Chapter 3 – The Phantom Trainee**
## **Chapter 3 – The Phantom Trainee**
The agency headquarters towered above the city like a monument to fame—steel, glass, and ambition stacked thirty floors high. Behind those doors were hundreds of dreams, and hundreds more waiting to be crushed.
He arrived alone.
No suitcase.
No entourage.
Just a black hoodie, hands in his pockets, and eyes that didn't look at anything—or anyone.
He signed in without speaking.
The receptionist froze when she saw his face.
She had seen idols. Top stars. Trainees lined up every morning.
But him?
He was a different story.
> "Y-you're the… new trainee?" she stammered.
He nodded once. Didn't look her way.
The elevator opened. He stepped in without waiting.
---
The 12th floor was for rookies—those still in the first months of training. The hallway smelled faintly of sweat and detergent. Music leaked out of rehearsal rooms. Laughter bounced from corners.
Then the elevator chimed.
He stepped out.
Silence fell.
---
Every trainee in sight turned toward him.
Someone dropped a water bottle.
Another froze mid-stretch.
He didn't glance at them. Just walked forward—calm, slow, controlled.
The whispers started instantly.
> "Who is he?"
> "Is he already famous?"
> "He looks like CGI…"
He passed them without a word. Their stares followed him like shadows.
---
In Studio 3, the dance instructor paused the music when he entered.
Her eyes widened—just slightly—but she said nothing about it.
> "You're the new recruit?"
He nodded.
> "You'll train alone. For now."
She tapped the screen. Music started again—intense, fast-paced choreography.
> "Let's see what you've got."
No response.
He just pulled off his hoodie and stepped forward.
---
By the second beat, the room was breathless.
His movements weren't just sharp—they were devastating.
Every twist of his body was intentional, fluid, effortless. He didn't follow the rhythm. He controlled it. Bent it. Rewrote it.
People gathered at the windows to watch.
By the end of the routine, the instructor had lowered her clipboard.
The song faded.
He stood still, barely winded.
Not one drop of sweat.
> "...You'll skip beginner training," she said quietly. "You're not here to learn. You're here to lead."
He didn't blink. Just grabbed his hoodie again and walked out.
---
Word spread fast.
By lunch, the entire rookie wing knew.
> "They say he's better than anyone here already."
> "No background. No history. No mistakes."
> "They're calling him the Phantom."
He didn't speak to anyone.
Didn't smile.
Didn't look.
But somehow, everyone remembered his face.
---
At the top floor, behind closed doors, executives sat around a long table.
One of them scrolled through security footage, pausing on his audition.
> "This one," he said. "He's different."
Another shook his head. "Too perfect. People will start asking questions."
> "Let them."
A third added, "We don't even know who he is. No school records. No agency history. No family."
The screen froze on a frame: him, mid-dance, expression blank, eyes glowing like amber.
> "Exactly," the first man said. "He's a ghost."
---
That night, he returned to the rooftop.
Same wind. Same sky.
He leaned back against the wall, hoodie up, one knee drawn close.
His phone buzzed.
**Unknown Number:**
> You shook the entire building today.
He locked the screen without reading the rest.
And stared up at the stars—
—quiet, unreadable, unknowable.
Just like him.
---