Her voice shifted gear entirely—no longer intense or sharp. It turned pure. High notes soared, falsettos trickled down like rain, and her tone was tinged with an emotion that made Hyun-ah forget, for a moment, that this was just a video audition.
When it ended, there was a long pause in the room.
No one spoke.
Finally, Hyun-ah leaned back, her eyes still fixed on the screen where Aeon's form lingered in the last frozen frame.
She exhaled deeply. "That girl…" she said quietly.
Her assistant blinked. "Yes?"
"…She's the real thing."
"Should I mark her as a finalist?"
Hyun-ah's lips curved slightly, a rare smile. "Mark her as priority evaluation. She's not just a trainee. She's the kind of star who could make the industry weep."
In her chest, excitement bloomed.
This was the kind of artist FORGE was built to find. Not someone who merely performed—but someone who could change the game.
---
Scene: Onyx Entertainment – Conference Room, Seoul
The room buzzed with quiet conversation as the members of the FORGE production board settled into their seats, virtual screens hovering mid-air with the profiles and notes from the day's regional evaluations. Lee Hyun Ah stood at the far end of the table, her long coat draped over the chair behind her, fingers wrapped around her warm Americano as she waited for her turn to present.
She began with efficiency. "South Central Asia's top applicants have been narrowed to 50 contenders. Of those, ten show promising stage instincts. Three are potential standouts."
She swiped through a few brief video clips. Her voice remained cool, practiced. When she reached the final slide, she paused. A still image of Aeon appeared—graceful posture, eyes shimmering under the studio lights.
"One in particular displayed a rare trifecta—strong falsetto control, contemporary dance technique with interpretative layering, and a raw lyrical presence in her original rap. I'm flagging her as a top prospect."
Murmurs spread down the table. No name was given, but the impact of her words was clear.
"We'll be monitoring her progress through Phase 2," someone noted. Hyun Ah nodded subtly and stepped away, her part concluded.
---
Later that night – A bar tucked into a quiet corner of Itaewon
The flickering neon light outside the izakaya hummed above the glass as Hyun Ah slipped into her usual booth. She shrugged off her coat and was greeted by a familiar voice.
"Took you long enough."
Kang Joon-seok, her drinking buddy of nearly ten years and a fellow vocal instructor, was already halfway through a pint of Cass. He wore a slightly stunned expression, his phone still clutched in his hand like he'd just seen a ghost.
She slid into the booth, eyeing him. "You look like someone just resurrected MJ and made him audition."
Joon-seok blinked, then laughed. "Honestly? Close. I just wrapped my screening. South Korean pool."
She arched a brow, intrigued.
"There was this one kid," he said, setting down his beer. "Half-Korean, half-Italian maybe. God knows what combination of DNA created him, but the moment he opened his mouth to rap—Hyun Ah, I swear, my soul left my body."
"Rap?" she echoed, smirking.
He nodded seriously. "And then he danced. Powerhouse movement. Precision and style. But the kicker? His voice—baritone. Rich, unpolished, but with the kind of texture you don't train into someone. It's just… there. Monster talent."
Hyun Ah leaned back, swirling her glass of soju. "Interesting. I had someone like that today, too. From the India line."
"Oh?"
"Graceful lines in dance—almost like watching silk ripple. A falsetto that could pierce through silence, and the kind of rap delivery that's not just confident—it's poetic. Like she's singing directly into the marrow of your bones."
Joon-seok raised an eyebrow. "Sounds dangerous."
"She is," Hyun Ah murmured, staring down into her glass. "And if she makes it through the next two rounds, the industry won't be ready."
They sat in silence for a while, the city murmuring beyond the frosted window.
Joon-seok spoke first, voice a little softer. "You think this co-ed thing'll actually work?"
Hyun Ah sighed. "The politics, the biases, the market hesitations—it'll all fight against it. But if we get the right five…"
She smiled faintly.
"…we won't just make history. We'll redefine it."
Joon-seok clinked his glass gently against hers. "To monsters and miracles."
"To FORGE," she replied.
---
The walls of the small Gangnam apartment were still humming with silence, the kind that followed chaos. Park Yong Min stood in front of the mirror, towel slung around his neck, his breath just barely steadying. The laptop screen on the floor behind him still glowed with the final frame of his live-streamed audition — frozen on his expression, eyes slightly narrowed, lips parted, sweat glistening on the sharp line of his jaw.
He let out a quiet laugh. "Well... that's done."
His reflection stared back at him — tall, striking, and distinctly out of place in the cramped studio apartment he'd rented just three months ago.
6 foot 3, wide-shouldered, lean muscle filling out his long limbs — a frame built like a runway model but moved like a fighter. Or a dancer. Depending on the rhythm.
