“Digital Debut” (TADC KPOP AU)
Chapter 1: Fresh Blood & High Standards
The practice room mirrors at Caine Entertainment were covered in smudges, sweat stains, and broken dreams. It was 2:00 AM, and Pomni was currently convinced her legs were going to detach from her body.
Just three days ago, she had been an obscure indie singer posting acoustic covers online. Then Caine had barged into her life, signed her to a contract before she could even read the fine print, and threw her into PULSE—the agency’s flagship rookie group—as their brand-new main vocalist.
"And five, six, seven, eight—stop!" Zooble barked, pausing the booming track. They wiped sweat from their forehead, glaring through the mirror. "Pomni, you're a quarter-beat behind on the turn again. I know you're new, but if you delay the formation on live TV, the camera operator is going to film empty space."
"I-I'm sorry!" Pomni squeaked, clutching her oversized practice hoodie, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "The footwork is just so fast—"
"Oh, leave the poor little recruit alone, Zooble," a sharp, drawling voice piped up from the top of the leather sofa in the back.
Jax was lounging stretched out across three cushions, casually tossing a neon ping-pong ball into the air and catching it. He wore an expensive designer streetwear jacket—unzipped over loose joggers—and a backwards cap resting over his messy purple hair. As the visual, center, and lead rapper, he knew he was the most famous member of the group, and he treated everyone around him with the casual, snobby amusement of a bored prince.
He caught the ping-pong ball, turning his dark eyes onto Pomni with a slow, mischievous smirk.
"Our new vocal prodigy is clearly delicate," Jax purred, sliding off the couch with lazy grace and sauntering over to her. He leaned down, placing his hands on his knees so his face was inches from hers. "Tell me, Shorty... did Caine pull you off the street, or did you stray too far from a high school choir audition? Because right now, you look like a lost puppy trapped in a dance studio."
"I was headhunted!" Pomni snapped, her face flushing crimson as she took a small step back from his invading space. "And my vocals are fine!"
"Your vocals are great, sweetie," Ragatha chimed in gently, stepping between them with a mediator's smile, though her eyes looked exhausted. "Jax, stop picking on the new recruit and get back into position. We need our center actually dancing."
"Why bother?" Jax scoffed, twirling his car keys around his index finger with a loud CLINK. "I can do this choreo in my sleep, and the fans are just gonna watch my fancam anyway. Besides, if our fresh recruit collapses from a panic attack before our Music Bank comeback, who's gonna hit those ridiculous high notes Caine wrote?"
Before Pomni could hurl her water bottle at his head, the practice room TV screen flickered on with a sharp, static hiss.
Caine’s floating eyeball logo flashed wildly before cutting to a live news broadcast from rival mogul Evil Caine’s agency, Error Corp.
On screen stood NIGHTMARE—a group of dark, flawless, icy clones standing in military formation behind their brutal head trainer, Coach Dictatorer. At the very center stood Evil Jax, dressed in a sharp, tailored black suit, exuding a cold, aristocratic superiority that made Jax’s lazy posture instantly vanish.
"PULSE is an unpolished joke," Evil Caine announced cold-bloodedly to the press. "Their new recruit is untrained, their group cohesion is failing, and their center is arrogant. NIGHTMARE will replace them on the charts by Friday."
The practice room went deathly silent.
Jax stared at the screen, his playful, snobby smirk instantly hardening into a razor-sharp, dangerous glare. He tossed his ping-pong ball aside, stepping right up to the TV display.
"Arrogant?" Jax murmured low in his throat, a cold, competitive fire sparking in his eyes. He turned slowly toward Pomni, grabbing her by her hoodie strings and yanking her forward until she was standing right beside him in front of the mirror.
"Alright, recruit," Jax drawled, his snobby tone replaced by pure, ruthless ambition. "Change of plans. You're gonna learn this choreo tonight if I have to personally drag you through every step. Nobody gets to call my floor unpolished—and nobody beats us on stage."
