I woke late.
For the first time since joining the competition, I ignored the internal alarm that usually dragged me out of bed before dawn. Sunlight was already pressing through the uneven curtains.
My phone displayed 10:47 AM.
Sixty-three notifications.
I scrolled without opening them. Interview requests from entertainment sites. Unsolicited advice from accounts I'd never heard of. Strangers who wanted me to know exactly what they thought of my secondary gender, my character, and my right to stand on a stage.
Some messages began with congratulations, as though reaching the final sixteen was still something worth celebrating. Others demanded an apology. One asked whether the rumors about my medication were true.
I stopped scrolling.
Beneath the notifications was Attorney Choi Miran's email from last night.
My first instinct was to delete it.
