The Regressed Idol: My Second Chance To Debut

Chapter 3

Andrew slammed his locker shut, the loud bang echoing down the crowded school hallway. He leaned his forehead straight against the cold iron door, his eyes scanning the empty space beside him.

Yet, nothing.

One day blurred into the next. He sat through classes like a ghost, copying notes without reading a single word. He hated the raw desperation twisting his stomach. He hated the way his fingers constantly twitched toward his pocket, checking his cheap phone more often than he cared to admit.

Meanwhile, Orion Media carried on without him. Every evening brought fresh StarGlow headlines across the internet cafés. The main stage was finished. Teaser posters spread across the city transit lines. Rumors about participating billionaire agencies multiplied online, but the contestant list remained locked away under heavy security.

Still nothing. No calls. No emails. No messages from Orion.

Has the System abandoned him?

By Friday afternoon, the teacher’s monotonous voice almost convinced him that everything—the ICU, the regression, the glowing text—was just an elaborate trick played by a mind broken by grief.

Then the final school bell rang. Andrew slung his school bag over one shoulder, following the stream of students pouring through the school gates into the humid afternoon air.

As he walked through the familiar, bustling electronics district, Eclipse’s debut song, ‘Starlight’, drifted from the outdoor speakers of a nearby shop.

Andrew’s steps slowed unconsciously. Without thinking, his instincts took over the unpolished teenage throat. He matched the melody under his breath naturally, adjusting the key without effort.

“🎶 I thought the road ended

Somewhere behind my name

Yet the wind still remembers

And calls me back again

If tomorrow disappears

And leaves me with today

Then let this small, unfinished song

Show I did not run away

No shining stage

No endless sky

Just one quiet note

Before goodbye… 🎶”

The final melody left Andrew’s lips almost without thought.

His footsteps stopped dead. The abrupt silence of the sidewalk rushed back to hit him like cold water.

What am I doing?

His brows drew together. He didn’t realize he was singing. It was terrifying. He spent years believing that dream was dead, buried under layers of construction dust and hospital debt. Yet one familiar melody was enough to pull him right back to the boy he used to be—the boy who still stubbornly believed standing on a stage could change everything.

He clenched his fists inside his pockets. Dreams didn’t pay hospital bills. That was the lesson fourteen years of a cruel life taught him. Yet hearing music still made his feet move before his mind could stop them. He hated that no matter how deeply he buried that dream, a single song could still dig it back up.

BZZZ.

The sudden vibration against his thigh shattered the moment. Andrew pulled out his cell phone. An unfamiliar corporate number flashed across the scratched screen. He stared at it for a second before pressing it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Is this Andrew Smith?” a hurried female voice asked over the crackle of a busy production office.

“Yes.”

“This is Orion Media. The first round of evaluations for the StarGlow Idol Survival Show begins this afternoon. All contestants must report before the deadline.”

Andrew’s chest tightened, his pulse jumping. So this was why the System stayed silent. The show was preparing behind the scenes all week.

“Today?”

“Yes. If you don’t check in before the broadcast gate closes, you’re officially out of the competition.”

Andrew’s grip tightened around the phone until the cheap plastic creaked.

“I’ll be there.”

“Good. Don’t be late. We’ll see you soon.”

The line went dead.

[Ding.]

[Mission Generated.]

[Objective: Report to Orion Media Production Complex.]

Andrew let out a ragged, dry sigh.

"I was wondering when you'd finally wake up."

No text answered.

"Still ignoring me?"

[Mission timing is not determined by Host.]

Andrew slowly lowered the phone, his mind racing. He looked back down the street toward the direction of his house. There wasn’t enough time to go home and drop off his things or change his school uniform. If he missed the deadline, the System's penalty would activate, and his mother's fate would seal in that ICU corridor.

He didn't have a choice.

Turning on his heel, Andrew sprinted toward the bus stop, his school bag bouncing violently against his spine.

Forty-five minutes later, the bus ground to a halt outside the towering glass monolith of the Orion Media Production Complex.

