Kaija had never seen a place built so aggressively for people with money.
The entire KE campus gleamed beneath the afternoon sun like a kingdom polished daily by servants with too much time and too much funding. Glass buildings stretched across several blocks, connected by elevated walkways lined with trimmed hedges and silver sculptures that probably cost more than her apartment lease for ten years combined.
Everywhere she looked, there was movement.
Stylists rushing with garment racks. Trainees in coordinated sportswear hurrying toward dance studios. Men in black suits talking into earpieces. Girls with flawless makeup laughing beside cafés with gold-lettered menus.
And then there was Kaija.
Oversized gray sweater. Old jeans. Sneakers that had survived airport floors, rainy sidewalks, and at least three emotional breakdowns.
'I look like somebody's lost cousin who wandered in by accident.'
Beside her, Camille walked with clipped, efficient steps, heels clicking sharply against the pavement.
The woman had the emotional warmth of an execution notice.
"This building contains the main recording facilities," Camille explained flatly as they passed through another set of glass doors. "Studio access requires prior scheduling approval. Unauthorized entry will result in disciplinary action."
Kaija nodded absently, eyes wandering over the soundproof rooms visible through the glass walls. Producers sat behind glowing monitors while singers stood inside booths beneath dim lights, headphones pressed to their ears.
The entire place smelled faintly of coffee, electronics, and expensive perfume.
It didn't feel real.
Everything here looked too polished. Too curated. Like everybody had rehearsed their existence beforehand.
Meanwhile, Kaija still accidentally walked into sliding doors sometimes.
Camille continued without pause.
"Building C houses choreography and movement training. Building D is reserved for public relations, media management, and legal affairs. The cafeteria operates twenty-four hours. Meals are covered under your contract."
"Good. Because I currently have seventeen dollars in my account."
By the third hour of walking, Kaija's soul had nearly left her body.
Cafés. Restaurants. Practice halls. Fitness centers. Styling departments. Private theaters. Vocal rooms.
Every single building somehow looked richer than the last.
Camille explained everything with surgical precision, never once smiling unless professionalism demanded it.
The whole thing felt less like a welcome tour and more like Kaija was being processed into a highly classified government facility.
"And your direct manager will not be me," Camille said as they crossed a landscaped courtyard filled with fountains. "His name is Esko. He oversees artist development and trainee management. You will meet him tomorrow morning before your first session."
"Mm."
"Your training schedule has already been uploaded to your application portal."
"Mm."
"You are expected to maintain professionalism at all times while representing KE."
"Mm."
Camille finally glanced sideways at her. "Are you listening, Ms. Sepala?"
Kaija blinked slowly. "Physically? Yes."
Camille stared at her for two long seconds before continuing forward.
At last, after what felt like twelve years and a military campaign, they arrived at the dormitory complex.
Calling it a dormitory felt insulting.
The towers rose high into the sky, sleek and luxurious, with tinted windows that reflected the late afternoon light in gold.
Camille stopped before the tallest one.
"This is Building S."
Kaija looked up.
And up.
And up.
"Jesus Christ. Are artists sleeping in apartments or launching into space from here?"
Camille reached into her folder and handed over a black key card embossed with KE's silver insignia.
"Your room is on the twentieth floor. Room 1."
Kaija accepted the card carefully.
"Please save my number and send me your bank account details," Camille continued. "Your monthly stipend will begin transferring from this week onward."
Right.
That terrifyingly huge salary.
Kaija still wasn't mentally prepared for that number.
"If you require assistance, contact me directly at any time, Ms. Sepala." Camille paused briefly. "However, please refrain from contacting Mr. Kosonen directly."
There it was again.
That strange little sharpness in her tone whenever Charles came up.
Kaija tilted her head slightly.
"Hmm. Suspicious."
"A chauffeur will arrive this afternoon to help retrieve your belongings from your apartment," Camille added. "Training begins tomorrow at eight sharp."
Kaija nodded stiffly. "Thank you, Camille."
