Karl Hanski was having an unimaginably boring day.
First, he had spent nearly three hours verbally dismantling his manager for failing to secure the exact first-class seat he wanted on the flight for his upcoming international tour.
Three. Entire. Hours.
And honestly? Karl still didn't think the idiot had learned his lesson.
'How hard is it to understand I need the aisle seat in the second row because the lighting there is superior for airport photos?'
People around him truly lacked refinement.
Secondly, he'd had to deal with his stylist.
Which was even worse.
Karl stood in the middle of his walk-in closet earlier that morning with both hands on his hips, staring at the collection of outfits laid out before him like they were crimes against humanity.
"This collection is already a month old," he had hissed in disbelief.
His stylist had looked moments away from tears.
A month.
Did these people think fashion stopped evolving just because ordinary mortals couldn't keep up with it?
By the time Karl finally stormed out of his closet in a foul mood, his patience had already been reduced to ashes.
Unfortunately, the universe still wasn't done tormenting him.
Because now he had to teach vocal training.
Again.
Despite the fact that he had repeatedly — and very reasonably — requested to be removed from instructor duty.
Yet somehow, the label kept refusing.
'Jealous of my talent. That must be it.'
With a dramatic sigh heavy enough to suggest the burden of genius itself weighed upon his shoulders, Karl pushed open the theatre hall doors.
Only to immediately find some black-haired girl standing in the entranceway like an obstacle placed there specifically to irritate him.
"Why are you still standing here?" Karl muttered.
The girl turned.
Blue eyes.
Sleepy-looking blue eyes.
And suddenly Karl's expression twisted.
'Oh, for fuck's sake. Her again.'
The rude girl from the waiting room.
The one who had insulted his music.
The one who had called him scum.
The one whose face had irritated him for absolutely no logical reason ever since.
Naturally, the encounter devolved into verbal combat within seconds.
After exchanging enough insults to poison the atmosphere around the entrance, Karl finally stalked toward his usual seat near the stage, muttering commands into the microphone while the artists and trainees behind him slowly dragged themselves from their seats.
Hours passed.
Hours of what Karl personally considered auditory torture.
Some sang too emotionally.
Some sang without emotion at all.
Some looked terrified.
Some tried too hard.
None were interesting.
Not really.
Karl leaned back lazily in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, turquoise eyes half-lidded with boredom as yet another trainee butchered a ballad onstage.
'I should've called in sick.'
Then, finally, the blue-eyed girl walked onto the stage.
Karl's lips slowly curled upward.
At last.
Something mildly entertaining.
Kaija stood beneath the stage lights where every singer before her had stood. Her oversized sweater sleeves hung loosely around her wrists, and despite the dozens upon dozens of eyes fixed on her, she looked completely unaffected.
No tension.
No nervousness.
No visible effort to impress.
Those sleepy blue eyes merely drifted across the theatre lazily, not even bothering to look directly at him.
Karl's brows furrowed instantly.
'What's with that face?'
"I have no homework," Kaija said into the mic.
Even her voice sounded sleepy.
Karl scoffed loudly and grabbed the microphone from the table.
"Of course you don't."
Then, suddenly, his expression shifted.
A slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face.
Oh.
If she wanted to stand there looking unbothered, then maybe he should make things a little more exciting.
Karl turned toward the audience behind him like some glamorous awards-show host.
"Anybody know who this little bird here is?" he drawled into the microphone.
The room quieted immediately.
"This is Kaija Sepala! She just signed with KE yesterday!"
He paused deliberately.
"With Charles fucking Kosonen himself."
Silence crashed over the theatre.
A heavy kind of silence.
Because everyone there understood exactly what that meant.
At KE, artists did not sign directly under the CEO.
Not trainees.
Not rookies.
Not nobodies.
That sort of privilege simply didn't exist.
Karl leaned back farther in his chair, thoroughly enjoying the ripple effect already spreading through the crowd.
"Let me tell you more about this special one here, fellas," he continued lazily. "Kaija here didn't go through any audition, passed no rounds, and yet here she is."
His smirk sharpened.
"One of you."
The murmuring started almost instantly.
People turned toward one another.
Phones appeared.
Cameras turned on.
Curiosity spread through the theatre like wildfire.
Everyone wanted to know the same thing now.
What kind of voice could possibly earn that kind of treatment from Charles Kosonen?
Onstage, Kaija blinked slowly.
Then — unbelievably — she gave the room an awkward little wave.
Still wearing that same blank, half-awake expression.
Karl felt irritation scrape against his nerves.
'Why does she look so calm?'
"Sing away, little birdie," Karl muttered into the mic. "Any song's fine."
Kaija tilted her head.
"Any song is fine?"
"Any song is fineeeee," Karl repeated slowly, dragging the words out like he was speaking to someone profoundly stupid.
A wicked grin lifted one corner of his mouth.
"Consider it my welcoming gift to you."
"Cool." Kaija nodded once. "Hope you won't regret your own words, bro."
Karl narrowed his eyes.
Then Kaija turned toward the audience instead.
Tap.
Tap.
She tested the mic lazily.
"Wassup, everyone," she began. "I'm Kaija, like Karl here already said for me."
A few chuckles spread through the audience.
