The Regressed Idol: My Second Chance To Debut

Chapter 7

“Where did you learn to sing like that?”

Andrew’s fingers tightened around the microphone. For half a second, the studio disappeared, replaced by the memory of years of singing quietly because there was nobody around to listen.

He blinked before replying. “I listened to music more often than I can remember.”

Marcus Vance stared at him. “That’s your answer?”

Andrew nodded. “Yes, mentor.”

Josh snorted into his microphone. “You listened to music and somehow developed better vocal control than trainees who spent five years paying for professional lessons?”

Andrew gave an awkward smile. “Maybe I listened really hard.”

A few contestants laughed. Even Sarah Quin smiled, but Marcus didn’t.

Marcus studied him for a long moment. “I’ve judged hundreds of trainees, Andrew. Voices like yours don’t simply appear.”

Andrew said nothing as Marcus leaned back in his chair.

“You’ve got a rare talent. That much is obvious. Can you show us your dancing steps? We'd like to evaluate that too.”

Andrew hesitated.

Then he slowly lowered his arms, shifted his weight onto one foot, and attempted a dance move he had practiced exactly twice.

His legs twisted awkwardly beneath him as he attempted a sharp leg move. The turn went wrong almost immediately. He tripped, nearly lost his balance, somehow he recovered at the last second, then finished with an overly serious bow as if the disaster had been intentional.

Marcus stared at him.

“That’s enough.”

Josh lowered his shoulders, shaking his head.

Even a few trainees struggled not to laugh.

Sarah immediately covered her mouth holding back a reaction, but a muffled laugh escaped anyway. She adjusted the microphone before speaking.

“Trainee Andrew,” Sarah said, struggling to keep a straight face, “was that supposed to be a dance move? Since you’re here at StarGlow, we’ll make sure you reach your full potential.”

Andrew bowed his head, while Marcus’s gaze lingered on his uniform.

Elain tapped her evaluation sheet against the table. “Andrew, that turn was painful. Work on your dancing before you make me regret becoming a dance mentor. I can't believe my eyes.”

The room laughed again.

Andrew glanced down at his sneakers. “Definitely.”

Sarah smiled. “Class E isn’t a death sentence. Use the training period wisely. And improve on your dancing, you can't become an idol without dancing.”

Andrew bowed slightly before stepping away from the stage.

[Ding.]

[Mission Complete.]

[Reward Available.]

[Select one skill for enhancement.]

Andrew glanced at the blue screen hovering near the edge of his vision.

Vocals: B-

Dance: D-

Visual: C

Rap: E-

Charm: E+

His eyes lingered on Vocals. Another point could push him closer to an A, but Marcus’s and Elain's sharp criticisms about his dancing came back to him. His dance was awful, he'd have to improve that.

Andrew then selected Dance.

[Ding.]

[Dance +1.]

[Current Grade: D.]

Andrew’s mouth twitched. “One step at a time.”

He dismissed the screen and returned to his seat. He had barely sat down when someone leaned over from his side.

“So, you’re the chicken guy.”

Andrew closed his eyes. Of course. He turned around to find Gregory grinning.

“Mr. Chicken?”

“Please don’t.”

Gregory laughed. “I thought you were completely insane when you announced that song.”

“I was nervous,” Andrew said quickly, clearly trying to move away from the subject of dancing.

“That made it worse, you actually danced like a chicken.” Gregory snickered.

Andrew cut him a cold stare and Gregory adjusted himself nervously and pointed toward the mentors. “I honestly thought Marcus was going to throw you out after the first verse. But your voice was good. Really good.”

Andrew relaxed slightly. “Thanks.”

Before Gregory could continue, a staff member appeared beside their row. “Class E contestants. Follow me.”

Andrew stood up and, along with the other Class E trainees, filed out of the studio.

Andrew expected the same corridors they entered through earlier, but the moment they stepped outside the main studio, the production atmosphere changed.

