“Ah, good morning, fair world!”

A melodramatic voice declared loud enough to startle clarity back into the glaze that had taken over Mi Sha’s eyes. He found himself sitting up straighter in an unconscious gesture when he spotted a familiar golden head bobbing onto the stage. 

Before he knew it, several auditions had gone by in a blur and it was only just now Mi Sha felt how stiff the pleasant smile on his face had become. No one ever told him having cameras trained on every micro expression was this exhausting. Nevermind the fact that these cameras were actually quite well disguised as hummingbirds.

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Renato stood confidently in front of the judges, beaming that seraphic smile of his. He began his audition with a deep bow, his exaggerated movements drawing scattered laughter. “Another day in the life of Malvolio, the ever-dutiful, ever-hopeful, ever—dare I say it?—misunderstood servant.”

Like Rory, Renato had prepared a stage play performance, only—and at this Mi Sha raised an imperceptible eyebrow in interest—he, or someone, had helped him to write an entirely new scene based on a well-known Shakespearean play character rather than go the traditional route.

Renato took a few steps towards the floor-to-ceiling windows and pantomimed opening curtains. With a flick of his wrist, he mimed being blinded by sunlight, flailing dramatically. “Ah, but the sun conspires against me! A celestial betrayal!” He staggered back, tripping over an invisible stool and landing on his rear with a loud thud.

Several more watching contestants let out startled snorts and laughter, and even the judges leaned forward, their body language if not their faces managing to convey a piqued interest.

As Renato climbed to his feet, his faux frustration grew palpable. “Never mind! The day awaits, and duty calls! Lady Olivia demands perfection, and perfection she shall receive!” He adjusted imaginary stockings with an air of self-importance and one could easily picture a mismatched servant’s ensemble featuring absurdly high stockings embroidered with golden cross-garters on his person rather than the jeans and hoodie he actually wore. After which he then crossed the stage, miming the act of dusting an imaginary vase.

Suddenly, his foot caught on another invisible object, and he stumbled. With perfect comedic timing, Renato flailed his arms wildly before grabbing onto the “vase” for balance. His expression shifted to horror as he realized he had “broken” it.

What followed was an increasingly hilarious sequence of events as Renato depicted an ordinary day in the life of the servant Malvolio. He found a stubborn spot on a table, mimed scrubbing furiously, blowing on the spot, and finally resorting to spitting on an invisible cloth and using it to polish the table. As he leaned in for a final inspection, he accidentally “knocked” over an imaginary bottle of ink, which he reacted to with frantic despair. 

Renato’s antics had everyone in stitches, but he wasn’t done yet. After preening in front of a mirror, he began strutting across the stage with an exaggerated sway of his hips, only to trip on his own “stockings” and tumble to the ground.

Even the judges chortled behind politely raised fans or hands as Renato picked himself up, muttering, “It’s fine. Dignity intact. No one saw that.” He froze, glancing straight into the eyes of the closest hummingbird drone, then added in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “Except everyone.”

Renato finished his act with a grand bow, sweeping his arms wide and grinning ear to ear. “And thus concludes another day in the life of Malvolio, servant, dreamer, and unfortunate fool. Thank you, one and all!”

Many contestants erupted into applause, the sound echoing through the grand ballroom. The judges, surprisingly, also clapped with genteel enthusiasm.

“He has great comedic timing.” Phoenix leaned over and whispered by Mi Sha’s ear, his breath unintentionally disrupting his hair. 

Mi Sha lifted a shoulder and rubbed absentmindedly at the itch, agreeing with a nod. “A perfect blend of Shakespearean charm and modern humor.”

Both actors, Renato’s clearly more “exaggerated” acting seemed to have gone over even better than Rory’s more restrained style as he exited the stage to thunderous applause, his smile bright and infectious. As he rejoined the other contestants, he was met with pats on the back and words of congratulations at his high rating.

In truth, Mi Sha himself preferred Rory’s acting style when choosing actors for his films. But he had to admit, Renato did an excellent job at injecting some much needed energy towards the auditions as the lineup crept increasingly closer towards the midway point—and to Mi Sha’s own turn to take the stage.

There was only one other contestant’s audition he was looking forward to before it was his turn.

And as if on cue, Augutstus’ tall, thin frame stood up in a seat nearby and passed Mi Sha on his way to the front. Mi Sha’s keen sense of smell couldn’t help but pick up the scent of sandalwood and fresh linen.

It wasn’t until Augustus approached the grand piano that Mi Sha noticed he had left his cello case conspicuously behind back on his seat. Exchanging a surprised look with Phoenix, Mi Sha looked back just in time to see Augustus place his hands on the keys, and the room fell silent.

He began with a haunting operatic introduction, his deep, magnetic voice weaving a melancholic melody. But just as the audience settled into the classical tone, the performance shifted. Augustus transitioned into a complex jazz-inspired piano arrangement, his fingers dancing across the keys with precision and flair.

And then came the rap. 

His voice transformed, delivering rapid-fire verses with an impressive cadence. The lyrics were poetic, introspective, and perfectly matched to the intricate piano accompaniment. The blend of genres—opera, jazz, and rap—was unexpected yet seamless, doing more to showcase Augustus’ genius as a composer and performer than a piece of resume could.

By the time he finished, the room was buzzing with excitement, with some standing on their feet. Mi Sha, who had initially expected a cello performance, was also on his feet, clapping loudly. Even as he felt adrenaline rushing in his blood, he noticed a conspicuous boy with a cloud of pale pink hair standing stock still like a stump of wood a little ways in front of him. From his perspective, Mi Sha’s gaze easily traced the popping veins on pale forearms and fists stuffed into his jeans pockets.

Even though he wasn’t able to see the boy’s expression, Mi Sha somehow felt that the other was actually restraining his excitement rather than any feelings of offense.

But before he could linger on the boy with pretty, cotton candy hair further, it was finally Mi Sha’s turn to be called up. Right after Augustus, coincidentally enough.

When his name was called in a crisp, detached tone by one of the NPC staff dressed in sharp monochrome with silver epaulets and the perpetual faceless white porcelain mask, many of the contestants cast him sympathetic, almost pitying looks. How could anyone top that audition after all?

But Mi Sha ignored the exchanged glances and whisperings with ease as he made his way forward, his expression calm, almost serene. He only paused to smile back at Phoenix who had clapped him on the shoulder supportingly.

He passed by Augustus, who had his new uniform in hand, looking as ephemeral as ever despite delivering a powerful and unexpected rap audition of all things. Slate gray met starry black before the taller man nodded at Mi Sha, an unspoken acknowledgment of a fellow kind. There was more than one person here who had hidden and unexpected depths to them.

Lady Wonderton seemed to watch him closely as he took his place in front of her, the eerie slash of scarlet-painted lips on her otherwise faceless porcelain mask seeming to take on a sly note.

“No. 98, Mi Sha” she crooned, her tone dripping with a curiosity that sounded both mocking and genuine. “Well, let’s have it then… your performance.”

Mi Sha inclined his head slightly, unfazed. “I am sure it will be worth your while,” he replied with a smile just flirting on the side of impudence, his tone respectful yet challenging.

Lady Wonderton laughed, the sound a high, delighted crowing, as she gestured for him to proceed with a wave of her jeweled hand. He took his place in the center, and though he hadn’t prepared in any traditional sense, he knew precisely what he was doing.

Like smoke from an incense stick, a pale, slender wrist that tapered down long fingers twisted lazily in the air.

But in the next breath, a forceful, decisive movement shattered that softness—a powerful swing of the elbow, a bend at the waist as sharp as an axe cleaving through stone. Each action carried a stunning grace, fluid and precise, a beauty that was both clean and intense.

