Chapter 8 — The Beauty Drainage System

I set down my phone and gazed up at the pale moon framed by the window. Three days remained until the grand finale. I intended to let the entire world witness who she truly was—what Song Kieu Kieu looked like when stripped of her parasitic support system. Furthermore, I wanted everyone to finally see my authentic self, unmasked and unfiltered.

Three days later, the final round arrived. I stood before the illuminated dressing table, studying my reflection in the mirror. My skin possessed a luminous, translucent clarity; my jawline was sharp and defined; my thick, dark hair cascaded over my shoulders, and my eyes shone with a vibrant, inner brilliance. What the system had ultimately returned to me was not merely my stolen beauty, but the entire reservoir of life force that had been ruthlessly drained from my body over the past three months. I looked even more breathtaking than on the very first day I walked into the training camp. As the makeup artist applied the finishing touches, her hands trembled perceptibly.

"Niem Niem, your skin condition is simply flawless... you do not need foundation at all, just a touch of lipstick will suffice."

I smiled faintly, offering no reply. The rules of the final round dictated that all surviving trainees would take the stage simultaneously. The audience would cast their votes in real-time, and the top seven contestants with the highest tallies would immediately form the debut group. Forty trainees stood shoulder to shoulder under the blazing overhead lights. The moment the spotlights surged to life, every gaze in the vast arena converged upon a single person. Me. It was not because I stood in the coveted center position; indeed, I occupied the extreme outer edge of the formation. Rather, it was because my presence was simply too striking to ignore. After three months of systematic suppression, three months of engineered ugliness, three months of public mockery and calculated neglect, everything had changed.

The "ugly girl who always dragged her team down" from everyone's recent memories now stood at the very periphery of the stage, radiant and lethal, like a finely forged blade just drawn from its scabbard.

The live broadcast chatroom erupted into absolute chaos instantly. 【Is this really Lu Niem?????】 【Am I hallucinating??? Are they genuinely the exact same person???】 【Oh my god, she is stunning! What kind of dramatic redemption arc is this?】 【Compared to the photos from three months ago, she looks like an entirely different human being!】 The scrolling comments cascaded downward at a velocity that made reading individual words impossible. On the opposite side of the venue, Song Kieu Kieu was also present. It remained unclear what methods Manager Lam had employed to smuggle her back into the arena under the guise of a "special guest." Yet she did not take her place on the stage. Instead, she sat shrouded in the VIP audience section, wearing a cap and a thick face mask, cocooned completely from public view. Nevertheless, I could feel her burning gaze fixed upon me.

The music swelled, and the forty performers launched into the choreography of the theme song. Although I stood at the very edge, the camera operators seemed magnetically drawn to my movements, tracking my every step relentlessly. Every pivot, every freeze frame, every sharp transition was captured in sweeping close-ups by the director. My physical stamina and performance state were simply too immaculate. They were so supreme that no one else on the stage could rival my aura.

As the music faded, the preliminary real-time voting tallies were flashed across the giant screen. Lu Niem: Four million eight hundred thousand votes. Second place: One million two hundred thousand votes. My vote count surpassed the runner-up by a staggering fourfold margin. A collective gasp swept through the arena. Coach Han Tranh rose from his seat, clutching the microphone as he stared at me with a complex, inscrutable expression.

"Lu Niem, I owe you a formal apology."

The auditorium fell into absolute silence.

"Three months ago, I remarked that your condition was subpar and that you lacked audience appeal. Looking at you now, it is clear that my judgment was utterly flawed."

He paused for a heartbeat, his voice echoing in the quiet hall.

"Without a doubt, you are the greatest dark horse of this entire season."

Thunderous applause erupted, shaking the rafters. I stood under the cascade of warm, golden lights, feeling as though the spring sun were shining directly upon me. I neither wept nor laughed aloud; I merely tilted my head slightly, gazing toward the bundled, shivering silhouette hidden away in the VIP seating.

Song Kieu Kieu slowly pulled down her mask. Perhaps due to the suffocating heat, or perhaps driven by sheer psychological breakdown, she could no longer bear to hide. Her ruined face was suddenly exposed to the harsh scrutiny of the surrounding spectators. Her features were bloated and sallow, marred by a dense eruption of angry pustules; her chin had sagged into double folds, and the nasolabial creases etched around her mouth looked as though they had been carved with a knife. The audience members seated nearby inhaled sharply, instinctively recoiling and shifting away from her.

Song Kieu Kieu remained oblivious to their revulsion. She stared fixedly at my figure on the stage, watching the last remnants of light extinguish within her eyes. Three months prior, she had stood precisely where I was, the focal point of ten thousand gazes, shining with dazzling brilliance. Now, she sat down in the stands, reduced to a ghost forgotten by the crowd. No. She was even worse than a ghost. At least a ghost would not invite such visceral disgust from onlookers.

The second phase of the final competition was the individual talent showcase. I had chosen a contemporary solo dance. Three months ago, during the preliminary evaluations, I had desperately wanted to perform this exact routine. Back then, however, the system had been frantically draining my beauty and vitality, rendering me incapable of executing even the most basic choreography with stability. Tonight, everything was different.

