The bass from the stage floor thudded through his shoes, syncing perfectly with the pounding in his chest. He could barely hear his own breath over the roar in his ears---the beat in his in-ear, the blinding snap of lights washing over him, the crowd screaming louder than the music itself. Every vibration rattled up through his legs, through his ribs, until his body moved on pure reflex, every step a drilled-in instinct.
Even half-blinded by the spotlight, he could still catch them---the tiny lights in the crowd, little stars blinking just for him. Silhouettes waving glowsticks, holding up signs bold enough to read even from the stage.
'You're the best!'
'Bae Debin'
'Best alpha.'
'Pack leader.'
Words that should have lifted him.
Words that made his throat tight.
When the choreography brought him to center stage, the cameras tracked him like prey, the small red light winking its signal.
'Smile here. Sing here. This is you, live, ten feet tall on the LED screen.'
And Debin did. He grinned, he hit his lines sharper, stronger, as if the cheers were fuel.
But his gaze kept drifting---to his members. To their sweat-soaked smiles and the crinkle at the corners of their eyes. To the way they radiated joy so freely, like this stage was everything they'd bled and trained for. Which, of course, it was. The endless nights in mirrored rooms, the stale air, the bruises they'd never shown anyone---this moment was worth it. For them.
But was it for him?
In the middle of it all, lights scorching down and love pouring up from the crowd, Debin felt a splinter slide deep under his skin. Was he worthy to stand here? These fans cheering with unshakable devotion---would they still smile if they knew the truth?
That the leader they called 'best alpha' was an omega living a lie?
The thought made him falter. Just for an instant. A sharp buzz cracked in his earpiece---too loud, too sudden---and his head jerked in confusion. By the time he blinked, the moment was gone, as the dream bled away and reality crept back in. The feeling it left behind clung to him, heavy and bitter.
He snoozed the timer and lay still, staring at the cracked ceiling of the tiny room he rented. The morning light crept through the thin curtains, but he didn't move---not yet. He should probably get up, shower, and head out for the day. But a few more minutes wouldn't hurt. A few more minutes to cling to the dream before it slipped through the cracks of his busy mind.
His phone buzzed with another notification. Debin glanced at the screen, lips pressing thin. No surprise---his late-night binge was probably to blame. Another documentary, another story about the last group that had dared to debut with an omega member.
Back then it had been front-page news. An idol team bold enough to defy the unspoken rule. Their rise had been shocking---until the scandal hit. The hiatus dragged on, and when the company finally announced no contract renewal, it felt less like showbiz and more like a public execution.
It had been such a big deal at the time. Omegas in the idol world were rare enough, but the fallout made them practically extinct. Those who didn't transition to acting vanished into obscurity.
It wasn't talent that kept them off the stage---Debin knew that. It was everything else. The scandals. The invasive talk about heats. The obsessive fans. Companies abusing them. And worst of all, those whispered stories about members secretly mating---true or not, they spread like wildfire and burned careers to ash.
So the industry adapted. Not by writing new rules, but by following an unspoken pact. Agencies still accepted omega trainees to keep up appearances, but those kids never debuted, no matter how much better they sang or danced than the alphas headlining every stage.
Debin didn't buy the excuse that 'the market doesn't want them.'
He believed idols would keep breaking through, even if the system tried to grind them down. But reality was harsh. Every time an omega idol appeared, they were ridiculed, harassed, torn apart by the very fans who claimed to love the industry.
Especially when groups mixed alphas and omegas---jealous solo stans could be vicious. Companies learned quickly.
Keep it clean, keep it uniform, keep it safe.
Which is why the trend now was all-alpha groups, polished and untouchable, the perfect formula.
Debin let out a slow breath. Perfect group. Right.
He rubbed his face and sat up on the edge of the bed, the dream still clinging to him like static, impossible to shake off.
Debin set his phone on the charger and let his dance playlist spill into the room. As the music swelled, he brushed his teeth in time with the beat, rinsed his face to the groove, and pulled on his clothes to the rhythm as though every mundane task was part of a rehearsal.
The dream still clung to his mind---vivid, restless---and he wanted to carry that energy into his morning.
Locking the door of his tiny rental, he inhaled the faint scent of diffuser that lingered from last week. The room was bare, but cheap enough to keep him in the city. If he wanted to become what he'd always dreamed, he couldn't afford distractions---or excuses.
Inside the elevator, he caught his reflection in the mirrored panel.
Quick once-over--- hair smoothed, clothes sharp, no wrinkles.
He leaned in slightly, subtle as possible, and sniffed---no scent leaking through, good.
He'd diffused the room a week ago, scrubbed his clothes to death, and doubled down on blockers for a month now.
Every detail mattered.
Every contingency had to be accounted for. He had planned everything since the moment the callback came in.
Mask on. Deep breath. Time to face the day.
Outside, the streets pulsed with morning energy. Bright LED screens splashed color over the sidewalk, running flashy ads for yet another idol survival show---this one already hyped as the next big thing. As he walked toward the station, the neon colors reflected in strangers' eyes---some curious, some bored, some downright cruel.
