Looking back now, from the hollow quiet of a moving coffin, I realize I should have questioned it from the very first second.
Why would Rider Entertainment hire someone like me to manage one of the biggest, most fiercely protected idol groups in the entire country?
I wasn't some high-profile industry expert. I wasn't born into wealth, and I didn't carry years of elite experience working with temperamental celebrities. I was just an ordinary twenty-one-year-old multimedia architect and freelance videographer. I was a nobody who happened to send in a résumé at the exact moment a trap was being laid.
There had to be thousands of people more qualified than me. People with powerful connections. People who actually understood the ruthless machinery of the entertainment industry.
Yet, somehow, the board had bypasses them all and chosen "me".
At the time, sitting in my cramped apartment, I didn't think about the anomalies. I didn't question the sudden windfall. I was too dizzy with relief, too profoundly grateful, and too desperately starved for something good to finally happen in my miserable life. I thought the universe was finally throwing me a lifeline.
And that naive gratitude was probably my very first mistake.
The morning of my first day, I woke up long before my alarm could shatter the silence.
I sat frozen on the edge of my mattress, staring blankly at the peeling wallpaper of my bedroom. I wasn't thinking about anything monumental; I just needed a few quiet minutes to let the reality settle into my skin.
This wasn't a dream. Today, I was walking through the glass doors of Rider Entertainment. Today, I was starting a real career. Today, I was becoming Rider's personal manager.
The sheer gravity of the title made my head spin. After a few minutes, I finally forced myself up and walked over to my sparse closet. Immediately, a new wave of anxiety hit.
Nothing looked right. I picked out a dark shirt, then hung it back up. Wrong. A navy suit that had looked perfectly fine the night before suddenly seemed cheap and completely out of place under the morning light. Another jacket looked far too formal, while a third looked entirely too casual. I spent nearly twenty minutes standing in front of that closet, having a silent, frantic argument with my own clothes.
Eventually, my eyes landed on my lucky charcoal suit. It was the one I had worn to every milestone in my short life—graduation, important pitches, nerve-wracking meetings. It was the only armor that successfully convinced me I knew what I was doing, even when I felt completely hollow inside.
I held it up against the light and gave it a stiff nod. "You've got one more job."
The fabric, unsurprisingly, offered no comfort.
"If this entire day goes up in flames," I muttered, a small, self-deprecating laugh escaping me, "I'm blaming you."
I got dressed, smoothing down the lapels, desperately hoping the armor would hold.
The capital looked entirely different that morning. It seemed brighter, less hostile, as if the suffocating weight of the city had miraculously lifted. Maybe that was the ultimate, cruel illusion of happiness—it warped your perception of reality. The same concrete streets I had trudged through yesterday now seemed electric with unseen possibilities. Even the gridlock traffic didn't break my mood.
By the time I reached the towering headquarters of Rider Entertainment, a genuine smile was resting on my face.
Then, I stepped into the pristine, white marble lobby, and my lungs completely forgot how to process oxygen.
My palms instantly coated in a cold sweat. My pulse spiked, hammering violently against my ribs. That familiar, agonizing sensation of entirely defiling a space just by existing within it wrapped its icy fingers around my throat. I hated that feeling. No matter how far I ran, no matter how hard I tried to rebuild myself, the ghost of the unwanted black sheep always managed to find me.
I stopped near the security turnstiles, took a long, shuddering breath, and forced my eyes shut.
*You belong here. You earned this.*
I repeated the lie quietly to myself, straightened my shoulders, and walked toward the elevators. The sleek metallic doors slid shut behind me, sealing me into the small carriage.
And suddenly, the phantom scent of expensive designer cologne rushed back into my mind. I froze. This was the exact same elevator. The precise enclosure where I had been trapped with them just days prior. The space where Charlie had stood so close his shadow had swallowed me whole. The space where I had stared at him like a pathetic, starstruck idiot.
I instantly buried my face in my hands, the heat of humiliation rushing to my cheeks. "Please, god, let him be too famous to remember a face like mine."
The elevator car, much like my suit, offered no helpful advice. It just chimed, delivering me to the executive floor.