Gangster to Idol

Another day passed, and Cain still couldn't see any real progress in their group. It was as if everyone was moving in different directions, each driven by their own vision—or, perhaps, their own pride.

Dylan was lost in his own world, focused on some private agenda that he hadn't shared with the rest of them.

Han was relentless about rapping, despite his voice being a poor match for it; he'd force it, rough and strained, rather than consider anything else.

Meanwhile, Rhea and Lina were still locked in a bitter struggle, both fighting over who should get the most lines and who deserved to be the center.

The tension between them was enough to ignite a fire, and Cain was at a loss. He didn't know where to begin or what to say to fix this tangled mess.

"Why don't you try talking to them one-on-one?" Fifi suggested, her voice as gentle as ever. "You might understand their perspectives better, and maybe . . . a mission will come up through the new Relationship Feature. It could help you get closer to them."

Cain gave a reluctant nod. Talking wasn't exactly his strong suit, but he had to do something, anything, to pull the group together or they would definitely fail the next challenge.

Fifi's advice made sense, and he decided to start with Han.

At least Han was quiet—more often than not, his expression was mostly the same, expressionless. If anyone could be persuaded to listen without starting a fight, it was him.

Cain found Han off to the side, muttering his lines under his breath. His gaze was steely, unfocused, and he wore the same expression he always did—a blank stare that concealed whatever thoughts he was holding back.

Han was nearly impossible to read, his default expression a carefully controlled mask.

"Hey, Han," Cain started, trying to ease into the conversation, "could I talk to you for a moment?"

Han glanced up, his eyes sharp and guarded. With a slow exhale, he tucked his hands into his pockets. "What's up? I'm busy, if you can't tell," he replied, his tone flat.

Busy with what? Cain clenched his jaw, struggling to hold back. We don't even have a song yet, let alone a plan. How is he busy?

Frustration simmered beneath Cain's calm exterior, and he had to remind himself—again—to stay patient. He wasn't about to solve anything by letting his anger get the best of him.

"Can we talk over there?" Cain gestured toward a quieter corner, trying to give them some privacy.

Han's eyes narrowed, suspicion flashing across his face.

"Why? What's so important that we have to move?" His voice carried a hint of suspicion, and Cain knew that breaking through to Han would take more than just words.

This wouldn't be easy—but he was determined to try.

"You know, I can see how much you're putting into this rapping thing. Even when it's rough, you keep at it. Must mean a lot to you," Cain started.

Han shrugged, avoiding C.C's gaze. "It's just . . . something I need to do. Don't read too much into it."

"Alright, fair. I'm not here to push. But I get the feeling it's more than just about trying something new."

Han glanced at him, but said nothing.

"Listen, I've got my own reasons for doing this idol stuff too. Not something I usually talk about. Just thought . . . if there's something in it for you, maybe sharing it might help. No judgment here."

Han shifted, a hint of tension in his jaw. "It's not something I talk about. It's personal."

[WARNING! Your relationship level with Han isn't high enough to unlock his backstory.]

[WARNING! Continuing this topic may result in a decrease in relationship level with Han.]

Cain felt a sharp jolt as the system's warnings flashed in his mind, his attempt at breaking through Han's walls grinding to a sudden halt.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Guk. He grit his teeth in frustration. Just when he thought he was getting somewhere, the system was slamming the door shut.

Then what am I supposed to do? Cain thought, his mind racing. If talking alone wouldn't work, he needed another angle—something that would show Han he was serious without pushing him away.

Cain's gaze flicked over to Han, who'd returned to his stoic expression, as if nothing had happened. This wasn't going to be a simple fix.

Cain needed a way to show Han the truth about his rapping skills, but he didn't want to come across as dismissive. He mulled it over, then hit on an idea that could help Han see it for himself, without Cain ever needing to say a word.

The next day, during a rare break, Cain set up a group exercise disguised as a simple team-building game. He called everyone together, holding up a recorder in one hand.

"Alright, I thought we'd try something different. Let's do a playback exercise," he announced. "Each of us will perform a short verse or chorus, and we'll record it. Afterward, we'll listen together. It's to help us hear ourselves the way others might."

The group murmured in agreement, some hesitant, others curious. Han, too, nodded, though his usual indifference hid any real reaction.

One by one, they each took a turn. Cain kept his part low and rough, setting a casual tone. Then, it was Han's turn. He rapped with his usual intensity, pushing through despite the strain in his voice.

Cain recorded it all without a word.

When the last verse was recorded, Cain played back each person's segment in a loop, their voices filling the room. There was no judgment, only the sound of their own performances, raw and unfiltered.

And when Han's rap played, everyone, including Han himself, heard the effort in his voice, the way it strained compared to the natural flow of the others.

As the playback continued, Cain caught a glimpse of Han's face. The realization was there, faint but unmistakable—a dawning understanding that maybe his voice wasn't as suited to rapping as he'd thought.