xuanzhi

[xuanzhi]

Chapter 3: Main Theme Song & Training

[Twitter Thread]

@starboundwhisper

🚨JUST DROPPED! 🚨All 200 contestant pics + stats are up, and I am NOT okay! Who’s ready for #StarboundExpressS3?!? 😍✨ There are some seriously gorgeous faces in the mix… but can we TALK about Mi Sha? Like, his bio is basically blank, and I can’t figure out if that’s on purpose or if they just forgot to fill it in?? 😭

@seraphicmoons

Replying to @starboundwhisper

RIGHT??? It’s like they want him to stay mysterious, but now I’m obsessed with him already! Bet he’s the type to crush it in challenges without breaking a sweat. 5 stars, calling it now.

@cosmiccatcher92

Replying to @starboundwhisper  

Mi Sha is like if mysterious charisma was a person. Those eyes look like they could suck you in! Is it just me, or does he look like he has some serious history 👀? I’m dying to see what he brings to the stage!!

@Lunaris94

Replying to @seraphicmoons

YES! I mean, Mi Sha’s photo alone has me ready to sell my soul to this season. He looks like some perfect AI generated model, and the fact that he’s basically a complete enigma is KILLING me. If he doesn’t end up as a 5-star legend, I’m throwing hands.

@silverwings79

Replying to @cosmiccatcher92  

Same, Mi Sha is giving me such bad boy meets zen master vibes, I can’t handle it 😭 But okay, also, those skill stats though?! His Precision is through the roof! I bet he’s a tactician type.

@orbitfanatic_101

Renato and Ming Kui better end up being best friends OR enemies by episode 2. Look at those smiles! 😇 Definitely both an E person. Also…is it too early to ship Mi Sha and Aimé? Total opposites-to-lovers potential, calling it now. #StarboundExpressS3

@nebulagazer520

Replying to @orbitfanatic_101  

Aimé could melt a stone heart with those bambi eyes, so like, YES, this ship has my full support! 😍 But, Renato? I'm actually shipping him with Rozier 🤭 That guy is clearly born to be dramatic. I’m here for his intensity, lol. Imagine him and Renato paired up? Chaos or romance, either way, I’ll be happy.

@moongalaxie88

Not even a week in, and we’re already drowning in ships 😂 But y’all, let’s talk Augustus’s elegance 🖤 Absolute top-tier. He looks like he could befriend Mi Sha, actually. Cool and calm types, keeping everyone in line!

@cosmosrosebud

I’m so ready to watch Phoenix DESTROY everyone on the stage. Those Vocal stats are 🔥! He’s definitely making top 10. #TeamPhoenix 👏👏

@nyctophilexoxo

Did anyone notice Rory looks like a literal cinnamon roll, yet has INSANE Performance stats? Bet he’s one of those quiet underdogs. 

@starshine_spirit

Personal thought—June’s aesthetic?? SO soft and understated, with that shy smile. I can't believe he's a rapper. Alpha on stage but omega off stage—love that gap moe! 🤤

[Reddit Thread: r/StarboundExpress]

u/galacticdreamer

[Discussion] Starbound Express S3 Contestant Stats & Pics—Early Predictions!  

Alright, y’all, who’s looked through all 200? My predictions: Mi Sha’s definitely a contender for the 5-star rating ASAP. He’s already trending for his near perfect face AND stats—I mean hello? Those Focus and Strategy stats are insane! What’s everyone’s thoughts??

u/stardust_sipper

Totally agree! His profile is so minimal, like they know they don’t even have to try with him because we’re all hooked 😭 Anyone else think we’re getting that ~trauma backstory~ vibe? I mean, that look in his eyes…

u/meteormelody

Lol yes, Mi Sha’s already in everyone’s “dark and mysterious” list! Also though, I need someone to explain Renato and Rozier to me—are they here to steal our hearts or each other’s throats?? Cause their pics say both.

u/solardreaming

Renato/Rozier ship has my FULL support 😍 But also, can we talk about Aimé? He looks like he’d get flustered by a strong breeze. So wholesome compared to the rest of them!! I’ll be devastated if he’s the first to go.

u/horizonsway

Wild theory: Aimé’s gonna play the “shy softie teammate” but then outwit everyone. His stats rank just under Mi Sha's when it comes to being an all-rounder. Bet he’s gonna serve looks AND get the 5-star rating first…

u/shipperqueen: People shipping Renato and Rozier but I’m all in on Phoenix x Mi Sha because y’all, they’re both way too beautiful to stay platonic, just saying. 😏

u/blu3dwarf

Oh, Phoenix and Mi Sha together would be fire and ice! 😍 But I think Mi Sha’s playing the long game; he seems like the quiet strategist who’ll slowly make alliances. I mean, *look at those stats*—if that's not a sign of a boss character then I don't know what is. 

u/constellationkid

Mi Sha looks like he could destroy everyone without blinking, but they all have their strengths. That’s what’s making me nervous/excited to see who’ll actually make it through. My gut says he’ll get the 5-star first, though. Something about him just feels inevitable.

*

The persistent alarm ringtone sounding from his communicator shattered the tranquility of his bedroom in a manner that promised a spectacularly busy day. Mi Sha stretched with a groan of reluctance—gone were the days of waking up whenever he felt like it. As he stared dazedly at the canopy above his bed, he slowly recalled the events of yesterday: being kidnapped and roped into participating in his own idol survival show, receiving the seasons first 5 stars rating, and now rooming with three people he has only just met.

He rubbed his eyes, wondering if he’d dreamt the absurdity, but the quiet noise of the others moving outside his closed bedroom door told him otherwise. Pulling himself out of bed, Mi Sha quickly dressed in something serviceable, a practical and boring black tee over black jeans with the white silk bomber jacket as the only new addition to be added. 

When he finally stumbled out of his room he nearly did a double take. Rozier was seated at the round table on the balcony just outside the common area, sipping tea with such ease and elegance that Mi Sha almost believed he was witnessing a performance rather than a morning ritual.

A porcelain tea set, complete with delicate tea leaves in a separate bowl, sat meticulously arranged in front of Rozier, who was already immaculately dressed in an outfit that looked both effortless and like it had been curated by a professional stylist. Mi Sha watched as Rozier’s fingers danced gracefully over the teapot, pouring a steady, delicate stream into his cup.

“Morning,” Mi Sha greeted, voice rough with sleep. 

Rozier glanced up, then raised an eyebrow in a way that Mi Sha was beginning to think was his signature expression. “You're up late.”

“Yeah. And you’re up early.” Mi Sha tried not to make it sound too much like an accusation.

Rozier quirked his thin lips in a half-smile with all the superiority of someone who’d been awake for hours. “I believe in starting my day with calm and reflection. Tea is essential.”

Mi Sha nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral, but he couldn’t help but remember how each of Rozier’s suitcases had been gently stacked by the footmen last night, their porcelain masked faces hiding any judgment that might have been there. Now he had an inkling why Rozier had packed half a household. He glanced at the tea leaves, the porcelain, and Rozier’s pristine outfit and thought, this guy could turn a survival game into an afternoon tea party. Rozier wasn’t just particular—he was practically living in his own little kingdom. 

With a parting nod, Mi Sha ducked into the bathroom, hoping a splash of water would shake off the haze of sleep that still clung stubbornly to him. It spoke to how peaceful his life had become in the past five years that he wasn't alert at a moment's notice. 