"Another one?" a passing student muttered with a snicker, glancing up from their phone. "Didn't the last show tank?"
"Yeah," their friend answered without looking away from the ad. "Scandal, right? They let an omega judge. Heard one of the alphas who debuted was---" they made an obscene gesture with a laugh---"in cahoots with the judge."
"Bet he'll debut with a baby on his leg," the first one scoffed. "Not even talented. All looks."
They giggled, already crafting some biting caption to post online. "Well, at least we'll have someone to roast," one of them added, thumbing through her camera app.
Debin heard it all without flinching. The voices of strangers were just noise. He'd long since stopped expecting fairness---or kindness---from the crowd. Let them talk. He had no intention of giving them an easy target.
There's been an endless wave of survival shows lately---contestants clawing at their dream of becoming an idol, while the public sits at home judging every move, every note, every stumble.
It's cutthroat in the purest sense.
People aren't shy about who they want on a team and who they'd rather see kicked to the curb.
Debin walked past them without breaking stride, their voices fading under the bustling around the station. But their words lodged in the back of his mind, sharp and familiar---just more proof of how cruel the world could be to anyone who didn't fit the mold.
Debin sidestepped the crowd as the train arrived, sliding into a seat a few rows away. He frowned at his phone's sluggish signal, thumb tapping impatiently. When the upload finally finished, the reaction was immediate---notifications bursting through his screen as if the whole car vibrated with them.
Across the aisle, the same students gasped, faces lighting up.
"Misfit posted a cover!"
"Why doesn't he just do those short dance challenges?"
"Idiot, he's a real artist---he probably memorizes those in one glance."
Debin tugged his mask higher, not caring how his phone buzzed nonstop. His latest upload---a dance cover of a newly released track of a group's recent comeback was already spreading, and he didn't need to check to know it was blowing up. He kept his eyes on the passing tunnel lights, willing himself not to listen, though the faint smiles and earbuds popping in around him told him plenty.
When the train's voice chimed his stop, he rose smoothly, joining the small cluster by the door.
More whispers swirled.
"So tall."
"Does he look like a celebrity to you?"
"Yeah right, what idol rides a morning train?"
Debin resisted the urge to glance around. He didn't care who they were talking about---or at least, he told himself that. But then he felt it. A sharp, almost physical weight of a stare pressing against his side.
He turned his head.
All he saw at first was black---a shirt, a neckline, the brim of a hat pulled low. Then he had to tilt his chin up.
The man beside him stood close, close enough that the hum of the rails seemed to run between them. His mask covered half his face, but the light sliding past the train windows caught his eyes---eyes that glinted, warm and sharp like molten gold.
An Alpha.
When the train doors slid open, Debin didn't wait. He shoved past shoulders and bags without apology, feet pounding the platform. He didn't care whose toes he crushed --- he just needed distance.
That man back there… definitely an Alpha. The height, the frame, the presence. You could feel it before you even saw it.
By the time Debin stopped at a quiet roadside, his breath fogged the shop window where his reflection stared back.
Tall--- for an omega.
Average, compared to Betas.
Small, compared to Alphas.
But his body was lean and strong from hours of dance practice, sharp enough to bluff. At first glance, he could pass as a recessive Alpha.
And that's when the stupid idea hit him again.
I can do this. I can fake it. I'll become an idol --- in whatever way it takes.
Minutes later, he stood before the towering glass doors of the company building, heart drumming against his ribs. Today was the second phase for The Hunt --- the idol survival show where only seven winners would rise out of a hundred competitors.
Debin had already slipped past the first phase with his audition video, but now came the real test.
He checked his scent twice, paranoid that lingering Alpha proximity had thrown him off. As he crossed the lobby, someone brushed past--- black shirt, tall frame, a cap that barely hid the dark hair, a mask that couldn't hide eyes sharp enough to cut glass. The same Alpha from before.
Debin staggered but caught himself, fingers curling into his trouser seam to stop the tremor. Don't make a scene. You're here for your dream, not to fall apart.
The lobby buzzed with others who had cleared the first phase of auditions. Open call or not, you had to prove yourself first with a video--- any form, any style.
Some people already stood out--- height, looks, the kind of presence that made whispers follow them. A few were rumored trainees from major companies. Debin recognized a couple of familiar faces too, the type who were social media famous. They'd have the public vote in their pocket.
Debin brushed his shoulder absently, as if wiping off an invisible trace of any scent. Paranoia or habit--- it didn't matter. A staff member's voice cut through the chatter, calling out the next group's turn. One by one, hopefuls filed toward the entrance where IDs were checked like tickets to a dream.
This is it.
For the first time, his dream felt close enough to touch. Debin tugged his mask down, exposing his face to the lights, to the eyes sizing him up.
No more hiding.
No more second-guessing.
This is how he would do it.
He would not stay an omega who only dreamed of the stage.
He would not stay Misfit, the masked dancer covering idol songs.
He would be known as Debin--- the Alpha idol.