Thick, slightly damp black hair fell over his violet-gray eyes, which caught the bathroom light with an uncanny glint. There was something unsettling about his gaze — distant and calculating, like he was always ten steps ahead in a song no one else could hear yet.
He pulled the towel over his head, rubbed it through his hair lazily, then tossed it onto the bed.
Park Elio.
That's what the producers would see on the screen. Not Yong Min. Not the boy who had spent the first nineteen years of his life tucked away in Venice, raised on Italian ballads and smoky jazz bars, sneaking into his mother's sound design studio after school.
He hadn't even spoken Korean fluently until a year ago.
And now here he was — rapping in three languages, dancing with sharp elegance, dropping a low, resonant baritone note that even he hadn't expected to hit cleanly. The comments section had gone insane during the live. One of the top comments read:
"Who the hell is this hybrid boss-level final boss???"
He smirked. Maybe they weren't wrong.
But for all the rush of adrenaline, for all the high-fives he imagined his old friends in Italy giving him across the internet, there was a strange stillness that came with it. Something unfinished. Something...waiting.
He sat on the edge of the bed and unlocked his phone, flicking through tagged clips from the stream. One was already going viral — the moment he switched from a fast-paced rap to a sudden falsetto, all emotion and breath and bruised honesty.
He paused, watching it again.
Raw, he thought. Not perfect. But something was there.
He leaned back against the wall, phone resting on his chest.
He didn't know where this path would lead. He had returned to Seoul partly for his father — a man who existed like a shadow, both familiar and distant — but mostly because he felt like this was the place where it might all start. Where he could stop being half-of-this and part-of-that and finally become something whole.
He closed his eyes, and just as he began to drift into the quiet hum of late-night Seoul, a thought slipped into his mind uninvited — the memory of a clip he'd seen during audition preview week. A contestant, a girl, dancing as if she was carrying a storm in her chest. She hadn't been named, just another masked submission.
There was something in her—raw and unresolved, like a song that refused to end in the right key.
He didn't know why, but his fingers had hovered over the chat that day, typing one simple question:
"Do you make music?"
He never sent it.
But for some reason, that moment had stayed with him.
Maybe, someday, he'd get the answer.
---
The fan whirred softly overhead, rhythmically out of sync with the bass track pulsing from Ayesha's laptop. Late May heat pressed in from the open window, but she hardly noticed — her attention was fixed on the DAW interface in front of her, the screen crowded with layers of sound. The current track had been giving her trouble for hours. The synth was too flat, the vocal harmony too sharp. Or maybe she was just tired.
Final thesis, check.
Music project, almost there.
FORGE audition, still did not feel real.
Ayesha closed her eyes and leaned back, arms stretching above her head until her shoulder blades popped. Her back ached from hours hunched over the desk, but she didn't care. This was the final stretch. Just a week left before the music production program at FTII would officially end. After that, she was free. Or at least, freer.
Her inbox had started looking very different over the past few days.
Ever since that thirty-second clip of her second FORGE audition had gone up on FORGE's Twitter account — a sharp, emotionally raw verse she'd written and produced in under an hour — her social media had been buzzing. Retweets. DMs. Comments ranging from wide-eyed curiosity to low-level obsession.
Not viral. But definitely noticed.
It was surreal.
She scrolled absentmindedly through her phone now, stopping at her own video.
250.3k views.
Hundreds of retweets from mid-tier music reviewers.
And one quote tweet from a popular indie vocalist saying only:
> "She's built for this."
Ayesha stared at it for a second too long, then locked her phone and tossed it on the bed.
None of it mattered if she didn't finish her final project.
Focus.
She pulled her headphones back on and rewound the track to the start. The melody swelled — lush, cinematic, full of controlled chaos. This was the culmination of everything she'd learned at FTII. It had to sound like her.
Still, her thoughts drifted.
To the FORGE audition room. To the cool blue lighting and the wall of judges watching in polite silence. To the echo of her own voice as she sang, just slightly breathless.
And — to another clip that had dropped yesterday.
A boy. Or really, more like a figure out of a dream. Tall. Cool eyes. Dark hair.
Park Yong Min.
They called him Park Elio online.
His audition had been the only other one Ayesha watched more than once.
There was something about the way he carried himself — poised, understated, but alive with sound. His production had been clean, even masterful. And his tone — low, clear, just rough enough to catch on the ribs — stayed with her longer than she liked to admit.
They hadn't met. Hadn't spoken.
Not yet.
But the way he asked, in that short clip — "Do you make music?" — to someone off-screen… it lingered like a premonition.
Ayesha didn't believe in fate.
But she did believe in music as magnetism. As gravity.