Cameras were everywhere. A handheld operator hurried past them, following three Class A trainees who laughed about their evaluations. Another camera stood near the staircase, filming a trainee giving an emotional interview to a producer.

“Tell us how you felt when you received Class A?” the producer asked.

The trainee smiled nervously. “I honestly thought I was going to cry.”

The camera zoomed closer. Andrew watched for half a second before continuing.

Their group passed through the same corridor, but nobody stopped them to ask them questions about their reactions. The cameras simply recorded them from a distance.

Andrew’s eyes narrowed. Interesting. They weren’t being ignored completely. They were recorded without being followed. A camera mounted high on the wall panned slowly across their group before moving on.

Gregory noticed it too. “Why does that camera look like it doesn’t even want to be here?”

Andrew almost smiled. “Because it probably doesn’t.”

Gregory laughed, but Andrew kept his eyes glued to the camera. He knew how all this played out. The Class E contestants were just fillers. The difference wasn’t the number of cameras. It was what happened behind them.

The higher-ranked contestants had camera operators chasing them. Producers stopped them in hallways asking questions, capturing reactions, creating moments. Class E simply passed through the frame. No close-ups. No interviews. No one cared whether they looked nervous, excited, angry, or embarrassed.

Their group eventually turned toward another rehearsal corridor. This time, Andrew noticed the camera above the door. It pointed directly at them.

Gregory looked up. “At least we’re getting screen time.”

Lukas, who remained quiet since leaving the studio, gave a humorless laugh. Andrew glanced at him but Lukas continued walking. “They need footage of every contestant. Otherwise viewers will complain that people disappeared from the show. So they film us… but they don’t have to show us that often.”

Eventually, they reached their assigned rehearsal studio. The staff member checked his tablet.

“Your rehearsal schedule will be uploaded tonight trainees. Group practice begins at six tomorrow morning.” He turned to leave.

Gregory raised a hand. “Wait. Aren’t we getting individual schedules?”

The staff member glanced at him. “You’ll receive whatever applies to your class.”

Then he walked away, the door closing behind him and silence settled over the room.

Gregory looked at Lukas. “What does that mean?”

Lukas dropped his bag beside the wall. “It means we’re on our own to practice.”

Andrew looked toward the camera above the door. The red light still blinked. He walked closer, his gaze returning to the lens. “Why waste production time building stories around contestants who’ll probably be gone after the first elimination?”

Nobody answered. Andrew slowly looked around the empty room, the cold truth of the network’s strategy sinking in.

Later that evening, the staff escorted the group down to the residential block to unpack. Andrew stopped at the threshold of their dormitory.

The room looked cramped but functional. Three bunk beds lined the walls, six lockers stood against the opposite side, and a small television hung above a worn cabinet.

Gregory dropped his bag onto one of the mattresses. “At least there’s a television.”

Lukas glanced at the screen. “Don’t get too attached.”

Gregory frowned. “Why?”

“Half the people in this room won’t be here next week.”

The joking expression disappeared from Gregory’s face as he turned to Lukas. “Wait who is our final roommate?”

“He might also be a loser like us,” Lukas muttered, leaning against a locker. “At this rate, we won’t survive the evaluation.”

All of them sighed at the thought of the impending doom.

Andrew slowly looked toward his bed, his resolve hardening. He survived fourteen years once; he would survive this too. He stared at the empty mattresses. His mother’s face flashed through his mind. He couldn’t afford to disappear. At least not now. Not after finally getting a second chance.

He sat down and checked the provisional schedule on his watch. Three days. The first Practice Evaluation was exactly three days away. He had less than seventy-two hours to prove he belonged here before the evaluation gave the producers their first real reason to cut contestants from the show.

Just as he locked his screen, the dorm door creaked open.

Andrew’s eyes scanned the tall guy standing in the doorway.

Andrew’s gaze tightened.

It was Christian Sterling.

But why on earth would a god-tier genius like Christian share a room with the sacrificial class E?