It was finally the day.
One hundred men from all over the world touched down at Nadi International Airport.
Camera crews were already stationed at every exit and checkpoint, ready to pounce the moment the hopefuls stepped into view. The second the first trainee appeared, mics went up, record buttons clicked, and it was game time.
Some contestants immediately played to the camera — flashing smiles, introducing themselves like they'd been waiting for this moment their whole lives. Others awkwardly waved, stiff as ironing boards, looking like they suddenly forgot how to human once a lens pointed their way.
The production team, though? Sharper than a fresh manicure.
For the amount they were being paid, they damn well better be.
Foca had handed full control of the show's operations to the professionals — and ordered Luca to step in as co-producer, finally giving his directorial degree something to do besides collect dust and look expensive.
Foca had only one rule:
"Never manufacture drama. Let things happen naturally.
If drama erupts, fine — but the talent must always stay front and center."
And with that decree, the program LEAVEN officially began.
(Foca proudly took credit for the name. He said it was poetic, thematic, and "on brand," because the show would reveal who truly rises — and who leavens up to expectations. He was insufferably proud of this pun.)
After the first round of interviews and greetings, the one hundred hopefuls were guided outside, where four luxury buses waited for them. They boarded in neat lines, buzzing with nervous anticipation. The moment the doors shut, the buses pulled out and headed straight for the docks.
Waiting for them there?
A mega yacht.
Not just big — obnoxiously big. Dramatically big. "I-am-rich" big.
The instant the yacht came into view, the hopefuls absolutely lost it — some hollering, some laughing, some clutching each other like they'd just seen a mythical creature.
And then there was Isaac (pronounced I-zik), a young Southern boy from Alabama, who started quietly tearing up.
Golden wavy hair like a field of wheat in summer.
Soft olive eyes.
A smattering of freckles dusted across his cheeks like someone gently flicked a paintbrush at him.
A strong, fit body shaped by years of farm work.
He'd grown up in a tiny rural town, sheltered from everything except nature.
He sang mostly to the animals they raised.
The closest thing he had to dance experience was the occasional line dance at community gatherings.
So standing here, staring at this mega yacht that looked ripped straight out of a billionaire's Instagram?
It was overwhelming — beautifully, terrifyingly overwhelming.
And for Isaac…
this was the first moment he truly realized:
His life was about to change.
****
Once all one hundred hopefuls were aboard, the mega yacht pulled away from the docks, slicing across the turquoise water toward their destination.
Some trainees mingled like it was summer camp, others leaned dramatically on the railings pretending to be in a music video, while a few just stared at the ocean like they were trying not to throw up.
Then—
a powerful voice cut through the noise, commanding every head to turn.
Up on the top balcony, framed by the sun and sea breeze, stood a stunning woman.
"Are you all enjoying yourselves so far?" she called out with a bright, welcoming grin.
A roar of "YES!" exploded from the deck below.
"That's wonderful!" she replied, clapping her hands together. "Everyone, I'd like to officially welcome you to LEAVEN—a program created by Bread Music Entertainment in search of talents worth helping shine."
The trainees erupted again, some hollering, some pumping fists, a few pointing at themselves like, "That's me, babe, I'm the one."
"My name is Cat Dealey, and I'll be your humble host for the program."
Long, wavy blonde hair. Warm brown eyes. Ridiculously tall. And that unmistakable British accent that made a few boys clutch their chests.
Another thunderous wave of cheers broke out.
Cat continued, voice smooth as butter:
"The program will last for six months. By the end of those six months, some of you will be debuting in a global male group."
Every hopeful fell silent instantly, eyes sharp, spines straight.
The game had officially begun.
"The group already has three confirmed members. This program's purpose is to find the rest. How many members in total? Well…" She winked. "You won't know until the very end."
Nervous laughter.
A few visible gulps.
The reality of stakes settling into bones.
Cat pressed forward:
"Here's how it works. There will be bi-monthly evaluations—one in the second week, one on the last day of every month. Week 1 is training. Week 2 is preparation for evaluations. Each evaluation will have different criteria and challenges, so you must always stay ready."
She paused dramatically, then added:
"After each evaluation, there will be…"
She trailed off deliberately.
The trainees, already sweating, filled in together:
"...Eliminations."
Cat nodded solemnly. "That's correct."
A beat.
A breath.
A few hearts dropping into stomachs—
Then her face lit up like someone flipped on a spotlight.
"Well—if this were any other program, yes, there would be eliminations. But this one is different."
The deck erupted in confused murmurs.
"This program values growth, hard work, and perseverance. Eliminating people early defeats the entire point. There are only three ways to leave LEAVEN:
1. You choose to walk away.
2. You, withdrawing voluntarily or involuntarily due to personal, health, or family reasons.
Or…" Her voice dropped, eyes narrowing.
"3. You break the rules. And trust me—there is zero tolerance for rule breakers. As the saying goes…"
She smirked.
"F around and find out."
The contestants collectively gasped.
Some laughed nervously.
Some stood up straighter like they'd just been threatened by a school principal with gorgeous hair.
Either way, they understood:
Cat wasn't playing.
And neither was the program.
"Oh, and one more thing," Cat added, holding up a finger like she was about to announce the winner of a raffle.
"Just like there's no elimination… there is also no public voting."
A ripple rolled through the crowd of trainees. The ones who knew how survival shows normally worked? Yeah, their brains short-circuited for a full two seconds. No votes? No fan wars? No nationwide mobilization campaigns with hashtags and billboards and sob-story edit bait?
Unheard of.
"This is not a popularity contest," Cat continued, her voice smooth, precise, and so damn British it somehow made the truth sting more. "Everything will be based solely on your talents — on what you deliver, and what you fail to deliver. If any of you planned to coast on your social media following or the national pride of wherever you came from, cancel that thought right now."
A couple trainees swallowed hard. One guy looked like he'd just watched his entire content farm collapse.
The kitchen heat? Oh, it wasn't rising — it was detonating.
"And with that being said…" Cat clasped her hands, flashing a grin so sweet it was almost suspicious. "Let's proceed to your first evaluations."
A few trainees actually whimpered. They weren't even on land yet and the show already wanted blood. Brutal.
"You don't need to freak out," she reassured, waving off the panic. "For now, all you have to do is prepare a performance of your choice. Singing, dancing, rapping — or all three if you're feeling brave or stupid. This will be your first impression to the professionals who'll be evaluating you throughout the entire program."
Her tone softened into something almost sisterly.
"Well, my simple advice? Don't overthink it. Stick to what you know best. Show us who you are."
She gave them one last wink — the confident, dangerous kind — then stepped back.
"And with that… I'll leave you all to prepare. I'll see you later."
As she disappeared inside, every trainee's pulse collectively spiked.
The real game?
Had officially begun.