"At least they're calling the trainees up one by one," Fifi comnted, perched on Cain's shoulder. "Gives them a chance for individual feedback — actually useful critiques."
Cain nodded, though doubt lingered in his mind. One training session wasn't going to transform anyone's voice overnight, no matter how good the advice.
Improvent took ti, patience, and practice — sothing most of them didn't have in abundance.
"Still," Cain muttered, "it's better than being thrown into the deep end without any guidance."
Fifi shrugged. "True, but don't expect miracles. It'll take more than one critique to find your voice."
Cain knew that.
When Riku stepped up to perform, there was a subtle shift in the room. He had been nervous, but the mont he opened his mouth to sing, his voice was steady and smooth, surprising even so of his fellow trainees.
He had a natural ease in his tone, and it flowed effortlessly with the lody of Electric Heartbeat. When he finished, Evelyn nodded with a smile.
"You've got good vocal control, Riku," she said, her voice approving. "Your pitch is solid, and you're able to keep up with the rhythm without straining. That's not sothing everyone can do."
"I rember you can rap pretty well too," Evelyn remarked, a glint of approval in her eyes.
Riku shifted nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Y-yeah, I do."
Evelyn smiled. "Your voice has versatility. You've got the potential to shine in any genre, honestly."
Riku's cheeks flushed, and for a mont, his usual shyness lted away under the weight of the unexpected praise.
But Evelyn wasn't done. "However," she added, "your stage presence is lacking. When you perform, it's not just about hitting the right notes — it's about owning the stage. Right now, you're too focused on singing perfectly, but we need to see you co alive. Pop is as much about the energy and connection you bring as it is about the voice. Work on that, and you'll have sothing really special."
It was the most praise she had given any trainee so far, and Riku seed to soak it in, nodding enthusiastically as he returned to his spot.
Off to the side, Damien clicked his tongue, clenching his fist. The subtle tension was apparent as so of the other trainees threw sideways glances at Riku.
His natural talent wasn't sitting well with everyone — after all, this was a competition, and in the eyes of the others, Riku was no longer just another trainee. He was a rival, a direct threat to their spotlight.
The quiet animosity simred beneath the surface, as each one of them knew that in this race, only the strongest voices would rise to the top.
Cain, or C.C., was next. He stepped forward with a confident stride, but there was a hint of unease beneath the surface.
As he sang, it was clear that he had been practicing — his voice followed the lody, and he hit the notes well. But sothing was off. His performance lacked the soul and individuality that made a song truly his own. It felt like a polished copy of Evelyn's rendition, without any personal flair.
When he finished, Evelyn didn't sugarcoat her critique.
"You have a good voice, Cain," she started, "but right now, it sounds like you're just copying what I did. There's no distinction, no unique sound that makes it yours. If you want to stand out, you need to find that voice inside you, sothing that's authentically yours."
Cain's face remained ice. He had expected that much. He hesitated before asking, "How do I improve that? How do I find my voice?"
Evelyn chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling. "Just sing more and more," she said. "The more you sing, the more you'll start to hear the voice that's really yours. It takes ti, but you'll get there. Don't overthink it — just let it happen naturally."
Cain's frustration simred beneath the surface, but he kept his expression unreadable. Evelyn's answer hadn't given him the clarity he was hoping for.
As he rejoined the group, his mind churned over her vague advice. Riku shot him a sympathetic glance, but Cain barely noticed — he was too busy analyzing every note, every phrase he'd sung. He couldn't afford to be just another voice in the crowd.
Everyone was learning that becoming a star wasn't just about talent — it was about growth, discovery, and a whole lot of work.
The entire day had been consud by practicing Electric Heartbeat, but Cain's mind was still racing late into the evening. If he didn't figure out how to find his own voice before next week, he was sure his score would suffer.
"Sothing on your mind, C.C.?" Riku asked from the top bunk, peering down at him.
It was only eight in the evening, and no one was asleep yet. Damien was off sowhere, probably scheming with his old crew, while Leo was busy livestreaming to his millions of fans, giving them a grand tour of the place. Phones weren't restricted outside of practice halls and show tapings, as long as they weren't leaking any drama, practice, and shows that hadn't aired yet.
It was an ironclad part of their contracts, and anyone caught breaking it would be imdiately kicked out. No one dared to risk it.
But touring around the place and interviewing the trainees to post on their social dia was acceptable. It was free marketing after all.
"What did she an when she said I had to sing more?" Cain asked, his frustration evident. "How do you even find your voice?"
Riku scratched his nose, grinning sheepishly. "Ah, well . . . I've been singing since I was a kid with my old man. So I really don't understand too."
"Your father?"
Riku shook his head. "No, not my dad. My grandfather. Well, not by blood, but the man who adopted . I'm an orphan, you see. He's all I've got left."
Cain glanced over at Riku, curiosity piqued. "Is that why you want to be an idol?"
Riku bead. "Yeah. Gramps wanted to be an idol when he was young, but life had other plans. He raised on music — singing, playing instrunts . . .
except dancing. Gramps never knew how to dance either." He laughed, but there was an unmistakable edge of loneliness beneath it.
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