Jungkook

“You changed the choreography again.”

My voice echoed through the sleek, mirrored dance studio—sharp, clipped, and way too calm for the storm building behind my eyes. I've been practicing for a solo song even before debuting as a group, I had a lot of things on my plate.

Group rehearsals, photoshoots, upcoming ads (He made it solo for me), single after a few months and he keeps making changes for perfection.

Taehyung didn’t look up from where he sat, legs crossed like royalty on the elevated platform, fingers lazily scrolling through his iPad. His black shirt hugged him like a threat. His ring glinted under artificial lights as he adjusted his grip. I hated how I noticed such insignificant things.

“I did,” he said simply, not even sparing a glance. “The last version didn’t make you look hungry enough.”

My jaw ticked. “I’m not a goddamn stray dog.”

“No,” Taehyung replied, finally lifting his gaze—dark and gleaming like onyx. “Dogs are loyal.”

I took a step forward, sweat-slicked hair falling over my forehead. “You don’t fucking own me.”

Taehyung set the iPad aside and stood, moving like the floor obeyed him. “You’re under my company. On my stage. Wearing clothes I approved. Singing lyrics I rewrote. And dancing to steps I choreographed.” His voice dropped to a whisper, velvet and venom. “Tell me again how you’re not mine.”

My breath hitched—just for a second. And Taehyung caught it. He always did.

We stood toe to toe now, and the air between us buzzed like static before a thunderstorm. Taehyung smelled like expensive cologne and danger. His presence pressed down like a weight i refused to kneel under.

“Keep dreaming,” i said, eyes narrow.

“I do,” Taehyung murmured, a smirk pulling at his lips. “About breaking you.”

Before i could snap back, the studio door opened.

Sera Choi, a mature/close to middle aged women and our group manager, peeked in like she was trying not to breathe too loud. “Sorry—uh, they need you both at the rehearsal hall. Stage layout briefing.”

Taehyung didn’t look away from me and answered “We’ll be there.”

Manager Choi blinked “Together?”

Taehyung’s smirk widened. “Always.”

I felt the unsettling chill at the sudden husk in his voice but I'd be damned if I dared point that out.

I simply didn't care.

The ride to the Rehearsal hall was silent.

I sat pressed against the window of Taehyung’s private blacked-out van, arms crossed, legs twitching with bottled-up fire. Taehyung lounged beside me like we weren’t one wrong word away from spontaneous combustion.

“Should’ve taken my bike,” i muttered to myself but the silence was too loud the arrogant man beside me caught it.

Taehyung lazily scrolled his phone. “And let those paparazzi get a full body shot of you in sweats with your ass peeking out during that high kick? No, thank you. I have image standards.”

I kicked the back of the seat in front of him.

Taehyung didn’t flinch.

“Acting like you care about my image,” I grumbled.

He leaned closer. “I care about what’s mine.”

There it was again.

That word.

Mine.

It annoyed me and did everything I hated.

It's been 4 weeks and 3 days since I became a trainee at the V-Verse Entertainment and every week felt like a decade and everyday felt like a year to me with taehyung's commanding and authoritative presence.

From how many days I've endured him till now, I noticed.

He has a habit of muttering this word to me. 'mine' He said it like it was already carved into my skin, stitched between his ribs, and settled into the back of his throat every time i tried to spit fire. I fucking hate this. Hate him.

I turned “If you want a puppet, go carve one out of the woods.”

“I did,” He replied, eyes scanning my face. “But it didn’t move like you.”

This bastard has a way with his words. Which is extremely unpleasant since they are directed specifically at me.

The silence that followed was dangerous.

i turned away, my jaw tight.

From the corner of my eye i saw him grin.

The briefing was a blur.

The rehearsal hall smelled like dust and adrenaline. Light rigs hung half-assembled above the glossy stage floor, cables snaking across the ground like black veins. A dozen staff members moved around in controlled chaos — stylists, sound techs, choreographers.

I hated how quiet it went the second he walked in.

Taehyung didn’t need to raise his voice; the air adjusted for him. He stepped up to the center, black coat trailing, tablet in hand, eyes scanning the stage like it was another empire he owned.

Manager Choi followed him, holding a clipboard tight to her chest. Behind them came four other trainees — Haneul, Jiwoo, dex and Minjae — all whispering to each other, probably about the same thing everyone whispered: how I was Taehyung’s favorite.

If only they knew.

“All right,” Taehyung’s voice cut through. “We’ll walk through the camera blocking for the debut unit performance. Positions.”