And somewhere, in the tangle of deadlines and treble clefs, she had the feeling that FORGE was going to be more than just a competition. It was the beginning of something. The stage was already forming.
And she was already walking toward it.
---
Scene: Lyon, France
The walls of the study were papered in timeworn damask, and the French doors opened onto the lush gardens of an estate that had belonged to the Leclairs for centuries. Afternoon light filtered through lace curtains, bathing the room in soft gold.
A boy — no, a young man — sat reclined in a leather armchair, one long leg draped over the other, AirPods in his ears and a half-empty bottle of sparkling water forgotten on the side table.
Gabriel Leclair.
Seventeen years old, heir to the crumbling yet still opulent Leclair name, and — as of three days ago — one of the most talked-about auditionees of FORGE's upcoming season.
He looked like something carved from the Renaissance: pale skin glowing against the snowy white of his shirt, which hung just loose enough to suggest a casual elegance. His brown hair fell artfully over his forehead, the strands shifting as he tilted his head slightly, watching the screen.
The same clip. Again.
@forgeglobal // audition sneak peek 013
#Ayesha // "Control" live vocal cut + rap drop (36s)
It had over two million views already.
And Gabriel had contributed at least fifty.
Ayesha. The girl from India. She sang like a knife wrapped in silk. Not a show-off. No flash. Just power. Controlled, unbending power — the kind that made people lean in, even if they didn't know why. Gabriel narrowed his eyes slightly, analyzing her posture, her breath, the subtle crescendo that dropped into a technically brilliant rap break.
He didn't smile, but his lips curved at the edge. Impressive.
Then he swiped left.
@forgeglobal // audition sneak peek 009
#ParkElio // freestyle + rap (44s)
Park Yong Min — Elio — was dangerous in a different way. All clean lines and understated swagger. Watching him was like watching ink flow through water. There was a rawness to his control, like he hadn't been trained so much as forged by chaos.
Gabriel watched the way Elio spun the beat into something new — not better, not worse — just unexpected. And then, in the final few seconds, Elio turned to someone off-camera and asked,
"Do you make music?"
Gabriel paused. That line again. It hadn't been scripted.
He clicked once more.
@forgeglobal // audition sneak peek 011
#GabrielLeclair // acoustic + contemporary fusion (41s)
His own clip.
There he was, sitting on a stool with a weathered acoustic guitar, eyes closed. The first notes were gentle — a lullaby disguised as indie pop. Then, at the bridge, he stood and let the guitar drop softly to the floor. Music continued in the background — pre-recorded, elegant, orchestral.
He danced. Barefoot. A short, restrained contemporary piece he'd choreographed himself. Pain and beauty, layered under every movement.
It had been the boldest thing he'd done in his life.
And it worked. The internet had fallen a little bit in love.
But Gabriel wasn't watching for validation. He already knew where he stood.
He was watching for signs. For threats. For patterns.
Ayesha. Elio. Himself.
Three contenders with wildly different styles — but something about them was… aligned.
He leaned back, closed his eyes, and let the clips run again, audio low but his thoughts racing. In the world of FORGE, nothing was accidental. Not who got posted. Not who got traction.
And definitely not who was being watched.
---
Scene: Seoul, South Korea – 4:19 AM – Rooftop Studio
A pair of scuffed Nike high-tops tapped against the rooftop tiles. The city stretched below him, all glass and steel, sleeping under a blanket of clouds. Up here, the wind was colder — fierce and untamed — just like him.
Landon Crowe.
Age: 17. Height: 6'1. American. Unmistakable. Uninvited. Unignorable.
The blonde youth stood shirtless under the studio's rooftop lights, a grey tank top wrapped loosely in his fist. His lean, muscular frame was cut like a blade — all lithe power, taut control, and kinetic grace. His hair was golden, tousled and damp with sweat. His expression unreadable. Pale lips parted slightly as he caught his breath.
He'd been up here for over an hour.
Practicing.
No. Unleashing.
He danced like something starved. Like a storm breaking through seams — wild, desperate, precise. The rooftop mirrored that madness: paint-slicked tiles, portable speakers, and a shadow that spun and hit and dropped with the kind of intensity that made people hold their breath.
It was his audition that put him on FORGE's radar.
No one expected much.
His vocals were passable at best — breathy in falsetto, flat in sustained notes. His rap was raw — too American, too chaotic, like he was slamming syllables down just to feel their weight.
But his dance?
His dance made people shut up.
The clip they'd uploaded — @forgeglobal // audition sneak peek 016 — didn't even capture the full set. Just 22 seconds. No cuts. No edits. Just a blond blur that hit the beat like it owed him money and floated through transitions with the elegance of a predator in water.
