THE RULEBOOK
893 Words
Day one.
Minjae had decided, somewhere between waking up late and brushing his teeth, that he was going to make her regret taking this job.
She’d waltzed in with confidence and competence, acting like she already had him figured out.
He hated it.
Hated how put-together she looked at 6:55 a.m. sharp. Hated how calm she was when she handed him a printed schedule—neatly typed, color-coded, and absurdly optimistic.
7:00 a.m. Vocal Training.
9:00 a.m. Image Consultation.
11:00 a.m. Meditation and Movement.
1:00 p.m. Studio Work.
4:00 p.m. Rest.
6:00 p.m. Rehearsals.
8:00 p.m. Reflection Journal.
“Resurrection doesn’t happen by accident.” — A.G.
Amani Grace. Fitting name.
He read it twice, then tossed it on the table with a smirk. “Do I look like a kindergartner to you?”
“You look like someone in need of structure,” she replied without missing a beat.
He stared at her. “You’re serious.”
“Painfully.”
So he made a decision.
He would test her.
________________________________________
By 7:00 a.m., he was late to vocal training.
At 7:15, he arrived in sunglasses, earbuds in, scrolling his phone as if no one else existed.
The vocal coach, Daesung, cleared his throat.
“Minjae-ssi, are we—?”
“Just play the track.”
Amani stood near the corner of the room, calm, eyes on him.
He ignored her.
Daesung launched into basic warmups, but Minjae barely moved his lips. He yawned, scratched his head, fake-coughed through scales.
Amani said nothing.
For over twenty minutes, she said nothing.
Then Minjae belted a painfully off-key note.
Even Daesung winced. “Uh… let’s—let’s go again?”
Minjae looked straight at Amani, his voice flat. “That’s all you get. I have a personal rule against singing before noon.”
Amani stepped forward quietly.
“Then you’ll need a new rule,” she said, voice even. “Or a new career.”
Minjae tilted his head. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t have time for man-children. You want to throw a tantrum? Do it somewhere that doesn’t involve ruining your own voice.”
Daesung’s eyes widened.
Minjae laughed—short, sharp, surprised.
“You’ve got nerve,” he muttered.
“No. I’ve got a job. You’re just making it harder.”
________________________________________
By 9:00 a.m., he canceled the image consultant.
At 11:00, he replaced his meditation session with gaming in his studio.
At 1:00 p.m., he walked into the studio and stood behind her chair, arms folded.
“You know, Oprah probably didn’t have to deal with this much attitude.”
Amani didn’t look up. “And yet, I handled her just fine.”
That stopped him. His jaw tensed.
“Was she difficult?” he asked.
“She was brilliant. And demanding. Not petulant.”
Minjae narrowed his eyes. “You think I’m petulant?”
“I think you’re scared.”
He blinked.
“I think you know this is your last shot, and you’re terrified of failing. So you’re pushing back at the one person who might actually help.”
There was silence.
He turned on his heel and walked out.
________________________________________
The rest of the day unfolded like a psychological minefield.
Every time she spoke, he interrupted. Every idea she gave, he dismissed.
But he couldn’t stop watching her.
The way she stood. The way she spoke. Her poise. Her silence.
She didn’t c***k. Didn’t argue. Didn’t plead.
And that made him crazier.
________________________________________
Back in the vocal room at 6:00 p.m., Daesung tried again.
Minjae still wasn’t cooperating, but this time he wasn’t mocking—he was distracted.
Amani stood near the mirror, arms crossed, her reflection watching his every move.
He sang half a verse. Flubbed the ending.
Amani scribbled notes, calm as ever.
He tried again. Missed the breath.
She stayed silent.
He sang louder. Rougher.
Nothing.
Finally, he stopped.
“Say something!” he snapped.
She raised her head slowly. “You’re off rhythm, off pitch, and overthinking every note.”
His jaw clenched. “You’re not a singer.”
“I’m not. I’m a strategist. And this performance? It’s not working.”
He stormed toward her. “Then maybe you should leave.”
“Gladly,” she said.
But she didn’t move.
He stepped back, confused.
“You’re not the only one with something to lose, Minjae,” she said quietly. Her voice was calm, but it hit like a storm. “You think I don’t see how broken you are? You think I haven’t worked with worse? I came here because someone believed in what’s left of you. So if you want to self-destruct, fine. But don’t drag me down with you.”
The room went dead silent.
Even Daesung looked shaken.
Minjae opened his mouth—then closed it.
Something cracked in him.
Not broken.
Just... disarmed.
Amani didn’t wait for him to respond.
She turned, straightened her blazer, and walked out.
Minjae stood frozen in place.
He hated how his chest felt suddenly too tight.
How her words echoed long after she left the room.
________________________________________
That night, as she leaned against the elevator wall, exhausted, her phone buzzed.
Hyunwoo: New song idea tonight. He might ask you to hear it. Don’t let him pretend it’s nothing.
She sighed.
Even after everything—
She knew he was still listening.
- Writer
