Gangster to Idol

Tensions were thick in the practice room as the five of them stood in a loose circle.

C.C. leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze cold as they began bickering.

"I think it's obvious I should be the center," Lina started, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. "I've got the looks, the fanbase, and I know how to command attention." She smiled sweetly.

Rhea rolled her eyes. "Lina, this isn't about how many fans you have. This is about what's best for the group. We need someone who can carry the team, not just look pretty." Her voice was calm, but there was a firmness there, a clear dismissal of her argument.

Han raised his hand, his face as stony as his voice. "I think Dylan should be the leader and center. The center has to connect with the audience, draw them in with everything—dance, visuals, stage presence. It's about being the whole package." He turned to Dylan, adding, "And let's be honest, Dylan's got everything."

Dylan sighed, the weight of the decision barely touching him. "I don't mind, but . . . I'm not really leader material. Why don't we have C.C. be the leader?"

C.C. blinked, pointing at himself. "Me?"

Rhea nodded immediately, her agreement swift and decisive. "I agree too."

Lina pouted, her lips pursed in frustration, but she didn't argue. "Fine, as long as I'm the center."

"If Dylan's okay with it, then I guess I'm okay with it," Han shrugged. "But I want to be the main rapper."

Cain was beginning to feel the creeping headache building behind his eyes. It was like he had suddenly been thrust into this role without warning. "Wait—what are you guys even talking about?"

Rhea turned to him, and explained with a smile. "Every idol group has a leader, someone who guides us through decisions and represents the group. Then there's the center—the one with the most charisma, the one who gets the most attention. We'll also need a main vocalist, the main rapper, and the main dancer. Every idol group has these roles. There are also sub-roles, but since there are only five of us, we don't need to worry about that."

"So . . . what are we even going to sing?" Lina asked, her eyes narrowing. "Is it 'Black Flame' then?"

"Why don't we audition for the roles first?" Cain suggested, trying to inject some sense into the situation. But the others were already dead set on their choices.

Lina flipped her hair with an air of finality. "The center can only be me. It's obvious."

"I want to rap," Han said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

"I don't care about my role. I can do anything," Dylan added, shrugging like it all didn't matter to him.

"Then I'll be the main vocalist," Rhea clasped her hands together with a self-satisfied smile. "And you can be the main dancer, C.C."

Cain sighed, rubbing his temples. "Like I said, we should assess everyone's skills first. It shouldn't just be based on what we want to do. We should see who fits best."

But his words fell on deaf ears. Lina was already practicing her smile in front of a mirror, perfecting her cutesy image as if the role was hers by default.

Han, standing at the side, was muttering something under his breath, though Cain couldn't hear him—he was barely rapping at all.

Dylan, of course, was in his own world, disconnected from the brewing chaos, while Rhea had already launched into the chorus of 'Black Flame,' her voice echoing through the room.

That's when the next wave of conflict hit.

Lina spun around, glaring at Rhea. "Hey, I should be singing the chorus."

Rhea turned, her expression defiant. "Why? My voice is deeper, raspier. The chorus suits my tone better."

"No, a clear, crisp voice is what the chorus needs." Lina folded her arms, her words sharp.

Rhea scoffed. "Do you even know what 'Black Flame' is about? It's not supposed to be cheery and cute. It's dark, intense."

Lina's voice rose, her frustration palpable. "What do you know? Stop hogging all the lines for yourself."

"I'm not hogging anything," Rhea shot back, her voice now edged with anger.

The argument intensified, both of them throwing words like weapons, each defending their claim to the chorus. The atmosphere grew tense, the air thick with rising tempers, and Cain could feel his head pounding harder with every passing second.

Enough.

He took a deep breath and, without a word, turned toward the door.

The arguing continued behind him, but Cain didn't stay to hear it. He stepped out of the practice room, his hands clenched in frustration. If he stayed any longer, he'd lose his mind.

Cain couldn't really blame them. After all, this was more than just a group performance. Even though they were meant to work together, the reality was harsh—each of them would be judged individually by the audience.

The one who stood out the most, whether it was the center, the main vocalist, or anyone with the most lines, would be the one to grab the audience's attention. And with that attention came votes.

It was the kind of brutal competition where charisma, skill, and stage presence could mean everything.

With a deep sigh, Cain left the practice room and wandered down the hallway.

The buzz of other groups practicing filled the air. He passed by room after room, each packed with contestants, the tension thick and the energy could be felt.

As he peered through the glass of a double door, he saw one of the other groups already deep in practice. They weren't arguing like his team; they were working together, perfecting their dance steps, figuring out their roles on the fly, while Cain's team was still stuck bickering about theirs.

His jaw clenched. The other group already had their music down, choreographing their moves in sync. They looked focused, organized, hungry for success.

Cain kept walking, his eyes scanning the different rooms. Every group seemed to have the same energy—the same intensity.

But then, something clicked in his mind. As he watched them more closely, a realization hit him like a cold wave.

They were all the same.

Different music, different songs, but the core was identical. Every group was doing flashy pop routines, filled with acrobatic dance moves, backflips, and the high-energy choreography you'd expect from a competition like this.

It was safe, it was flashy—but it was predictable.

Cain stopped in his tracks, his mind racing. If they wanted to stand out, they couldn't be like everyone else. They couldn't just drown in the sea of pop songs and choreography that blended together in a blur of high kicks and perfect synchronization.

It wouldn't matter how well they danced or how much they practiced if they were doing the same thing as everyone else.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

They needed to be different. They needed something more than just impressive dance moves. Something that would make the audience stop, pay attention, and remember them long after the performance was over.

Enjoy new chapters from empire

But what?

Cain's thoughts spiraled. Could they switch up their style? Infuse something raw, something edgy? Maybe lean into the emotion of the song instead of relying on acrobatics?

He thought of 'Black Flame,' the song they were considering. It wasn't some upbeat, bubblegum track—it was dark, intense. It had depth, it had power. They could use that. Not just to dance, but to tell a story with every step, every movement.

He felt the fire rise inside him. This wasn't just about singing or dancing—this was about creating something unforgettable. Something that would burn into the audience's memory like a brand.

They had to take risks, to push beyond what was expected. That was the only way to break through.

When Cain returned to practice, the tension in the room didn't lessen it only intensified. Lina and Rhea were still at each other's throats, arguing over who deserved the most lines.

Lina's sharp voice cut through the air, demanding to sing the chorus, while Rhea countered with equal ferocity, insisting her deep, raspy tone suited the song better.

In the corner, Dylan barely seemed to care. He had detached himself from the chaos, quietly running through his own steps, unfazed by the bickering.

Han, on the other hand, was still muttering under his breath, trying to piece together his rap, but his words made no sense—random syllables, a jumble of sounds that only added to Cain's growing frustration.

Cain felt the weight of it all pressing down on him. His head throbbed, and he let out a long sigh, eyes drifting to the ceiling as if hoping for some divine intervention.

He wanted to speak, to snap them out of their stubbornness, but every time he tried, it was like talking to a wall. No one listened. No one cared.

They were all locked in their own worlds, fixated on their roles, their egos too big to let them see the bigger picture.

The more he pushed, the more they ignored him. And the clock was ticking fast.