Late at night, behind the privacy curtains of her bunk.
Charlotte was hammering away at the keyboard, sending lines of progress bars racing across the laptop screen.
[Accessing mobile carrier base station data… Location confirmed.]
[Reverse-searching identity via phone number… Social Security Number retrieved.]
To a top-tier hacker, a phone number was the skeleton key to a person's entire digital life.
After cross-referencing Evan's data fingerprints and finding nothing out of the ordinary, she identified a specific device ID he frequently used to connect to his studio's network. Using that as a back door, she ghosted into his private file.
A sea of code swept past her eyes: traffic logs, authorization records, private cloud backups…
Hold on.
During the exact windows of the initial leak and the voting hack, Evan's personal phone and camera had been syncing a large batch of high-resolution RAW files from an outdoor shoot.
Charlotte's eyes narrowed.
The timestamps and GPS metadata didn't lie: Evan had been with his entire production crew in a remote coastal mountain range at the time.
He hadn't even accessed the studio's VPN.
Charlotte dug deeper into the server's low-level access logs and finally spotted a brilliantly hidden "parasite."
It was exploiting a configuration vulnerability in Evan's server, using his VPN address as a mere proxy to launch the attacks.
In other words, Evan's studio was nothing more than a "zombie" server—a sitting duck used by an outside hacker!
Following the parasite's script, Carlotte hit a wall, then broke through to a hidden overseas IP address.
As the pieces fell into place, it became clear: Evan was just an innocent pawn.
She looked at Evan's number on the screen and dragged it from her "Suspects" list into "Potential Allies."
Then, her finger hovered over the DLE MAC address she had swiped from Emily earlier.
"Emily, it looks like… you're the one running the board."
"Fine by me." Charlotte closed all her windows. She looked like a predator who'd finally tracked down its prey.
"Since you love hiding in the shadows so much, I'm going to drag you out into the light."
Just then, her phone buzzed.
It was an anonymous text: Stay away from Leo, or next time, it won't just be your reputation that gets shredded.
Charlotte stared at the message and her smile didn't reach her eyes.
"So, the gloves are finally coming off."
The night before the first public performance. The lights in the practice wing were flickering off one by one, until only the S03 room remained glowing.
Charlotte powered through the soreness, forcing herself through the final sequence of the choreography.
"I knew I'd find you here!" Jax leaned lazily against the doorframe, arms crossed.
Charlotte hadn't expected Jax to come back after he'd already bailed for the evening. She grabbed a towel, dabbing her forehead as she caught her breath. "The show is tomorrow. I wanted to give it one last push."
Jax's face was dark, his tone carrying his usual bite, though now laced with an undercurrent of concern. "Everyone else went back to get some beauty sleep so they can actually function tomorrow."
"Look at you—you look like death warmed over. Are you planning to faint on stage just for the drama?"
Charlotte had already figured out Jax's "all bark and no bite" personality. She forced a hurt expression, casting her eyes down and letting them go glassy.
Jax seemed to realize he'd been a bit too harsh. He cleared his throat and shoved a gift box toward her.
"Here. Take it."
Charlotte carefully opened it to find a high-end sleep kit, complete with noise-canceling earplugs and a silk eye mask.
She looked up at Jax, who was awkwardly looking the other way. "Thank you, Jax."
When his eyes met her smiling gaze, his ears turned a violent shade of red again.
"Just… don't make me look bad out there!"
With that, he turned on his heel and stomped off.
Charlotte didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He clearly cared, he jus had a massive ego about it.
"Is he really that interesting to look at?" A deep, playful voice murmured near her ear.
She whirled around to find Leo standing in the shadows, his expression unreadable.
"What are you doing here?"
Why do these guys keep sneaking up on me?
"I'm here to discuss 'personal business.'" Leo raised an eyebrow, putting a deliberate weight on the words.
Charlotte let out a soft chuckle, playfully twirling a strand of hair. "In here? Didn't know yu were into pubic performances, Leo."
She glanced pointedly at the nearby security camera.
"Why not?" Leo shrugged and handed her a large, heavy bag.
A pro-grade massage gun. The heavy-duty kind.
Leo gave her shoulder a firm, brief squeeze. "Don't overdo it. Consider yourself my top priority investment."
Before the camera could catch anything more, he turned and vanished into the night, leaving behind nothing but a faint trail of expensive cologne.
Charlotte looked at the two gifts in her hands and smirked. One for sleep, one for recovery. It seemed both male leads were now firmly in her orbit.
Twenty minutes until S03 was due on stage. The backstage dressing room had been pure chaos since the show started.
Charlotte finished her makeup and returned to her locker, only to find the door slightly ajar.
She pulled it open.
Her shimmering silver fringe skirt was lying at the bottom of the locker, shredded beyond recognition. The bodice was slashed, and the fringe lay on the floor like a pile of discarded rags.
"Oh my god! How did this happen?!" Emily's horrified gasp immediately drew a crowd.
"Charlotte, did you piss someone off?" Emily looked frantic. "We're on in ten minutes! What are we going to do?!"
In the back of the crowd, Olivia leaned against the wall with a smug grin. "Well, I guess karma's a bitch. Look at that mess—you can't go on stage in that. Might as well just drop out now."
Rachel, the wallflower of the group, looked like she was about to cry. "I… I have a sewing kit. I can try to fix it…"
"There's no time." Charlotte calmly picked up the ruined garment, inspecting the damage.
The cuts were clean—done with sharp shears. She noticed the handle of a pair of fabric scissors sticking out of Olivia's bag.
Amateur hour.
This schoolyard-level sabotage might have sent the original Charlotte home in tears, but her?
Charlotte let out a sharp, cold laugh and suddenly gripped the fabric.
Rip!
Instead of mending it, she did the last thing anyone expected. She dug her fingers into the existing slashes and tore them even wider.
What were once holes became bold, edgy cutouts. She tied the severed fringes into rough, messy knots, transforming the look into something raw and punk-rock.
She grabbed a black eyeliner from the vanity and drew sharp, jagged "scars" across her pale collarbone and arms.
"Distressed chic," she murmured, looking at the "battle-worn" warrior in the mirror. She looked like she'd just crawled out of a beautiful wreck.
The music on stage stopped, followed by the muffled voices of the judges giving their critiques.
A moment later, the host's voice boomed over the applause. "...Please welcome Group S03!"
Rachel's head was spinning with nerves. "What do we do? I feel like I'm forgetting the steps…"
"Trust yourself." Charlotte gripped her hand tightly, leading the way toward the stage lift.
She looked back at Rachel and flashed a brilliant, defiant smile.
"Let's go. Time to show them a real wrecking ball."