The second day of the Star Program began with lights flicking on at 6 a.m., too early and too bright.
Julian sat up before the alarm could finish its first shriek. The floor was cold against his feet, and the bedsheets twisted around his legs like they'd fought him in his sleep. Marvo was snoring softly on the mattress beside his, one arm flung over his face. George's bed was empty. Ren muttered something into his pillow. Tae sat on the floor by the window already, earbuds in, watching the sunrise like it might apologize for everything that came after.
Julian didn't feel rested. He didn't feel tired either. Just... there.
Tick. Tick.
His chest whispered its metallic mantra like a clock buried beneath skin.
He flexed his fingers slowly and stood. The mirror in the bathroom didn't offer him any comfort. Pale skin. Sunken eyes. Collarbone sharp enough to hang regrets on. He looked tired in a way no concealer could fix.
---
Breakfast was cold and portioned. Two eggs. Toast. A sachet of electrolyte water. A note on the tray said: High performers will receive enhanced nutrition.
Ren whistled when he saw it. "They're really serious about the rewards system, huh."
George grumbled, "Tastes like someone boiled disappointment."
Marvo stared at his tray like it had personally wronged him.
Tae said nothing. He just ate, like he always did.
---
Orientation Day Two was worse than the first.
They were marched into the performance studios for something called Group Evaluation Rotations. Cameras watched from every corner as choreographers barked commands.
Sing here. Dance there. Hold this pose. Smile harder. No, softer. More natural. Not that natural. Look perfect. Don't look like you're trying to look perfect.
Group A glided through it like swans on glass. Their synchronization was eerie—no overextension, no breath too loud. Julian caught glimpses of them adjusting each other's hair without needing to speak. One fixed another's collar mid-twirl like it was choreographed.
It was impressive. It was unsettling.
"Do they even sweat?" Marvo whispered.
Julian didn't answer. His chest was louder than his thoughts.
Tick.
---
NOX moved on instinct.
Ren tried to keep things light with jokes, most of which didn't land. George got into a heated debate with a vocal coach and was pulled aside for a "chat." Tae kept his head down and nailed every dance step with robotic precision. Marvo fidgeted, his eyes always scanning the mirrors like he expected them to reflect something else.
Julian...
Julian watched.
He moved through the routines, hit every cue, but everything felt half a beat behind. Like his body and his brain were buffering in separate tabs.
"Julian, you okay?" one of the producers asked off-camera, their voice too polite to be genuine.
"Yeah."
Lying was easier than explaining.
---
Lunch came late.
Another tray. Another note. Same portions.
Julian pushed the eggs around his plate. They had the texture of foam.
"Hey," Ren said, mouth half-full. "You good?"
Julian nodded without looking up. "Bathroom."
He left before anyone could follow.
---
The corridor behind Studio 3 was quiet. Dimly lit. Blessedly empty.
Until it wasn't.
He turned a corner and almost collided with someone.
The boy was already standing there, leaning against the wall like he'd been waiting.
Grey eyes met his.
For a second, Julian didn't move. The boy didn't either.
Up close, the boy wasn't just symmetrical. He was haunting. Like someone had sculpted him from memory. Hair silver-white, skin cool-toned like fog, lips too perfectly shaped. But it was the eyes that caught him—pale grey, the color of rain on steel.
They looked through him. Not past him. Through.
Julian blinked.
The boy tilted his head.
Then he said, softly, "Your timing is off."
Julian startled. "Sorry?"
The boy gestured, vague but precise. "In your footwork. Half a beat late. You overcorrect with your shoulders."
"Oh. Right." Julian didn't know why he felt exposed.
"But your emotion was good. Better than most."
"Thanks... I think."
The boy gave him a nod that felt too deliberate. Then walked past him without another word.
Julian leaned against the wall, heartbeat hammering under his ribs.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
His water bottle slipped from his fingers.
---
That night, the dorm kitchen was quiet.
Leftover rice. Dry chicken. Instant coffee packets passed around like contraband.
Marvo spoke first. "They don't want us to win. Is it possible to win?."
Ren stirred his rice. "They want us to make their real stars look better."
George muttered, "We're props."
Tae said nothing.
Julian chewed slowly. Thought about grey eyes. About the present. About how badly he wanted to disappear.
"You saw them," Marvo added. "They're not even... us. Not even close."
Julian nodded. "They're good."
George looked up. "You think we can beat them?"
Julian didn't answer right away. Then:
"We have to try. We have no other choice."
They didn't toast to that. No cheers. Just silence and the sound of boiled rice sticking to plastic bowls.
Ren raised a coffee packet. "To not dying before Saturday."
A few weak chuckles.
---
Julian couldn't sleep.
The room was too hot. Or maybe too still.
The grey-eyed boy's words circled his brain like orbiting moons.
Your timing is off. Your emotion is better.
He pressed a palm flat against his chest.
Tick.
Not pain.
Not panic.
Just unintentional presence.
And it terrified him.
Three months.
Could he survive it?
Tick.