After the contract signing, everyone headed straight to lunch.
The Jenga Tower's cafeteria was more jam-packed than usual—not only with trainees and artists, but also with members of the live audience. This was their rare chance to eat in the same space as their biases, maybe exchange a smile, a few words, or just bask in the proximity.
Security, however, was tight as hell.
Any boundary crossed—even by an inch—and it was an instant ejection. No warnings. No debates. Just a one-way trip off the Island.
Thankfully, the audience had learned from past stupidity. Nobody wanted to be the next viral clip of someone getting dragged out like yesterday's trash. So everyone behaved, treated the trainees and artists with respect, and kept their excitement in check.
Lunch passed without incident.
Bless.
Soon after, it was time for the first evaluations of the newly arrived trainees.
Excitement buzzed through the air—some eager to see what the fresh blood could do, others noticeably tense. The remaining OG trainees especially stayed on guard, fully aware that the competition had just leveled up.
Once again, the theater filled to capacity.
The live audience settled into their seats.
The Bread Music artists took their places on the right side of the stage, facing forward.
The remaining OG trainees sat on the left, eyes fixed on the stage.
And front and center, as always, sat Foca, Luca, and Tuesday in their evaluators' chairs.
The lights dimmed.
The livestream indicator flashed on.
The production crew began the countdown.
3…
2…
1…
"And—Cat, you're on!" a crew member whispered.
Cat nodded.
Then strutted onto the stage in a full sequined number, every step dripping with confidence and drama.
The theater exploded.
Cheers. Screams. Applause so loud it almost drowned out the music.
"YASSS, MAMA! WERK!" the Kweens shouted, snapping their fingers in the air.
"Oh, you better werk," Tuesday said approvingly, eyes gleaming at Cat's fit.
Cat soaked it all in before speaking.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between," Cat announced grandly, "welcome to the first evaluations of the newcomers of LEAVEN!"
The audience roared even louder.
"Now," Cat continued, turning slightly toward the evaluators, "I think everyone's been wondering—Foca, would you mind sharing your thought process behind adding new trainees midway through the program?"
Truthfully, even Cat had been kept in the dark until the reveal.
Foca nodded calmly.
"Well," he began, "the addition of new trainees serves as a reminder—a warning, even—to those still competing."
The room quieted.
"Yes, everyone here still has a chance. And yes, there are still no eliminations," Foca continued. "But as harsh as this may sound, I want everyone to understand this simple truth: in the arts, you can always be replaced."
A murmur rippled through the theater.
"If you become complacent," he said evenly, "or fall behind even slightly, someone else will be ready to take your place. This industry is unforgiving, and I want you all to face that reality now—without malice, without manipulation. Just honesty."
"Yikes…" Cat winced slightly. "The industry really doesn't play."
"It really doesn't," Luca added, leaning forward. "People will form their own opinions. Some will say we're being cruel or too harsh—but our goal has always been authenticity."
He smiled, but there was steel behind it.
"The reality is painful. I'll say it upfront—all of you are replaceable. Even Foca and I were replaced when we failed to meet standards back in Juilliard."
A few trainees visibly stiffened.
"And trust me," Luca continued, "the real world is far harsher. Attention spans are short. If you don't work hard, you'll be forgotten just as quickly. That's not an insult—that's reality. Deal with it… respectfully."
Tuesday nodded.
"We're just being real with y'all," she said. "The industry is oversaturated. Pop groups, soloists—everywhere you look, someone new is debuting."
She paused, letting the words sink in.
"The ones who last? They're the ones who didn't quit. Didn't let themselves get swept away by trends. They built resilience. That's why we're doing this—not to scare you, but to prepare you."
She smiled gently, but her words hit hard.
"We're not looking for short-term artists. We're looking for people who can go the distance."
"Well said," Cat concluded, nodding. "So remember, everyone—this isn't meant to discourage you. It's meant to build the thick skin this industry demands."
She looked straight at the trainees.
"Because sometimes, talent and passion alone just aren't enough."
****
And surprisingly—
the internet actually agreed.
A rare internet W.
For once.
@CaliforniaMaki: You guys don't understand how much this is bringing back trauma for me. In high school, we had this play where I was cast as the lead. Halfway through rehearsals I got sick, and when I came back? I was demoted to understudy. This was just high school. I can't even imagine how much harsher the real world must be.
@Rumi: Honestly, mad respect to hardworking artists. Because I genuinely could never.
-> @Yoyo: Same. I wouldn't last a week in this industry. It's terrifying. The pressure alone? And then to be treated like absolute shit by people who don't know jack shit about how long and how hard it takes to make music? Music that people will either love or completely rip apart? Just thinking about it is making my chest tight.
The replies kept coming—less screaming, more reflection. Less hate, more empathy. A rare phenomenon.
Of course… not everyone evolved.
@Malory: Y'all are making such a big deal out of this. You're just being dramatic as fuck. This is obviously manufactured drama—something you swore this show wouldn't do. Hypocrites. All of you.
-> @Masatoshi_K: I'm really trying to be civil here, but genuinely—who hurt you? You need help. Like real help. Put the phone down and get professional support. I'm not even joking 😮💨
--> @Hyouka_Icecream: Hate to say it, but that one won't listen. Plenty of people already tried. Stupidity and idiocy are unfortunately incurable—even with a lobotomy.
And just like that, the timeline moved on.
Some people sat with the reality.
Some people felt seen.
Some people learned something new.
And some people?
Stayed loud, bitter, and chronically allergic to self-awareness.
The internet, after all, will always be the internet.
But for once—
it showed a flicker of humanity.