The assistant dipped into another perfectly rigid bow.
Then, just before leaving, she added in an even colder tone—
"One more thing. Please refrain from addressing Mr. Kosonen by his name in front of others."
Kaija blinked.
Before she could even ask why, Camille had already turned and walked away, black heels cutting across the pavement like knives.
Kaija watched her retreating figure for a long moment.
"Hmm," she muttered under her breath, "is it just me, or does that woman have something for her handsome big boss?"
Honestly, she couldn't even blame her.
Charles Kosonen looked unfairly good for a man nearing forty.
Still weird, though.
Kaija turned toward the entrance at last—
"Hello, miss? You're a new artist? You're so pretty!"
The voice was bright. Sweet. Almost sugary.
Kaija looked over instinctively.
A girl was hurrying toward her with an excited smile.
Pink hair.
Not just pink—soft pastel pink that shimmered beneath the sunlight like cotton candy.
Her eyes were light brown with warm amber undertones, sparkling beautifully against flawless skin.
Kaija stopped breathing for approximately half a second.
'Holy shit.'
The girl was gorgeous.
No, gorgeous wasn't even the right word.
She looked manufactured by a laboratory specifically designed to destroy female self-esteem.
Slim figure. Tiny face. Perfect makeup. Cute smile.
Even Marja suddenly felt less untouchable standing beside this girl.
And somehow… she looked familiar.
"I didn't know there's an artist as beautiful as you at KE!" the girl gasped cheerfully. "I'm Liisi! Nice to meet you!"
Recognition struck immediately.
"Oh."
Right.
Liisi.
Even Kaija, who barely followed idol culture, knew that name.
Liisi
Liisi was the center member of the girl group Lipstick—one of the biggest idol groups in the country for the past few years.
Kaija had seen her face everywhere.
Billboards. Cosmetic advertisements. Snack packages. Shampoo commercials.
Maybe even haunting her potato chips.
"I'm Kaija," she replied cautiously. "Not an artist yet. Just a trainee."
For the briefest second, Liisi's smile faltered.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
But Kaija caught it.
Then the sweetness returned instantly.
"Oh? That can't be right," Liisi laughed lightly. "Building S is reserved for the most privileged and senior artists at KE. Me and my girls are still sharing a flat in Building B. You must be teasing me, sister."
Something prickled unpleasantly at the back of Kaija's neck.
The tone was sweet.
Too sweet.
The same kind of sweetness flight attendants used on passengers they secretly hated.
Kaija forced a polite smile back.
"Then maybe there's been some mistake," she replied. "Guess I'll have to ask Mr. Kosonen again about the arrangement."
The effect was immediate.
Liisi froze.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
"You… you've talked to Mr. Kosonen?" she asked carefully.
"Yeah?" Kaija frowned. "I signed the contract with him this morning in his office."
Another tiny crack.
Another microscopic twitch around the smile.
But Liisi recovered frighteningly fast.
"Goodness, sister," she laughed brightly. "You must be extremely talented for Mr. Kosonen to meet you personally. I've been here eight years and never even stepped onto that floor."
Kaija's brows furrowed deeper.
"Eight years?"
Charles really had handled things differently with her.
Too differently.
The realization settled strangely in her chest.
Not comforting.
Not threatening either.
Just… unsettling.
Like standing near the edge of something very deep without seeing the bottom.
"Then how did you start?" Kaija asked.
"Everything went through our manager," Liisi explained sweetly. "From auditions to training to debut. Even now, most communication goes through management."
Kaija nodded slowly.
'Okay… so this definitely isn't normal.'
That should probably concern her more than it currently did.
"Sorry," Kaija said after a moment, "I'd love to talk more, but I should settle in first. And probably ask Mr. Kosonen about this lodging thing."
Mostly, she just couldn't survive another five minutes of that aggressively cheerful voice.
"Of course, sister!" Liisi chirped. "If you need anything, come visit Building B, second floor! I'd love to show you around!"
