Chapter 17

Given Shining Five’s current status and popularity, they weren’t yet qualified for high-profile variety shows with massive national viewership. After appearing on two non-face-to-face music radio programs, they finally landed their first on-camera interview show.

This interview show had been running for quite a few years in Korea and was a subsidiary program of a TV station. The MC was a senior host who’d previously anchored social news—fairly well-respected in the industry—but the show wasn’t particularly entertaining, so it had never garnered much buzz.

The agent had given them the interview outline in advance. It basically covered individual introductions of the group members, showcasing their respective skills and sharing their journey to debut, all in hopes of leaving an impression on viewers about the group Shining Five.

Since the entire show was conducted in Korean and the vocabulary used went beyond everyday conversation, Zhao Yu was pretty nervous. She spent the whole ride memorizing her prepared script.

The recording studio wasn’t large and had no live audience. After greeting the staff and the senior host one by one, the five took their seats. The female MC across from them nodded to signal the start, and recording officially began.

This was her first show since debuting, so Zhao Yu had prepared seriously. She’d even asked Kristen about common interview gags in the Korean entertainment industry and specifically studied vocabulary frequently used on talk shows.

But once recording actually started, she realized she didn’t get many chances to speak anyway.

After the self-introductions, the host rarely called on her or Lin Zhinan. Most of the conversation revolved around the three Korean members.

Before coming, she’d heard about these unspoken norms. Her Korean wasn’t fluent, and there were some words the host used that she didn’t catch. Speaking less meant fewer chances to make mistakes, so it was fine.

Kristen glanced at the two quiet members. When the host asked her a question, she smiled and steered the topic toward Zhao Yu: “Eating lots of fruit keeps your skin in great condition. For example, Yu Yu really likes tangerines, and her skin is very fair.”

The host finally turned her attention back to Zhao Yu, who was idly picking at her manicure. “Is that so? Besides eating tangerines, does Zhao Yu have any other skincare tips to share?”

Zhao Yu looked up with a smile. “No. It’s natural.”

Lin Zhinan’s hand, resting behind her back, lightly tugged at her clothes.

The female MC laughed. “Then I’m truly envious.” She paused, then asked with genuine curiosity, “But fruit is so expensive—I’ve heard that in your country, most ordinary families can’t afford it, right? I also heard that most people in your country have never eaten watermelon?”

Zhao Yu made the exact face of a baffled old person staring at their phone.

And judging by the host’s expression, she was genuinely asking.

Zhao Yu was absolutely dumbfounded.

Lin Zhinan, terrified that Zhao Yu’s temper might get the better of her and she’d say something shocking, quickly jumped in: “No, no. Watermelon is actually quite cheap in our country.”

Zhao Yu suddenly spoke up: “Perhaps—have you ever heard of the term ‘melon-eating netizens’?”

The host looked confused. “No. What’s that?”

Zhao Yu said with a completely straight face: “It means that netizens in our country do nothing all day but eat melons. From morning to night. The melon is so big you can’t finish it in one bite; there are so many melons you can’t finish them in three days and three nights. And sometimes, while eating melons, some netizens suddenly realize the melon they’re eating is actually about themselves—and it turns out the melon is from their own household.”

Host: “?”

Kristen: “?”

Lin Xiuxi: “?”

Heya: “?”

Lin Zhinan: “……………”

Holy shit, she was about to burst out laughing.

By the time the interview ended, Zhao Yu was in a pretty good mood.

Kristen quietly tried to comfort her: “We don’t have enough popularity yet. Once we’re famous enough, they won’t dare overlook us. That senior host transferred down from the TV station and has always been arrogant. Yu Yu, don’t take it to heart.”

Zhao Yu flipped her hair with a smile. “Who cares.”

For now, they didn’t have many appearances, so most of their time was still spent rehearsing.

While they were choreographing and recording, the company was also working intensively on their first custom-made full album, scheduled for release by year’s end, aiming to snatch a top spot at the New Year’s Music Festival.