The main gates were completely blocked off by iron security barriers. Heavy broadcast cranes swung through the air like ancient beasts, capturing sweeping cinematic shots of the exterior. The quiet courtyard from a few days ago transformed into a battlefield of high-end cameras, shouting staff, and reality television chaos.

Andrew immediately realized how agonizingly out of place he looked. The other trainees stepped out of expensive, blacked-out agency vans, wearing pristine streetwear chosen by professional stylists.

He stepped off a public transit bus wearing a wrinkled high school uniform.

Every single corner had a camera lens rolling. Producers with clipboards pulled notable trainees aside for quick pre-show interviews.

"How do you feel about entering the pyramid today?" a reporter asked a passing boy, who smiled flawlessly for the camera, his teeth gleaming.

Andrew walked straight through the flashing lights and the roaring crowd. In his plain, unbranded high school uniform, with a heavy backpack slung over one shoulder, he looked less like a contestant and more like a student who accidentally took a wrong turn on his way home from algebra class.

The surrounding trainees glanced at him, their expressions ranging from mild amusement to outright disdain. A few staff members eyed his uniform with confusion, but as Andrew stepped up to the main security checkpoint and flashed his digital registration barcode, the scanner beeped a crisp green.

A staff member looked up from her tablet, her eyes widening slightly at his clothes.

“Andrew Smith?”

“Yes.”

She checked his name. “Independent trainee?”

He nodded, and she handed him a contestant badge.

“Studio A. Follow the blue signs on the floor.”

“Thank you.”

Andrew clipped the badge onto his uniform blazer.

[Identity confirmed.]

Contestant: Andrew Smith

Agency: NONE (Independent Trainee)

Independent trainee. He stared at the two words printed neatly beneath his name. To everyone else in this building, those two words meant 'easy elimination.' Good. Let them look right past him. Cameras ignored people they didn’t expect to matter. Underestimation was the best weapon a veteran possessed.

Just then, a stressed production assistant threw open a large soundproof door.

“Independent trainees, this way!”

He followed her into a smaller room partitioned by heavy black curtains. A camera, two studio lights, and a plain white backdrop stood set up inside.

“Stand on the taped mark.”

Flash.

A camera shutter clicked, capturing his raw, un-makeup-ed face. Another staff member stepped forward, clipping a wireless microphone to his blazer collar.

“Just a quick introduction for your contestant profile.” The producer looked his uniform over before pausing. “Straight from school?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t even have time to change?”

Andrew shook his head, his face perfectly neutral. The producer scribbled something frantically on her clipboard.

“The viewers will probably remember that. Tragic underdog angle. You’re an independent trainee, right? Good luck.”

Before Andrew could reply, a production assistant pushed open the heavy double doors at the back of the room.

“Studio A is fully dressed. All remaining trainees, enter now!”

Andrew stepped inside, the sudden blast of freezing studio air-conditioning hitting his face. His eyes locked onto the rows of contestants who were already gathering in the stadium-sized room. Some greeted old friends from rival agencies. Others quietly sized up the competition.

At the very center of the enormous studio stood the towering pyramid of one hundred metallic seats.

The glowing throne of Seat Number One sat at the very top, completely empty.

[Ding.]

[Seat Selection Phase: Activated]

[Initial seat selection influences camera focus, mentor expectations, and viewer perception. Choose wisely.]

Andrew looked up at the rising tiers of chairs. Trainees claimed different spots across the lower numbers, but no one dared go near the top. Every season started the same way. Someone always rushed for the number one spot to show off their confidence. Others became an immediate target for everyone else to knock down.

Confidence attracted cameras. Cameras attracted expectations. Expectations crushed people.

Right now, nobody in the room possessed the bravery to take that throne. Andrew's gaze swept across the crowd before he took his first step.

The surrounding trainees turned to look at his wrinkled high school uniform. Whispers broke out behind him, but he ignored them completely, his focus staying on the empty throne at the peak of the pyramid.

Without hesitation, he started walking straight towards the pyramid.