Truly, he had become quite degraded. Human habit was a frightening thing indeed.

But his self-deprecating musings came to a halt as soon as he opened the door. Phoenix and Aimé were already there, each monopolizing a corner of the vast marble counter.

Phoenix stood by the mirror, glossy dark blonde hair falling just above his shoulders, focused on spritzing cologne like he was preparing to attend some fancy event. The sharp scent wafted through the room, its notes smoky and unmistakably dark, making Mi Sha’s usual lack of perfume feel like an oversight. 

Next to him, Aimé dabbed moisturizer along his cheekbones, his face shining with what looked like pure radiance under the bathroom lights. Those natural blue-black curls, framed his face in an artful mess, as if he’d woken up like that. Which, Mi Sha knew, was impossible.

Phoenix gave him a brief nod through the mirror’s reflection. “Good morning.”

Aimé’s smile was softer, still very much shy. “Did you sleep okay?” He finished applying his moisturizer, patting his face gently with practiced care.

“Uh, yeah.” Mi Sha scratched his neck, suddenly conscious of his own reflection staring back at him, distinctly less polished than either of his roommates. He’d thought everyone would be sleepily stumbling to breakfast, not… preparing for a photo-op. But then again, it made sense, they were idols-in-making and this place was literally swarming with hummingbird drones capturing their every move.

While they primped, Mi Sha quickly brushed his teeth, washed his face, and swiped a hand through his hair, considering himself presentable enough. But looking over at Phoenix, whose glossy locks were as lethal as his cologne, and Aimé, who glowed like he had his own spotlight, he wondered privately if maybe he was the outlier here. Maybe he should start carrying his idol baggage more seriously as well? 

Moments later, they made their way down the staircase to the dining hall, an airy space with tall glass windows and a sumptuous spread that looked more like a five-star brunch buffet than the take-out meals Mi Sha was used to. The long tables gleamed with dishes, from plates of fresh fruit and steaming pastries to waffles piled high with whipped cream. 

Phoenix’s eyes lit up as they took in the spread, and even Rozier’s usual stony gaze softened at the sight of eggs benedict and smoked salmon. 

Mi Sha’s stomach rumbled, and he scanned the hall for a good place to start his morning feast. Before he could decide, a figure hovering near the dessert table caught his eye. June Kim, the waifish, doll-like contestant with the deep bass growl who’d barely said a word last night when not rapping, was staring at a tray of delicate pastries with a strange mix of longing and indecision.

“Going for dessert first?” Mi Sha asked, making his way over.

June jumped, caught off guard, and his cheeks flushed. When combined with those startled amber eyes and his pale pink hair, Mi Sha was suddenly reminded of a timid bunny—albeit a large one at his height of 188 cm that was even 4 cm taller than his own. “Uh, well, I… haven’t decided. They just look so... I mean, they’re really fancy, don’t you think?”

Mi Sha smiled. “Fancy’s one way to put it. They look pretty edible to me.”

June blinked, then smiled back tentatively. “True. It’s just… I don’t usually have stuff like this. And… I dunno what to choose first?”

Mi Sha tilted his head thoughtfully, taking in the array of pastries—muffins with golden tops, tarts dusted in powdered sugar, and what he could only describe as small, edible works of art. “If you can't choose, why not try a little bit of everything. It's free food.”

June glanced around, clearly unconvinced, but took a deep breath and reached for a tart. Mi Sha gave him an encouraging nod, then added one to his own plate.

As he went off to join the others at their table, he noticed Rozier was already seated, napkin on his lap, cutting up his smoked salmon breakfast toast with fork and knife in his usual refined way, completely unfazed by the bustling breakfast energy around him. After witnessing Rozier’s posh ways, it was no longer surprising whatever he did now. Mi Sha shook his head in mild befuddlement, but Rozier didn’t seem to notice.

The other contestants gradually filled up the many round tables in the hall, and Mi Sha found himself surrounded by the mix of personalities he was still figuring out. Rozier, taking small but quick meticulous bites with a silver fork; Phoenix, who tucked into his vegetarian breakfast after flashing a mild smile his way; Aimé, buttering his croissant with a serious focus, a glass of organic milk by his hand, thick curled lashes casting shadows on the tops of his cheekbones; and now June, who was trying not to look guilty about his second pastry at a separate table nearby.

Midway through breakfast, a disembodied yet familiar voice echoed through the dining hall. The Baroness’ shrill tones practically oozed enthusiasm, breaking into a cheerful announcement. 

“Good morning, little stars! I hope you’re well-rested, because today’s your first big challenge! But first…” A dramatic pause. “You’ll get to meet the Starbound Express theme song for this season—‘Incandescent Soul’! You’ll hear it every day, every night, and maybe in your dreams! Kekeke~”

Several virtual screens flickered to life near the contestants, and the catchy beat of the theme song began to pulse through the room. It was an electric tune with an infectious rhythm, perfect for setting the tone of the show. The lyrics were bold, celebrating the ambition, passion, and unbridled chaos of the competition.

When the song ended, the Baroness’ voice returned, this time with an edge of glee. “All of you will be learning the special choreography set to this theme. After three days, we’ll be filming it for the season’s official opening montage!” Then her tone took a turn, becoming deeper, almost a conspiratorial whisper, “But before that, we must not forget the very important official ratings. Will you rise or will you fall, my little stars?”

Mi Sha looked around, his eyebrows raised. Aimé no longer seemed to be able to eat another bite of croissant, while Phoenix furrowed his eyes, muttering, “Choreography? I'm not much of a dancer.”

Rozier looked up, dark stormy eyes trained on him in subtle provocation. “Afraid of a little dancing?”

Phoenix’s gaze hardened slightly, but noticing a nearby hummingbird drone he replied lightly. “If that’s all it takes to win over the audience, Rozier, then yes, I’m absolutely terrified.”

Rozier let out a noncommittal hum, thin lips twisting sardonically.

Mi Sha raised an inky eyebrow, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Well then, better get an early start on the training, right?” 

A collective murmur of agreement passed around the table as the screens flickered out, leaving the theme song’s catchy beat reverberating in their minds. 

*

As everyone knows, in large-scale idol survival shows, there is usually a group performance involving all or most of the contestants. It's not only the first official appearance of the contestants to the public, but also a major opportunity for contestants who failed the initial rating stage to earn a chance to advance, making it easier for them to be noticed by the audience. 

Everyone was giving it their all for this moment.

The ballroom echoed with the murmurs and steps of the contestants as they filed in after breakfast, some fiddling with their communicator which they’d been allowed to keep, listening to the main theme song recorded on it. “Incandescent Souls” was a high-energy track, layered with rhythmic basslines and syncopated claps, pulsing with a sense of grandiosity, like something made to capture both the thrill of stardom and the cutthroat competition they’d signed up for. 

In fact, the initial rating evaluation has its own nuances, which the contestants have more or less researched before the competition.

Apart from the over-the-top dramatic storylines like "a contestant who fails the initial rating and receives a one-star, leading all the one-stars to rise and challenge th five-stars," or "a dark horse who surprises everyone and snatches a spot among the five-stars," the five-star players generally fall into three categories—those with exceptional dance skills who aren't tone-deaf, those with outstanding singing ability and those with a unique asset that set them apart such as rapping or songwriting skills.

Most of the strong contestants who lack dancing ability, but are destined to be lead vocalists, are given four-stars. Likewise, those with excellent stage presence and performance abilities but possessed only passable vocal and dance ability were also put in this category.