Every gesture seemed effortless, every detail casual, as though nothing were planned—and indeed it was as free as the flight of a bird. Yet the effect was magnetic, an undeniable allure that seized one’s gaze, making it impossible to look away.

The performance was saturated with a silent strength and beauty, each moment drawing the eye with irresistible force.

In a daze, all the contestants seemed to see a magnificent blood red spider lily, its spindly stamens fluttering in the wind, blooming without hesitation to scorch the retina with exquisite allure. 

And at its heart, shone a dark, fathomless starry night.

No—that wasn’t the night sky. It was Mi Sha’s eyes.

Hidden beneath a cascade of inky lashes, those dark orbs flashed in the fervor of his dance, as piercing as the gaze of a masterful hunter.

And any prey caught in those eyes—surely none could escape.

He moved with an effortless grace, his expression a controlled mask of concentration and poise, projecting a charisma that felt both captivating and elusive. He wasn’t simply performing; he was commanding the stage, a natural ease in his movements and gestures that drew the room’s focus to him alone.

Lady Wonderton watched, the lazy fanning against her chest pausing in mid-movement, her focus sharpening as she leaned in slightly, as though she were trying to decipher some hidden layer within his performance.

When he finished, the silence lingered for a moment before Lady Wonderton let out a girlish titter, followed by her approving nod. “Another unexpected audition. But I suppose surprises are necessary for entertainment, aren’t they?” Beside her the pink lady fluttered her feather fan in coy delight. 

She flicked her fan closed with a sharp snap, her “gaze” holding his for a moment longer before she nodded to another NPC staff dressed as a footman. The footman approached with Mi Sha’s uniform: a white silk bomber jacket adorned with a band of five golden stars, the highest possible rating. The first to receive five stars that day.

As he slipped the jacket over his shoulders, a subtle murmur rippled through the contestants. Mi Sha felt several distinct gazes on him once more—scorching and eager, admiring and flustered, intense and focused, or airy and intangible.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

He could feel the energy in the room shift as he took his place among the contestants once again, his rating clear on his sleeves. Gone were the pitying looks to be replaced with an enthusiastic reception. Hands from all directions reached over to give him high fives and fist bumps as their owners smiled and cheered him whether in true genuine feeling or simply putting on a front for the cameras. 

This reaction, more than anything, cemented the fact that he was no longer simply the Director Loveless observing from afar, detached from the world around him. Here, on the stage and in the spotlight, he was a player, just like the rest of them—and if he had his way, he’d claim that center spot for himself.

Mi Sha’s smile widened just a bit.

A gust of wind blew by just as Mi Sha stepped out of their barouche, catching a few loose strands of ebony and setting them adrift. Around him, the luxury and the gleaming artifice of this world—its perfect gardens, sculpted statues, the very stones of the drive—seemed almost too beautiful, too polished. Yet, he knew that beneath this veneer lay the ruthless ambition, the cold calculations, and the unpredictable power struggles that drove the showbiz machine.

“Welcome, contestants,” a voice suddenly greeted, crisp and dignified.

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Mi Sha turned and raised his head, along with the other startled contestants, only to find a statuesque woman in black butler attire standing at the top of the stone steps leading to the grand double doors of the manor. She stood poised and immaculate, from the magenta hair swept back in a tight knot to the crisp folds of her suit and the spotless gloved hands folded in front of her waistcoat.

But none of that was as unsettling as the smooth porcelain mask covering her face that did nothing to prevent the assembled contestants from imagining the satisfied smile of the cat that got the canary spreading over faceless features.

“As guests of the Lady Wonderton here at the Wonderton Manor, you will be expected to undergo several trials to prove your worthiness. The Lady and her honored friends will see to it that not a single pearl will remain covered in dust. As for pebbles…” The butleress paused meaningfully, “their fate is to be abandoned on the side of the road, is that not right?”

A stilted silence fell among the crowd of 200 contestants, which in itself was not a small feat for young rambunctious men in their late teens to early twenties. 

The faceless butleress paid no mind to the effect her words had on the young dreamers in front of her, “That being said, the auditions for your initial ratings will begin shortly, to be called by the number on the invitation sent to your holocoms. So dear guests, I wish you all an enjoyable performance—and of course an enjoyable stay at Wonderton Manor!”

And with that, the faceless butleress bent slightly at the waist and turned around to gesture at the grand double doors of the entrance, which swung open at that moment to reveal a splendid grand foyer brightly lit with chandeliers. Two rows of faceless attendants in identical black suits or black ruffled dresses stood waiting on either side of the entrance, and upon the swinging open of the doors, they all bowed or curtsied in unison, “Welcome, to Wonderton Manor!”

As former viewers of Starbound Express’s previous two seasons, both of which were smashing successes, would know, this particular idol survival show was different from the rest on the market. And its most unique quality was not just the extravagant filming sites but also its immersive roleplaying filming method comparable to the making of an actual feature film—complete with an interesting backstory and host of colorful NPCs that act as the staff members and judges.

Naturally, as contestants on the show, everyone here had studied the previous two seasons thoroughly beforehand and had a general idea of what to expect. Even so, many found themselves awed and intimidated by the show’s creative team. 

It was no wonder the IP, Starbound Express, was so popular with the audience and coveted by industry figures alike.

If not for the rumored eccentric backer of the show, the very owner of the IP and this floating city, remaining firm on a stance of relative fairness and opportunity. The show would’ve turned into a playing ground for capital, just like many other show projects, especially idol survival shows which were often hit the hardest. Many young hopefuls were stumped at the first step—without a strong talent agency willing to put you forward to the show you wouldn’t even know where to send your audition materials.

However, it must also be noted that, while Starbound Express contestants did not need to worry about malicious editing, unfair treatment in regards to screen time, etc., they were far from resting easily. Because the very unique filming process of the show required more from the contestants; those who did not possess true talent, charisma, or a strong heart did not dare to step foot onto the show lest they end up as stepping stones for competitors and embarrass themselves in front of millions of viewers.

Fair it may be, it was still a competitive environment. And competition has always been cruel. This was simply a game of survival not much different from the gladiator style boxing matches that had seen a resurgence on the Ground in recent years, only less bloody and more dazzling. 

Beside him, Phoenix nudged him, his holocom already turned on. “What number are you?”

As they all moved towards the grand entrance most, like Phoenix, anxiously checked their holocoms for the electronic “invitation” the butleress had mentioned. Mi Sha was also curious about his number as well and obligingly turned on his holocom.

Congratulations, No. 098! You have received the script for this show—you’ve been assigned the role of a guest at Wonderton Manor, and the main storyline has been loaded onto your personal communicator. Please strive to raise the Scream Index for this performance—the higher the index, the richer the rewards. 

P.S.: This stage has no restrictions, all’s fair in the road to stardom. Wishing you an enjoyable performance!

Ninety-eight, a number in the middle with neither the advantage of getting it over quickly and enjoying the performances of others nor the advantage of getting to “size up” the overall competition and compare it with your own act. But neither was there the disadvantage of getting a more conservative scoring in order to leave room for higher scores for performers who auditioned later nor was there the disadvantage of feeling the mounting pressure to measure up against previous impressive auditions.

The only thing you had to worry about was the intermission fatigue of the judges and the danger of being buried by other earlier or later performances that had or would make lasting impressions. But for Mi Sha this wasn’t a concern, so he was relatively satisfied with his number.

“Not bad. Number 98. You?” Mi Sha looked over casually.

Phoenix chuckled wryly, “Near the end, number 189.”

“Not bad.” Mi Sha repeated, “Honestly, I don’t think there is any bad number. It all depends on your performance and how strong it is in the end.”