For now, all their released material was on this debut EP.

Since the audience had already seen the four original tracks performed during training camp, the lead single of this EP was their first brand-new song, Missing God.

Missing God.

A song that blended sexy and cute styles in both vocals and dance.

Before the survival show even began, this single—exclusively for Shining Five—had already been produced. The composition, lyrics, and choreography were all top-notch. The agent had also told them straight up: this song was made to win awards.

A month later, Missing God went live across all platforms.

As the company had predicted, the response was excellent. Streams skyrocketed on every major platform, and it topped the daily popularity charts on release day.

A week after the single dropped, Shining Five was set to perform at the K-pop Concert—their first official stage since debut.

The K-pop Concert was the best resource the company could secure for them at this stage.

Zhao Yu had danced this song so many times it had become muscle memory.

This was their debut stage, Shining Five’s first group performance together, and their chance to prove their live singing and dancing abilities.

The five rehearsed day and night. With the immense mental pressure, it almost felt more exhausting than their training camp days.

Zhao Yu dreamed at night that she’d made it onto the K-pop Concert stage—tens of thousands of spectators, waves of cheers, blinding spotlights.

And then she tripped during the performance.

She jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat.

Even during the toughest trainee training, she’d never suffered this kind of psychological torment.

Zhao Yu lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, and suddenly remembered what Jiang Yu had said before. He’d told her: being a star isn’t that easy.

So it turned out that debuting wasn’t the end.

Debuting was only the real beginning.

…

This K-pop Concert was similar to a joint showcase—multiple singers and groups performing, with thirty thousand seats available. Zhao Yu looked it up online: because several very popular artists were in the lineup, tickets had already sold out.

Besides the live audience, the show would also be streamed live on video platforms. That meant even the tiniest mistake would be witnessed by every viewer.

The fact that the company could secure this stage for Shining Five showed how much hope they were investing in them. Their stage outfits were delivered to the dorm a day early, and after everyone tried theirs on to confirm the sizes, they were good to go.

Because fans had dubbed Zhao Yu the “waist fairy,” and the stylists knew audiences loved seeing her slim waist, her outfit this time was a silver sequined crop top.

With the slightest movement, the tassels on her chest would sway, creating an alluring, understated sensuality and line.

The night before, they didn’t rehearse anymore and went to bed early.

After breakfast the next day, the agent drove them to the venue. Then came soundcheck, makeup, styling, and waiting for their turn to go on.

As evening approached, they could faintly hear the screams of the audience from backstage.

Lin Zhinan held her water bottle and whispered, “Do you think any of our fans will be there?”

Zhao Yu said, “Of course there will be. Have some confidence in your popularity!”

Lin Zhinan tended to drink a lot when nervous. After she’d downed two full bottles, Zhao Yu took the cup away from her. “Don’t drink too much—you don’t want to have to pee right before you go on stage!”

Lin Zhinan took a deep breath for a long while, seeming to finally calm down. With a determined tone, she said, “We have to deliver a perfect performance—no mistakes! I can do it!”

Shining Five’s slot was in the middle-to-later portion of the lineup.

Walking from backstage to the waiting area, they passed senior artists the whole way. Zhao Yu was bowing and greeting nonstop, silently grateful she had good core strength—otherwise her back would’ve given out before she even got on stage.

By the time they reached the waiting area, the audience’s cheers were clearly audible.

Zhao Yu tilted her head and listened carefully for a moment. She didn’t hear any “Shining Five” fan chants—let alone her own name.

The MC was already introducing the next act. The five stepped onto the rising platform, exchanged a glance, bumped fists, and whispered firmly, “Fighting!”

The MC’s voice faded. The platform rose slowly, inch by inch out of the darkness, into the spotlit, audience-filled stage.

Before them: a sold-out crowd, shimmering light sticks, and crashing waves of cheers.

This was where their dreams began.

The music suddenly burst in their ears.

Their song—Missing God.

A near-perfect, flawless debut stage. The five girls were exactly as the lyrics described—gifts sent from a god who missed the mortal world.