Mi Sha stood among the contestants, watching the young men around him. Phoenix stood next to him while Rozier and Aimé also lingered near. Mi Sha could see the familiar bright golden head of Renato chatting with the contestants surrounding him as cheerful as ever, while June was by himself off to one side, quietly tapping his fingers against his leg as he tried to internalize the rhythm.

At precisely 7:00 a.m., the grand double doors swung open, and in glided the two judges they’d briefly seen yesterday. The woman moved with the grace of a butterfly, her pink gown fluttering around her like rosy wings. Her porcelain mask gleamed under the ballroom lights, and those sapphire-encrusted eyes seemed to glint with a cold, measured intensity. Beside her, the gentleman in a plum pinstripe suit tapped his crystal-knobbed cane against the marble floor, the painted mustache on his mask giving him a whimsical but stern appearance. They stopped in front of the crowd, regarding each contestant with an air of detached curiosity.

“You may call me Lady,” the woman’s voice emerged like a delicate, high chime. She fluttered her ostrich-feather fan as if each of them had been graced by her mere presence. “I will be your vocal mentor, ensuring that each of you produces nothing less than art.”

“And I am Monsieur or Sir to you all,” the man in plum added, his voice a smooth baritone with a distinct snap. “I will guide you all in dance. I suggest you give it everything you have—because we will be watching every detail.”

With a flick of her fan, the Lady gestured towards a towering virtual screen that shimmered into existence behind her, displaying the lyrics, moves, and expressions expected for the show’s theme song. The screen pulsed along with the beat, and as the music picked up, a hologram appeared, performing the choreography in perfect synchronicity with the lyrics.

Mi Sha tilted his head as he studied the moves, memorizing the rhythm with an efficiency that came from years of surviving high-stakes challenges. Next to him, he could hear Phoenix muttering under his breath as he attempted the steps with clumsy jerks, his brows furrowing tighter with each misstep.

"Now," the Monsieur clapped his hands. "Split into your respective groups and head to the practice rooms in the west wing of the second floor. We will be by shortly to make the rounds. Five-star contestants—let's see if you live up to your rating. Four-stars, consider this your chance to rise. The rest of you, show us something surprising."

Without another word, Mi Sha joined Rozier and Phoenix, moving toward the door that would lead them up the grand staircase. Aimé shot them an uncertain smile as he branched off to the room for four-stars. In truth, Aimé should have gotten a higher rating but unfortunately he made an error due to nerves and the judges gleefully slapped four-stars on him instead. Mi Sha offered him a brief nod in response, just enough to encourage him before they parted.

The practice rooms for the five-stars was a polished, high-ceilinged space with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and warm lighting that spilled over the polished wood floor. Music filled the room as soon as they entered, invisible speakers embedded seamlessly in the walls pulsing with the beat of the theme song. Mi Sha took up position in one corner of the room, Rozier and Phoenix moving beside him as they spread out to practice. There was plenty of room as there were only 17 five-stars in total.

The choreography wasn’t particularly difficult—at least, not for someone who’d spent years analyzing the movements of enemies in a life-or-death setting. Mi Sha mirrored the hologram’s movements with a focus so intense that the beat seemed to sync with his heartbeat, each move flowing seamlessly to the next. He twisted, leapt, and shifted his weight, each step precise.

Rozier was quick to pick up the movements too, his background in ballroom training easily helping him translate the movements of the choreography. However his movements, though elegant, lacked the sharpness of the jazz style, something that came naturally to Mi Sha, who’d trained himself to move with lethal efficiency. Phoenix, however, was another matter entirely.

Phoenix exhaled sharply after his third stumble, running a hand through his hair in frustration and dislodging the half-ponytail it was in. His expression exasperated, his lips pulling into a thin line as he eyed the screen. “I feel and look like a rusty and defective automaton.”

Mi Sha paused, taking note of Phoenix’s frustration. It wasn’t just a matter of understanding the steps—Phoenix was tense, his movements rigid and aggressive, more suited for a fight than the rhythmic fluidity required here.

“Phoenix,” Mi Sha said quietly, approaching him. “You’re treating the steps like an attack. Relax your shoulders; think of it like water. Flow with the music instead of fighting it.”

Violet eyes peered back at him in skepticism but after a moment’s hesitation, he rolled his shoulders and gave it another try. This time, his movements were smoother, less sharp-edged, but he still struggled with the rhythm.

“Better,” Mi Sha encouraged, moving beside him and guiding him through the steps one by one. “Focus on breathing with the beat—it’s like syncing with someone’s pulse.”

It took a few tries, but eventually, Phoenix found a rhythm, his previous frustration melting into something closer to concentration. Mi Sha stepped back, watching as Phoenix finally fell into sync with the music.

Just as Phoenix managed a full run-through of the choreography without stumbling, a finger suddenly tapped Mi Sha on the shoulder. Mi Sha followed it to its owner, a four-star contestant with a head of tousled honey blonde hair and an infectious grin.

Renato.

“Mind if I crash?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with eager charm.

Rozier's dark gray eyes swept over in displeasure, but Mi Sha nodded.

“Not at all,” he replied, moving to restart the music. As Renato took his place beside them, Mi Sha noticed that he carried himself with an easy grace. Each step, however, was marred by a slight hesitation, like someone half-forgetting the moves as he performed them.

Mi Sha stepped closer to him. “You’re hesitating between moves,” he noted. “If you’re second-guessing, you’ll throw yourself off balance.”

Renato glanced at him with a smirk. “Not everyone’s a born machine, Mi Sha,” he teased, his tone one of good natured humor. “But since you’ve obviously got it down—think you could give me a few pointers?”

The request, even laced with a coquettish wheedle, was an admission of sorts—a small allowance of vulnerability. Mi Sha regarded him with surprise before offering a nod.

“It’s all about breaking down the rhythm,” Mi Sha explained. “Watch.” He demonstrated the first few steps, pausing between them to show Renato how each move connected. “Focus on the connections. Treat each motion like a pathway to the next, not an isolated step.”

Renato tried again, this time following Mi Sha’s lead. Slowly, the hesitation began to fade, his steps becoming smoother as he adapted to the flow of the routine. Mi Sha fell into step beside him, guiding him through the trickier parts, and within minutes, Renato was moving with a newfound confidence.

“Better,” Mi Sha commented once Renato completed a run-through without stumbling. “Now just keep at it until it feels natural.”

Renato gave him a low whistle of appreciation. “I owe you one. Guess I underestimated the difficulty of all this.” He shot Mi Sha a sidelong glance, his expression curious. “How did you learn to move like that? Did you have formal training?”

Mi Sha’s gaze flickered but it was too fast to notice. “Not really? I'm more of a boxing and close combat kind of guy.”

There was a beat of silence, and Renato’s smile widened, “That's so cool! I bet you would be the type to do all the stunts yourselves if you were to act in an action movie, huh?”

But before Mi Sha could reply, Rozier clapped his hands.

“If you're quite finished with the bonding, gentlemen,” Rozier drawled, his tone cool and indifferent, though the annoyance was unmistakable. “Can we perhaps get back to practicing in peace?”

Renato flashed him a sticky sweet smile, “The last time I've become jealous about a friend being stolen by another was back in kindergarten.”

Rozier's eyes narrowed, the dark gray becoming slivers of slate.

Mi Sha looked at Phoenix, not understanding what was happening. At the other's shrug, Mi Sha decidedly wrote it off as those two possessing clashing magnetic fields.