Phoenix glanced at him sideways with a smile, “Optimistic.”

Mi Sha flashed him a thumbs up.

*

Murmurs and the shuffling of feet filled the opulently spacious vestibule as the young men crowded in, some clearly tense, others projecting a well-honed air of indifference. Mi Sha took in the gleaming expanse before him, its high-vaulted ceilings adorned with delicate, iridescent chandeliers, casting splintered light across the marble floor and the grand staircase leading to the second story. But soon his attention drifted to the elaborate set of double doors leading to a no less grand, glittering ballroom—the place where the initial auditions would take place.

As he entered, the room was already quickly filling with contestants who gathered in clusters, conversing in low voices, nerves evident in their posture and darting glances. Bands of virtual screens swirled overhead like ribbons which displayed a rotating array of images and short clips from each contestant’s self-introduction videos. Mi Sha noticed the chairs, cushioned in dark velvet, lining the far side of the room where contestants awaited their turns to be called. In contrast, several chaises and loveseats were placed in the center of the ballroom facing the floor to ceiling windows lining one side of the room where the auditions were to take place.

“Attention, please,” the distinct voice of the butleress cut through the buzz of conversation.

Every head turned as the butleress announced the impending arrival of the judges. Behind her, several more attendants filed in, each moving with a precision and grace that marked them as NPC staff.

“All contestants are to gather here until their turn to perform in front of the Lady and her honored friends. Once rated, you will receive your rank uniforms,” the butleress continued, gesturing to the row of mannequins along one wall. Each mannequin wore a white silk bomber jacket, its banded arms bearing different metallic stars in bronze, silver, or gold. Gray fedoras, white tunics, black trousers, and white leather wingtip shoes with matching star accents completed the ensemble—a look both pristine and understated, save for the metallic bands that marked their rank.

This set of attire was the official uniform for this season and also the outfit to be worn for the Main Theme Song MV. Of course, the silk bomber jacket would be replaced (or not) after the first official rating.

The ensuing footsteps were soft, yet there was an air of command in the steady rhythm that accompanied their approach. All eyes shifted once again as a towering figure in scarlet swept into the room, cutting through the murmurs with her presence alone. 

The Lady Wonderton had arrived. 

Her crimson gown glittered with a million finely wrought stones, the train trailing behind her like a pool of rubies. A lace fan, dripping with diamonds, unfurled in one gloved hand, while the other rested lightly at her side, projecting an effortless elegance. Her face, masked entirely in a similar pristine white porcelain with painted lips of bright red as the sole feature breaking up the monotony, only added to her aura of manic inscrutability.

She wasn’t alone. Beside her, seating themselves gracefully on luxurious chaise lounges and loveseats, were her “honored friends”—a peculiar and opulently dressed group, each of them wearing a mix of feathers, lace, jewels, and silks in shades that ranged from pastel pinks to deep blues. The closest one, a lady draped in a soft pink gown, raised her white ostrich feather fan to her lips, two encrusted sapphire eyes on her porcelain mask seeming to glint with mischief.

“Kekeke…” Lady Wonderton let out a high, shrill cackle, her fan hovering just over her chin, before her “eyes” swept across the room, lingering briefly on each contestant. The pink lady beside her joined in with a chortling, “Ohohoho…”

Their laughter rang through the room, somehow both amusing and vaguely sinister, as if a trap was being laid with every syllable. The contestants exchanged wary glances, some glancing nervously at the judges who sat like haughty monarchs, draped across their thrones.

Mi Sha observed it all with the faintest glimmer of amusement, feeling a twinge of anticipation as the stage was set. The personalities of these NPCs had been tweaked by him, the more caricature and “villainous” the better. In fact, all of the NPCs he programmed for the Starbound Express IP were over-the-top and fairytale-esque in order to keep with the theme.

The contestants were called up one by one by their invitation number to showcase their skills before the judges. Mi Sha watched as a nervous young man fumbled his vocal piece, Lady Wonderton snapping her fan shut with an impatient “snap”, her gaze sharp and unforgiving. A pipe-wielding gentleman in an emerald green waistcoat next to her leaned in with a sly smile and murmured something to her, and she responded with an approving nod.

Mi Sha’s eyes flicked from the judges to the virtual screens now displaying each contestant’s performance in real-time and with excruciating detail on par with the big screen. The tension in the room built steadily as each contestant awaited their rating, glancing warily at the judges. 

Meanwhile, the auditions continued on the screens, and Mi Sha found himself growing more intrigued by the diverse array of contestants. Some exuded natural talent, dancing or singing with an ease that hinted at rigorous training; others seemed less practiced, their performances raw and unrefined, though no less captivating.

A familiar contestant with a shock of russet hair performed a solo piece from a well-known stage play with expressive tone and movements, and even his freckles seemed to come alive with his emotion. Mi Sha recognized him immediately as Rory Lee Carlisle, a recent graduate of drama school majoring in theater and drama—and the clumsy young man who had nearly toppled over a suitcase trolley back in Wonderton Station. His performance ended to murmurs of approval and faint applause from the watching crowd of contestants.

“Kekeke,” Lady Wonderton cackled, tapping her fan thoughtfully against her knee. “Interesting… but is he… versatile enough?” Her voice held a taunting edge, a trap in her words meant to prod at any insecurity Rory might have. And indeed, the young man paled, the smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose standing out sharply. Despite standing at a 187cm lanky height, he appeared to shrink into himself under the judging stares as he waited for her final judgment.

But Rory was already on the receiving end of “gentler” treatment in comparison to the contestants that followed. The judges barely hid their dismissiveness at mediocrity, turning to each other and letting out sighs of faux exasperation meant to cut deep, eliciting another round of titters and chortles. It was like being back in grade school again and subjected to public humiliation from the “in-crowd”.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Looking around at the dejection and tenseness of his fellow contestants, Mi Sha cleared his throat. He wasn’t feeling guilty, per se. But he had to admit, in order to create highlights and “drama” on the show without the traditional use of malicious cutting and piecing of footage, deliberate additions inevitably had to be added. And what better source of drama than snide NPC characters in a position of power? 

Besides, even for real people judges, sharp critique and acerbic remarks were not unheard of. His NPC judges were just more overt because they didn’t need to worry about their public image. They were the “villains” after all.

The golden clock tower at the edge of Wonderton Square began to chime, its deep, melodious tone cutting through the low murmur of conversation among the gathered contestants. A hush fell over the square as the contestants instinctively turned to watch the enormous clock’s hands align at the hour mark. The intricate carvings of cherubs and celestial designs adorning its golden surface caught the afternoon light, casting an ethereal glow over the plaza.

The contestants’ attention, however, quickly shifted to the center of the plaza, where the grand carousel that had seemed purely decorative began to hum softly. The wooden platform beneath the intricately designed mechanical horses rotated slowly, gears clicking into motion. A few contestants stepped back, startled by the sudden movement, but most stood transfixed as the carousel came to life.

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With fluid precision, the mechanical horses, previously stationary, stepped off the rotating platform one by one. Their finely crafted forms gleamed in shades of ivory, ebony, and gold. Each horse had a unique design: some sported ornate saddles, while others bore delicate engravings along their metallic hides. Their manes, made of shimmering metallic filaments, flowed as though caught in a breeze.

The NPC concierges stepped forward at this time their long coats trailing elegantly behind them. Each concierge pushed a barouche—a small, open carriage designed to seat four people comfortably. The barouches were painted in pastel tones, their velvet interiors richly colored in shades of red, blue, and green. With quick efficient motions, they attached the barouches to the carousel horses. 