Kaija smiled weakly.
Then escaped.
The second she stepped inside the building lobby, the artificial sweetness vanished behind her.
Still, the strange sensation remained.
As though Liisi's gaze was still attached to her spine while she crossed toward the elevators.
"This place is surely filled with strange people," Kaija muttered while pressing the elevator button.
Then she paused.
"Oh great. I'm one of them now."
The elevator doors slid open.
Kaija stepped inside alone.
As the elevator climbed, she pulled out the contract papers again and flipped toward the training section.
"Alright," she muttered sleepily. "Vocal training… basic enough."
Page flip.
"Behavioral and etiquette training… boring."
Another page.
"Media and public relations… what the hell is that even for?"
Another page.
Then—
Kaija froze.
Her eyes widened.
"What is this?" she whispered.
She leaned closer.
Then slammed her forehead directly against the elevator wall with a loud thunk.
"Dance training?!"
Her voice echoed through the elevator in absolute despair.
"No. No no no no no."
She snatched the papers closer with trembling hands like maybe she'd hallucinated the entire line.
But no.
There it was.
Dance training.
Acting classes.
Modeling workshops.
Kaija looked seconds away from collapsing spiritually.
"Why do singers have to do all this?" she groaned. "Can't I just write songs, sing sadly into a microphone, and go home afterward?"
Another glance downward.
More training modules.
More suffering.
"No wonder idols train for a hundred years before debuting."
The elevator dinged.
Doors opened.
Kaija stepped out mid-complaint—
—and immediately stopped.
A long corridor stretched before her.
Quiet.
Luxurious.
Empty.
She walked left.
Then right.
Then left again.
Her eyes narrowed.
"There are only two rooms on this entire floor?"
Room 1 stood at the far left.
Room 2 at the opposite end.
That was it.
Kaija approached Room 1 cautiously and tapped the key card against the scanner.
The door unlocked with a soft beep.
Then she stepped inside.
And forgot how to function.
"...What."
This was not a room.
This was a rich person's fever dream.
A massive living room opened before her with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. Beyond that sat an enormous kitchen covered in marble and polished steel.
There were four bedrooms.
Four.
Each with attached bathrooms bigger than her current apartment.
A dressing room larger than her childhood bedroom.
A balcony.
And on that balcony—
"...Is that a private pool?"
Kaija wandered deeper inside like someone exploring an abandoned palace.
Everything smelled brand new.
Clean.
Expensive.
She opened one bathroom and physically recoiled.
The bathtub alone could fit three emotionally damaged adults.
At this point, she became fully convinced there'd been a mistake.
Reluctantly, she called Camille.
The woman answered immediately.
"There's no mistake, Ms. Sepala," Camille said in that same icy tone. "Mr. Kosonen instructed personally that you are to stay in Room 1, twentieth floor, Building S."
Click.
The call ended.
Just like her boss.
Kaija stared blankly at the phone.
Then slowly looked around the giant apartment again.
"...Great."
She tossed the phone onto the couch.
"Guess I have four beds to rotate through every night then."
Later that evening, after the chauffeur helped move her embarrassingly tiny amount of belongings into the giant flat, Kaija dragged her suitcases through the hallway toward her room.
As she reached her door, her attention drifted toward the opposite side of the corridor.
Room 2.
Silent.
Closed.
Occupied by some mystery neighbor she'd yet to meet.
Kaija stared at the door thoughtfully.
'Should I knock?'
A normal person probably would.
A friendly greeting. Nice to meet you. Please ignore my emotional instability.
But after the week she'd had?
After Charles. Karl. Liisi. Camille. The airline disaster. The debt. The betrayal?
Absolutely not.
"Nah, forget it," Kaija muttered, turning away at last.
She swiped her key card and stepped inside her absurd luxury prison.
"Sorry, new neighbor. The introvert in me is exhausted today."
The door shut behind her with a soft click.
"See you around then," she murmured tiredly. "Whoever you are."