#. 매니저님, 감사합니다 ! PART 2
featuring 𝘀𝗮𝗷𝗮 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝘀 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿
fluff. being the babysitter manager of five grown men who act like toddlers with microphones. it's fun being the team’s mvp, therapist, emergency contact, fashion consultant, personal chef, and part-time hostage.
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PRINCE CHARMING IS A JERK everyone is falling for jinu, and it's not even surprising. he is the charismatic leader, the golden boy, the idol with perfect visuals, vocals, and vibes.
yeah, prince charming, he is perfect. perfect at being the bane of your existence.
because behind that angelic smile is a certified jerk who’s been messing with you all week. and what does he decide to do now? he has the audacity to ask you, wait no, demand you to dance with the group.
“let's welcome our amazing manager, (name)-ssi!”
oh, he’s evil. pure demonic evil. on national tv, during a variety show in front of actual cameras. as if your career hasn’t suffered enough.
first, it was your outfit. he looked you up and down and went,
“really? you’re wearing that in the 21st century?”
excuse you, king of fashion from the joseon dynasty. who are you to judge? it’s not like he time-traveled from a palace to start critiquing your finds from a sale.
second, he kept putting your things out of reach. your phone? suddenly on the top shelf. your clipboard? behind the couch. your pencil? under his chair, on purpose. you swear he's testing your limits, or plotting your downfall.
then came the tripping. oh, you needed to walk across the room? not on his watch. his legs are everywhere, strategically stretched out like some runway trap. you tripped so many times you started checking for banana peels, ghosts, lasers. nope, just jinu, smirking like the devil.
but the fourth incident? that was the final straw, cherry on top, icing on the cake.
lunch time with the boys, as you sat down, thinking today would be normal. wrong. a food war broke out like it was a birthday party for feral children. you tried your best to restore peace, to be the mature one.
what did jinu do? used you as a human shield.
abby hurled a chunk of chocolate cake aimed at jinu’s face and…it landed squarely on yours. full facial coverage, no need for foundation or setting powder. you were cake, you became cake.
the room fell silent, dead silent and suddenly the temperature dropped drastically.
“uh-oh…” “uh-oh? i’ll show you uh-oh.”
scolding them so hard, they cleaned the room faster than soda pop climbed the charts. but not before you casually wiped a thick streak of icing off your cheek… and smeared it across jinu’s expensive jacket.
revenge is really best served sweet.
ABS, LIPSTICK AND YOUR SOUL so today it was just you and abby, because he had a solo photoshoot scheduled for a magazine. and since you’re technically his manager, also part-time stylist and personal chef, you had to tag along in case anything went wrong.
what actually went wrong was the photographer taking one look at you and deciding:
"yes, her. she’s a star, i want her too."
the man went full runway visionary on the spot, saying things like “match made in heaven”, “too hot to handle”, “this is a renaissance in the modeling world”.
you blinked, abby blinked, and before you knew it, boom, he was unbuttoning his see through white shirt like he did every day.
he didn’t even hesitate. just popped it open, revealing his abs like a smooth criminal. the makeup artists, who you swear were too excited, rushed in to dust glitter on his stomach for more angelic effect. meanwhile, someone shoved you into a beautiful white dress that honestly made you feel like a fairy about to get tricked into marriage.
lights, camera, action!
the first pose was quite intimate. abby’s sitting on the floor, legs bent, slightly leaning back and you’re straddling one of his legs, sitting upright, facing him. your hand’s on his shoulder. it’s giving soft launch, but also someone help me, i didn’t sign up for this.
for pose two the photographer himself wanted you to wrap an arm around his neck. okay, sure. your other hand rests on his chest. he’s standing beside you now, arm around your waist like it belongs there.
then the final shot. one word: scandalous.
you lean in with a bright red lipstick, pressing a kiss to his cheek. abby’s standing shirtless, tie loosened, covered in lipstick marks you just left, like a walking crime scene. he’s smirking, you’re literally dying.
after the last shutter clicks, you finally exhale. it’s over. it’s finally over. you glance at abby, and—oh no.
he’s already looking at you. soft, playful, with daring eyes glowing just a little too golden under the lights.
you look away, cheeks heating up like someone turned the studio into a hot sauna. this was not on your job description, but if viral couple shoots boost popularity, so be it.
“do i… have something on my face?” “no, you’re just pretty.”
manager-nim.exe has stopped working. please restart the system.
and then, oh god no, he brushes his thumb over your lip, gentle, casual, almost like a husband to a bride on their honeymoon. your stomach does an olympic-level backflip. why is he like this? why are his eyes so shiny? why do you feel like you’re being hypnotized?
but just like that, everything goes back to normal.
“can you move, princess?” “abby, you’re the one who wrapped your hands around my waist.” “yeah, but i want to change now.”
spoiler alert: he does not change. he just wanted to see if you’d let go first, which you didn't.
PINK SWEATER HEART MOUNTAIN you have gone through every circle of hell at this point, and it’s only monday. just because you’re technically responsible for them doesn’t mean you’re responsible for everything. or so you told yourself, before you ended up in the middle of someone’s personal closet apocalypse.
how did you get here? good question, you want to know as well.
one moment you were helping sort outfits in romance’s room, like the helpful little assistant you are, and the next, you were buried alive under a landslide of pastel cardigans, suspiciously sparkly pants, and a very aggressive pink sweater with a heart knitted on the front.
you tried to fight for survival, you really did. you kicked, but flailed. screamed once and eventually accepted your fate. your body now belonged to the great pink void. you would be remembered only by the faint echo of your last sigh and the perfume cloud left behind.
what’s the point of living anyway? you were gone. this was it. this was how it ends. goodbye cruel world. goodbye daylight. goodbye life outside of knitwear. merging with the universe, consumed by fashion.
until, hallelujah, a light shone upon your face.