Both the live audience and the fans watching the livestream were stunned and captivated by their performance. Compared to flashy music videos, a live stage was where the real power lay.

As the final note faded, Zhao Yu lifted her eyes and swept her gaze across the stadium.

She saw a sea of fan colors, countless light-up signs. Amidst the vast rainbow of lights, there was a tiny patch—just a faint, tiny patch—of pink. Her color.

That fiercely pounding heart suddenly felt infused with warmth. A strange warmth that made her both excited and satisfied.

She smiled and waved toward the direction where the pink “Yu” sign was held high.

The noise was too loud to hear anything, but she imagined they must have screamed.

As the platform slowly descended, Lin Zhinan—who had been holding her breath the whole time—finally grabbed Zhao Yu’s wrist. Her palm was slick with sweat. When their eyes met, Zhao Yu saw Lin Zhinan’s eyes were red-rimmed.

Neither spoke. After a long moment, they both burst out laughing.

With their debut stage perfectly completed, the tension they’d been carrying finally eased. At first, Zhao Yu didn’t feel tired, but the moment she got in the car and draped her jacket over herself, exhaustion hit her like a wave.

She slept the whole way back to the dorm and was only woken up by Lin Zhinan.

Zhao Yu rubbed her eyes, ready to get out, then glanced at her and froze. “Have you been crying?”

Lin Zhinan was startled for a second, then smiled. “No, I haven’t.”

Zhao Yu had known her long enough to see right through her. But the other members didn’t look like anything unusual had happened. She didn’t press right away. After getting out and returning to the dorm, she washed up first, then went to knock on Lin Zhinan’s door.

It took a while for the door to open. The room was pitch black—the only light coming from the phone glowing on the bed.

In that faint glow, Zhao Yu could see Lin Zhinan’s reddened eyes.

She pressed her lips together, closed the door behind her, then took her hand and whispered, “What’s wrong? Did someone bully you?”

Lin Zhinan didn’t answer, just sobbed quietly.

The phone was playing a video—Missing God.

She was watching tonight’s livestream broadcast.

Zhao Yu walked over, picked up the phone, and watched the replay of their debut performance. Then she understood why Lin Zhinan was crying.

There were almost no individual shots of Lin Zhinan in the video.

When it was her turn for the center position, the camera cut to a wide shot. It didn’t switch back to close-up until someone else took center. Throughout the entire performance, Lin Zhinan got only two individual close-ups—one during a close-up dance move with Kristen, and another that flashed by in under two seconds.

Because Zhao Yu was the center, her screen time was relatively normal, but even she had a significant portion stolen away.

She turned off the phone. The room went silent, and Lin Zhinan’s sobs grew clearer.

Zhao Yu didn’t say anything. She walked over, hugged her, and gently patted her head.

Lin Zhinan buried her face in the crook of Zhao Yu’s neck, her voice choked. “I feel like such a joke. Yu Yu… did we make a mistake coming here?”

Zhao Yu’s voice was calm. “We’re already here. No turning back.” She released Lin Zhinan and wiped her tears. “It won’t stay like this forever. I promise.”

Lin Zhinan stared at her through swollen eyes in the darkness.

Zhao Yu said, “If they won’t give us the camera, we’ll make it so they have no choice but to point every camera at us. When the audience only wants to see us, when every lens is on us—even if you’re standing in the farthest corner, they’ll still find you.”

She paused, each word deliberate. “All we have to do is reach the top.”

Lin Zhinan suddenly remembered what Zhao Yu had said before they even entered the training camp. She’d been terrified that her lack of popularity would get her eliminated in the first round. Zhao Yu had just laughed and said, “Don’t worry. Stick to me—eat together, sleep together, shower together, even go to the bathroom together. Then I can carry you with my popularity.”

Zhao Yu suddenly smiled. Even in the dark, her beautiful eyes were still dazzling.

She ruffled Lin Zhinan’s hair and said with a grin, “Trust me. One day, I’ll get there.”