As the mechanical steeds lined up, the concierges in their impeccable uniforms bowed low before stepping back. Without drivers, the mechanical horses stood poised, ready to lead the contestants to their final destination.

There was a moment of collective confusion. “Wait, no drivers?” someone muttered, prompting a ripple of whispers across the crowd.

One of the NPC concierges stepped forward as if waiting for this prompt, his voice clear and calm as he addressed the crowd. “Sirs, welcome once again to Wonderton. These carriages will take you to Wonderton Manor, your residence for the duration of your stay. Please find a seat in any available barouche. Each can accommodate four passengers.”

The murmuring grew louder as contestants began to move hesitantly toward the carriages. Some formed small groups with friends or acquaintances they had already made, while others hesitated, unsure whom to approach.

Mi Sha, standing near the edge of the group, let out a quiet chuckle. He leaned toward Phoenix, his earlier acquaintance, and murmured, “The creators of the show are eccentric, don’t you think? I get the feeling they like to keep us on our toes.”

Phoenix grinned back, adjusting the strap of his guitar case. “Well, I did hear a lot about Director Loveless’ unconventional ways. Maybe he likes to unsettle people and then watch them flounder.”

Mi Sha let out a short burst of laughter, glittering black eyes dancing with mirth. He protested, “What does it have to do with Loveless anyway? He isn’t actually directing the show, you know.”

Phoenix cast him a skeptical look, clearly not buying this public information. “But the production team undoubtedly report to him. Besides, this,” he gestured comprehensively at Wonderton, “has his brand of whimsical chaos.”

“Ah, such a reputation. I feel so wronged for the poor guy in his stead.” Mi Sha tsked and shook his head, still amused.

The two had been walking along the line of barouches while they talked and at this time, Mi Sha’s gaze landed on one pulled by an ivory-colored horse with a cotton candy pink mane. He gestured toward it with a carefree smile. “That one looks like it belongs in a candy store. What do you say, Phoenix? Shall we claim it?”

“Let’s do it,” Phoenix replied enthusiastically. The two made their way to the barouche, their footsteps echoing against the cobblestones.

The mechanical horse stamped its hooves once as they approached, its glossy ivory body gleaming. Up close, Mi Sha could see the intricate details carved into the horse’s metallic hide—delicate floral patterns that seemed almost too fine to be real.

As they waited, two more contestants approached the barouche. One was a familiar young man with a tall, thin frame and a pale, almost withdrawn fragility. His dark gray eyes looked up at Mi Sha to Phoenix before he gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and climbed in, sitting on the seat opposite them with his cello case propped by his feet. The other contestant, slightly shorter and more sharply dressed, followed. His rich, chestnut hair was neatly styled, and his sharp features gave him a refined, almost aristocratic look. He glanced at Mi Sha briefly before settling into the seat beside Augustus.

Rozier Damião, framed against the velvet upholstery of the barouche, lounged with all the careless grace of someone fully aware of their own worth. Known for a magnetic presence on the web through his personal social media accounts where he posted images of himself that were equal parts compelling and captivating, he sat as if he were the only one worth looking at, a veritable storm brewing in his silence. The afternoon sunlight caught the golden rims of his glasses, reflecting a brilliance that was only matched by the custom-made diamond encrusted holocom on his left wrist.

Once everyone was seated, the mechanical horse gave a soft whinny and began to move. The barouche glided smoothly over the cobblestones, joining the procession of carriages making their way toward Wonderton Manor.

They moved at a steady pace, the rhythmic clatter of the mechanical horse’s hooves creating a soothing backdrop to the otherwise quiet ride. The path led them through the heart of Wonderton, past whimsical shops and charming houses that seemed to belong to another era. Delicate flower boxes hung from windowsills, and intricate iron street lamps lined the cobbled streets.

Mi Sha sat leaned back, resting an arm casually along the back of the seat. His sharp, narrow jawline relaxed into a natural pout as he observed his companions. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint hum of the mechanical steeds and their artificial hooves striking stone, as well as the laughter and chatter from other barouches. 

“So,” Mi Sha began, his tone light and conversational, “it seems a lot of contestants can play instruments. There’s Phoenix and his guitar, and now you and your… cello?”

Augustus who sat ram-rod straight blinked, caught off guard by being so suddenly addressed. But he answered politely nevertheless. “Yes. That’s correct.”

Mi Sha hummed. “I’m not much of connoisseur but I’ve often found classical music as background noise to be soothing. Especially the deep, resonant notes of a cello. It’s too bad I don’t play any instruments myself.”

Phoenix looked over with a slightly teasing smile. “I actually thought as much. You seemed the type to play classical music on gramophone while brooding in the dark.”

Mi Sha’s lips twitched. “…And I actually didn’t peg you to have such a vivid imagination.”

Enjoying the bantering, but not one to be inconsiderate, Phoenix offered a friendly smile at the other two. “Hi. I’m Phoenix Black. This is Mi Sha by the way,” he said, gesturing to his quirky companion who seemed to have forgotten all about introductions. “Mind if we know your names too?”

Augustus smiled back briefly, a polite and distant curve of pale pink, almost bloodless lips for a moment before speaking, his voice deep and mellow like the cello he played. “Augustus Meng,” he said simply, gaze making direct eye contact more out of ingrained manners than any fondness of it.

“And I’m Rozier Damião,” the well-dressed young man added, his tone calm and measured. His gaze cool and observant behind his spectacles as he seemed to gauge them all to a scale he was only privy to.

“So,” Mi Sha picked up where he had left off, training an unnervingly inquisitive gaze on the ethereal beauty of the young man in front of him. “Are you a cellist by hobby or by trade?”

“By trade,” Augustus replied, his voice becoming slightly more animated which offset the previously detached and almost weightless quality of his presence earlier. “I’ve been playing since I was six. I’ve performed with a few orchestras and composed some original pieces.”

Rozier, who had been watching the exchange with a seemingly aloof expression, tilted his head slightly, a hint of curiosity flashing in his dark eyes. “You’re a composer?” he asked, his tone not fluctuating but clearly conveying his intrigue. 

It seemed that Mi Sha had inadvertently picked a topic that spoke to all four of them, however their interest and appreciation for classical music had come to be due to their varying backgrounds.

Augustus nodded. “Mostly classical, but I’ve experimented with blending genres.”

Phoenix leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Okay, now I have to ask—what made you join an idol survival show? You seem more like the kind of guy who’d be performing in concert halls than competing on a reality show.”

Augustus hesitated, mouth doing a funny twist that almost seemed sardonic but so fleeting it could have been missed completely. “I suppose the answer would be that I wanted to challenge myself, to see if a completely different environment might inspire something.”

Mi Sha wondered thoughtfully. “Inspiration for your music?”

Augustus gave a slow nod. “Something like that.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow, sensing something more to it than that but didn’t prod. He was no stranger to personal quagmires, from witnessing it in others and even experiencing them himself. 

The barouche continued its journey, the scenery shifting from the whimsical charm of Wonderton’s streets to more open countryside. Fields of wildflowers stretched out on either side of the road, their vibrant colors swaying gently in the breeze.

Phoenix, with his abundance of EQ, kept the atmosphere light with humorous anecdotes about his life as a street musician, drawing occasional laughter from the group. Likewise, Mi Sha settled in an easy banter with Phoenix, finding himself surprisingly delighted at the ease with which the other matched his flighty train of thoughts. 

Though still reserved, Augustus engaged more than he had at the start. That ephemeral gaze seeming to become more substantial as the conversation continued, full of the abrupt starts and stops of topics from Mi Sha and Phoenix smoothing and rounding any jagged ends. Even Rozier, who had initially exuded a lofty air about him, snorted once or twice in a totally unrefined manner. He observed Mi Sha with a contemplative expression, as if trying to figure out what made the other boy tick.

