AeRi was in good spirits. Which meant Sara could breathe easier. When things weren’t going AeRi’s way… it wasn’t fun for those in her selected inner circle.

For every group challenge, AeRi rounded her up sweet enough. But when it came to solo survival, she was very much left to fend for herself. She should be grateful, Sara supposed, that a clear favourite like AeRi the faerie would bring her in to her group. She wasn’t asked, though, she was grabbed. Every time, as though AeRi didn’t trust her not to try and run. Wisung was wheeled. And SeoYeon hadn’t survived the last group challenge. Sara’s heart ached for her, their auntie of the competition. It was only natural to root for the oldest and the youngest in idol contests. As Idol Survival went on, it was tough to keep track of who was at each end of the age line.

She knew their current maknae was one of the Japanese contestants. The ones with the most perfect bangs in existence. So small, so innocent, and so full of energy.

Sara wasn’t the oldest, but she felt like she’d aged ten years since she arrived on set that first day. And she had felt drained then, knowing her company fully expected at least one of their trainees to die. Putting seven girls into a reality show that only six can win seems like an attempt at better odds, with Idol Survival it felt like filling the cylinder in Russian roulette.

One was already gone. Harin. Their adorable rapper with a crooked smile and a carefully-shaved haircut she hated. Their agency wanted her to stand out from the other ninety-nine. She didn’t get a chance to show anything beyond the cosmetic, knocked out of the first round on a karaoke machine. She was seventeen.

“-I tell you that I had worked out the pattern?”

AeRi was boasting about something, but Sara hadn’t been paying enough attention to know what, so she settled on the reaction she’d found AeRi liked best: wide eyed nodding as though so impressed it had her lost for words.

She didn’t like it as much this time, scoffing before continuing at a slow, exaggerated pace, “We’ve just had a solo challenge, so obviously it’s going to be a group event next.” She looked amongst the two she had gathered for lunch, her tray containing only fruit and a salad spoonful. “Stay ready, when it comes time to gather, I’ll grab you.”

Sara and Wisung nodded. They had no reason to argue.

The Host had a lot to say today. And Sara’s body was quickly draining of energy. She was eating a lot, more than ever before, much to AeRi’s disgust. Every day she got hungrier and wearier, as though her mental exhaustion was dissolving calories as fast as the physical.

“Because you should understand,” he told the cameras, a smirk twisting his handsome face, “if you know anything about idol culture, that it doesn’t matter most if you are the best at singing or dancing or rapping.” Sara noticed a wave of head bobs, all the girls around her just as aware that those skills had done little to protect them up until this point. The majority of their success at surviving was luck, she was convinced, with the addition of endurance. “Do you know what holds the most weight in a successful idol career?” He paused, pulling an odd face at the girls and letting his mic fall away. Finally, he brought it back to his mouth to quietly utter, “Popularity.” The single word sent a flurry of looks between his audience - the idol survivors and the cameramen following them. “Which is why the next round will be most important for you all.” The girls straightened, Sara’s attention had been fully grabbed again. “A dance number containing every idol survivor will be performed at the end of this week, after which your fans will have twenty-four hours to vote you into the top twenty contestants.” A gasp rang out. “Twenty-one and below are out.”

The reaction was certainly worthy of the screen, everyone around her bustling and discussing and panicking.

Sara was empty. She didn’t know how to feel because she had no idea how the audience felt about her. What had she done to stand out? She didn’t even draw the eye amongst her own agency’s trainees. She was a coin toss to the company that had signed her in and then signed her away to this deadly production.

As she stood, frozen amongst the peers whose popularity she needed to compete with, a gaggle of guest coaches were announced, appearing from the back of the stage with waves and smiles. They would help the girls perfect their performance before the big day, one for vocals, one for dance, and one for stage presence.

Training started immediately, and so did the favouritism. AeRi had made herself the centre of the competition with her never-ending bright smiles and one-hundred-and-ten-percent hair and make-up for every practice and performance, but she was loving the extra attention the cameras were giving her and a handful of others. She really loved when the coaches started picking apart perfectly normal girls as though they were completely beyond help. Soyul could dance the same steps with the same amount of mistakes as Chyou, but the frail little blonde never caught the same admonishments. It felt, with a sickly burn, that certain girls had been picked out to be doomed by the coaches’ critiques.

