I spent thirty minutes warming up before SATURN arrived. My neck hurt from sleeping on it wrong the previous night, making it a challenge to turn my head to the right. The sharp pain put me in a black cloud that I couldn’t let rain on my parade that day. I just could not allow my occasional mood swings get the better of me!

There won’t be any crying idols on my watch! Not with this group’s unhinged fandom watching my every move!

I’d have to grin and bear the soreness, but whatever. A little suffering never harmed anyone. I gave myself a mental pep talk for motivation and reviewed the information I knew about SATURN.

It was day 1 of the grueling schedule I planned out for them. The six-member group would begin learning the steps for four of their album songs, including the title track “Bondage.”

“Bondage” would be the first we’d practice since it was the most complicated. The trapped-in-a-relationship song had an interesting tempo. You’d think it could be two separate songs, but they worked well together.

I thought the third-string rapper, who was never given a chance to shine compared to the other members, made it unique because of his bass voice. I was glad the producers included him more in the comeback, since hearing an insanely deep range was rare in their genre.

When I heard it for the first time, “Bondage” had me squirming in my chair. I couldn’t imagine how the fans were going to react. In my professional opinion, I predicted that the song would become legendary. Those survival shows searching for the next generation of idols were likely to use it for auditions. Other groups would cover it for their social media. I was looking forward to the fans taking time out of their lives to learn my strenuous routine.

What an honor! Okay, thinking time’s over. Let’s get started.

I checked the clock. They were two minutes late.

How am I supposed to get started if the stars are nowhere to be seen?!

Being late was my pet peeve, way more than an accidental misstep. I waited. If they weren’t there in twenty seconds, I was going to…

The door opened. SATURN’s manager—whatever his name was—hurried in with sweat beading on his forehead.

“We’re sorry for arriving late! I hope we didn’t trouble you,” he bowed profusely and apologized with worry.

“Good morning. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again,” I said firmly to get my intent across.

They should always be on time if there was no emergency. This industry was cutthroat. The world’s #1 K-pop company was especially so. Unprofessionalism had no place there.

The short man bowed, twiddled his thumbs nervously, and bowed. Why was he bowing so much? It was not necessary after the first five times.

“Yes, yes! I’ll make sure to bring them here by 10:00 A—”

“9:45 A.M. sharp,” I interrupted. “If you’re not early, you’re late.”

“Er… Understood,” he bowed again. “Please note that might be difficult with their schedule. Is it okay if they come in now?”

I flicked my chin upward to signify that I was ready. The boys must’ve heard the conversation. They promptly entered the mirrored dance studio without anyone calling for them. The SATURN members walked in a single-file line. Thank goodness none of them were minors. The maknae was 18 and the leader was the oldest at 23, so just two years younger than me.

I scanned each person and their bodies. Not pervertedly, of course, but merely noting if any might have issues hitting a powerful move depending on their level of fitness. It was something I picked up on after years of choreographing.

My sights rested on the final member. The world slowed as tunnel vision blurred my eyes to focus on a distinct pastel color.

No. No. No. NO!

Pinkie stood there staring back at me with an emotionless expression. That was why that boy looked familiar to me in Gangnam! I had seen him in SATURN’s music videos to examine their movements. Since I mainly studied their forms and nothing else, what he looked like didn’t ring a bell at the time.

Imaginary glitter shimmered around Pinkie’s ideal Korean face. I wanted to punch those stupid little sparkles to the ground and bury them where the sun didn’t shine. What a small world it was that this kid would be my hoobae (“junior”).

I was totally, utterly screwed. He knew his superior was the ringleader of an illegal flash mob that had made headlines. I figured the police were probably going to show up later that evening.

Time to kiss my job and life goodbye. Despite the chaos scorching my brain, I didn’t show my panicked feelings and just thought, Let’s get this over with. It’s going to be my last practice in this room before I’m incarcerated, so I’ll make the most of it.