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Not long, the barouches halted one by one at the entrance of the manor, a grand fountain rising at the center of the drive, its crystalline spray catching the golden rays of sunlight like playful water sprites before diving back down into the azure depths at the bottom of the fountain. The rhythmic clinking ceased, and the contestants began filing out, each greeted by a rustle of anticipation from unseen NPC staff members and an audience of flickering drones capturing every breath, every glance—

All against a backdrop of the palatial estate rising in grand splendor before them, all marble columns and cascading terraces of flowers. Several exclamations of awe and admiration sounded as the 200 young men from various backgrounds finally gathered at the very place where either their dreams were to be made or shattered.

AN: apologies for the wait, FM basically took over my writing time. Starting several wips is not a great idea but I never seem to be able to help myself orz 😫

The town of Wonderton unfolded before the contestants like a setting plucked from a storybook—a whimsical haven that blended European-inspired architecture with a touch of Victorian fantasy and futuristic flair. 

Floating carriages glided gracefully along cobblestone streets, their wheels spinning without ever touching the ground. Tea houses in funny shapes like a heeled boot, a yellow hen or a smiling sunflower spilled warm golden light onto the paths, their chimneys puffing gentle clouds of lavender-scented smoke. Quaint shopfronts adorned by holographic signs advertised everything one might need like groceries and clothing to frivolous trinkets and curios. Clockwork cats jumped from rooftop to rooftop, their metallic fur catching the sunlight.

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Finally, at the heart appeared a sprawling square, filled with a carousel of mechanical horses and a towering fountain that seemed to defy gravity, its water cascading upward in elegant spirals. And it was here where the two hundred contestants would gather.

Following the directions of the NPC concierges, they made their way to the town’s square to wait for the next segment. Some clustered in small groups, their chatter and laughter overlapping in a merry cacophony. Others stood alone, gazing at the mechanical marvels of Wonderton with wide eyes that reflected its golden clock towers and starlit streets.

NPC townsfolk, dressed in an eclectic mix of Regency-style outfits and Victorian fashions, glided among the newcomers, offering maps of the district with cheerful bows. “Welcome to Wonderton, sirs,” they said, their melodic voices adding to the town’s charm. “Please take a map to assist you in exploring this enchanting part of your journey.”

As the contestants were allowed to wander freely and familiarize themselves to their future surroundings for the next three months, Mi Sha inevitably drew subtle but palpable attention.

In truth, he wasn’t the only one. Even among the crème de la crème chosen from 20,000+ applicants, there were always a few who stood out even among the most beautiful.

With a simple sweep of his eyes, Mi Sha spotted three he easily matched to the pictures and names circled on the contestant roster shown by the production team leader. With 200 contestants, it was inevitable that certain ones would be initially singled out to give more screen time, maybe even a “script” that would help them stand out to the audience. These “chosen ones” were usually whom the production team saw as having the most potential on the outset. 

But whether they could maintain such a good hand of cards dealt to them was something only time would tell. There was never a lack of dark horses appearing in shows like these after all.

The nearest one, a particularly tall youth with sharp cheekbones and a silky mane of blue-black curls, stole furtive glances at Mi Sha from across the fountain. Large heterochromatic eyes peered curiously at him under thick curling lashes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a mascara commercial, only his were natural. 

But when Mi Sha stared unabashedly back, Aimé Blanchet’s flawless golden ratio features blushed a light pink. One blue eye, and the other brown darted away and then back like a skittish doe peering around to see if the predator had left. Only to flush further as Mi Sha showed no signs of looking away. This easy proneness to fluster caused Mi Sha to raise an eyebrow in amusement.

He was tempted to hold a staring match with the boy just to see what he would do. But mercifully, he decided to let the other off after watching those doe eyes do their back and forth dance twice more. Aimé clearly looked like he wanted to either melt into a puddle or dart away. 

A slight smile tugged at Mi Sha’s lips as he finally glanced away. Aimé’s innocence was endearing. The kind of person Mi Sha so rarely encountered that he also couldn’t help giving a second glance. (Though if a malicious part of him wondered just how fragile this greenhouse flower was, Mi Sha easily ignored it.)

A few feet away, Renato Leonetti leaned casually against a nearby lamppost, his bright smile never once dimming as he studied Mi Sha with interest—and incidentally catching the “staring match” going on just now. 

He was radiant even under the golden light, his large almond shaped eyes ringed by spiky golden lashes that appeared translucent in the light and a baby face that was generous with seraphic smiles. All of this added up to a youthful, honey sweet vibe. And just like his appearance, this former child actor had a lively, extroverted personality as was evident by the cheerful conversations he seemed to be having with several contestants at once. 

He didn’t bother to veil his interest, even when his obvious distraction caught the attention of the contestants he was chatting with. In fact, he almost looked like he would step forward in that social butterfly way of his, eager to make friends or connections. Unlike Aimé, Renato had no shyness holding him back.

But someone happened to be a step faster.

Phoenix Black, with his scuffed leather guitar bag and glossy dark blonde hair pulled back with a leather band, surprised Mi Sha by approaching him first. The young man had an aura of quiet observation, clearly a man who preferred watching to speaking, though his eyes held their own power. At once world-weary yet gentle and sympathetic, those soulful lavender eyes met Mi Sha’s own dark unfathomable depths directly.

In a way, Mi Sha was reminded of himself. The only difference was that Mi Sha wouldn’t consider himself an old soul. He was too petty, too spiteful, too stingy with his sympathies. 

“Hey, I’m Phoenix. Phoenix Black,” the young man introduced himself, holding out a hand in quiet friendliness. 

Mi Sha clasped it, meeting those pretty lavender eyes. Phoenix was one of those contestants who’d found his way onto the show with pure, raw talent and little else to rely on—no high-powered agency, no family fortune, no network of industry friends. People like him were a microcosm of the showbiz world’s overlooked treasures; they were often talented but unprotected, rich in potential but lacking capital or backing. And as Mi Sha had observed over the years, they could just as easily be disposed of, without extraordinary talent to anchor them or a selling point to catch the producers’ eyes.

But most importantly, he was a ground dweller.

The people of this world were separated into two kinds—ground dwellers and sky dwellers. Human ills such as overpopulation and pollution had changed the planet they lived on irreversibly leading to barren land and increasingly lack of natural resources. 

But luckily or unluckily, discovery of what was known as “Keys to Heaven” provided a solution. No one truly knew where they came from or why they existed, but their power was undeniable. Each Key was unique, bound to its holder, and capable of incredible feats of creation. With a single thought, they could build floating cities, design self-sustaining ecosystems, and manipulate the fabric of reality itself. It went without saying that their appearance had reshaped the world, both for the better and the worse.

With life on Earth becoming more difficult, the appearance of Keys that could lift entire landmasses into the sky, creating new havens for life offered humanity salvation amidst its decline. Only eleven such Keys had ever been found, their holders becoming figures of global fascination, their identities exalted or scrutinized, with their cities scattered across the globe like jewels in a rusting crown. 

However, while the Keys represented hope for humanity, it also exacerbated the dire situation on Earth. Governments, corporations, and individuals alike had fought bitterly for control of them, wars breaking out over the possibility of acquiring even one. Fathers turning against sons, daughters betraying mothers, once loving couples filled with hatred and animosity.

This of course accelerated the spread of environmental problems on Earth while also widening the gap between the privileged and those living on the fringes like never before in history. Which brings us back to sky dwellers, residents of the 11 floating cities who naturally felt more superior to the ground dwellers, those who remained living on the ground due to the lack of opportunity, connections, or other reasons. 