It wasn’t that Chyou wasn’t pretty, and truly faerie-like in her slim figure that seemed disproportionate to her cute facial features, but she had barely scraped through every challenge so far. She was weak and tired and not in an underdog-you-root-for way, but an oh-this-is-sad way. Maybe the coaches feared Sami, since she’d made it very clear she didn’t fear anyone else. Despite her defiance, she was a clear front-runner. Cameras followed her every perfect step in the dance classes, zoomed in close when she sang, and hounded her for commentary on how she felt about the upcoming performance.

Sami gave them little to work with, and yet they loved it.

AeRi gave them everything and more.

Sara… hoped she made it into the recording somewhere.

The day of the dance came too quickly, but Sara supposed it didn’t matter anyway - the production team had chosen their favourites. Up until now, there had been some equality in that winners couldn’t be swayed by editing. There was no sense in putting time into building up one girl’s storyline only for her to trip up and get shot before she could reach the end. Now, though, was the producers chance to wittle out the girls they didn’t care for.

Sara sighed as she climbed the steps, single-file, to the main stage. Their outfits were identical: blouses with long sleeves and peter pan collars, high-waisted paperbag shorts, and thigh-high socks, all in black with the exception of thin silver belts around their waists.

It no longer mattered if you were good, it mattered if you could catch attention. Sara figured all the could do was smile and wink for the next three minutes. She took her assigned spot. The Host had already explained for the live audience what was about to happen, they were running an ad break while the girls were corralled into place. And they were live in 5… 4… 3…

The song began and the choreography demanded an almost constant rotation around the stage, paraded like ponies, for the illusion of a fair shot at screen time. Of course, the performance wasn’t filmed head-on, so the producers could zoom where they liked, and fan-cam the girls they preferred. Without flinging her head around too much, Sara did her best to look at whatever camera was nearest directly, smiling and tilting her head as she danced, blowing kisses in between lyrics, and winking when it looked like she was actually getting a close-up.

For her ending pose, she put her hands to her hips, popped one side out, and pretended to laugh in the direction of their pretend crowd. She was a young girl living her dream, any other would kill for her opportunity. Believe me, she pleaded into the lenses, I’m so grateful to be here and you can keep me that way with your vote.

The Host joined them on stage, forcing panting girls back with his presence. “The voting platform will open in one hour,” he announced. “From then your fans at home-” He winked to the cameras. “-will have only 24 hours to vote you into the upper tier. Make it into the top 20, and you survive to the next round.”

The cameras cut and the Host walked away as though on auto-pilot, not a single look back over his shoulder at them. A producer approached the stage without climbing it, a hat and mask covering his face. He explained that they would be filming some interviews and filler content over the next day, and not to worry if you weren’t called in officially - there were cameras everywhere, and they could see everything. Something about the way he said it sent a trickle of guilt down Sara’s spine, like they were being accused of something as a group.

She shook it off and they were released from their spots on stage. As she slumped down the steps, she wondered if she would get called in for any official interviews… It obviously was important, even if the producer was trying to placate their nerves. She’d better keep her make-up and hair done, just in case…

“-everything, he said they can see everything!”

Sara paused on her way through the labyrinth of corridors that connected the sets, she’d been planning to get a powder touch-up, but a soft voice caught her ear.

Another was shushing the original speaker. “Don’t panic, Chyou, it’s too late for that.”

There was whimpering, and then soft cries. “I don’t regret it,” Chyou sobbed.

“Me neither.”

Sara was fairly sure the second voice was Sami. Whatever they had done behind the scenes, it was none of her business, but she didn’t wish any harm on them either. She continued walking on. Now that their lives were in the hands of anonymous voters, nothing seemed to matter anymore. The girls that had fanbases would live, the ones that didn’t would die. Aside from extra screentime, everything was pre-determined.

It filled Sara with a feeling… almost like peace. On the verge of complete hysteria, teetering on the edge of paralysis. Nothingness with acute awareness of the world outside of her nothingness.

In the room filled with vanity tables, brushes, and tissues, Sara found AeRi. She wasn’t touching up her make-up. She was gripping the back of a chair, glaring at herself in a mirror and… shaking.

