Bai Xingyue was sprawled on his bed, tablet in hand, scrolling through a dizzying cascade of idol content.
A legendary girl group's reunion stage.
A rookie boy group's viral dance challenge.
It was his sanctuary, his pure, uncomplicated joy.
"Host, your pupil dilation and serotonin levels have spiked."
"You are engaging with 'fan content.'"
"Now," Xiao Zhu said, its tone shifting to quiz-mode.
"We analyze your personal benchmarks."
"Pull up the performance of Straight Kidz' 'Lightening.'"
Xingyue's eyes lit up.
This was his territory.
He pulled up the iconic video, the one with the intense, traditional-meets-industrial intro.
"Remember, do not watch as a fan.
"Analyze as a producer. Pause at the first chorus."
Bai Xingyue paused.
The screen showed the eight members in a powerful, staggered formation.
"What is the core mechanic of their performance?"
"Uh… intensity?" Xingyue tried.
"Vague."
"How is the intensity achieved?"
"Look at Channie's stance versus Yunjin's."
Xingyue looked.
The leader was a pillar of stable, grounded power, his movements heavy and deliberate.
Yunjin, while just as sharp, elongated his lines, adding a fluid, almost predatory grace.
"They're all powerful, but they express it differently? Like… different types of weapons from the same arsenal."
"Acceptable. Straight Kidz' signature is 'controlled chaos.'"
"The chaos is the raw, shouted vocals, the aggressive sound."
"The control is the military-precision synchronization in the midst of that aggression."
"It is a duality you must learn: how to unleash raw energy while maintaining absolute technical control. Note it."
"Next, STEEZ. 'Harazia.'"
Xingyue switched videos, to the dramatic, pirate-concept performance.
"Observe the opening. Sun's center moment. What is being communicated here that is different from the 'controlled chaos'?"
Xingyue watched Sun's expressive, almost theatrical facial expressions, the way his body seemed to tell a story beyond the choreography.
"It's… a story. He's not just performing a move. He's embodying a character. They all are."
"Precisely."
"STEEZ trades on 'narrative embodiment.'"
"Every performance is a chapter."
"Their synchronization is not just about being in sync; it is about being in sync within the same story."
"Their charisma is mythic in scale—" Xiao Zhu caught itself. "—is dramatically scaled."
"This is about committing fully to a concept, about selling a fantasy with every fiber of your being. This is another tool."
They spent the next hour deep in his favorites.
Xiao Zhu pointed out how Straight Kidz' choreography often used levels and isolation to create a sense of intricate, moving machinery, and how their vocal colors were deliberately distinct to build a textured, collage-like sound.
It contrasted with STEEZ's tendency toward unified, sweeping formations and powerful, blended harmonies that served the epic feel of their music.
"Your bias is showing, Host," Xiao Zhu teased as Xingyue passionately explained why Bokkie's deep voice in 'Thunderous' was the ultimate stylistic weapon.
"But passion is good data."
"Understanding why you are drawn to certain idols is the first step to understanding what kind of idol you might become."
"Not a copy, but a synthesis."
The culmination came later.
Xiao Zhu presented him with a split-screen.
On one side, Straight Kidz' Ji during the raw, emotional bridge of 'Monster.'
On the other, STEEZ's Songhwa in the haunting, graceful finale of 'Bermuda triangle.'
"Final analysis of this unit: Define the core skill on display in each."
Xingyue thought hard, drawing on everything he'd learned.
"Ji… is converting personal emotion into universal lyrics and delivering them with a voice that cracks just enough to be believable."
"It's a skill of authentic translation."
"Songhwa is using his entire physique—his posture, his gaze, the slow extension of a hand—to convey a feeling without a single word. It's a skill of physical storytelling."
"Adequate," Xiao Zhu said, its voice holding a note of approval.
"You are learning to see the pillars, not just the palace.
"Remember these pillars: Controlled Chaos. Narrative Embodiment. Authentic Translation. Physical Storytelling.
"These are not concepts yet. They are foundational colors. Your palette is expanding."
"'SEVNTEEN's 'Super' comeback stage, 2023. Observe. I will be your analytical co-pilot."
The video played.
The sheer power and synchronization of the thirteen-member boy group was, as always, breathtaking.
"Pause at 0:43," Xiao Zhu commanded. Xingyue paused.
"Look at the member in the center rear. Not his face. His angles."
"His elbows are at precisely 110 degrees, mirroring the dancers on either side to create a perfect chevron shape from the camera's perspective."
"This is not dancing. This is human geometry. This is the visual foundation of 'power' for large boy groups. Note it."
Xingyue stared.
He'd seen the power before, but now he saw the scaffolding.
He'd always marveled at the feeling; Xiao Zhu was making him see the blueprints.
"Now, switch to a girl group. Your choice."
Hesitantly, Xingyue pulled up a performance of LE SERAPHIM's 'Eve & The Beard's wife.'
The vibe was completely different—sassy, confident, razor-sharp.
"Pause at 1:15. The center's walk. Analyze."
"It's… cool?" Xingyue ventured.
"It is a masterclass in controlled aggression," Xiao Zhu corrected.
