It happened faster than Kiko could have ever imagined. One moment, he was sitting in the company’s practice room, waiting for another exhausting rehearsal to begin, and the next, the doors burst open. Officers flooded in, their voices sharp and commanding. The idols around him froze, eyes wide in confusion and fear.

And then, in the middle of it all, Kiko saw him—Mr. Reyes.

His manager barely had time to react before an officer grabbed his arms, forcing them behind his back. The sickening click of handcuffs echoed through the room. Mr. Reyes shouted in protest, his voice laced with panic, but the officers didn’t loosen their grip.

Kiko sat frozen, his heart slamming against his ribs. This had to be a dream. A cruel hallucination brought on by exhaustion.

But then, one of the officers turned to him. “Kiko Martinez?”

His mouth felt dry. “Y-Yeah?”

The officer’s voice softened. “You’re safe now.”

Safe. The word felt foreign, like something he wasn’t meant to have.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Kiko was pulled from the company, escorted past flashing cameras and journalists shouting questions he didn’t have the strength to answer. He was taken to the police station, where he sat through hours of questioning. He told them everything—about the abuse, the drugs, the manipulation. Every horrible, twisted detail.

By the time it was over, Kiko felt like a ghost.

And then came the news that shattered what little remained of his world.

“You won’t be returning to the company,” one of the officials told him gently. “Not right now, at least. Until we can find you a new manager, you’ll be placed in temporary foster care.”

Foster care.

Kiko barely reacted as he was driven to a small apartment on the quieter side of the city. His new foster guardian, a kind-looking woman in her forties named Ms. Rivera, greeted him with a warm smile.

“You can stay here as long as you need,” she said softly, leading him inside.