As a ground dweller, if Phoenix didn’t turn out to be a dark horse, then the cards were truly stacked against him. Because if he didn’t manage to make it into the final debut lineup, he would be deported back home to the barren, poverty ridden ground. In a way, the stakes were much higher for him than the rest of the contestants who came from other floating cities or even Ukiyo.

“Phoenix Black,” Mi Sha repeated, the name rolling off his tongue, evoking the smoky stage lights of underground venues so fond of by ground dwellers and sky dwellers looking to have a taste of “grunge living”. “Quite the name. Rolls off the tongue. You’ve performed a lot already, I take it?”

“A few gigs here and there,” Phoenix replied with a light shrug, brushing over the highs and lows that accompanied his experiences over the years. “Nothing like this, though. Just small stuff, you know, local stages. Makes you wonder if it all adds up to anything.”

A tentative smile appeared on that handsome face and a hand unconsciously reached up to tuck a long, glossy dark blonde strand of hair behind an ear in a sheepish, absentminded gesture. He seemed very happy that Mi Sha even responded, let alone showed any interest towards him.

“Depends on how you measure,” Mi Sha replied, the fingers of his right hand tapping against his jeans pocket where the Rubik’s cube was slipped into.

Though Phoenix had the initial attention of the production team, there was still no guarantee of a ticket to success. Without a storyline, friendship arc, or dramatic struggle such as becoming a dark horse, he would get lost among the hundreds of faces on screen, no matter how remarkable he might be off-camera. Just like in movies and stories, a fleshed out character was always more memorable and attractive. Likewise, many interesting things might have happened off screen to an unimportant character, but who would bother to look?

As Mi Sha considered Phoenix’s prospects, a habitual train of thought unraveled: appearance, makeup, camera angles, editing, script, capital, character design, fan service pairings… all these components layered together to construct a glossy image, each contestant becoming an illusion on-screen, a blend of lighting and fiction that the viewers adored, without ever truly knowing the reality of the person beneath. 

It was precisely this manufactured artifice that filled Mi Sha with equal amounts of distaste and morbid fascination—people of this era took thrill in watching lives twisted into shapes that entertained, uncaring of the truth behind the mask and Mi Sha could not say for certain that he had not become as guilty as the rest. 

Of course, if the unsavory truth behind the mask dared to reveal themselves to the public, well, that was a whole other matter. After all, the whole point of an idol was to present a shiny, bright and beautiful image that could please the audience. Like a fairytale, these young people were dream chasers but also dream weavers themselves.

For Mi Sha, the romanticism of this chosen industry wasn’t in its artifice (though he could admit that sometimes a moderate amount of packaging was needed) but in the subtle chaos that leaked through. Unpredictability, the thrill of real emotion against a script. Those raw moments when the actors slipped out of their roles, those fractured scenes that revealed more truth than any rehearsed drama could. 

It was why he had created Starbound Express in the first place, the whimsy to deliver something far greater than a pre-determined story, and to remind both audiences and actors alike that nothing would go as planned. 

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“That’s all it takes, right? A chance,” Phoenix said, his gaze never wavering from Mi Sha’s face. Those lovely eyes shone with the quiet but unyielding intensity that belonged to someone who had fought tooth and nail to get where he was. Someone who understood that opportunity was fleeting and must be grabbed with both hands.

Someone… a lot like Mi Sha himself.

“That, and a little more,” Mi Sha replied, giving him a faint smile. “After all, even a gamble needs stakes.” What he didn’t point out was that, luckily or unluckily, Phoenix had the highest stakes of them all.

The sleek black Starbound Express descended into Wonderton Station like a great celestial beast. Its shimmering, obsidian frame floated gracefully above the cobblestone streets, illuminated by the warm, golden light of the station’s antique lamps. The faint hum of its anti-gravity mechanisms reverberated through the station, accompanied by bursts of silvery steam that hissed out like sighs from a dragon. As the train came to a graceful halt, descending down on the station tracks, its doors shimmered with a soft, ethereal light before sliding open with a melodic chime of wind bells.

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The station itself was a bustling mix of old-world charm and modern sophistication. Vendors hawked automated toy soldiers and holographic music boxes alongside artisanal pastries. Delicate wrought iron railings framed holographic advertisements for the Starbound Express S3, and street performers played instruments that combined traditional strings with digital loops. Above, an immense, glass-domed ceiling showcased a shifting holographic sky—rosy with the hues of a setting sun, speckled with shimmering stars, and punctuated by shooting comets.

As the the young men began disembarking, the station became filled with a new sort of energy to the artificial noise and bustle of realistic NPC automatons who acted as residents. The automatons, indistinguishable from humans at first glance, bustled about like any ordinary townsfolk. They carried luggage, provided directions, and even engaged the contestants in small talk, their programming designed to maintain the immersive atmosphere of the show. 

Above them all, hummingbird drones flitted about, their camera-laden eyes capturing every moment. Clearly, the show had already begun filming in earnest. In fact, filming had started as early as when the contestants stepped onto the Starbound Express. 

The absence of human staff but the core production team hidden behind the scenes was intentional—a decision Director Loveless had made himself. And not because according to rumors, he was slightly misanthropic. It was no secret that the 11th key holder had no patience for the biases and unprofessionalism that often came with human crews. Especially in regards to competition related shows where lack of professionalism, prevalence of biases, leaks, and emotional entanglements often plagued similar productions in the past. In this case, the automatons were perfect—efficient, impartial, and tireless. 

Being met with such an extravagant set, a chorus of gasps, murmurs, and nervous laughter could be heard from the crowd of newcomers. The contestants, each carrying the weight of their dreams and ambitions, began to step off the train, their emotions written plainly on their faces.

Some emerged with confidence, their heads held high, ready to seize the opportunity of a lifetime. Others moved more tentatively, their eyes wide with awe as they took in the station’s grandeur. Still others were particularly anxious, and it was glaringly obvious that they weren’t familiar with Ukiyo or even floating cities in general.

Luckily, NPC automatons dressed as concierges—sleek black uniforms with polished brass buttons and gentle, synthesized voices—glided forward to greet the arrivals. Their elegant uniforms gave them the appearance of train attendants from an era long past, though their glowing visors hinted at their modern design.

“Welcome to Wonderton, sir,” one of them said with a bow, extending an arm to help a particularly clueless contestant. “Pleased to be at your service.”

From the crowd, a young man with sun-kissed curls and a blindingly bright smile stepped onto the platform, pausing to take it all in. “Now this is what I call a grand production,” he said, spreading his arms as if embracing the entire scene.

As he sauntered forward, he caught the attention of an NPC concierge. “Welcome, sir,” the automaton said, bowing politely as he did to all disembarking passengers.

“Thank you, my good…bot?” The lively young man replied with a wink, his voice warm and easy. “You’re doing a fantastic job keeping things so smooth. Must be a lot of pressure.”

The NPC hesitated, processing the compliment, then replied, “We aim to please, sir.”

A small group of contestants nearby exchanged looks, their reactions ranging from amused grins to subtle eye-rolls.

“Who does he think he is, the host already?” one of them muttered.

The young man turned, catching the comment with a disarming laugh. “Hey, it’s called making a good impression. You should try it!” He gave one last grin to the hummingbird drones that hovered near him, ensuring that the moment was captured perfectly before moving on.

A tall figure too thin for his frame emerged from the train car next over, carrying an expensive cello case slung over one shoulder. He moved with a quiet grace, his pale features framed by black hair that fell into his dark gray eyes. There was a perpetual air of melancholy that clung to him and unlike the others, he avoided the crowd, keeping his gaze low as though the spectacle around him was too overwhelming.

