"What do you mean there's a new trainee?"
The man who had just spoken into the phone stood with his back against the mirror that covered one side of the room.
His handsome features were drawn tight, his tone unmistakably irritated.
Before him, rows upon rows of teenagers stood stiffly, their faces tense at the mere sight of his displeasure.
Uh-oh, they gulped.
At this rate, it seemed their dance session today wouldn't be as pleasant as they'd hoped.
"Look, the Beginner Dance class is done today, and I'm not going to lead a class with only one trainee," the man continued into the phone. "Go tell Charles Kosonen that whoever this new trainee is, they'll have to wait until the next audition cycle brings in more people.
"And where exactly did that jerk dig this trainee up from? It's not even audition season. The year's practically over."
"I understand it's not exactly a fun task for you, leading a class with only one trainee," Camille's voice came from the other end, polite despite her discomfort with his choice of words.
"But I'm afraid Mr. Kosonen made it very clear that he wants this trainee to debut as soon as possible," she added. "And she can't possibly debut without passing your Beginner Dance class, Instructor Antony."
"So it's a she?" Antony said, his face darkening with disdain. "Good. Even more reason for me to reject this outright.
"I'm not leading a class with just one girl. I stated my conditions very clearly when I transferred to the Performance Department, Camille.
"Go talk to your boss and sort it out."
With that, Antony hung up, punctuating the call with a sharp, irritated exhale through his nose.
He tossed his phone aside and ran a hand through his chestnut hair in frustration before turning his attention back to the trainees, who stood frozen in place.
"Listen up!" he barked, clapping his hands together loudly. Every shoulder in the room flinched. "It's your last day. Give me your best. If you can't even get this easiest, most basic shit right, then consider yourselves without a future in this industry. Understood?"
Almost immediately, the room answered in unison. "Yes, Instructor!" the trainees shouted, their faces as strained as their voices.
Satisfied, the stern instructor strode over to the speaker and finally hit play. Music exploded through the room.
The teenagers began dancing in perfect sync, their movements sharp and fluid, like water and steel finding harmony in the same space.
Still, the man leaning against the mirror didn't look pleased. His eyes narrowed as he watched them closely, catching every single mistake that slipped through their moving bodies.
When the music stopped and they froze in the same final pose, he pointed sharply and muttered coldly, "You, you, and you. You pass. The rest of you, do it again until I say you pass."
The three chosen faces broke into excited smiles. As for the rest, they knew their day had only just begun.
Deep down, they were secretly praying for the poor trainee their instructor had been talking about on the phone.
One-on-one training with Antony himself?
Good luck, whoever that new trainee was.
The next day, that poor trainee arrived at the dance studio at 6:45 AM.
Seeing that no one was inside, she flopped into the corner of the room, plugged in some music, and thanked God for the peaceful solitude.
The class she dreaded the most happened to be the very first class of the entire program.
She would rather conserve her energy for the strenuous activity ahead than drain her social battery any further.
At 7:00 AM, a tall man with a face as severe as a soldier on a battlefield walked in.
Her expression fell flat the moment her gaze landed on him.
He seemed older than her, maybe in his thirties. He wore a simple, loose white T-shirt and black pants, but none of that caught her attention.
It was his face.
She wasn't sure whether Charles Kosonen had simply been too involved in her life lately, but the lines of this man's face, that cold, unreadable expression somehow resembled Charles's, especially the chestnut color of his hair.
The only obvious difference was his eyes, which were a gleaming shade of gold, and the fact that he seemed younger, though no less mature.
"Hi," she blurted, scrambling to her feet. "I'm Kaija Sepala. Um… who are you?"
The man didn't answer right away. He stood frozen at the doorway, staring at her as if he didn't want to take another step forward.
Kaija blinked a few times, unsure what to do in such an awkward situation.
The uncomfortable silence lingered until the man finally moved, dragging a hand down his face.
"You're the new trainee?" he muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor.
"Indeed!" she replied quickly. "And you are?"
"Your instructor," he said flatly, walking over to the speaker and tossing his bag into the corner of the room as if he didn't want to be there at all.
"Er… okay…" Her eyes darted awkwardly. "Could I have a name, at least?"
"Just call me Instructor," he muttered coldly.
Kaija raised a brow. With his back turned the entire time, she couldn't see his expression, only hear the irritation in his voice.
"Alright then, Instructor," she said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Um, isn't it class time? Why hasn't anyone else arrived yet?"
A sigh escaped him. "That's because you're the only one in this class," he replied flatly.
Kaija's face twitched on its own.
"No way," she blurted. "You've got to be kidding me, mister. Did this label run out of trainees? What happened to everyone else?"
The man took a deep, forced breath, as if steadying himself. Then he finally turned toward her, leaning back against the wall, though his gaze still didn't quite meet hers.
"They all graduated yesterday and moved on to Intermediate," he said with a small shrug. "Not that it'll make much difference for them. I'm in charge of that class too."
"But here's the thing," he added, shifting uncomfortably. "I don't want to teach a one-person class, especially not with you.
"I'm only here today because I need to tap my ID card at the door for attendance, and because I need the hours for my paycheck."
"So now, you, whatever your name is. Would you please, just leave?"
Without wasting a second, Kaija shot up to her feet and walked straight out of the door without uttering another word. She even made sure she'd closed the door carefully behind her without making a sound.
She had no idea why Antony's face twitched slightly when she glanced at him as she crossed the doorway.
Wasn't he the one who told her to leave?
What he'd said was exactly what she wanted to hear at that moment.
Left alone in the room, the twitching on Antony's face lasted for a few seconds longer, before it finally came to and end. His hands, which he had tried so hard to keep still this entire time, started trembling faintly.
"Argh, unbelievable," he groaned, rubbing his face in frustration.
When his hands lowered from his face, the handsome features were now burning faintly red, especially around the cheeks.
"Ha..." he scoffed, mouth curving into a faint smirk. "Seems like that jerk half-brother of mine has found a favorite new toy."