“angel? where did you go?”
a voice. a very sweet voice. could it be... heaven? have you become an angel already? yes, that must be it. the light was warm, comforting, like a divine flame. this was surely heaven’s gate, or maybe it was just romance standing above you like some celestial being sent by the coco chanel gods.
“oh, there you are! you really got yourself buried under sweater mountain, huh?”
he was grinning down at you, you blink at him slowly. is he real? is this a hallucination?
to test this, he leans down and pinches your cheeks. not hard, just soft enough to make you mildly regret ever helping him organize his closet.
then, he offered you a hand. you took it, obviously, because one, he was literally your only way out, and two, you’re not immune to how annoyingly pretty he is.
“i think you’ve suffered enough for one day.”
you mumble something, still spiritually disoriented, because after all, you just came back from the dead.
“we’re going out,” “is it a date?” “depends. are you paying?” “no?” “then yeah, it’s a date. my treat.”
you opened your mouth to argue, but he was already leading you toward the door like some prince rescuing a very confused damsel. you’re still not totally sure what’s happening, but you’re upright, and he’s holding your hand, and that’s a win in your book.
also, he smells really nice. like strawberries and vanilla. honestly, you might let the sweaters bury you again if it means he’ll save you like that.
GOSSIP, CUDDLES AND NAP TIME secretly, mystery was your favorite of the saja boys. not that you’d ever admit it out loud. but it’s just with him, you could finally have a moment of peace and quiet. no screaming, no cake aimed at your face, no wardrobe meltdowns, or someone trying to turn your life into a k-drama.
no abs, no jinu. especially no jinu.
“i swear, if jinu makes one more comment about my outfit, i’m going to wear a potato sack to the next shoot on purpose,”
pacing back and forth across the room like a lawyer waiting for the final verdict awarded to the criminals that are your boys.
“like, i'm sorry, not all of us wake up with perfect hair and tons of designer clothes.”
mystery is sitting quietly on the couch, half-focused on a random magazine that was on the small table, when he was about to say something supportive. maybe something wise, or one of his usual gentle one-liners—
“and don’t even get me started on abby! my lips are still tinted red from that photoshoot. my soul is sparkling from glitter clothes. i sneezed and it looked like a unicorn and a fairy vomited on me.”
he closes his mouth. okay, not the right time.
“romance buried me in sweaters this morning! i almost didn’t make it back alive…also i’m officially traumatized from the color pink.”
you keep pacing. mystery's not surprised, because you do this often when you're overwhelmed. but today’s energy is especially chaotic and exhausting.
finally, you collapse next to him with a dramatic sigh, like the weight of everyone's ridiculousness has finally drained you to the max.
“why are they like this? why am i like this? why are you not like this? actually, don’t answer that.”
mumbling, leaning back and looking at the ceiling like it holds answers to what causes your spiritual pain. the long haired boy just smiles a little, that soft, curve of his lip reassuring you that everything is okay.
you start talking again, softer now. still half-ranting, half-reflecting. something about shoes, cake fights, and jinu’s long legs. then, the words start to come out slowly from you, the energy dips. your voice fades into soft hums and sleepy murmurs. eventually, there’s nothing at all.
he glances down and sees your head gently resting on his shoulder.
oh, you’ve fallen asleep mid-rant again.
he shifts slightly, careful not to wake you, and reaches for the thin blanket draped over the side of the couch. he lays it over your body, tucking it just enough to keep you warm.
mystery leans back, magazine forgotten, letting you rest. peace and quiet, just the two of you. honestly, it’s kind of perfect.
“sleep well, (name)-ssi…”
THE TIKTOK INCIDENT messing around after hours in the practice room with the camera propped on a chair, shirt falling off your shoulder, no makeup, and doing the soda pop choreo like some broke university student who’s had 3 hours of sleep and 5 iced coffees. you weren't even trying to look good for the video, just wanted to test the lighting and have fun like a normal human being. it was meant to stay in your drafts.
except, someone got a hold of your phone because you accidentally left it unlocked.
you should’ve known something was up when baby was too quiet for too long and then started giggling in the corner like a gremlin. you didn’t think much of it until a few hours later when your phone blew up with notifications, mentions, edits, even fanpages. and a trending hashtag.
#SodaPop_Challenge
#SajaPrincess_Challenge
“you did what?” “oops~” “baby i'm going to—” “love and spoil me? I know.”
the video went viral with people starting to learn your version of the choreo. performing it with the boys on live stages as not part of the plans on your schedule. fans said you danced better than half the idols debuting this year.
but the maknae didn’t stop there. no, no. he dug deeper and went through all your drafts.
and there it was, one video that caught his eye. you in a fitted dress, heels, makeup, hair done. looking drop-dead stunning, like a princess.
he blinked, stared, panicked. who was this goddess and what did she do with his manager?
so naturally, he did what he does best: tell lies.
“jinu said you need to dress formally for an event tomorrow.” “why didn’t jinu tell me himself?” “he's busy. something about…non-functional soda pop from the vending machine” “okay…”
so imagine the chaos when you walk into the practice room in heels and a short dress, looking like you’re about to attend the met gala red carpet.
saja boys turned into frozen boys.
romance drops his water bottle, abby walks into a wall, jinu nearly chokes, mystery mutters under his breath, and baby is smug. mission accomplished.
“wait… why aren’t you dressed up?” “dress up for what?”
the anger you had inside you when you looked at baby and he immediately hid behind abby. he was very lucky that he was cute.
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