The first time Tina Park met NØCTURN, they were late.
Not fashionably late. Not just a few minutes behind schedule. They were a staggering forty-seven minutes late.
She didn't let out a sigh of frustration. She didn't pace back and forth anxiously. She didn't check her phone like the assistants outside the glass hallway, whose whispered conversations floated through the air. Instead, Tina stood resolutely in the center of the empty dance studio, the clipboard resting lightly against her palm as the overhead lights hummed above her, casting a sterile glow over the polished wooden floor.
The mirrors reflected one unsettling reality: a vacant practice room — and a woman already unimpressed.
The company director's warning echoed in her mind: *They're talented… just difficult.*
Tina didn't fear difficulty; what irked her was inefficiency. Just then, the door burst open, and a tidal wave of laughter swept into the room — carefree, loud, and vibrant — followed by five young men who looked nothing like the nervous rookies on the cusp of debuting under a major label.
They halted in their tracks upon catching sight of her. It wasn't anger that made her expression so intimidating; it was simply the calm weight of her gaze.
The tallest one stepped forward first, his posture shifting from casual to correct as if guided by instinct rather than habit.
"Ah… you must be our new manager," he said, his voice steady and controlled. A natural leader.
Tina filed this observation away, noting his immediate authority.
"Kai," he introduced himself, giving a polite bow. Before she could respond, a flash of blue hair appeared over his shoulder, accompanied by a lazy grin.
"Oh," he mused, eyes glinting with mischief as he read her expression. "She looks strict."
A beat passed.
"I like this one," he added, a hint of challenge in his tone.
"Ryujin," he said, as though introducing himself were merely an afterthought. Meanwhile, another boy in the back remained engrossed in his phone, his disinterested evident.
"Is attendance mandatory?" he asked flatly.
Kai sighed, a hint of annoyance creeping into his demeanor. "Minjae."
From the back, a lively voice chimed in.
"Hi! Sorry, we're late! We brought snacks — wait, are we in trouble?"
Seung. He exuded warmth, disarming even at a moment like this.
Finally, the last member entered quietly, his silver hair catching the light. He had silent eyes that seemed to take in everything — especially her presence.
Dohyun.
He didn't offer any words, only studied her intently.
Tina closed her clipboard, letting silence fill the room like a heavy fog.
They waited for the expected reprimand.
But none came.
"You're forty-seven minutes late," she stated, her voice steady.
Ryujin leaned against the mirror with an air of defiance. "Traffic—"
"There was no traffic," she interjected flatly.
Minjae finally looked up from his phone, surprise flickering across his face.
"…That was fast."
Kai bowed again, this time with a hint of desperation. "We apologize."
Tina nodded once, acknowledgment but no leniency.
"Warm up."
They blinked in disbelief.
"That's it?" Seung asked, his brow furrowed.
She walked calmly to the console, flipping on the music with a practiced flick of her wrist.
"Punishment comes after I confirm the problem," she replied.
The music started, filling the room with a rhythm that demanded attention.
---
Two Weeks Later
They learned her quickly.
Not her personality. She kept that hidden, cocooned away under layers of professionalism.
But they learned her patterns.
Tina never raised her voice.
She never repeated herself.
She never engaged in arguments.
Instead, she observed.
And observation was far worse than anger.
Tonight, they were careless.
The formation fractured halfway through.
Ryujin skipped an essential transition.
Minjae lagged behind the tempo like a drifting leaf in the wind.
Seung laughed in the midst of a count, his carefree spirit clashing with their purpose.
And Dohyun, always ever stoic, was entranced by the mirror rather than the choreography.
Kai noticed first the apprehension creeping into his voice.
"…Guys."
Suddenly, the music cut off, leaving silence hanging in the air.
They turned to find Tina poised by the door, her arms crossed with an air of authority.
None of them had heard her entrance.
Which meant she had been watching.
Bad.
Very bad.
---
She walked deliberately to the center of the room, each step measured and purposeful.
"Again."
No one budged.
Ryujin rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture of frustration. "We've been here six hours—"
"And you wasted forty minutes," she calmly replied.
Her voice remained unchanged, like a cold wind that stifled all warmth.
That made the atmosphere all the more oppressive.
She pointed at the mirror, her eyes shining with intensity.
"Debut is in eighteen days. Cameras don't forgive half effort. Fans don't wait for motivation."
Minjae muttered, "We're tired."
Tina locked her gaze onto him, piercing through excuses.
"You will be tired for the next five years," she retorted sharply.
Silence fell like a heavy curtain.
She stepped closer, and instinctively, they straightened, the weight of her presence commanding their attention.
"You are not practicing until you succeed," she stated quietly, her intensity palpable. "You are practicing until failure ceases to exist."
Seung swallowed hard. "Manager-nim… we'll redo it."
"No."
They blinked, taken aback.
Her gaze sharpened like a blade.
"Restart from Formation A."
Kai nodded immediately, sensing the urgency. "Positions."
Ryujin groaned but complied, moving through the stale air.
Dohyun, always the last to act, lingered for just a second too long before finding his mark.
Minjae put his phone down, his nonchalance evaporating without further instruction.
As the music began again, they danced now with newfound precision.
Sharper lines. Cleaner timing. Focused breaths.
They performed as if they were already on stage.
Because suddenly, they were no longer dancing for evaluation.
They were performing for her approval.
---
The track ended.
Silence reclaimed the room.
Tina checked her clipboard, her thoughts racing.
"…Better," she remarked, her voice laced with a hint of satisfaction.
Instant relief washed over them.
Seung grinned widely, a burst of joy unleashed.
Minjae dropped to the floor in exhaustion but with a clinical sense of victory.
Ryujin smirked, defiance transformed into triumph.
Dohyun relaxed, the tension seeping from his shoulders.
Kai let out a quiet exhale, as if a breath had finally been freed.
They missed the faint curve at the corner of her mouth — a sign of approval that was almost imperceptible.
---
That night, they lingered after practice, an unspoken agreement that they would stay without prompting.
And in that quiet moment, Tina realized something unexpectedly profound.
They listened to her.
Which meant she now carried the weight of five futures instead of just her own.
What she didn't know yet was that, in their hearts, they had already decided she was theirs.