An NPC concierge approached, bowing deeply. “Welcome, sir.”

He nodded politely, murmuring a soft, “Thank you,” before continuing forward. His fingers tightened slightly on the strap of his cello case as he moved past, his steps measured and deliberate.

“He’s got an air about him, doesn’t he Jasper?” one contestant whispered to another.

The blonde haired, green eyed boy standing next to him looked over. “Yeah, like he’s some kind of tragic poet,” he snorted.

Another boy in their group rolled his eyes and muttered, “Those drones aren’t actually hummingbirds, y’know?”

A little ways off, another figure stepped out with a case strapped to his back as well, but this time for a guitar, the worn leather telling a story of countless performances. His stride was casual with hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. His shoulder length glossy dark blonde hair was slightly tousled from the train ride, and soulful lavender eyes darted around, drinking in every detail of the station.

“Wow,” he murmured under his breath, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. His voice was barely audible over the bustle of the platform. He turned in a slow circle, taking in every detail—the holographic sky, the intricate carvings on the station pillars, the sea of contestants around him.

A fellow contestant bumped into him, muttering a half-hearted apology before hurrying away. But he didn’t seem to mind. He was too engrossed in the moment, an amazed gleam in those captivating eyes.

“This is insane,” he said to no one in particular.

From a door towards the back of the train, Mi Sha finally appeared, having waited until the train was less crowded to make his way out.

The platform suddenly seemed to quiet as he stepped off the train, his presence commanding attention without effort. Clad in a soft knit oversized sweater in black, dark-wash jeans that hung loose on narrow hips, and gladiator sandals that trace the elegant lines of his ankles and long, sinewy feet, he moved with an elegance that felt almost like a feline prowl. Black hair caught the light like polished obsidian against pale, almost translucent skin. Equally black eyes, dark yet glittering as the starry night sky, flickered with a stubborn brilliance that refuses defeat.

The only color to stand out starkly against his otherwise monochromatic appearance were defined lips perpetually stained deep red as if kissed by pomegranate seeds. This harsh interplay of saturated colors and his finely sculpted features created a picture of one particularly striking youth—both painfully piercing and hauntingly beautiful, like a blade forged from glass.

He nodded but did not otherwise engage the NPC concierge who welcomed him in conversation, nor did he react to the whispers that followed him.

He didn’t even glance at the hummingbirds that darted about overhead. Instead, his gaze remained distant, as though he was lost in his thoughts.

“Who’s that?” one contestant asked in a hushed tone.

“No idea, but he looks like he stepped out of a magazine, with those airbrushed models and AI idols,” another replied.

Mi Sha’s Rubik’s cube clicked rhythmically in his hand as he walked, the motion more absentminded and habitual than deliberate, the shifting patterns of cosmic colors reflecting the light. 

It was at this time a tall, gangly young man with russet hair that seemed to have a mind of its own stepped onto the platform as well. Freckles danced across his face, and he carried himself with an endearing awkwardness that made him stand out in an entirely different way.

But as he stepped onto the platform, he immediately stumbled over the threshold, nearly toppling into a luggage trolley pushed by an NPC concierge.

“Oh! Sorry—sorry!” He stammered, flailing his arms to steady himself. The trolley, stacked precariously with suitcases, wobbled but thankfully didn’t topple.

The NPC tilted his head. “No harm done, sir. Welcome to Wonderton.”

Before he could respond, a soft, low voice sounded behind him. “Careful, now. You don’t want to crush someone’s dreams before the competition even starts.”

The clumsy young man turned to see a striking figure with sharply defined but delicate features walking past him, the faintest trace of amusement playing on those pomegranate kissed lips. He blinked, unsure if he’d just been teased or gently admonished. Either way, a flush suffused his high cheekbones, causing the smattering of freckles across his nose to stand out.

“Who was that?” He muttered to himself, his cheeks feeling too warm even for the heated atmosphere in the station.

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As the contestants continued to filter through the station, the NPC concierges began to guide them towards the exit and to the wider world of Wonderton, their synthetic voices blending seamlessly with the hum of conversation.

Above them, the holographic sky shimmered, a comet streaking across the expanse. Perhaps heralding a dazzling new future ahead.

AN: What do you guys think of this introduction to the world and its main cast? Is it more smooth and natural?

Hope Hall, resplendent in its gloomy grandeur, perched high in the craggy peaks of Ukiyo’s Ghostly Howl District.

Despite its name, the sprawling estate emanated a menacing charm, with its turrets and arches jutting out like skeletal fingers toward an ominous sky perpetually shrouded in a heavy mist. Fitting, as the rest of the district was as hauntingly gothic as its name suggested.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Outside, the storm raged. Forks of lightning streaked across the sky, briefly illuminating the tall, leaded windows of the villa’s great hall. The sound of rain pattering against the glass was a constant rhythm, muffled and eerie, as if it came from the other side of the divide separating the world of the living and the dead. 

Inside the villa, the near-complete darkness made it no less gloomy than the world outside its walls. But for the faint, flickering glow of countless holographic screens that floated in midair and illuminated the cavernous yet intimate setting within. These displays projected vibrant images of the floating city of Ukiyo and the five shimmering districts that currently made up this hub of entertainment. Interspersed among them were news feeds from Ukiyo’s ten other neighboring floating cities, suspended like celestial islands over the barren earth below.

At the center of this dimly lit cross between a great hall, theater room and a stately study, seated on an aged leather Chesterfield loveseat, was a solitary figure. 

The man—or boy, for his age seemed as inscrutable as his demeanor—sat at ease, draped in a black knit hoodie pulled low over his head. Pointed ears like that of a cat’s protruded from the top of the hood, a whimsical detail that seemed somehow not out of place in the ominous atmosphere of the old villa. His legs, clad in black silk pajama pants, were crossed casually, exuding a detached elegance.

The light from the holographic screens carved shadows across his pale face, but it did little to throw it in into relief but for his most striking features: a razor-sharp jawline, skin as pale as the moon, and pomegranate stained red lips that formed its faint, habitual pout. He was still, save for the subtle motion of his fingers tapping on the armrest of the loveseat—a rhythmic beat, like a conductor signaling the tempo of an unseen orchestra. And indeed, faint classical music could be heard playing from somewhere in the villa, combining with the muffled pattering of rain to create a unique symphony.

Looking almost out of place in the univiting surroundings was a table standing before him, ornate and low, bearing a three-tiered cake stand laden with colorful confections. Next to it was a porcelain tea set, steam rising languidly from the spout of the teapot. The faint sweetness wafting from this delicate, almost childlike spread was practically lost to the musty, storm laden air thick with the scent of polished mahogany and aged leather.

Likewise, standing a respectful distance to his right, Rabbit, Mi Sha’s automaton assistant, provided a stark contrast to her cold and contemplative master. With long blonde hair tied back in a pale blue bow and a matching lacy skirt that swayed gently as she moved, Rabbit was the embodiment of sweetness. Her soft, mechanical voice carried a cheerfulness that seemed almost misplaced amidst the foreboding ambience of the villa.

Her mechanical joints also moved with fluid grace as if no different from a flesh and blood human, though her glowing sapphire eyes often stared ahead unblinkingly which gave the illusion away. White mechanical rabbit ears protruded from her head, twitching faintly as if to punctuate her words. In her delicate hands, she held a crystal holocom tablet, which projected a hologram of the conference call with the Starbound Express production team.

The tablet glowed with the image of a brightly lit conference room where the production team bustled about, their faces a mixture of excitement, curiosity, and thinly veiled anxiety. The contrast between their vibrant space and the shadowy villa was almost jarring.

