27 billion people on nine planets, fourteen moons and hundreds of space stations tuned into the 2164 annual POP Universe Showcase. Viewership was higher than in previous years—maybe because no Fortresses had appeared lately to darken their corner of the Milky Way, so news was painstakingly slow—but everyone was curious to see what Blue Dot had to debut. It wasn’t every day a new talent agency elbowed its way into the upper echelons of pop stardom.

The emcee was an ex-idol-turned-talk show host with a husky smoker’s voice and lashes like spider legs. She floated across the stage in a golden tulle mushroom cloud of a dress, waving a wireless mic in one hand and a blue globe lightstick in the other.

“It’s your girl Komi here! I am so pleased to introduce Blue Dot—and, for the first time ever in our solar system, their sparkly new group. Make some noise for REVELATION!”

The studio audience roared as six skinny boys filed onto the stage. They stood with their hands folded behind their backs, like students called up to recite a poem in front of the class.

It took several moments for Komi to calm the crowd. That was by design. Several spectators had lightsticks already: strategically placed Blue Dot staffers. The agency wanted people to think REVELATION already had fans. It was working—urgency was up on socials, one of the plants reported through her earpiece; back at corporate headquarters on Earth, sighs of relief filled the boardroom.

“Thank you all, thank you all...now hush,” Komi teased, waving her lightstick. A pair of wings on a neon halo floated around the globe with every gesture. “Let them introduce themselves.”

On her cue, the boys looked at each other, joined hands, and bowed.

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“Hello everyone!” the one in the middle said, almost shouting to be heard over the audience.

Then, in unison, all six chanted: “We’re REVELATION. Nice to meet you!”

“Wooow,” Komi said over the applause, fanning herself with exaggerated movements. “So bright! So young! What a fresh debut. I feel old!”

Komi moved to the onstage sitting area and gestured for the idols to sit across from her on a long couch. When she had finished organizing her tulle into manageable clumps, Komi turned to the audience and let out a mock-sigh.

“Well, here they are. Baby idols from the first new agency in—what, fifteen years? Twenty? I don’t remember. I’m not that old! REVELATION, can you tell us who you are?”

“Yes, here!” The boy from the middle of the lineup spoke first again. “I’m the leader, Six.”

“Six! Six what?”

“Six Seven,” the boy answered seriously, eliciting laughter from the audience.

“Six. Six! That’s not your age, right?” Komi thrust her microphone at him. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

When the audience had finished shouting about that, the other members made their introductions.

“I’m Gideon.”

“Rah.”

“Adam.”

“Jinji here!”

“...Angel.”

At this last name the audience awwed. Komi batted her falsies at the camera and stuck out her plump lower lip. “You all hear that? Angel. We’ve been blessed. And how old are you, Angel?”

“I turned fourteen a few weeks ago.”

More squeals. Komi waited for silence. “And how did you get that stage name?”

“Well, I sing pretty good.”

There was no boast in it, but the audience laughed. Six let his foot bump Angel’s: a warning.

“And here I thought it was your good looks,” Komi shrugged. “So you’re young, you’re handsome, and you have the voice of an angel, apparently. But why did you want to become an idol?”

Angel looked into the closest camera and smiled. He was what the industry called a “natural”—a genetically perfect idol, no surgery needed. Billions of people looked into his impossibly blue eyes and fell in love. Engagement socials were up; urgency was off the charts. REVELATION had the solar system in a chokehold.

Angel said, “I’m going to kill the top idol, Jae Childe.”