The lights refused to dim.
PD Kwon gestured toward the glowing screen. "Our eliminated trainees—please step forward."
Twelve figures rose from their seats. Some moved slowly, mechanically. Others stumbled, shoulders shaking.
A trainee from Cool Team B couldn't have been older than seventeen. Tears streaked down his face as cameras pushed close, capturing every tremor.
Another trainee from Spicy Team A kept his chin high, jaw locked. But his eyes betrayed him—glassy, unfocused.
"Thank you," PD Kwon's voice softened with practiced sympathy, "for your effort and courage. You represented your agencies well."
Empty words. Corporate kindness that meant nothing when their dreams had just shattered on live television.
The eliminated trainees bowed in unison—a final, coordinated movement before they scattered back into obscurity.
I couldn't watch. My gaze dropped to my hands, fingers twisted together in my lap.
Beside me, Haejun sat motionless.