“Get out,” she seethed.

Sara trotted backwards and shut the door. At her back, a man in a black tracksuit and face mask brushed past, chuckling to an identical producer at his side, “-must have thought we were idiots not to broadcast all her crooked sh-”

Sara turned, but they were gone. Her heart began to pound and her face was warming, her emptiness filling with fear. Was everyone cheating this whole time? Sami and Chyou and AeRi and who else? She dropped her back against a cool white wall. Every breath was difficult, staggering through her chest. Was she the only one who hadn’t been involved? And if she was, how did she even prove that? She had been on AeRi’s team for every challenge, dragged around at her side like a lieutenant. There was no way to say if she had been implicated in something she had no part of.

It was one thing to die due to luck, a whole other to be dragged down by someone else’s dirty deeds.

No one was going to tell her what they had done, so Sara took herself to bed. Why bother with anything? She had less than zero control over her own life anymore. Better to spend a day in her bunk dreaming of what could have been. All the things she could have done with her life. Even if it was nothing but exist for a bit longer.

“Let us begin with nineteenth place!”

Sara blinked. She was crammed into a glittery holding pen with thirty-odd girls, dressed in their pink and white base uniforms, awaiting execution.

The Host was stood at the bottom step of a pyramid made up of sparkling seats. Each had a number from one to twenty and a staircase led up the centre to the top point: seat number one. He let a long, dramatic pause hold the room in silence. The girls were gripping their clothes or each other anxiously. Sara held on to their glamorous cage, fighting to stay upright.

“Number ninety - Jun!”

Jun made herself known with a gasp, clapping her hands to her mouth. Sami squeezed her in close with one arm, whispering something in her ear, before she was hurried out of the pen to give the Host a few words of gratitude and take her seat.

“In eighteenth place… Number twenty-one - Crystal!”

The pattern played out again and again. Another position. Another pause. Another name announcement that wasn’t hers. Another girl hobbling to centre stage with tears in her eyes, lowering to her chair on trembling legs.

Seventeenth, number fourty-four, Minji. She also got a hug from both Sami and Chyou.

Sixteenth, number eight, Ying.

Fifteenth, number seventy-nine, Aimi.

Fourteenth, number forty, HaYoon.

Thirteenth, number twenty-six, HaEun. She was very hard-working, not very naturally talented. People liked that, though, didn’t they?

Twelfth, number thirty-nine, Jiwoo.

Eleventh, number eighty-seven, Myeong.

Tenth, number eighty-eight, Soyul.

Ninth, number sixty-one, Jiah. Definitely scored lots of votes for being the first to help that one girl that fell during the coaching practice…

Eighth, number fifty-seven, SiEun.

Seventh, number three, Ichika.

Sixth, number ninety-two, Da In.

Fifth, number sixty-four, Hana. Oh, there was the maknae.

Fourth, number fifteen, Yena. It was no longer possible for all of her agency’s offerings to make it. Not a single number from thirty to thirty-six had been called.

Third, number seventeen-

Sara perked up, she knew number seventeen. Wisung was sat beside her in her wheelchair and she began to sob into her tiny fingers when her name was called. Sara patted her shoulder. If anyone deserved to make it…

She watched her roll to the Host with an uncontrollable smile. A presence was silently pressing in on her from the opposite side. She tried not to wince when she looked at AeRi. The show’s self-assigned faerie was fuming, Sara could almost see cartoon steam coming out of her ears. She sighed quietly and looked away. It was all pre-determined now. Their names were either on the piece of card, or they weren’t.

Second place was Chyou.

Sara spun to see the tiny blonde jumping into Sami’s arms. They clutched each other like that couple on the Titanic, until the producers ordered them apart. They were both crying.

Whatever they’d done, maybe they had escaped the hidden cameras. Or maybe, it wasn’t as bad as they’d thought. Either way, if their sin was the same and Chyou had placed second, it made it very obvious who was taking the top throne.

Instead of announcing the most popular girl, the Host returned to position twenty. Who had scraped into the winner’s circle, or triangle, by a hair?

This was the only hope for the rest of the girls in the pen. They knew they couldn’t compete with Sami.