“Good morning,” I greeted them and bowed. After they returned my greeting, I said, “Since we haven’t met before, let’s do a quick introduction. My name is Minwoo and I’ll be your choreographer for this album. I prefer Minwoo. Not Mr. Kim, sunbae (“senior”), hyung (“big bro”):, or anything like that. You have five weeks to learn four choreographies. My standard is usually a week per song, but I was approved for extra time since they’re complex. Once this is all over, we’ll be the best of friends, yeah? Leader-nim (“Mr.” Leader), please begin.”

The boys laughed except for Pinkie. Each member of SATURN stepped forward, bowed, then said their name, where they were from, and what role they were responsible for.

“Tae. Seoul. Leader and sub-vocalist.”

“Duri. Incheon. Main vocalist and face of the group.”

“Siwoo. Busan. Lead vocalist.”

“Young-soo. Seoul. Main rapper.”

“Hunter. I’m from Sydney, Australia. I’m the maknae and lead rapper.”

I couldn’t keep up with the positions. There seemed to be new ones every generation! Did they even matter anymore? It was sort of old-fashioned because well-rounders were currently popular. In other words, idols who had the talent to be any of those things were in.

The last member was Pinkie. He stepped forward in his brand-name workout clothes and Gucci sneakers. I wanted to wreck those expensive shoes. The price of those could pay for my rent and leave money to spare!

“Yejun. West Palm Beach, Florida. Main dancer, sub-rapper, and visual.”

The cause for my downfall has a name, eh?

Yejun. Hearing that there were two English speakers pleased me. It was nostalgic, since the stranger who inspired me to get into street dancing and learn English was an American. I’d have to fondly reminisce about that memory in prison though because it wasn’t the time. I had more pressing matters with Pinkie—or rather, Yejun—at the moment.

“Mr. Manager,” I called out. “How many minutes did you arrive late?”

“Uh… Seven.”

I spoke up loudly as I said, “All right, SATURN. Being late bothers me more than you know. For every minute, run one lap around the block. How many is that?”

They looked at each other in bewilderment, assuming I was bluffing. I wasn’t.

“How many is that?” I repeated.

Hunter squeaked in fear, “Seven?”

“Good job. Follow me,” I ordered as I headed outside.

My students hesitated, then made the wise choice to obey. Mr. Manager’s eyes were about to pop out of their sockets as he watched us leave the studio. No doubt they weren’t used to being treated that way. From what I could recall, none of the Korean-born members had served their mandatory military service yet. This would be a small taste for them.

I inhaled the crisp morning air deeply. The autumn temperature was excellent for a run. After doing brief stretches with them, I started my steady pace. The rest followed in a line that made it look like I was a mother duck with her ducklings.

Me joining them for the punishment was a one-time only thing. If they were late in the future, I would not be partaking again. I was the type to get a lawn chair, sit in front of the door with my iced coffee, and watch them go. I deserved it and wanted to discipline myself for being an idiot and getting caught at the event.

On the fifth lap, we heard girls scream when they saw us. They weren’t shrieking for me since I was a nobody but for SATURN. Their phones were already out and taking photos, anxious to gain online clout for seeing famous celebrities. Usually, fans from all groups produced by Triple-X camped on the property at odd hours of the day. They hoped to get a glimpse of an idol.

At least the boys weren’t crying. If I had made SATURN upset and there was digital proof of it… I’d be done for.

Time to go. If we don’t, they’ll definitely run after us.

Once back in the studio, we took a water break. They sat down, backs leaning against the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. They huffed and puffed.

If SATURN’s like this now, how will they endure what I’m about to demonstrate?

“Go ahead and stay seated,” I said. “The first dance I’ll teach you is for your title track. I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you. I consider the moves to be tough even for experienced groups. I know you can do it. And…” I trailed off with a smirk before revealing the dirty, little secret I had in store for them. “Unlike the other routines for your album, there will be a prop. Watch and learn.”