“Good evening, everyone!” Rabbit chirped, her voice lilting. “The Director is ready to hear your report. Please proceed.”

The team sat straighter, adjusting their headsets and data tablets, their faces lit with excitement—and a touch of apprehension. At the head of the table was the leader of the production team, a man with graying temples and a warm yet frazzled demeanor. He pushed up his glasses and addressed the screen, his voice caught somewhere between respect and trepidation. 

“Good evening, Sir,” the team leader began, his voice steady but tinged with a tremor. “Thank you for taking the time to join us. We’ve finalized the contestant roster for Starbound Express: Season 3 as per your guidelines.”

He pulled up a holographic file that expanded into a list of names and images. “As last season was for female idols, this season will return to training male idols. The participants are all young men with exceptional talent and unique backstories.”

The screen expanded to reveal headshots and biographical snippets, faces frozen mid-smile or mid-pose. Rabbit nodded, causing the blue bow and long ears on her blonde head to bounce. Delicate hands also clapped excitedly. In contrast, her master still did not move, his eyes—hidden beneath the hood—fixed on the screen.

“Two hundred participants,” the team leader continued. “We believe we’ve curated a group diverse and talented enough to meet the rigorous standards of Starbound Express. Of course…” His voice faltered briefly, “…your participation, Sir, as one of the 200 contestants, will undoubtedly cause a stir if it is made known.”

A ripple of murmurs passed through the room, barely audible but unmistakably laced with curiosity. The staff whispered to each other about what it might mean to have Director Loveless—the enigmatic founder of Ukiyo—compete alongside the very idols whose fate he had personally overseen for years.

Rabbit’s rabbit ears twitched, and she giggled softly, a sound like the chime of a silver bell. “Oh, Director Loveless will certainly cause a stir,” she said, tilting her head with an air of playfulness. “He’s quite looking forward to it, you know! Isn’t that right, Director?”

The young man remained silent, lounging on the loveseat with one arm draped lazily over the backrest. His pomegranate red lips barely twitched, but his hand moved for the first time. Slender fingers reached out, picking up the peculiar Rubik’s cube that had been resting casually on the seat beside him. Its surface shimmered with a surreal quality, each square reflecting not colors but constellations, galaxies, and the shifting cosmos.

“Of course,” Rabbit continued, her tone effortlessly filling the silence. “The Director prefers actions over words, as you all know. But he did say something quite poetic about it earlier! Let me think… Ah, yes: ‘Even shadows will one day yearn for the light.’ Isn’t that lovely?”

The team leader forced a smile, his brow glistening faintly with perspiration. “Yes, lovely indeed. Still, if I may, Sir…” He hesitated, then plunged forward. “Your decision to compete has sparked… considerable speculation among the staff. With respect, some of us wonder if this is to test the format? Or to express… dissatisfaction with us?”

Rabbit’s sapphire-like eyes blinked once, then sparkled with mirth. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know!” she teased, clasping her hands behind her back. “But the Director doesn’t reveal his motives so easily. We wouldn’t want to ruin the plot by giving spoilers!”

After another round of confused exchanging of looks, the team leader ventured cautiously one last time, “Sir, forgive my boldness, but… are you certain about your decision to participate?” His words were chosen with the delicacy of someone approaching a dangerous precipice. “Even if it’s under an alias—”

It was understandable. After all, Director B.E. Loveless had always eschewed the limelight even as his name and deeds resounded across the world and all its 11 floating cities. This would be the first time he would be stepping out into the public gaze—something which he never did even when directing his many brainchilds, preferring to interact with the production teams and cast like he did now with Starbound Express‘s staff. Remotely and complete with an automaton assistant who did the talking as if he was too lazy to even deign granting the ordinary peons his true presence and voice.

As he turned the cube in his hands, the young man finally looked up, but not at the hologram of the conference call but at a small picture frame facing his way on the table. Within it was an old photograph of a boy in a school uniform. The image was faded, the boy’s face obscured by shadows. But one detail was clear: the name tag stitched onto the uniform. Mi Sha.

The tension broke as the faintest hint of a smile tugged at Mi Sha’s pomegranate red lips. “Yes,” he said, his voice low and smooth, yet measured, deliberate, and carried an undeniable weight that subdued any more questioning from his subordinates.

Rabbit beamed, her rabbit ears perking up. “There you have it!” she said brightly, as if Mi Sha had just delivered a rousing speech. “Now, shall we move on? The Director has a busy evening ahead—very stormy tonight, you know!”

When the holographic feed cut off, Hope Hall fell back into near silence but for the faint melodic strains of a cello. Mi Sha leaned into the loveseat, his fingers twisting the shimmering Rubik’s cube with idle precision. Rabbit returned to his side, her mechanical limbs moving gracefully as she set the holocom tablet on the table.

“Such an excitable group,” she mused, her tone light but thoughtful. “Do you think they’re ready for what’s coming, Director?”

The Rubik’s cube continued turning in his hand, reflecting cosmic patterns onto the walls and his own inscrutable face. His gaze drifted lazily back to the smaller holographic displays showing the evening news. The Kornukopias family saga dominated the headlines, with images of Pureland’s gold-and-diamonds decadence and its bitter heirs vying for power.

He seemed to both answer and not answer Rabbit’s question, his lips curling slightly as the Rubik’s cube clicked on untiringly. “No,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But they’ll learn.”

It was unclear who he was referring to but what was apparent was that everything was going as planned. Plans years in the making finally falling into place.

“…In breaking news tonight, the patriarch of the Kornukopias family, Primo Kornukopias, has passed away after a week-long struggle with sustained injuries. Sources confirm his death has sparked a fierce succession dispute among his heirs. Control of Pureland, the notorious hub of decadence, now hangs in the balance.”

Images of Pureland filled the screen: chandelier lit casinos, luxurious but secretive clubs, and hedonistic parties that never seemed to end. The anchor continued, recounting the sordid tales of the Kornukopias heirs, each vying for their grandfather or father’s coveted Key to Heaven, an artifact that granted its holder control over the city. An image of Pureland’s Key to Heaven, a highly publicized golden wine goblet was shown resting on a jewel entrusted pedestal.

Mi Sha watched in silence, his expression unchanging. But as PR pictures of the heirs flashed by—figures clad in opulent attire, their faces masks of arrogance and greed—a cold snort resounded softly in the otherwise quiet room.

The Rubik’s cube in his hand clicked sharply, the motion coming faster and faster, more deliberate now. His pale fingers blurred as they twisted the object, constellations shifting and aligning in patterns too complex to comprehend.

As the news report ended, replaced by an image of Pureland’s shimmering skyline, Mi Sha set the Rubik’s cube down with a final decisive click. His gaze lingered on the image for a moment longer before he rose from the loveseat, his movements graceful and almost feline.

The storm outside intensified, lightning illuminating the room in brief, blinding flashes. Mi Sha walked to one of the tall windows, his silhouette framed against the tempest.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“Like snakes feeding on snakes,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the thunder. Whether it was contempt, amusement, or something darker, it was impossible to say.

Behind him, Rabbit tilted her head, her synthetic smile unwavering.

AN: The first chapter is so important, at least for me, not being satisfied with it really kills the momentum before it even started. Doesn’t matter if you’ve got the rest of the story outlined and each chapter planned. It just puts a stopper on things in a way advice like “just keep writing” doesn’t help. At all.

Though it’s the third time I am reposting this, it was actually rewritten at least 5 times before I am finally (hopefully) satisfied with this version. Now I can really get this story moving. Apologies to all of my confused readers. Please bear with this author and her perfectionist ways. Thank you 🖤✨️