As the music started up again, they all fell into formation, each of them finding their place within the rhythm. Phoenix’s movements grew sharper, his confidence restored, clearly a fast learner. Renato matched Mi Sha’s pace, his natural charisma now shining through with each step. Rozier, as usual, added a touch of flair, his movements more theatrical than practical.

By the end of the hour, they were all drenched in sweat, but the routine had become second nature to them. It was only then that the Lady and the Monsieur made their rounds back to the five-stars group, watching the contestants practice from their place by the door.

The Lady clapped her gloved hands delicately. “Impressive, five-stars. Perhaps there’s hope for you all yet.”

The Monsieur simply nodded in approval, his fingers tracing the crystal knob of his cane in an inscrutable manner. “I see some of you have chosen to focus on the dance first. If there are any questions you may step over one at a time, likewise for vocal related questions. On a side note, I ask the interloper to kindly return back to where he came from.”

Putting on an expression of playful chagrin, Renato glanced at Mi Sha, that seraphic smile of his increasing in another degree of sweetness. “Thanks for the help back there. You’re full of surprises, Misha. See you around?”

Noticing the different pronunciation of his name, Mi Sha raised an eyebrow but only nodded in reply, giving him a slight smile. He was not the only surprising one here. He knew all too well that surprises were part of the game—especially when the stakes were this high.

[xuanzhi]

Chapter 2: Initial Ratings & Roommates

As Mi Sha walked back to his seat, it was to be met with loud claps that rippled through the waiting area, accompanied by scattered nods and a few handshakes from nearby contestants. He accepted them with a casual, almost indifferent smile, but his mind was still back on the novel experience of being observed like a specimen by the NPC judges lounging on their baroque chaises looking like very harmonious setpieces on the stage he’d just left. In such a place designed to intimidate and dazzle in equal measure, adorned with gleaming chandeliers and faceless judges, contestants must exercise a strong mental fortitude to remain unshaken.

Once he settled, he noticed the seat to his left had been taken. The young man there had an easy smile, a gentle confidence with all the sharp edges polished in such a way that came from lived experiences. His hair, a dark, glossy blonde tied back in a half ponytail, with loose strands that fell around his face to brush the tops of his shoulders, shadowing a pair of stunning, violet eyes. 

“Phoenix Black,” the young man introduced himself, holding out a hand in quiet friendliness. Mi Sha clasped it, his mind already wandering through a set of facts and speculations, as was his habit with each new face. 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.

“Phoenix Black,” Mi Sha repeated, leaning back in his seat as the name rolled off his tongue, evoking the smoky stage lights of underground venues. “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 career over the years. “Nothing like this, though. Just small stuff, you know, local stages. Makes you wonder if it all adds up to anything.”

“Depends on how you measure,” Mi Sha replied, glancing away as other contestants quietly murmured and shifted around them. The lights of the virtual screens projected their names and stats in faint holograms over their heads. “Three-no” contestants like Phoenix—no storyline, no friendship arc, no dramatic struggle—were common to idol survivor shows but barely received the camera time to become memorable. Contestants like him would get lost among the hundreds of faces on screen, no matter how remarkable they might be off-camera. Just like in movies and stories, a fleshed out character was always more memorable and attractive.

As Mi Sha considered Phoenix’s prospects, a familiar 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 was not as guilty as the rest despite his intent. 

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 the 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 contestants 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 show, and to remind both audiences and contestants alike that nothing would go as planned. 

“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.

“That, and a little more,” Mi Sha replied, giving him a faint smile. “After all, even a gamble needs stakes.” He did not elaborate more as they were all under “surveillance”.

But there was no need as Phoenix returned a knowing nod, understanding the meaning implied behind Mi Sha’s words. Just then, the murmurs in the room grew hushed as the next contestant’s name was called: Renato Leonetti.

Mi Sha glanced over, spotting the young man across the room—Renato, with his artlessly disheveled honey tresses, bronzed skin, and an unmissable seraphic smile. An undeniable “golden boy” with a face that practically glowed with youthful charm, he was the picture-perfect idol who’d easily catch the cameras and captivate audiences, even without trying. And yet, Mi Sha noted, Renato didn’t lean into his charms the way others might. There was a naturalness to him, an unguarded warmth that seemed unscripted. 

“He was quite the household name as a child only to disappear from the public for a few years. Until now that is,” Phoenix murmured, crossing his arms and watching as Renato took the stage on the virtual screen.

The virtual feed displayed Renato’s calm, self-assured stance before the Baroness and her equally colorful friends. But in an unexpected twist, instead of delivering a cheerful or light-hearted performance that matched his image, Renato went straight into a darker monologue from one of the best-known historical films. The scene was that of a tortured antagonist, twisted by betrayal, vacillating between hatred, tenderness, rage and sorrow. 

The transformation was startling. Renato’s warm, carefree demeanor melted away, replaced by a chilling intensity, a darkness that had been lying in wait beneath his bright exterior. His voice quivered with a raw vulnerability that edged into a madness that resonated through the screen. The pitch and cadence of it perfectly reflected his character's anguished, slightly mad state, emphasizing his strong line delivery skills. Of course, that was not even mentioning the emotive expressions that easily drew the audience in—one could imagine just how captivating he would be when magnified many times over on the big screen.

When he finished, the silence in the waiting area was thick, charged with something close to awe. The Baroness’s gloved hands clapped together slowly, each echo deliberate and approving. That red-painted smile seemed ever more sinister in her pleasure.

Mi Sha raised an eyebrow. “Interesting choice,” he murmured, though his gaze sharpened on Renato, who now returned to the waiting area amidst enthusiastic applause. As the young actor sat back down, he resumed his sunny, approachable persona, the stark contrast only adding to his allure.

“Surprising, isn’t he?” Phoenix remarked, glancing back at Mi Sha. “Didn’t expect that from him. I don't think he'd ever played a villain role before.”

“A clever tactic,” Mi Sha noted. “It not only rebels against previous type-casting but also grabs attention. He knows how to make himself memorable.”

“Guess we’re all trying to be memorable here,” Phoenix replied with a dry chuckle.

Mi Sha nodded but continued to watch Renato. He could already sense the audience’s reaction—the way they’d be captivated by this golden boy with a hidden edge. A fan-favorite, Mi Sha thought. Renato had struck a balance few contestants managed, embodying both light and darkness in a way that was both calculated and genuine. It was an asset, something to set him apart from the more predictable contestants.

But there was something else—a flicker of doubt, a curiosity that lingered. Was the “golden boy” image genuine, or had Renato sculpted it to serve his purposes? The only real certainty was that Renato knew how to play to the crowd. A valuable skill, one Mi Sha respected, though he wondered just how deep the artifice went.

“Do you think he’s genuine?” Mi Sha mused aloud, though it was more a question for himself than for Phoenix.

Phoenix considered it, glancing across the room at Renato. “Hard to say. He’s good at playing the part, but sometimes, the real person slips through in moments like that.”

Mi Sha filed the thought away, intrigued but not wholly convinced. There was something contradictory about Renato, genuine yet almost theatrical, something that could be interpreted as a carefully managed image or not. In many ways, he reminded Mi Sha of himself—a player through and through, someone who could adapt to what the situation demanded while also keeping loyal to his true self.

