Pong had always known the pop business was merciless. The long working hours, the sleepless nights, and the consecutive performances drained idols to their limits. But she never imagined what she was about to find out—something much more sinister than simple fatigue.
It began quietly. A stagehand whispering about an idol dropping mid-sentence during the performance, later reappearing on stage minutes, going strong as if nothing had occurred. A whispered exchange between two managers, talking of "boosters" and "keeping them sharp."
They were the after-parties. Pong went to them sporadically, but whenever she did, she saw the same routine: idols making excuses to the private rooms, coming back minutes later with their eyes wide open and an unnatural excitement. It was not booze. It was not adrenaline. It was something else.
