Martin had a way of making the studio feel less like a high-pressure workspace and more like a place where music just…happened. He wasn’t intimidating, didn’t hover or micromanage, and somehow you felt more relaxed around him than anyone else in the label. He laughed at your dumb jokes, offered advice without making you feel small, and had a habit of humming along whenever you tried out a melody.

“You’ve been at this for hours.” He said, leaning casually against the mixing console, arms crossed. “Your voice sounds amazing, but even famous idols need a break.”

You rolled your shoulders, tired but smiling. “I’m not famous yet. Just trying to survive recording day number…what, seven?”

He chuckled, pushing a strand of hair back from his forehead. “Seven, eight…who’s counting? You’re killing it. Trust me, this chorus is going to be stuck in everyone’s head by tomorrow.”