"Well, um…" Kaija scratched lightly at her cheek. "What else can I add? He already said everything for me."
More laughter.
Karl's face darkened slightly.
"Let's just get to the song, shall we?" Kaija continued. "Well, today, like any of you would if you were in my place, I'm singing one of my favorite songs."
Her expression softened.
Genuinely softened.
And suddenly, something in her sleepy blue eyes became quieter.
More distant.
"This song carried me through the darkest time in my life," she said softly, "back when I still didn't know where I belonged in this world."
The theatre gradually stilled.
"Well… not that I know now," she admitted with a faint shrug.
A few people laughed quietly.
"But now that I'm here with you guys, I suppose I hope I'll stay here for a good, long time."
Karl's fingers, which had been tapping lazily against the armrest, slowed.
"So," Kaija said, lifting the mic slightly.
"This one is for you."
Her gaze drifted toward Karl.
"And for our instructor here too."
Then she smiled.
A small smile.
Almost teasing.
"Here's Sociopath," she said.
A beat passed.
"By Karl Hanski."
The smirk vanished from Karl's face instantly.
His body stiffened.
'What?'
His lips parted.
He almost interrupted her.
Almost.
But then Kaija started singing.
I pour my heart into the verses,
I burn my youth to light the way.
They're telling me to stop, but I'm already deaf.
A sociopath on a social path.
The room froze.
Every single person.
Because the moment the first lines left her mouth, it felt like the entire theatre had been struck clean through the chest.
Kaija's voice wasn't merely beautiful.
It was devastating.
Raw.
Haunting.
Achingly human.
The song unfolded like crashing waves.
Soft at first.
Then growing.
Then swelling larger and larger until emotion flooded every corner of the room.
Karl felt it immediately.
That strange pressure against his ribs.
The kind his own songs rarely managed to evoke from him anymore.
Because he had written this song seven years ago.
Back when he was twenty-one.
Back when he was angry.
Back when he still believed music could claw the loneliness out of his chest.
And somehow—
Somehow this girl understood it.
Not just the melody.
Not just the technique.
She understood the loneliness hidden inside it.
Kaija moved effortlessly between soaring vocals and rough, gritty rap verses, her voice adapting naturally to every shift in tone as though the song had been written specifically for her.
The audience stared in stunned silence.
If there existed any female singer capable of matching Karl Hanski's absurd vocal range, everyone in the theatre thought the same thing at once.
It had to be this girl.
The crescendo hit.
Her voice shattered through the hall.
Then slowly, painfully, beautifully, the song faded toward its aching final lines.
And still—
Karl never raised his hand once.
Not once.
The final note disappeared.
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
Kaija stood under the lights breathing hard now, chest rising and falling, strands of black hair sticking faintly against her cheek.
Karl remained motionless in his seat.
Turquoise eyes fixed entirely on her.
For a long moment, nobody dared make a sound.
Then somewhere in the audience—
Clap.
One pair of hands.
Then another.
Then more.
And suddenly the entire theatre erupted.
Thunderous applause exploded through the room.
Cheers.
Whistles.
Excited shouting.
The sound swallowed the entire hall.
Everyone applauded.
Everyone except Karl.
Because Karl still hadn't moved.
If someone had looked closely at his face right then, they would've seen something extraordinarily rare.
Not irritation.
Not arrogance.
Not boredom.
Contentment.
Pure, quiet contentment.
The tension had disappeared entirely from his features now. His face looked calm again, almost gentle, while his turquoise eyes trembled faintly as he stared at the girl onstage.
'Charles found… this?'
Slowly, Karl rose to his feet.
The applause died instantly.
Every eye snapped toward him.
"Training's over," Karl muttered flatly.
He grabbed the microphone.
"Get the fuck out of here, all of you."
Nobody moved for half a second.
Then the room exploded into motion.
People scrambled to gather their things while still whispering excitedly about Kaija.
But Karl wasn't listening anymore.
Without another word, he turned and walked straight out of the theatre.
The room watched him leave in stunned silence.
Only after the doors shut behind him did the audience finally look back toward the stage.
Kaija was gone too.
She had slipped out through the backstage exit without making a sound.
Like she had never been there at all.
Late afternoon sunlight poured through the tall windows of the photography studio, bathing the room in soft orange light.
The space smelled faintly of makeup powder, expensive perfume, and freshly printed photo paper.
Equipment stood neatly arranged around the studio floor — cameras, lighting rigs, reflectors.
The first person to enter the room was a tall young man carrying a black shoulder bag.
Juho stepped inside quietly.
Unlike most people at KE, he moved with almost unnerving calmness.
His dark clothes blended into the shadows around the studio while the green of his eyes stood out sharply — cool and deep like winter forests.
He glanced around the room once before lowering his gaze toward the session information sheet in his hand.
Modeling Session.
His expression remained indifferent.
Then his eyes drifted lower.
Trainee: Kaija Sepala.
Juho stilled.
Very slightly.
The paper crinkled faintly beneath his fingers.
For the first time since entering the room, emotion flickered across his otherwise composed face.
Recognition.
Memory.
Something older.
His narrowed green eyes darkened faintly.
"Well now," Juho murmured quietly, sliding the paper back into his bag.
A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.
"Long time no see, Kaija."