"Her shoulders are relaxed, but her core is engaged like a spring."
"Her gaze is not seeking approval; it is delivering a verdict."
"This is 'charisma through certainty.' Male idols often project power outwards.
"Female idols in this concept often project inviolability inwards."
"It is a different kind of strength. One you may need to access."
They spent the next hour like this, dissecting performances.
Xiao Zhu was a ruthless, brilliant guide.
"See this Japanese idol, from Zaka48?"
"Her smile."
"It does not reach her eyes during this high-energy song yet, it is not fake."
It is a performance of joy, a symbol offered to the audience."
"The distance between the symbol and the self is where 'idol' exists. Understand this gap."
"Now, this senior Korean soloist, Taeyeon. Listen to the ad-lib at the bridge."
"The technical term is a 'fall.' She does not just descend the scale, she makes it sound like a sigh, like a thought trailing off..."
"This is the difference between a skilled singer and a storyteller. Your voice must learn to narrate."
Xingyue's mind was reeling.
His beloved world was being taken apart and reassembled before his eyes.
He wasn't just a fan anymore; he was an apprentice jeweler, learning how each facet was cut to make the gem shine.
"Your turn," Xiao Zhu said, its tone shifting to quiz-mode.
"Pull up the performance of the Chinese boy group 1%'s 'ANTHEM.' Identify one element of synchronization and one moment of intentional individuality."
Xingyue focused, his new analytical lens clicking into place.
"The group spin at the chorus—everyone's head tilt is identical, like they're all pulled by the same string."
"But… right after, the center does a chest pop. It's sharper than everyone else's. It's like he's the lightning to their thunder."
"Analysis: 85% accurate."
"The chest pop is not just sharper; it is early by 0.1 seconds, creating a visual 'crack' that leads the eye. Well observed. Your perception is calibrating."
This became their new off-hours ritual.
Some nights were "Vocal Color Analysis," others were "Stage Persona 101," contrasting the warm, boyfriend-next-door vibe of a Thai actor-idol with the cool, androgynous intensity of a veteran Japanese performer like Aya from YOBI.
Xingyue began to see idols not as monolithic stars, but as toolkits of specific, learnable skills.
One evening, he was watching a fancam of a famous female soloist known for her devastatingly expressive eyes.
"How do I… learn that?" he asked quietly.
"The emotion in the eyes. It's not technique, is it?"
"It is the highest technique," Xiao Zhu replied. "It is the result of internal narrative.
"She is not just singing 'I am sad.' She is remembering a specific, private memory that evokes that feeling, and channeling it through the lens of the camera."
"We will begin emotional recall exercises. But warning: borrowing from your own emotional memory is draining."
"The girl whose dream you carry… she was a master of this. Her memories may surface. Are you prepared?"
The question was heavy. Xingyue nodded, determined.
The lessons bled into his own practice.
Trying to emulate the relaxed power of the girl group's walk, he found a new, grounded confidence in his movements.
Attempting to mimic the controlled, geometric precision of the boy group, his own dancing became cleaner, more intentional.
He even tried to bring it up with Zhang Wei, who was a casual fan.
"Hey, have you noticed how in TandT's 'RIDE SUGAR RUSH,' the choreography uses a lot of circular, youthful motifs, but BST's 'ONE' uses sharp, militant lines to convey defiance?
It's like their body language is a direct translation of the song's soul!"
Zhang Wei stared at him over their shared lunch. "Dude. You've gone from fan to… idol scholar. It's kinda scary. Also, pass the soy sauce."
Lulu, however, was fascinated.
When he mentioned the difference between projecting power outwards vs. inviolability inwards, she gasped.
"That's it! That's what my ballet mistress can't explain! It's not about being strong, it's about being unmoved. You're a genius!"
He wasn't.
He had a system.
But for the first time, the secret knowledge felt less like a burden and more like a superpower he could occasionally use for good.
The culmination came a week later.
Xiao Zhu presented him with a split-screen.
On one side, a legendary performance of the boy group, all raw, theatrical emotion.
On the other, a girl group's center, delivering complex lyrics with a cool, almost cybernetic detachment.
"Final analysis of this unit: Define the core appeal of each."
Xingyue thought hard, drawing on everything he'd learned.
"He… makes you feel like he's tearing his heart out just for you. It's a gift of vulnerability. She makes you feel like she knows a future secret you don't. It's a gift of mystery."
"One is an open wound. The other is an encrypted file."
The silence in the room was profound.
"Poetically put, and functionally correct," Xiao Zhu said, its voice unusually soft.
"You have learned to see the engine inside the spotlight."
"Remember this: 'Idol' is not one or the other."
"It is the potential for both. It is the capability for devastating vulnerability and impenetrable mystery, held in perfect, untouchable balance."
"This is your target."
That night, as Xiao Zhu ran a relaxing, trivia-filled puzzle game about idol birthplaces, Xingyue felt a new kind of connection to the world he aimed to enter.
He wasn't just an aspiring fan anymore. He was a student of the craft, a deconstructor of divinity.
And he had the best, most terrifying, and most wonderful tutor in the universe.