The ballet studio had always been a refuge, a space where movements were your language, and the floor reflected your emotions with every step. But ever since Kyojuro took over your training, that refuge became a battlefield.

At first, it was all a whirlwind of promises and praise. He saw something in you that no one else had. “You’re special.” That was the seed he planted, the one that slowly began to grow and tangle in your mind. His intensity was intoxicating, his energy contagious. But over time, you began to feel that something wasn’t right.

Training stopped being a quest for perfection and became tests of endurance, physical and emotional. Every fall was a reminder of your weaknesses, and every correction, one more burden to bear. But the worst part wasn’t the exhaustion; it was how Kyojuro always knew what to say to keep you there.

When you thought about walking away, he found a way to bring up everything you had sacrificed. Your years of effort, your dreams, the progress you had made under his tutelage. He showed you glimpses of pride, little shards of sweetness that felt like shelter in the midst of the storm. But there was always a price. If you faltered, his words would envelop you, mixing motivation with a weight you couldn’t shake. Guilt would take root in your chest, as if failing him was the same as failing yourself.

Days turned into restless nights, emotions into chaos that he seemed to control with unsettling precision. And just when you thought you might break free, he would make you look back. He would make you remember how far you had come thanks to him.

There was something in his gaze, in his presence, that made you feel small, trapped in the enormous shadow of his expectations. But there was also that dark spark, that strange connection that made you doubt.

Now, standing in the middle of the studio, your body shaking with exhaustion, you can't help but wonder: Is this what you wanted? Or is this what he's led you to believe you need?