I realized the cameras were always on when I forgot to think about them.
That was the most dangerous part.
Morning in the Rising Stars dorm didn't begin with an alarm. It began with light—artificial, gentle, timed. The ceiling panels brightened gradually, mimicking dawn without ever committing to it.
I opened my eyes.
For half a second, my body relaxed.
Then I remembered.
I didn't roll over.
Didn't rub my face.
Didn't sigh.
Because somewhere above me, embedded in the corner of the ceiling, a small black lens stared back.
Always on.
Not recording—watching.
I sat up slowly, movements careful but not stiff. Natural enough to pass. Awake enough to be usable footage.
Around me, the dorm came to life in fragments. Sheets shifting. Someone clearing their throat. Kang Jae-hyun swung his legs off the bed and stretched openly, unapologetic, like he'd already accepted this place as a stage.
Good for him.
I hadn't.
In the bathroom, mirrors lined the wall.
So did cameras.
Not hidden. Not disguised. Mounted openly, unapologetically, as if daring us to complain.
A trainee next to me brushed his teeth too aggressively, foam slipping down his chin. He caught his reflection, stiffened, wiped it away with forced calm.
I washed my face slowly.
Cold water.
Steady breathing.
The system stayed silent.
That, too, was intentional.
Breakfast was filmed from three angles.
Wide shot of the table. Close-ups for reactions. A roaming handheld camera drifting like a predator, waiting for a crack—someone skipping a meal, someone pushing food away, someone eating too much.
I finished everything on my tray.
Not because the system demanded it—though it did—but because skipping would become a story.
Is Min-joon struggling?
Is he not managing pressure well?
Narratives didn't need facts. They needed hints.
Across the table, Jae-hyun met my eyes briefly.
Then looked away.
Already calculating.
The first "free hour" wasn't free.
We were told we could do whatever we wanted.
That meant: whatever would be interesting.
Some trainees practiced. Some lounged dramatically. One sat by the window, staring out like he was auditioning for loneliness.
I chose the practice room.
Not because it was impressive.
Because it was honest.
The camera followed.
Of course it did.
I danced alone.
Not full choreography. Just fundamentals. Weight shifts. Balance. Breath. Letting my body exist without demanding applause.
[DAILY QUEST — DAY 6]
• Maintain Physical Routine
• Emotional Stability (Passive Monitoring)
• Assist an Elderly Person (1)
Emotional stability.
I almost smiled.
The system wasn't asking me to be happy.
Just stable.
Outside, during a scheduled walk segment—"natural bonding footage," they called it—I lagged behind slightly. Not enough to look suspicious.
An elderly man struggled with a delivery cart near the curb, wheels caught in a crack in the pavement.
No staff intervention.
No direction.
Just life, inconveniently real.
I stepped forward.
"Let me help you," I said, voice calm.
He nodded gratefully.
The camera hesitated—then adjusted, zooming in just enough to capture the interaction without understanding it.
That was fine.
Some things weren't for them.
[QUEST COMPLETE: ASSIST AN ELDERLY PERSON]
[EMPATHY TRAIT — CONSISTENCY CONFIRMED]
That night, the dorm felt tighter.
No one said it out loud, but everyone felt it: the awareness that even silence was being edited. Even breathing could be misread.
One trainee whispered, "Do you think they're watching right now?"
Jae-hyun scoffed. "Of course they are."
I lay on my bed, hands folded on my chest, staring at the ceiling camera.
Not challenging it.
Not submitting.
Just acknowledging it.
The system appeared one last time before sleep.
[CAMERA ENVIRONMENT CONFIRMED]
PUBLIC PERCEPTION VARIABLE: ACTIVE
NOTE: Consistency over time outweighs moments of brilliance.
That was the key.
This wasn't a sprint.
It wasn't even a marathon.
It was erosion.
Day by day. Moment by moment. Letting the world see me often enough that they stopped questioning whether I belonged.
I closed my eyes carefully.
Tomorrow would look exactly like today.
And that was the point.