An excited murmur, punctuated by bursts of nervous laughter, rolled through the bus like an ocean wave. Fitting, since the bus was a sea of fresh faces and identical black tracksuits provided by the show, a uniform that did little to hide the nervous energy coiling in the enclosed space. Some compared notes on their favorite groups. Others softly ran through vocal scales. One guy across the aisle practiced intricate finger choreography, his hands a silent, dancing blur. Andy watched them, a spectator separated by more than just the aisle. He was fluent in Korean, but the shared cultural shorthand and easy camaraderie he lacked had already set him behind.
Andy had tried introducing himself to some of the guys waiting for the bus in the hotel lobby. But he never got farther than a name and a polite bow before the guy he was talking tofound some excuse to rush off. It didn’t matter that he looked the part or that the blood running through his veins was as Korean as theirs. Something about his body language or his accent made him different. He was, and always would be, the American. Their loss.
The chatter around him died when the bus rounded a wide, sweeping corner.
SBN’s Vision Center didn't just occupy its space in the landscape. It dominated it. A behemoth of curved, smoked glass and gleaming white steel. A futuristic cathedral dedicated to the gods of entertainment, rising story after story into the hazy morning sky, the massive, holographic SBN logo glittering at its peak, blinking like a watchful, corporate eye. Andy had seen it in plenty of pictures, but the reality was overwhelming, designed to make you feel small and insignificant. It worked.
Their bus slowed, joining a procession of identical vehicles pulling up to the curb. Andy stared out the window as dozens of other contestants poured out onto the pristine plaza. A thrum of nervous, ambitious energy pulsed from the crowd. Staff members in SBN shirts with headsets and clipboards moved with brisk, almost military efficiency, directing the flow of contestants toward the massive glass doors.
Andy’s heart hammered as a dizzying, electric jolt vibrated from the soles of his feet to the roots of his hair. It was real. He wasn’t daydreaming at home in his bedroom under an XTC poster or playing out a fantasy in his dance studio mirror. It was really real. The building was real, the cameras were real, and the ninety-nine other Dream Boys who wanted the exact same thing he did were very, very real. He was finally here.
The flow of bodies carried Andy into the vast, bustling Vision Center lobby. A Production Assistant with a clipboard pointed him toward a long registration table, where a smiling young woman checked his name off a list, had him sign a stack of forms he didn’t have time to read, and handed him a welcome packet.Inside, he found his official laminated ID card, a vibrant purple lanyard, and a folded, matching purple arm sash.
After Andy was shooed away from the Table, he noticed the other guys sliding blue sashes up their arms. He frowned, chewing on his lip until he noticed and made himself stop. What did his purple sash mean? Was he in a different category? He swiveled to scan the lobby, spotting a few of the other guys he recognized from the hotel also holding purple sashes. But everyone else’s was blue. It made no sense. “What the hell?”
A voice behind Andy spoke out in perfect, unaccented English. “It's because we're not from Korea.” Andy turned to reveal a tall, handsome guy with short, spiky hair and a friendly, relaxed smile gesturing with his own purple sash. “Purple for the foreigners, blue for the homegrown talent. Guess they want the audience to know who to root for right away.” He offered a hand and a wink. “Leo Chen. Vancouver.”
Andy’s sudden relief nearly made him swoon. “Andy Kim. Sacramento.”
“I knew you had to be the other North American,” Leo said with a grin, his handshake firm and warm. “You got that American swagger, Sacramento. Maybe we should stick together, yeah?”
Andy chuckled, Leo’s effortless charm immediately putting him at ease. “Swagger? My body still thinks it’s yesterday afternoon. The only swagger I’ve got is my zombie creep.”
Leo laughed. “You flew in yesterday?” Andy nodded. “Shit. I flew in two days ago and I’m still not sure what day it is.”
Andy nodded again. “Something tells me that’s how it’s gonna be for the duration, too.”
Leo shrugged. “Welcome to the grind, right?”
The sharp voice of a producer with a megaphone cut through the lobby’s bubbling murmur before Andy could respond. Everyone was to get mic’d and report to the main performance hall. Andy and Leo moved toward the sound techs gatherednearby to be fitted with wireless packs and lavalier clip-ons before flowing through a set of massive black doors. Andy was immediately blown away.
Whatever wonders the outside of SBN’s temple to the entertainment gods promised, the performance hall delivered. A vast, cavernous amphitheater of black and chrome. Cold air conditioning carrying the faint smell of new paint and ozone from the massive lighting rig hanging from the ceiling. A hundred pristine, white, numbered chairs arranged in neat rows on risers facing an empty stage, with a judges' dais looming before it like a tribunal bench. Behind the risers, a colossal screen displayed the softly pulsing Dream Boys Project logo.
“Holy shit,” Andy muttered.
Leo chuckled. “Yeah, they sure upgraded from last time. Nice to be on a show with a budget.”
A PA instructed them to take any seat they wanted as they wandered by. His second-class status fresh in his mind, Andy instinctively looked toward the front row.
“Whoa, there. Hold on,” Leo whispered, putting a hand on Andy’s arm. “Let's not go for the throne on day one. Not a good look. How about somewhere in the middle? Good view, but we look humble.”
Andy nodded. Leo already had a firm grasp of the competition’s politics. They found two empty seats together in the middle of the pack, surrounded by the anxious chatter of ninety-eight other contestants.
As they settled in, Leo surveyed the grand, intimidating setup and leaned over. “Looks like they’re about to sacrifice one of us to the idol gods.”
Andy let out a startled laugh, the sound sharp and loud in the tense room. “And here I was thinking I should be taking notes.”
Leo sagely nodded. “If only. But I definitely plan on paying attention, you know what I mean? First impressions may not beeverything, but we’re all getting ranked based on our performances today.”
Some movement below caught Andy’s eye. “Looks like we’re getting started.”
The floor director stepped to the front of the risers, pitching his voice over the nervous chatter. “Alright, everyone, please listen up! We’re going on the record in five. Main cameras are hot. I want to see good energy, good reactions. Remember, you’re always on camera.”
As if someone had flipped a switch, the hundred individuals in the room seemed to merge into a single entity. The cast of a television show. Postures straight. Faces smiling. The house lights dimmed, and the stage in front of them exploded in a blast of white light. On the colossal screen behind it, a slick video package kicked everything off—a high-energy montage with cinematic shots of Seoul, dramatic silhouettes of dancers, and the fierce, determined faces of the contestants themselves, all set to a pulsing electronic beat. The Dream Boy Project logo burst onto the screen in a flash of digital fire. The race had officially begun.
Min Si Woo walked onto the stage to a wave of director-encouraged applause. Of course, he was the host. The guy was a legitimate legend. Andy had G-Go’s last album streaming on repeat for at least a month in high school, and crushed hard on Si Woo when he’d transitioned to his post-idol career as the host of Chart Masters. Seeing him in person, so close Andy could almost touch him, made the whole situation even more surreal. The guy was a force of nature, his eyes twinkling, his smile blinding, his energy infectious.
“Welcome Dream Boys!” Si Woo’s smooth, sultry voice boomed through the sound system. “One hundred highly driven and amazingly talented performers from across Korea and around the globe have gathered here with one goal: To win aspot in the next global idol phenomenon from SCG Entertainment, Pr1ze!”