As the following contestants took their turns on stage, Mi Sha’s thoughts began to drift back to Renato’s performance, then to Phoenix, and finally to the setup of Starbound Express itself. A carnival of illusions, where each contestant fought to stand out under the dazzling spotlight. A high-stakes gamble, where appearance, charisma, sheer talent and will determine who rose and who fell.

But Mi Sha didn’t believe in leaving the journey up to chance. No, it was in the careful unraveling of stories, in knowing which masks to slip or hold on, that he found the challenge. Of course he knew that this wasn’t merely a competition but a stage, each contestant a player moving to their chosen script. 

“Here’s to being memorable,” he said softly, his hand drifting habitually to his pocket where his cosmos cube rested, a silent companion amid the extravagance. Its shimmering facets reflected tiny constellations across his palm when he held it under the room’s opulent chandeliers. It might not speak, but Mi Sha knew it was watching him. And then, in a quieter voice, as he watched the contestants on-screen who displayed varying expressions from nervous anticipation to fierce determination, he added, “But sometimes, real magic happens when we go off-script.”

*

As the last contestant stepped back with his white silk bomber jacket in hand, it signaled the end of the individual evaluations. A collective sigh filled the room from the remaining contestants, followed by an undercurrent of murmurs about the ratings. While the initial ratings were not as important as the official ratings to take place three days from now, it was still fairly helpful in attracting the gazes of the audience in the early episodes. Mi Sha, seated at a back corner, kept his gaze firmly trained on the spot where June Kim had just stood. 

June’s distinctive bass voice had snapped Mi Sha out of his autopilot haze. With each beat of his rap, June had pulled him further from his mental drift, as if the words alone had a gravitational pull. Mi Sha’s eyes narrowed slightly as he appraised June from across the room. The boy looked like he’d stepped out of a high-end dollhouse—delicate features framed by a soft cascade of pale pink hair, faintly wavy, giving him a touch of whimsy. Yet, beneath that innocent surface, hid an unexpectedly commanding aura, something that his assistant director had clearly taken note of. Mi Sha filed it away; he could see why she’d chosen him, and why she might place him as an early frontrunner.

Somewhere to his left, someone sighed in admiration and envy, murmuring, “Did you see the control he had? Those lines...he owned the stage.” Many such comments could be heard around him, some genuine, some not. It was understandable as reactions were always a traditional part of idol survival shows. While he disdained malicious editing to gain audience attention in a bid for novelty, nevertheless, that did not mean the production team would not include slip-ups or unflattering sides to the contestants in the episode releases. It was up to the contestants to restrain themselves and prevent this from happening. 

Such was the price for living under the spotlight.

The voice of the butleress echoed through the ballroom: “All contestants, please gather at the front of the ballroom to prepare for the next segment.” 

A hush fell as everyone made their way to the judges—the Baroness and her illustrious, faceless entourage—and waited for the closing speech from the Baroness. Her crimson gown swept the floor, every inch adorned with sequins that shimmered like the embers of a burning rose. The painted red lips on her porcelain mask was curled as ever in a wicked smile as she “looked” down on the gathered contestants. Standing up, she stood at a towering height of more than two meters. Behind her, her entourage of colorful friends, like a flock of exotic birds—men and women of equally extravagant dress and stature, each carrying some kind of peculiar prop: a white ostrich feather fan, a lorgnette encrusted in rubies, a cane that ended in a crystal orb. They posed gracefully against the chaise lounges they had just been sitting on, a court of flamboyant caricature judges ready to pass judgment.

“Kekeke, our little stars,” the Baroness cooed, unfolding her lace fan with a flourish. Her voice echoed through the ballroom, darkly teasing. “You’ve shown us what you can do, though I can’t say all of you were quite as... memorable as others.”

Her words hung in the air, laced with a promise and a threat. Mi Sha found her cadence, her way of dangling compliments just out of reach like jewels before a magpie, oddly close and dear. It was something he had a habit of doing as a director, if he did say so himself. Which was not surprising, as he did have a hand in the creation of the various NPCs on this show.

The Baroness continued after a theatrical pause. “Our little stars, this evening’s display was merely a taste of what lies ahead. Only the brightest among you will earn a place in the constellation of idols.”

Her words were a strange mix of poetic and chilling, and Mi Sha could feel the weight of her sightless gaze on them. He could almost hear Sloane and the rest of the production team laughing somewhere off-set, already relishing in the tangled web of rivalries being woven like a spider web.

The Baroness snapped her fan shut, having said what she intended. “Now I shall leave the rest to the butleress, so rest well, my stars. Tomorrow, your journey truly begins.” She waved her hand with a flourish, and the ornate doors of the ballroom creaked open to allow the Baroness and her cohort to sweep out in a cloud of silk, gems and perfume, leaving only a lingering, almost tangible sense of intrigue in their wake. It was nearly midnight, and the contestants all seemed to breathe collectively in a single moment of relief and fatigue.

As they filed out, Mi Sha fiddled absentmindedly with the cosmos cube in his hand. It felt warm against his skin, almost like it possessed a heartbeat, pulsing steady and blood-warm. He was here now, no longer behind the scenes but out in the spotlight. If this was its goal, then Mi Sha had to admit—he was enjoying himself. 

At the front of the ballroom, the poised butleress took center stage once again. Her steps were measured, her presence no less imposing than the Baroness as she surveyed the contestants with a professional detachment. Mi Sha stood leaning back against a frescoed wall, letting his mind drift slightly. He suspected what might come next—it was all part of the game. Self-selection for roommates was as much a test of alliances and rivalries as it was a practicality.

"Contestants," the butleress’s voice rang out, smooth yet firm, pulling everyone’s attention to her, "it is now time to divide guest suites. Each suite will accommodate four people. Suite groups will be self-selected, though there are a few guidelines."

At that, a slight murmur rose among the contestants, though Mi Sha noted a few pairs of eyes darting toward familiar faces, calculating potential roommate alliances with the intensity of strategists on a battlefield.

"The rules are as follows," the butleress continued, her expression unyielding. "Contestants from the same talent agency may not share a suite. This is non-negotiable, except under special circumstances with prior approval. Furthermore, once suite assignments are set, no unauthorized room changes will be allowed."

That last line seemed to carry a hint of finality that hung heavy in the air. Mi Sha couldn’t help but smile inwardly. A rule like that would definitely keep things interesting. It wasn’t uncommon for alliances to form and dissolve like soap bubbles in these survival shows, and forced proximity had a funny way of either cementing or crumbling new bonds.

"As soon as you’ve chosen your group of four," the butleress instructed, "please proceed to the nearest lady-in-waiting. They will assist with locating your luggage and escorting you to your guest suite."

The room fell silent, but only for a split second. Then the low murmur returned, now much louder, as contestants leaned toward each other, casting side glances, tentative smiles, and subtle nods. It was like the first stirrings of a ballroom dance, with everyone trying to pick the perfect partner before the music started. Ironic, as they were indeed currently standing in a ballroom. Mi Sha glanced around, taking in the lively scene as if he were watching from the other side of a screen.

While for most contestants, pulling a few passing people into a group was relatively easy, few actually chose to make such a hasty decision. Many eyes roved across the crowd, and Mi Sha could see a few contestants with striking appearances or high ratings surrounded by clusters of contestants.

Everyone was busy searching for roommates, so much so that many momentarily forgot the “hummingbirds” darting over their heads and weaving about the room. Clearly recording all the going-ons occurring. He could just imagine that after this segment aired, fan circles for each contestant—still in their formative stages—battling it out online. Various interpretations and analyses springing up, with netizens scrutinizing each frame and dissecting screenshots. This has always been a notorious highlight reel in idol survival show history, an enthusiastically discussed moment that saw high numbers of comments and discussion on the forums. Starbound Express was of course no exception to this cliche but effective audience favorite.