And still… he wasn't satisfied.
He leaned against the railing now, looking down at his hands — long fingers, calloused and cracked from too many hours on floorboards and mirror bars.
"I'm not like the others," he thought.
Elio had swag and instincts.
Gabriel had the goddamn aura.
Ayesha had the voice of a goddess reincarnated.
And him?
He had violence.
Dancing was the only thing that made him feel human and inhuman all at once. It was never about winning. It was about escaping — from a mother who drank too much, from a country that never wanted him to succeed, from the empty motel rooms he'd practiced in since he was eleven.
FORGE was a way out. But more than that, it was a stage. One where no one could talk over his body. One where his silence became thunder.
He pulled the tank over his head and slid into a hoodie. His reflection in the studio mirror smirked back at him. The kind of smile that said watch me, or don't — I'll still burn this place down.
Somewhere in a production office, his file read:
LANDON CROWE // category: wildcard.
But to him?
He was no one's card.
He was the storm.
---
Scene: After School – Seoul, Late Afternoon
The sky had turned a soft golden hue, the kind that made even the city feel like a quiet painting. A slight breeze tousled the hair of a petite girl weaving through a narrow sidewalk lined with cherry blossom trees just beginning to bud. She was barely 5'1", dressed in a standard school uniform: white blouse, grey blazer with a crest, and a navy skirt that fluttered around her knees.
Her brown hair was tied into a loose ponytail, strands curling playfully around her cheeks. A glint of sunlight caught the clear wrapper of a lollipop sticking from her lips—cherry-flavored, probably. She lazily sucked on it as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded after a long day of classes and whispered fame.
As she turned the corner near the convenience store, a small group of her classmates stood clustered around a phone screen. One of them, eyes wide, gasped and pointed. "Yah! Isn't that you?"
The girl blinked as the group erupted in excited chatter, phones now directed at her. "Your Forge audition clip hit 300k views this morning," one of them said, eyes sparkling with admiration. "Everyone's talking about how you nailed those high notes!"
She gave a soft smile, pulling the lollipop from her mouth. "Really?" Her voice was modest, but the corners of her eyes twitched upward with restrained pride.
"Are you kidding?" another girl chirped. "Your vocals? Goosebumps. The judges looked shook."
She nodded politely, bowing a little before excusing herself with a shy wave and continued walking home. But her thoughts were no longer on the sweet in her mouth or the sidewalk under her feet.
Instead, she thought about the others.
The viral American dancer—blonde, wild, electric. Landon—young, polished, confident. That mystery Indian goddess. The European hunks .The Japanese boy with haunting eyes and a mysterious voice. And the fourth one... the stoic rapper who barely spoke but commanded attention.
She knew she was good. But were they better?
Her pace slowed. The wind caught the hem of her skirt again, and she sucked on the lollipop, lost in thought.
It wasn't just a competition anymore. It was a beginning.
Her monologue was cut off as she spots a cute puppy by the roadside and runs off to pet it. Her classmates shouting after her, "Yah! Han eun Seo , you brat, come back , pay me for the lolipop."
---
Scene: Onyx Entertainment Headquarters – Production Team Meeting
The office lights buzzed softly as dusk set over Seoul, casting the expansive open-concept workspace in a twilight glow. Screens flickered with hundreds of audition clips, dozens of staff members moving between desks and editing bays like cogs in a perfectly timed machine.
At the center of it all stood the lead producer, Ji-hoon Park, sleeves rolled to his elbows, eyes scanning the giant projection screen displaying names, scores, tags.
"That's 173 confirmed. We need twenty-seven more," one of the coordinators said, tapping away at a laptop beside him.
"Push the viral ones up," Ji-hoon muttered. "We need heat—talent with buzz. International engagement is already spiking from that Japanese rapper, the American dancer, and... Ha-eun Seo."
A digital thumbnail of Ha-eun popped up. The still showed her mid-note, eyes closed, face bathed in soft light. "Four hundred thousand views and climbing," the analytics manager chimed in.
"Shortlist her. She's in," Ji-hoon said with finality.
Another assistant walked in, carrying a thick printed roster. "Level 2 is done. Two hundred auditionees across sixteen countries. We're ready to push the invites."
Ji-hoon looked at the room, his voice slicing through the chatter. "Alright. Blast the invitations to the 200. Flights, hotels, welcome packages. If they've come this far, they deserve a full stage."
Across the world, phones began to light up.
Emails titled:
[ONYX GLOBAL AUDITIONS – ROUND 3 INVITATION]
appeared in inboxes.
Each one carried the same line in bold:
"Congratulations. You are invited to Seoul, South Korea, for the live auditions."
---