The music cut off mid-beat.
Silence slammed into the dance studio so abruptly that several trainees nearly lost balance trying to freeze in position.
Sweat dripped down tense faces.
Sneakers squeaked faintly against the polished floor.
And in the middle of the room stood the reason none of them dared breathe too loudly.
"What do you mean there's a new trainee?"
The sharp male voice sliced through the room like a whip crack.
At the far end of the studio, the man holding the phone stood with one shoulder against the mirrored wall, golden eyes narrowed dangerously.
Antony Kosonen
Antony's handsome face looked carved from irritation itself.
His chestnut hair was slightly damp from hours of training, strands falling carelessly over a forehead currently pulled into a deep frown. Even in nothing more than a loose white T-shirt and black training pants, he looked painfully striking.
Too striking.
The kind of face trainees whispered about secretly in dorm rooms.
The kind that made new recruits develop crushes they regretted immediately after their first lesson.
Unfortunately for everyone present, Antony's beauty came packaged with the temperament of a battlefield commander.
Before him, rows of teenagers stood rigidly in formation, their expressions tense.
Nobody wanted to be the reason Instructor Antony exploded today.
And judging by that phone call, somebody already had.
"Look," Antony continued coldly into the phone, "the Beginner Dance class finished yesterday. I'm not leading a class with only one trainee."
Several trainees lowered their heads further.
'Poor bastard.'
Whoever the new person was, their future already looked bleak.
Camille's measured voice answered through the speaker.
"I understand it's not an ideal arrangement for you, Instructor Antony. However, Mr. Kosonen made it very clear that he wants this trainee to debut as soon as possible."
Antony rolled his eyes immediately.
Of course this was Charles's doing.
That insufferable control freak.
"And she cannot possibly debut without passing Beginner Dance," Camille continued carefully. "You are still Head Instructor of the Performance Department."
Antony's expression darkened further.
"So it's a she?"
His tone turned visibly more disgusted.
"Good. Even more reason to reject this nonsense outright."
Several trainees flinched.
One boy in the back physically winced.
Antony pushed himself off the mirror and began pacing slowly across the floor.
"I made my conditions perfectly clear when I transferred departments," he snapped. "I'm not teaching a one-person class. Especially not with just one girl."
His jaw tightened visibly.
"Go talk to your boss and fix it."
Click.
The call ended.
Antony exhaled sharply through his nose and tossed the phone toward the speaker table hard enough to make several trainees jump.
Then he dragged a hand through his hair before turning slowly toward the room.
Dozens of terrified eyes immediately straightened.
"Listen up!"
His clap echoed like gunfire.
Every trainee jolted.
"It's your last day," Antony barked. "Give me your best. If you can't even perform the easiest basic choreography correctly, then forget having a future in this industry. Understood?"
"Yes, Instructor!" the room shouted in shaky unison.
Satisfied, Antony strode toward the speaker system and hit play.
Music exploded through the studio.
The trainees moved instantly.
Sharp turns. Fast footwork. Fluid arm lines.
Bodies moved in perfect synchronization beneath the studio lights, reflections multiplying endlessly across the mirror-covered walls.
Still, Antony looked unimpressed.
Leaning back against the mirror once more, he watched them with narrowed eyes.
Every weak angle.
Every delayed beat.
Every imbalance.
Nothing escaped him.
The song ended.
The trainees froze in formation, breathing hard.
Antony pointed lazily.
"You. You. And you."
Three people nearly died from panic before realizing—
"You pass."
Relief exploded across their faces.
The remaining trainees looked ready to cry.
"The rest," Antony said flatly, "again."
Several souls visibly left their bodies.
Deep down though, even while suffering, they found themselves pitying the mysterious incoming trainee more.
'One-on-one training with Instructor Antony?'
'Good luck surviving that.'
The next morning, that poor trainee arrived at 6:45 AM sharp.
Kaija stepped into the empty studio cautiously, one hand clutching her phone, the other carrying a water bottle and exactly zero enthusiasm for life.
The giant mirrors lining the walls immediately made her regret existing.
'Wonderful. Now I get to watch myself fail in high definition.'
Seeing the room empty, Kaija sighed in relief.
No trainees.
No instructors.
No human interaction.