As the saying goes, all for the sake of amusement, of course.

Despite the ripple of anxious energy around him, Mi Sha remained unfazed. He hadn’t come with anyone, so he didn’t have any agency mates to dodge or obligations to fulfill. He leaned back slightly against the wall, nimble fingers dancing over his cosmos cube as he watched the contestants cluster together, some in whispers, others in cheerful, if guarded, exchanges.

From beside him, Phoenix nudged him with an easy grin. “Seems like we’re in the same boat, huh? How about it, Mi Sha—want to be roommates?”

Mi Sha glanced at him, raising a brow. Phoenix’s relaxed demeanor was contagious, and the idea of rooming with someone who seemed unfazed by the competitive atmosphere had its appeal. “I could think of worse company,” Mi Sha replied, matching Phoenix’s grin. “Consider me in.”

As they shook on it, the soft rustle of clothes from the side alerted Mi Sha to someone else’s approach. He turned to see Aimé, face tinged with a faint pink hue, a hand raised to ruffle raven black curls that appeared bluish in the right light, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Um, excuse me,” Aimé stammered, eyes shifting from Mi Sha to Phoenix and back. “I—well, I was wondering if… if I could join you both?”

There was a gentle, almost shy quality to Aimé that contrasted sharply with the confident energy around them, like a delicate flower blooming in the shade of a thunderstorm. Mi Sha studied him for a moment, noting the apprehensive glint in Aimé’s gaze. The boy looked like he expected rejection, though he was doing his best to mask it.

Mi Sha exchanged a quick look with Phoenix, who shrugged, flashing Aimé a friendly smile. “The more, the merrier, right?”

A spark of relief crossed Aimé’s face as he nodded quickly, stepping closer to them. That made three, leaving only one spot left. Mi Sha glanced around, mentally weighing their options. Plenty of contestants seemed to have already settled into groups, and he had no intention of inviting anyone overly volatile. They needed someone who wouldn’t disrupt the flow, yet someone with a touch of personality wouldn’t be unwelcome either.

Just as he was scanning the crowd, a smooth, self-assured voice broke through his thoughts. “Then do you mind if I also join in?”

The words were posed as a question, but the tone had a definite note of certainty, almost as if the speaker had already made the decision for them. Mi Sha turned to see Rozier standing there, one hand extended in greeting, a polite, upper crust smile fixed on his lips. His custom-made diamond encrusted holocom glinted under the chandelier’s light, throwing tiny reflections that sparkled brighter than the actual night stars glinting outside the floor to ceiling windows.

Rozier was the picture of someone entirely at home amid the opulence, his body language relaxed, assured, as though this place had been crafted just for him. Where many contestants had looked awestruck upon setting eyes on the splendor of the Garden of Joy, Rozier looked entirely in his element, taking in his surroundings as if he were the center of this grand performance.

Mi Sha eyed him thoughtfully, taking in Rozier’s calculated nonchalance and the faint edge of coolness in his smile. Though the young man seemed perfectly courteous, those dark gray eyes were like a stormy sky shrouded in dense fog—its intensity barely dulled by the refined frames he wore. Even the polite façade couldn’t conceal the sharpness lurking beneath.

A troublesome fellow, proud and egocentric with a harshness that belies the refined mask he wore.

But Mi Sha was not one to back down from power struggles. As a director, he had met one too many self-absorbed and narcissistic actors but there was never a question of who was the one to call the shots. So including Rozier would only add a layer of intrigue to their suite dynamic, a puzzle piece that might keep things interesting without tipping over into chaos. With a nod, he extended his hand, meeting Rozier’s firm handshake.

“Welcome then,” Mi Sha said, his tone light.

Rozier pushed the gold rimmed spectacles up his nose, inclining his head in a restrained elegance. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

With their quartet assembled, Mi Sha gestured toward the grand foyer where the staff awaited, ready to escort contestants to their guest suites. Phoenix and Aimé followed, with Rozier trailing just behind.

The lady-in-waiting they approached held a list, her gaze efficient as she checked off their names and directed two footmen to retrieve their luggage. They were led up the grand staircase, past tall windows where moonlight spilled over the carpeted floors like silver paint, casting an ethereal glow on the opulent surroundings.

The guest suites were in the east wing of the manor, the long hallway of doors decked in gilded frames and shimmering velvet drapes. The heavy door opened onto a lavish but cozy common area where plush sofas and low tables stood in front of a wide, ornate fireplace. The space was meticulously arranged, each detail crafted with painstaking care, from the polished woodwork to the intricate patterns woven into the rug underfoot. But it had to be noted that the color theme of the room was done up solely in tones of emerald green and ivory.

The lady-in-waiting assigned to their suite curtsied and spoke with impeccable diction that suggested years of service. “Guests, welcome to the Calla Lily Suite. Your luggage will be delivered shortly. In the meantime, feel free to make yourselves comfortable.”

Phoenix, curious, began to explore the suite by opening the two doors on the left, both leading to individual bedrooms furnished with a four poster bed, nightstands and a wardrobe. Aimé also turned the knobs of the three doors on the right, both bedrooms but for the far right room opening to a spacious bathroom that was a swanky mix of modern and vintage complete with gold taps and plush monogrammed towels.

Phoenix whistled lowly, clearly impressed at their new dwelling for the next few months while filming. 

Rozier's lips quirked up faintly in a smirk, glancing around with satisfied approval at having his high standards met. “As expected of such a big IP, they certainly didn’t skimp on the luxury here.”

Aimé also relaxed against the circular plush velvet couch that was in the center of the common area, hugging a silk embroidered throw pillow to his chest, both blue and brown orbs shining with his good mood. He waved his hand in a gesture for Mi Sha to join him on the couch like an eager puppy showing off a new toy.

Phoenix glanced around at his new roommates, an amused spark lighting his gaze. “So, since we’re all going to be sharing a living area for the foreseeable future, maybe a round of introductions is in order?”

Rozier took the hint immediately, leaning back as he crossed his legs with a casual elegance. “Rozier Damião, though I think you already knew that.” He offered a slight smirk, his gold rimmed spectacles reflecting the light. “I do some modeling as a hobby. I learned ballroom dancing as a child.”

Phoenix snorted. “Hobby, huh? Well, I'm Phoenix Black, singer-songwriter. I prefer the acoustic guitar.”

Unfazed, Rozier leaned his elbows against the armrest of his chair, fingers lacing in a relaxed manner. “When one looks like me, it would be a shame to not share it with the world.”

“...” Right, a narcissist indeed.

Aimé shifted a bit, seeming to gather his thoughts before speaking. “Aimé Blanchet,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “I, um, I'm still in school, studying contemporary dance and vocal. I have also taken ballet lessons since I was young.”

Mi Sha watched him closely, noting the gentleness with which he spoke but also the glimmer of something deeper, perhaps even ambitious, beneath the surface. There was more to Aimé than the soft spoken exterior he presented, of which Mi Sha was sure.

Phoenix grinned, turning to Mi Sha. “And last but not least...”

Mi Sha shrugged with an easy smile. “Mi Sha, just here for a good time, really. I guess you could say I've dabbled in vocal, dance and drama.”

