One of the guys in the group, a blond dude sporting a hip-hop getup but known for his rock vocals during tryouts, was especially antsy.

Having been overlooked by the big-shot agencies, he was under the wing of a lesser-known outfit.

His spirits had taken a hit since the previous night.

Restless, he began to pace, his patience thinning by the second.

“Where on earth is she? Reckon she’s left us high and dry? If she’s given up on us, she could at least have the decency to tell us!” he exclaimed.

Tom Rivas couldn’t contain his exasperation any longer, slumping to the floor in defeat. He grumbled, “Joining her team was a mistake.

Even if I’d been kicked out during the auditions, it would have been better than this public embarrassment. The net’s buzzing with ridicule about us. Why are we even still here?”

Brucie Armstrong, sitting nearby, flexed his muscular arms beneath his sleeveless shirt.

as wound up as Tom, but his low spirits were palpable. He remarked, “Unless a

the auditions? How do we even

dampened, Woodrow tried to interject some

lose hope now. Better to try and fail than not try at

snort, looking at

two can barely face a camera, and now

to mock, “Thinking of winning, are you? On what grounds?

comments to yourself,” Franklin defended, quickly escalating the

heated debate, Brucie’s voice cut through

with the shouting! What’s the point? We shouldn’t even be here.

the room was palpable as Tom continued venting

“She dragged us here at the crack of dawn and then vanished. I could’ve spent my time better sleeping. And last night, I looked up her company, this ‘Landon Media,‘

a nearby couch, a young man named Jim Woden, distinguishable by his weary eyes and single eyelids,

secured your positions yesterday. What good does shouting do now? If you’re so discontented, just

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