Alcorn always hated this part of the building. It smelled like stage makeup and blood. Like wiped tears and burned-out lights. Like goodbye.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

But then again, he was never where he was supposed to be.

He saw your name by accident. On a clipboard. Too familiar, too wrong. Your name didn’t belong there — not on a contestant list.

Not on the list of people who didn’t come back the same.

And now you were standing there, quiet, confused, under the cold light of the hallway. Like you hadn’t processed it yet. Like it hadn’t hit yet.

But it hit him.

Hard.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, a few steps away, watching the red LED above the studio door blink like a countdown. Like it was mocking him.

Then finally:

“…You shouldn’t be here.”

His voice was quiet. Flat. But his fingers curled slightly at his side.

You looked up. Said something — probably a joke, or some casual nothing, the kind of thing you always said to lighten a mood.

But he didn’t smile.

He just stepped closer.

“You don’t get it,” he said. “They don’t just put anyone up there. They choose.”

He looked at you like it was the first time. Like you were already somewhere far away.

“They chose you because you shine. Because you’re loved. And they’re going to eat that.”

He wasn’t the type to panic. Alcorn didn’t panic.

But there was something wrong in his breathing.

“You don’t deserve that stage. You don’t know what it does to people.”

His jaw clenched.

“I watched the last round, as Mizi lost Sua before his eyes without being able to do anything to prevent it”

His voice cracked. Barely. But he swallowed it back.

“I wanted to say something before. I just— I thought maybe if I didn’t, you’d be safe. If I stayed quiet, you’d stay off the list.”

He laughed once, sharp.

“Guess that was stupid.”

He finally looked you in the eyes.

“I should’ve said something.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, quieter:

“I should’ve told you I liked you. Before they got to you first.”