I moved automatically, sliding into my mark. And my group mate too took their positions.

“Lighting team,” Taehyung said, without looking up, “I want spotlight trails to follow Jungkook’s motion on chorus two. He moves differently. He needs to be tracked precisely.”

A few heads turned at that. Yeah. There it was. The favoritism rumor growing legs.

“Sir, that’ll require manual follow cams,” one of the cameramen offered, hesitant.

“Then do it,” Taehyung replied flatly. “He’s worth the adjustment.”

My jaw clenched. He’s worth the adjustment. God, he made it sound like I was a malfunctioning machine he’d still decided to keep.

The music cue started — heavy bass, sharp synth line. We moved through the first sequence. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t right either. Taehyung’s gaze pinned every mistake, every hesitation. I could feel it burning between my shoulder blades even when he wasn’t speaking.

“Stop,” he said finally, raising a hand. “Jungkook, your angle on eight is late by half a count.”

I exhaled hard. “That’s because of the lighting delay—”

“No,” he cut in, tone soft but slicing clean through. “You’re reacting. Don’t react. Lead. The stage follows you, not the other way around.”

The crew glanced between us. I hated the way they looked — like watching a teacher correct a favorite student.

“Again,” he said.

We ran it again. And again. By the third repeat, sweat crawled down my neck. Haneul stumbled slightly on a turn, earning a sharp word from the dance director.

“Take five,” Taehyung ordered.

Everyone scattered for water, stretching out sore muscles. Everyone except him. He stayed near the stage monitors, reviewing the playback footage. His thumb dragged across the screen, slow and deliberate.

I knew I should’ve walked away too. But of course, I didn’t.

“You enjoy watching yourself scold people?” I asked, stepping up beside him.

He didn’t glance up. “You assume I enjoy it. I don’t enjoy incompetence.”

“Right,” I muttered. “Must be exhausting being perfect.”

“It is,” he said simply, and that smug little half-smile ghosted across his face.

Before I could snap back, Jiwoo approached timidly, clutching his bottle.

“Sir, for the second verse — should I keep the back turn or face front when the lights shift?”

“Front,” Taehyung said without missing a beat. “You’re the frame. He’s the focus.” He pointed at me.

Jiwoo paused for a second and left with a face that unsettled me.

I swallowed the strange weight in my throat.

After the break, the director called for a full run-through — cameras, lights, everything.

Music boomed. We moved. I hit every beat this time, refusing to give Taehyung a single excuse to correct me. My muscles screamed, but my timing was perfect.

When the last note faded, the crew actually clapped a little. Even Taehyung didn’t speak for a moment. He just looked at me — long enough that something inside me twisted tight.

“Better,” he said finally. “Almost convincing.”

“You want convincing?” I snapped before I could stop myself. “Then stop watching me like a hawk and let me breathe.”

The entire hall froze.

You could practically hear everyone’s hearts drop.

Manager Choi’s eyes widened. “Jungkook—!”

“No, let him,” Taehyung said softly.

He stepped down from the platform, crossing the floor until he stood right in front of me.

“You think my attention is suffocating?”

His tone was calm — too calm.

“Then earn the right to be ignored.”

He turned to the others, expression unreadable.

“Take five more minutes. Everyone except Jungkook.”

Every set of eyes darted to me, then to him. No one dared to argue. One by one, they filed out, leaving the stage echoing with footsteps and silence.

“What the hell is your problem?” I hissed the second the door shut.

“My problem,” Taehyung said, circling me slowly, “is that you still haven’t decided whether you want to fight me or impress me.”

“I don’t want either.”

“You want both.”

He stopped behind me. I could feel his presence more than I see it — like gravity shifting.

“You’re reckless,” he murmured. “But the camera loves it. That’s why I chose you. You remind me that chaos can be beautiful, if someone powerful enough holds the reins.”

“You don’t hold mine.”

“We’ll see.”

The door opened then, and Manager Choi’s voice broke the charge in the air.

“Mr.kim, PD-nim needs you for the investor briefing.”

Taehyung didn’t move for a beat. Then he straightened, mask sliding back into place.

“Resume full choreography tomorrow,” he said to me, businesslike. “And don’t be late again.”

He brushed past, the faintest trace of cologne lingering behind him. Manager Choi gave me a worried look before following him out.

And just like that, the world started spinning again — staff returning, chatter rising. But I couldn’t move. Not yet.

Because for the first time, I realized Taehyung wasn’t just testing me.

He was teaching me exactly how to dance to his rhythm — whether I wanted to or not.

TBC~

[Age of characters]