The words were simple, but he could see the spark of interest in each of their eyes. But before anyone could ask, their luggage had arrived.

[xuanzhi]

Chapter 1: Arrival & Initial Ratings

On a summer afternoon, lazy enough that it seemed perfect for an indulgent nap, Mi Sha woke up with a blink to an unexpected sight.

The velvet-lined seat beneath him wasn’t his own, nor was the snug, wood-paneled barouche clinking steadily down a winding flower meadow path anything like his mountain villa’s lounging room. The faint hum of a mechanical steed pulling the cart forward, the rhythmic pulse of artificial hooves striking stone, announced he wasn’t alone. 

Open barouches in a line flanked him, each carrying figures just visible past the collapsible hood shielding him. Laughter and excited chatter drifted across the air and easily reached Mi Sha's ears—all making up a scene that was decidedly far from his villa's high-mountain solitude.

His eyes narrowed, a mix of irritation and intrigue curling the edge of his faintly red lips. Sitting up straighter, the movement dislodged the precariously placed thick letter card embossed in ostentatious gold on his lap. A pale, long-fingered hand snapped it up before it could fall with a surprising quickness. Unreadable black eyes, like the starry night sky, flicked over the flowery script of the invitation. 

Apparently, it was an invitation to the most coveted and envied event of the entertainment industry this year—the idol survival show Starbound Express, Season 3.

Congratulations! You have received the script for this show—you’ve been assigned the role of a guest at the Garden of Joy, 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!

"Sloane," he muttered, dragging a hand through his ebony waves. Whatever this was, it had her signature—a little too ambitious, a little too audacious.

A sleek band of black chrome stood out against the paleness of his wrist: his holocom. It sprang to life under his touch, projecting a ghostly screen of virtual panels. He stabbed at Sloane’s contact and watched the call ripple out, a bright thread of blue in the otherwise golden afternoon. No answer.

With growing irritation, he tapped again. On the third attempt, a message flared across the screen in magenta text, direct as her usual tone was brisk and straightforward: "A little cube told me a change in perspective is just the thing you need, don’t you think so, Mr. Director?"

“Oh, really now?” Mi Sha’s inky brows arched as he reached into his shirt pocket. As if in response, the cube nestled in his pocket seemed to hum, nudging against his hand with a persistent, playful buzz. What he called his cosmos cube—a device as uncanny as it was omniscient, like carrying a sliver of the universe in his pocket—gleamed when he held it up to eye level. Its faces rippled, shimmering in cascades of indigo, and as he stared at it, one face shifted, stars aligning into a cheeky smile emoji.

Mi Sha sighed. “Rebelling against your owner, are you?” he scolded the cube. “And even inciting my own employees against me?”

The cube blinked back in soft, twinkling defiance, the cheeky smile melting into a fawning heart.

This was not his first time dealing with its “rebellion”. Five years since he’d returned to this world from {Absurdity Theatre}—the bizarre infinite flow game world that had plucked him from obscurity and molded him into its most ruthless Director—he had come to expect a certain level of mischief from his strange “companion.” Yet this was a new level of insubordination. Mi Sha could almost hear it giggling at a trick well played.

But then, what would you expect of a fragment of the game system that had controlled {Absurdity Theatre} and all of its players and NPCs?

“Fine,” he said finally, slipping the cube back into his pocket. “I’ll play along. For now.”

He let out a resigned sigh, turning his eyes to the road ahead. A sprawling estate rose in the distance, white marble gleaming under the light of the afternoon sun. The Garden of Joy—the newly revealed “game instance” belonging to the Fairytale District of Ukiyo, the enormous floating city they were currently on. It was also Starbound Express S3's main filming site, its aura of decadence and opulence contrasting with the Winter Village and Mystic Woods, also game instances of the Fairytale District made famous by season 1 and 2—a stage more than a setting, built for spectacle.

As the mechanical steed pulled barouche carried him closer, he caught a glimmer of drones hovering in the air, hummingbird-like machines darting gracefully among the barouches. Some contestants, already conscious of the cameras, leaned out of their seats or posed with practiced ease. Mi Sha felt the weight of curious glances thrown his way from the passengers in passing barouches. A simple sweep of his eyes revealed a few of the notable faces already catching his attention—unsurprisingly the very ones who he had had a hand in picking out among the 20,000+ applicants for the show.

Renato Leonetti—radiant even under the golden light, his large almond shaped eyes ringed by golden lashes that appeared translucent in the light and a baby face that was prone to seraphic smiles giving him 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, even with the obstacle of the wood-paneled barouche in the way, practically leaning half-way out of the cart in such a manner Mi Sha almost feared he would fall right out. 

A few feet away, the unmistakable profile of Rozier Damião, framed against the red upholstery of his barouche, lounged with all the careless grace of someone fully aware of their own allure. Known for a magnetic presence on the runway and during photoshoots 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.

In another barouche, half-hidden but unmistakable, was Phoenix Black, street musician turned indie singer, wearing an expression that Mi Sha had come to recognize during his time directing—one of quiet observation, of a man who preferred watching to speaking, though his eyes held their own power. At once world-weary yet gentle and sympathetic, those soulful violet eyes seemed to meet Mi Sha's own dark unfathomable depths before the barouche and its passenger passed him by.

Not long, the barouches halted one by one at the entrance of the estate, 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.

As Mi Sha stepped down with the vintage leather suitcase his assistant director had so kindly provided, he felt a dozen eyes on him, an unspoken hum of interest threading through the nearby contestants. He had barely crossed the threshold of the Garden of Joy, and already the balance of the place had shifted toward him—a quiet, magnetic pull as they weighed his presence, their curiosity stirred by his calm, composed demeanor that contrasted keenly against strikingly beautiful features that cut with a stiletto-sharpness, arrogantly and unrestrainedly piercing the eyes painfully at first glance. Everything about him—his long brows, his narrow, upturned eyes—seemed as unforgiving as hidden blades, leaving no room for descriptors like gentle or delicate. Yet, his aura leant more towards the quiet stillness of the night or the deep undersea—in a way gentling the aggressiveness of his physical beauty.

A gust of wind blew by, 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.

In a way, surreality was only a reflection of reality, for the human heart was just as dangerous if not more so than the countless malicious NPCs and players he had dealt with across the many game worlds.

—Wasn’t that after all, the reason he ended up in {Absurdity Theatre} five years ago?

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

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 Baroness here at the Garden of Joy, you will be expected to undergo several trials to prove your worthiness. The Baroness 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 initial ratings will begin shortly, to be called by the number on the back of your invitation. So dear guests, I wish you all an enjoyable performance—and of course an enjoyable stay at the Garden of Joy!”

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 the Garden of Joy!”

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 game worlds of {Absurdity Theatre}, only less bloody and more dazzling. 

Seeing that no one had yet to move, Mi Sha strolled forward, feeling the crowd shift around him, the weight of expectation heavy in the air. The glances, the whispers, even the subtle animosity rolling off some of the contestants as he made his way toward the entrance—all of it thrilled him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. This, he realized, was what he’d created the Starbound Express for, the thrill of unpredictable stories colliding, for dreams clashing and alliances forming in the heat of silent battles. 