The moment the first note of music struck, I propelled myself forward like a bullet unleashed from a chamber. Spins, leaps, floor work, aerial acrobatics—every single movement was executed with razor-sharp precision, devoid of any wasted motion or hesitation. The other trainees watching from the wings stared in absolute bewilderment. Truong Tieu Ngu covered her mouth with trembling hands as hot tears spilled over her lashes.

"Since when did she become so extraordinary?"

Ha My Ky shook her head slowly, a profound look in her eyes.

"She has always been this exceptional. It was only ever suppressed by others."

Chu Di Duong leaned lazily against the backstage wall, the corners of her lips curving upward into an amused smile.

"My eye for talent has certainly never failed me."

As the final notes faded, I dropped gracefully onto one knee, freezing in the concluding posture. The entire arena erupted into a standing ovation. Han Tranh led the charge, rising swiftly to his feet, and the other three mentors quickly followed suit. The live stream viewer counts and digital votes surged upward uncontrollably: five million, six million, seven million, finally coming to a breathless halt at eight million two hundred thousand votes—dominating the leaderboard by an insurmountable margin.

I rose to my feet, breathing heavily, rivulets of sweat tracing paths down my flushed face. From somewhere in the audience, a voice cried out my name, ringing clear through the hall.

"Lu Niem! Lu Niem! Lu Niem!"

A single voice multiplied into ten, then a hundred, until the entire auditorium roared my name in unison. Standing at the epicenter of the stage, bathed in those cascading chants, my thoughts drifted back three months. In those days, the name chanted by the masses had belonged to someone else entirely. Song Kieu Kieu.

I drew a long, deep breath and offered a radiant smile to the camera lens. It was not a calculated, ingratiating smile designed to pander to the public, but a genuine expression born from the profound relief of finally being able to breathe freely once more. I had won. Not merely defeating Song Kieu Kieu, but triumphing over the parasitic entity that had sought to consume my very soul.

The final evaluation concluded, and the official debut lineup was formally announced. I secured the ultimate first-place position with a staggering total of twelve million votes, leaving all other contestants far behind. I was crowned the center and leader of the debut group. The moment the results were finalized, the six other girls chosen for the group rushed forward, enveloping me in a suffocating, triumphant group hug whose joyous shrieks threatened to blow off the roof.

Chu Di Duong threaded her way through the throng, flashing me a casual thumbs-up. She had claimed the fifth spot, successfully securing her place in the debut roster. Although Truong Tieu Ngu and Ha My Ky narrowly missed the cut, they stood at the foot of the stage, clapping and smiling through reddened, tearful eyes.

While the backstage area buzzed with celebratory commotion, a staff member hurried over to my side.

"Lu Niem, someone is outside asking for you."

"Who is it?"

"They did not give a name. A woman wearing a face mask."

I stepped out from the noisy backstage corridor into the quiet dimness of the emergency stairwell, where Song Kieu Kieu stood waiting. She had removed her cap and mask. Though the lighting was harsh and austere, her features were painfully clear. She looked even more ravaged and desolate than she had three days prior. Ever since her system entered forced dormancy, all the accumulated metabolic filth and toxic waste it had hoarded remained stagnant within her physical vessel. Coupled with three days of acute psychological collapse, binge-eating, and chronic insomnia, she appeared to have aged a decade overnight.

"Congratulations," she rasped, her voice hollow and devoid of any discernible emotion.

"Thank you."

"You won."

"Yes."

She leaned heavily against the cold concrete wall, tilting her head back to stare blindly at the ceiling overhead.

"I want to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

"If I hadn't drained your vitality in the beginning, would you have hated me?"

I looked at her steadily.

"The people you drained were not limited to me alone. Phuong Vien Vien, Truong Tieu Ngu, Ha My Ky, Lam Doa, and everyone else in Team A—you harvested every single one of us."

She closed her eyes tightly.

"I know."

"And yet you still ask if I hate you?"

"I only wanted to know..." She opened her eyes, fixing her desolate gaze upon mine. "If the system had never existed, could we have ever been genuine friends?"

I remained silent for a long moment before answering.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because from the very first day, you never truly considered me a friend. The training schedules you handed me, the skincare products you shared, the resources you helped me arrange—every single action was merely calculated to make me work harder and push myself further, all so that you could harvest richer nutrients from me."

"You never cared about me as a person. The only thing that mattered to you was whether your harvest was plentiful enough."

Her lips trembled slightly, but she offered no rebuttal, for every word I spoke was the undeniable truth.

"Lu Niem."

"Yes?"

"Will you ever tell anyone else about the system?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because no one would believe it."

I turned on my heel, preparing to walk away.

"Just as you told everyone on stage that day, no one would ever believe the truth."

I paused, halting my steps without turning back.

"Besides... your current appearance is already the finest punishment you could ever receive."

Without another word, I walked away. Behind me came the soft, muffled sound of her sliding down the wall to collapse against the cold floor. I did not look back.