Perfect.
She shuffled toward the corner like a sleepy raccoon seeking shelter, sat down against the wall, plugged in her earphones, and closed her eyes briefly.
The dance class was the part she'd dreaded most ever since reading the contract.
Singing? Fine.
Writing songs? Great.
Acting? Weird, but survivable.
But dancing?
'God really does abandon people eventually.'
She decided conserving energy was more important than wasting social battery this early in the morning.
At exactly seven o'clock, the studio door opened.
Kaija looked up lazily—
—and immediately paused.
A tall man entered with the kind of severe expression usually reserved for war generals and people filing taxes.
He wore a plain white T-shirt and black pants.
Simple.
Unremarkable.
Yet somehow the entire room felt colder after he walked in.
Kaija blinked slowly.
Something about his face looked… familiar.
The sharp lines.
The unreadable expression.
The chestnut hair.
For one bizarre second, Charles Kosonen flashed through her mind.
Not identical.
This man looked younger. Rougher around the edges somehow.
And his eyes—
Gold.
Bright gold.
Like molten metal beneath sunlight.
Still, the resemblance unsettled her enough that the greeting flew out before she could stop herself.
"Hi."
Kaija scrambled upright awkwardly.
"I'm Kaija Sepala. Um… who are you?"
The man froze.
Literally froze.
One hand still resting on the door handle.
Golden eyes fixed on her.
Like he'd walked into the wrong dimension.
Kaija blinked.
'Uh… did I say something weird?'
Silence stretched painfully.
The man stared at her another moment before dragging a hand slowly down his face.
"You're the new trainee?" he muttered finally, gaze dropping toward the floor instead of her.
"Indeed!" Kaija answered quickly. "And you are?"
"Your instructor."
His voice sounded deeply unhappy about that fact.
He walked toward the speaker system and dropped his bag into the corner carelessly.
"Er… okay…"
Kaija shifted awkwardly.
"Could I maybe have a name too?"
The man's shoulders stiffened slightly.
"Just call me Instructor."
Kaija raised a brow.
'Wow. Charming.'
The entire conversation felt strange.
He wouldn't look at her properly.
And somehow irritation radiated off him in waves.
"Alright then… Instructor," she said slowly. "Um… isn't class supposed to start now? Where is everyone?"
A long sigh escaped him.
"That's because," he replied flatly, "you're the only one in this class."
Kaija stared.
Then immediately blurted—
"No way."
Her face twisted in disbelief.
"You've gotta be kidding me. Did this label run out of trainees or something?"
The man inhaled deeply.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Like he was fighting demons internally.
"They graduated yesterday and moved to Intermediate," he explained finally. "Not that it matters. I teach that class too."
Then he leaned back against the wall and folded his arms.
"But here's the thing."
Now his tone turned colder.
"I don't want to teach a one-person class. Especially not with you."
Kaija blinked.
Excuse her?
"I'm only here because I need to tap my ID card for attendance," he continued flatly. "And because I need the hours for my paycheck."
Then at last, his golden eyes lifted toward hers properly for the first time.
They looked exhausted.
And deeply annoyed.
"So now," he said, "you—whatever your name is. Would you please just leave?"
Kaija stared at him.
Then, without hesitation—
"Okay."
She got up instantly.
Walked straight toward the door.
Opened it carefully.
And even closed it quietly behind her on the way out.
Not one argument.
Not one complaint.
Exactly what she'd wanted to hear anyway.
'Best instructor ever.'
Inside the room, Antony remained leaning against the wall.
Motionless.
Then his face twitched.
Slightly at first.
Then again.
His hands, which had stayed controlled the entire conversation, began trembling faintly.
"…Argh, unbelievable."
He rubbed both hands over his face harshly.
When they lowered again, his cheeks had turned visibly red.
Not from anger.
Which somehow irritated him even more.
That girl.
That stupidly calm girl.
Not only had she not argued—
She'd left immediately.
Like she truly wanted nothing to do with him.
Antony laughed once under his breath, short and disbelieving.
Then a faint smirk tugged at his mouth.
"Ha…"
Golden eyes drifted toward the closed studio door.
"So that jerk half-brother of mine," he murmured softly, "finally found himself a favorite new toy."