Beside him, Renato looked on with veiled interest, the slow blinking of those large almond shaped eyes betraying a flicker of intrigue. Phoenix, meanwhile, tracked his movement with observant violet eyes, a hand unconsciously reaching up to tuck a long, glossy dark blonde strand of hair behind an ear in a thoughtful, absentminded gesture. And Rozier? He simply pushed up the gold rimmed spectacles on his nose, the object itself barely if at all doing its job in concealing the intensity of his dark gray eyes. Chestnut hair parted neatly to the side remained in place even as he tilted his head slightly in a prideful angle.

In that moment, Mi Sha realized that the games he’d been trying to step back from had only tightened its hold on him. The quiet hum of ambition, the thrill of rivalry—he could feel it swirling around him, luring him in.

If this was the beginning of a new chapter, he thought, perhaps it was only fitting that he let himself be swept up in it, as he once had in the game world, when he was merely a player among many, lost in the labyrinthine worlds of {Absurdity Theatre}. Only this time, this was the real world where the stage was brighter, the challenges trickier and the players… infinitely more alive and interesting.

With a last glance back at the crowd of contestants, Mi Sha smiled slightly and walked through the front doors, eager to see what being a “player” again would bring. After all, he’d built this place for the sake of capturing something extraordinary in the world of the mundane.

And perhaps, this time, he would be the one to seize it.

*

Murmurs and the shuffling of feet filled the great entryway as competitors 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, lavishly decorated ballroom—the place where initial ratings 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. A wall of virtual screens displayed a rotating array of images and short clips from each contestant’s self-introduction and audition 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 individual performances 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 Baroness 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. 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 Baroness. 

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…” The Baroness 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 familiar twinge of anticipation as the stage was set. The personalities of these NPCs had been tweaked by him, many of which he took inspiration from the game NPCs he dealt with before as both player and director. But today, he was just another contestant, and though he hadn’t chosen to be here, he couldn’t deny the slight thrill of it all.

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, the Baroness 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 the Baroness, who responded with an approving nod.

Mi Sha's eyes flicked from the judges to the virtual screens displaying each contestant’s performance in real-time. The tension in the room built steadily as each contestant awaited their rating, glancing warily at the judges. 

A hushed discussion about someone’s striking looks caught Mi Sha’s attention, drawing him from his observations. He turned, following the source, only to lock eyes with a pair of heterochromatic eyes ringed in thick curling lashes, that stared back, wide and startled. Aimé Blanchet. He seemed to realize he’d been caught staring, his cheeks suddenly flushing a faint red as he quickly averted his gaze, only to glance back at Mi Sha moments later, as if unable to resist.

There was a spark of something familiar in Aimé’s expression—admiration, curiosity, perhaps a hint of timidity. Mi Sha held his gaze just long enough to see Aimé shift uncomfortably before looking away, his lips pressed together in what seemed to be a blend of embarrassment and determination. 

Indeed, with a golden ratio face and the figure of a Michelangelo statue, standing at 192 cm, the subject of whispers exuded an aloof and closed off aura but this was clearly a defensive mechanism to protect a shy and sensitive soul who seemed easily flustered. A flower that grew up in a greenhouse. 

A slight smile tugged at Mi Sha’s lips. 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.)

Meanwhile, the individual performances 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 contestant with a shock of russet hair performed a solo piece from a well-known stage play with expressive tone and movements, his dark brown gaze focused, every word laced with emotion. Mi Sha recognized him immediately as Rory Lee Carlisle, a recent graduate of drama school majoring in theater and drama. His performance ended to murmurs of approval and faint applause from the watching crowd of contestants.

“Kekeke,” the Baroness 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.

The contestant following Rory—a slight figure with delicate features and a soft voice—performed a ballad that, while lovely, was clearly overshadowed by Rory’s preceding act. The Baroness waved her fan dismissively, turning to her companions with a sigh of faux exasperation, eliciting another round of titters and chortles from her companions.

Eventually as a clock tower somewhere on the grounds striked four times, Mi Sha’s turn finally came, his name called in a crisp, detached tone by one of the footmen dressed in sharp monochrome with silver epaulets and the perpetual faceless white porcelain mask. The contestants around him exchanged glances, a few whispering as he made his way forward, his expression calm, almost serene.

He passed by the previous contestant, an elegant young man with black hair and dark brown eyes, high cheekbones, hollowed cheeks and a sharp jawline. He was unhealthily thin for his height of 191cm and despite his imposing height he gave off a distant, almost ephemeral aura. A melancholy and troubled soul. This was yet another face that left an impression. Augustus Meng. A classical music genius proficient in the cello, violin, piano, and musical composition. He simply nodded at Mi Sha, an unspoken acknowledgment of a fellow kind, ones who hid beneath layers of elegance and control.

The Baroness 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.

“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 smoothly, his tone respectful yet challenging.

The Baroness 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.

The Baroness 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 the Baroness let out a girlish titter, followed by her approving nod. “Unexpected. 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 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.

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. Whatever expectations he had held before were now all but cemented by the subtle reactions around him. He was no longer simply the Director observing from afar, detached from the chaos of competition. 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.

[xuanzhi]

Unscripted: Neon Dreams

Pitch:

When Mi Sha, a former infinite flow survival game “Director”, is roped into competing on his own idol survival show back in the real world, he sets his sights on victory, ready to claim the center spot. What he doesn’t expect is the fierce storm of admiration and rivalry that follows him at every step. Blissfully unaware, Mi Sha raises a toast to everlasting friendship—while others battle to stand beside him at the top.

Blurb:

In the year 20XX, the world’s craving for spectacle and stardom has transformed entertainment into a dazzling machine of decadence and chaos. It's here, within the glitzy frenzy of Starbound Idol Express Season 3, that Mi Sha—the former “Director” of an otherworldly survival game known as Absurdity Theatre—finds himself reluctantly cast as a contestant. Having once climbed to the pinnacle of the realm of surreality only to return back to his own world, Mi Sha has left behind his god-like role, yet he carries with him a peculiar souvenir: a fragment of the game system that runs Absurdity Theatre but now operates as a CPU that plays cute, alleviates boredom, and has an agenda of its own—his “cosmos cube”. 

Unwilling to let Mi Sha rest on his laurels, his “cosmos cube” drags him into joining Starbound Idol Express Season 3, a high-stakes global competition on the very floating city Mi Sha created as a hub of art, innovation, and vice. Although annoyed at first, Mi Sha’s competitive spirit quickly lights up. He sets his gaze on the coveted center spot in the debut lineup, intent on experiencing the thrill of victory once again from a nostalgic angle—as a “player” rather than the omniscient “director.” In his wake, he leaves a storm of fierce, unspoken admiration, creating an unexpected battleground among rivals, all vying for a place not just in the final lineup, but at his side.

As Mi Sha’s journey unfolds, he remains blissfully unaware of the intensity he stirs in those around him, while he himself toasts innocently to “eternal friendship” with his fellow contestants. For Mi Sha, each step brings him closer to the victory he seeks, but this time, he's surrounded by friendships and rivalries that blur the lines between ambition and something deeper. In a world of glittering dreams and ruthless competition, Mi Sha might just find that winning isn’t as straightforward—or solitary—as he once thought.

Unscripted: Neon Dreams, is a whirlwind of ambition, camaraderie, and unexpected intimacy set against the brutal beauty of a glittering, futuristic idol survival show. Mi Sha’s journey from solitary strategist to friend and rival blurs the lines between competition, loyalty, and something infinitely more complex, proving that even in a world crafted for entertainment, human connections are anything but predictable.

[xuanzhi]

Ukiyo... A Floating World/A Sorrowful World

To see the world through a flower, to see the floating life through a tree.